Page 15 of Elizabeth is not a Bennet

Drawing Room

Longbourn

Elizabeth shifted in her chair and turned a page of her book, then stilled as her movement jarred her shoulder. After a moment, the pain receded to manageable levels, and she relaxed. Mr. Jones had already visited that day, just as he had the previous two days, braving the inclement weather to check on his patient. He had grown increasingly cheerful on each visit, assuring Elizabeth that it was healing well with no signs of infection, and that her pain levels were normal.

Normally they might be, but that did not make the aches any less unpleasant. Her sleep had been restless and interrupted, the blankets catching her shoulder and waking her, every slight shift sending runnels of fire over her arm. Finally, she had given in and dosed her tea with a small amount of laudanum the previous night, thus garnering a blessed six hours without waking. Her limbs were still leaden with weariness, and she was more snappish and irritable than usual, but she was not as miserable as the prior day .

Part of her frustration lay in the necessity of staying inside. Elizabeth craved the open sky above her, the trees and the wind and the crunch of the grass beneath her boots. She could not even sit beside the window, as Mr. Bennet had ordered the drapes drawn shut in whatever room she inhabited, lest her shooter be lurking nearby to try again to kill her. Elizabeth felt this was rather over-cautious, but she remained meekly compliant to her uncle’s strictures, well knowing they arose purely out of love and concern for her.

Indeed, her whole family had smothered her in love and concern ever since the incident. Her cousins hovered about, Lydia and Kitty plying her with tea and tarts and cushions and books and endless chatter, Mary offering music and companionship, and Mrs. Bennet bustling in and out of the room to ask if there was anything she wanted, and suggesting that she ought to lie down.

Elizabeth knew that all their actions arose strictly from affection and concern for her well-being, but it was nonetheless smothering – for a person as active as she liked to be, the forced stillness and coddling were nigh unbearable. Still, her uncle had loaned her his copy of As You Like It , which was enjoyable, and this moment of peace was pleasant, as the younger girls were meeting in another room with their drawing master. Jane sat across from her, using the light of the fire to work at her needlepoint, the daylight closed off to them by the heavy curtains. Mrs. Bennet sat on the couch, nodding off in the dim, her unfocused gaze somewhere on the far wall. Elizabeth smiled fondly at her aunt, reflecting that Mrs. Bennet was well on her way to one of her many afternoon naps.

The peace was broken as the door opened, and Mrs. Bennet startled awake, raising an instinctive hand to straighten her lace cap. Three gentlemen entered the room, preceded by the butler, and Elizabeth’s heart lifted at the sight of the visitors.

“Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, and Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Mr. Stanley announced, and withdrew gracefully.

Mrs. Bennet and Jane rose to their feet, even as they both bent remonstrative looks at Elizabeth. She grimaced and remained in her seat, though it felt peculiar not to stand up and curtsey at the entrance of guests.

“Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Bennet said with a smile. “How wonderful to see you here today. Will you not introduce your friend?”

“Of course. Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet, Miss Stowe, my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, of the Regulars. Richard, Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet, and Miss Stowe.”

Bows and curtsies followed, and Elizabeth smiled apologetically. Mr. Darcy, observing the smile, took a step toward her and said, “Miss Stowe, good morning. It is good to see you, and I hope you are feeling as well as you look.”

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy. I am quite comfortable and being absurdly cosseted by my relations.”

“You deserve nothing less,” Darcy said, his eyes meeting hers, and she felt a strange shock in her breast at the intensity of his gaze. When she had been shot, she had been too confused, distressed, and in pain to pay attention to the strength of Mr. Darcy’s arms when he carried her within the house, but now, looking at those self-same arms, clad in expensive wool, and his intent stare focused on her own face, she felt herself blush.

“Do sit down, gentlemen, please!” Mrs. Bennet cried out, and Elizabeth looked away and gestured toward the chair nearest her.

Somewhat to her disappointment, the colonel sat in the seat; while his expression was entirely congenial, she was more eager to speak to Darcy. A moment later, her heart skipped a beat when Mr. Darcy pulled a wooden chair close to his cousin and sat down. Mr. Bingley, she noted absently, took his place near Jane, and Mrs. Bennet disappeared and reappeared within a minute, no doubt having ordered tea.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said, turning her attention on her new acquaintance, “are you currently on leave? ”

“I am as of a few days ago. I have been training raw recruits in London for quite a while and asked for some time with family.”

“Well, we are pleased to have you here,” she said.

“Thank you, Miss Stowe. I will confess to significant curiosity; I hope you do not mind me referencing your unfortunate …”

“Attack. It is certainly all right. I have not left Longbourn since the accident, but my uncle tells me it is all over town – quite the seven day wonder!”

“It is a shocking incident,” the colonel replied. “I have been shot at, but never struck, and while I think I behaved with reasonable courage in the heat of battle, I was often rather shaken the next day.”

Elizabeth regarded him gravely and nodded. “I will not pretend that I was particularly courageous in the moment, Colonel. I was, in truth, bewildered and terrified, and of course, I knew not what had happened beyond the sudden pain. Now I find myself caught between gratitude that I was only grazed, and horror that someone tried to end my life.”

Two maids entered with tea service at this moment, and until they left, the conversation lapsed into conventionalities. Once they had departed and the door closed behind them, Darcy said, with a startling indifference to convention, “Do you have any new leads on what happened? Do you know who was responsible for this dreadful attack?”

“We do not,” Mrs. Bennet said, stepping up to take his empty teacup. “It is a horrible thing! Mr. Bennet and Sir William Lucas have been making inquiries for the ghastly man who did this, but so far they have had no luck. It seems very odd to me that they cannot find the ruffian!”

“It is difficult, Aunt,” Elizabeth pointed out, “given that there are so many strangers in Meryton at the moment.”

“Yes, and that is another thing! The militia regiment is supposed to protect us, not ... not shoot innocent girls!”

Elizabeth bent a fond look on her aunt and said, “We do not know, of course, that it is a member of the militia. But come, I think that is enough discussion of my troubles. Colonel Fitzwilliam, based on your words, you have served overseas?”

“I have, in the Peninsula.”

“I daresay the experience of a man at war is different from a visitor, but I am curious; what is Spain like?”

This provoked a wide-ranging discussion, starting with descriptions of the wild grandeur of the Pyrenees, and then shifted to Italy and Rome, which both men had visited some years previously, though not at the same time.

Elizabeth could not help but sigh. “I do envy you. It must have been marvelous to visit Rome, in particular; I understand the cathedrals are incredible.”

“The Sistine Chapel is truly awe-inspiring,” Darcy agreed.

“My Uncle Bennet has a book about Michelangelo, which describes some of his work, including the Sistine Chapel. I understand that the artist spent literally months painting the great ceiling.”

“Yes, and in addition to the technical skill, the paintings are remarkable for inspiring one to worship the one true God. Michelangelo started with the Creation of the World, and painted scenes depicting the fall of Man, the signs pointing toward Christ’s resurrection, the last Judgement, and so much more...”

The conversation continued, to the pleasure of all, until the door opened to reveal Mr. Bennet, who greeted Darcy with the pleasure of a fellow bibliophile.

“Mr. Darcy, it is good to see you today. Will you not introduce your friend? ”

“Of course, Mr. Bennet. Richard, our host, Mr. Bennet. Mr. Bennet, my cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.”

To Darcy’s disappointment, the conversation shifted away from Miss Stowe until it was time for the gentlemen to rise, reluctantly, and take their leave. Darcy, who had paid little attention to Bingley’s discussion with Miss Bennet, noted his friend’s flushed face and beaming countenance as they departed the house. It was obvious that Bingley’s courtship was proceeding apace.

The wind had freshened during their visit, and there were dark clouds in the west. Thus, the three men chose to hurry home so as not to be caught out in the rain, and thus Darcy had no opportunity to speak with his cousin about Miss Stowe. Then, while he hurried to change out of his riding clothes, he was slower than his cousin who, no doubt, had learned to throw his clothes off and on at speed during his time on the Peninsula. Thus, it was that when Darcy descended to the main floor, he heard Richard’s voice in the drawing room, interspersed with that of Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. He sighed, set his shoulders, and prepared to enter the lion’s den.

The ensuing conversation was tedious, and then everyone had to ascend to their bedchambers to dress for dinner, and then sit through dinner, and the separation of the sexes, and the rejoining of the sexes, and thus it was that the clock had struck eleven when the ladies and Mr. Hurst finally went off to bed, leaving Bingley, Darcy, and Colonel Fitzwilliam in the drawing room.

“Would you care to join me in the billiard room?” Bingley asked. “It stays warmer as it is smaller, and my best Madeira is there.”

“By all means, lead on,” the colonel said cheerfully, and all three men made their way into the room in the corner of the house, with its thick curtains closed against the drafts, and a well-tended fire in the grate.

Darcy waited for the other men to enter before following, and then shut the door firmly behind himself. Bingley walked slowly over to the wine and poured three glasses, handed two to his guests, and took the last one for himself.

“What do you think, Richard?” Darcy demanded, not willing to wait another second.

Bingley looked startled. “What does he think about what?”

“About Miss Stowe,” the colonel remarked, taking a seat on a wingbacked chair and stretching out his legs to rest on a convenient footstool. “I like her very well, Darcy, but I confess that my first thought was that she reminded me of Jenny. ”

Darcy sat down on a loveseat nearby and wrinkled his brow. “Jenny?”

“Yes, the nursemaid who cared for you as a child. Do you not remember Jenny?”

Darcy blinked, thought hard, and shook his head. “I do not.”

Richard leaned back, took a sip of his brandy, and considered for a minute. “I am four years older than you are, so you must have been about four when Jenny left. I recall my mother saying that you were terribly distressed; Lady Anne was so ill after your birth that your primary caregiver was Jenny. She was an Irish woman, and she had the same blazing hair and dark eyes as your Miss Stowe. I was only a child myself, so I do not remember the details, but I believe she returned to Northern Ireland when her mother died.”

Darcy regarded his cousin in confusion. “So you are saying that perhaps my attraction to Miss Stowe is based on my childish memories of a nursemaid? Really, Richard!”

“I am not saying that,” Richard replied calmly. “I am merely remarking that Miss Stowe reminds me of Jenny, who cared for you so well when you were a small child.”

Darcy grimaced and turned to stare into the fire. It seemed absurd to think that his attraction to Elizabeth Stowe was tied into a forgotten nursemaid, but now that Richard had reminded him, he did recall soft hands, and bright hair, and a gentle smile, and a lilting tongue, though it was all but fragments, and fled into the corners of his memory when he attempted to retrieve more.

“What do you think of Miss Bennet, Colonel?” Bingley inquired, kindly allowing Darcy time to contemplate.

“She is certainly a remarkable beauty,” Richard said promptly. “If she had been born to a family of the ton, she would have been one of the Season’s diamonds. I have rarely met a lovelier woman.”

“That is true,” Bingley said, suddenly solemn, “but in my mind, her personality is as important as her looks. Miss Bennet is a kind, intelligent, and serene lady. I have been strongly attracted to many a blonde, blue-eyed lady in London, only to discover her character to be incompatible with my own. I am well on my way to being in love with Miss Bennet, and I hope that my affection for her is returned in some measure.”

Darcy, having thought deeply, now said, “You may be correct about my attraction to Miss Stowe, Richard.”

His cousin turned to him with a furrowed brow and replied, “You sound disappointed, Darcy. ”

“Well, I am. I had thought that there was something real and true about my interest in her.”

“Darcy, do not be ridiculous,” Richard said, obviously taken aback. “There is something real! Perhaps your initial attraction to the lady was based on childhood memories of a kind and gentle nursemaid, but if Miss Stowe was noisy, or vulgar, or unkind, or stupid, would you still admire her?”

Darcy, who had indeed been quite agitated, calmed. “I would not, of course. You are correct. Miss Stowe is intelligent, well read, sensible, and has an air of vitality entirely different from most ladies of my acquaintance.”

“She is certainly very well read! I might have thought she had been in Rome herself based on her knowledge of the architecture!”

“Her uncle has a truly remarkable library for a country squire,” Darcy remarked, “and Miss Stowe has apparently read most of the books contained within.”

“Then take some sage advice from your much older cousin, Darcy, and continue to pursue the lady you find so delightful. There is no commitment on either side, after all. By the by, I was impressed by Miss Stowe’s behavior during our visit in another way. She did not obviously favor you when speaking to the two of us, and it is rare for young ladies of marriageable age to pay substantial attention to me when my wealthy cousin is nearby.”

Darcy was suddenly struck with a hideous thought, and his handsome face twisted into an intimidating glower. “Richard, do not even think about trying to attract Miss Stowe. Do you hear?”

The colonel tilted his head, and he stared at the ceiling as if in deep thought. “She is an heiress. Hmmmm...”

He retained this pose for a few dramatic seconds and then lowered his chin to squint at his cousin. “Do not be ridiculous, Darcy. Miss Stowe obviously has no interest in me, and in any case, I would never interfere with your pursuit of the lady.”

Darcy smiled apologetically. “I am sorry, Richard. I am surrounded by more charming men; Bingley, you, and even Wickham, for that matter!”

“Speaking of Wickham,” the colonel said sharply, “are you certain that I cannot...”

“Knock out his teeth? No, you may not. I promised to protect him if he cooperated, and he did. Out of self-interest, no doubt, but he did.”

“Such a pity,” Colonel Fitzwilliam mourned.