Page 14 of Epiphany (A Little Bit More Darcy and Elizabeth #2)

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A night in his own bed meant Darcy was far better refreshed on Sunday morning, despite the hours he had lain awake furiously making plans for his suddenly vastly different future. He ought to be tired, for he was not convinced he had been asleep even when he dreamt, but fatigue could not trouble him. A potent medley of boyish excitement and exceedingly un childlike yearning coursed through his veins, igniting his spirits, urging him up, out of bed, and back to Hertfordshire.

He could scarcely wait until Monday to return. Already he had spent too many months battling with his reprehensible pride; too many miles travelling to visit, rescue, or cart his various relations about the country; and altogether too many years dancing to duty’s tune. He would waste no more time. His trip to Kent had taught him a simple truth: there was no good reason not to marry Elizabeth. He owed his family nothing, and if those in his sphere could stomach Lady Catherine, then they could sure as the devil learn to tolerate Elizabeth, a woman ten times his aunt’s worth. He could—he would —marry her. Understanding it had rendered him as close to giddy as anyone so naturally disposed to seriousness could get.

First, however, he must deal with Anne. For all his jubilant reflections, Darcy remained deeply troubled by what passed at Rosings. His aunt had always been difficult and was renowned for her imperious manner. Yet superiority was not the same as meanness, and never before yesterday had he thought her capable of outright cruelty.

Grief ought to be her excuse, except that Anne had not seemed surprised by the outburst. Darcy had grappled endlessly with his recollections of the encounter, attempting to discern whether he had misremembered what was said or misconstrued how it was received, but the effort had been fruitless. He had known the moment Anne agreed to come with him that it was not the first time she had been thus abused.

She had said very little in the carriage back to London, constrained by distress and the presence of her ineradicable companion. He knew not what she wished to happen next or what solution he ought to offer, but despite being still excessively angry with her, he would not abandon Anne to a repeat of Lady Catherine’s derision. Thus, he awaited her in his library that morning, unsure what he meant to say but assured of a very different conversation than he had intended to have four-and-twenty hours ago.

At length, his cousin arrived and sat down opposite him without a word. He called for tea, which they awaited in silence. It arrived, and in silence they both took one sip, then set their cups aside to go cold.

“She is worse than Mrs Bennet, is she not?”

Darcy choked out a surprised laugh. “She certainly was yesterday. But be truthful. Is she always like that?”

Anne took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “She has grown more so, the longer you have procrastinated.”

“The longer I have?—”

She interrupted him with an exasperated huff. “Why did you have to tell her we were in Hertfordshire?”

“Come, Anne. She would have found out one way or another. And it was unreasonable to expect Mr Collins and Mrs Jenkinson to lie for you.”

She made a noise of disgust. “You are always so incorrigibly honest. It is prodigiously tiresome.”

Darcy wished he deserved her censure, but there were too many things he had been required to keep secret of late. He left her remark unchallenged, and the silence between them stretched long, until Anne shifted in her seat and fixed him with an expression that might have been defiance or apprehension.

“I have had something of an epiphany.” She took a quick breath and tilted her chin. “I have decided I no longer wish to marry you.”

Darcy held himself still. Many cogs whirred in his mind, all of them misaligning, none of them churning out a sensible interpretation of her statement. “I am afraid I do not take your meaning.”

“I am not sure how else I might express myself to better convey it. It is not very complicated.”

Indeed, it did not appear so. It also did not appear to make an iota of sense. “You no longer wish to marry me?”

“Do not pretend to be upset about it.”

“I beg your pardon, Anne. I am not upset, but I am perplexed . I was not aware that you ever wished to marry me.”

For the longest moment, she did nothing but stare at him. Then his cousin did something that reminded him so thoroughly of Elizabeth, it knocked the wind from him. She laughed. Indeed, she laughed so hard and for so long, he began to worry for her lucidity.

“Oh, I am sorry, Darcy. You will have to forgive me. Only, what an absolute joke!”

“Is it?” he replied, struggling to maintain a calm tone.

She made an observable effort to be serious, which had the effect of giving her laughter an edge of hysteria. “Answer me this. Have you ever taken seriously the pact our mothers made to unite our houses with an alliance between us?”

It was Darcy’s turn to stare, only he did not laugh. Indeed, it was one of the least amusing remarks he had ever heard, for a multitude of reasons, none of them good. “I take it you have.”

“Me, my mother, half the ton , the whole of Kent.”

In the name of all that was holy! The whole of Kent believed that the fanciful whim of two sisters, conceived in the first flushes of motherhood almost thirty years ago, still held true? How was such a staggeringly stupid thing possible? How on earth had something so ridiculous, so entirely improbable, have remained so significant in the eyes of so many people for so many years without his knowing ?

“I had no idea,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I can see that. But why on earth do you think I gave a fig about Elizabeth Bennet if you did not consider yourself honour-bound to me?”

“I assumed your reasons were the same as my own. Family, duty, reputation.”

Anne gave him a small, crooked smile. “When all along it was plain old jealousy.”

Worse and worse. She had not only believed they would marry, she had desired it! He looked away to the fireplace, searching for something to say that would lessen the injury of the misunderstanding. Nothing occurred to him. There was nothing he could say that would mitigate the fact that he neither considered himself promised to her, nor had he any intention of becoming so. He adjusted his attitude in his seat and let out a sharp sigh.

“Cousin, I beg you would forgive me. It never occurred to me that you?—”

“Oh, do not torture yourself, Darcy. You do it far too well. You will make me feel bad. You must understand, I was jealous because I have been brought up to believe you were mine by right. But my heart is not engaged. I am fond of you, of course, but only in the way one is fond of a favourite cushion.” She shrugged. “You are nice to look at, and you are useful in an uncomfortable situation.”

“Charmed, I am sure.”

“I do not mean to be charming. I am attempting to break an engagement that apparently never existed. It is very difficult to do something unkind when everybody is so pleased with the result.”

“Are you pleased?”

“I believe I am, yes. That is the point. I never questioned the arrangement because there was never anybody in my mind more worthy to be my husband than you. My mother taught me—taught both of us, I dare say—to think meanly of all the rest of the world. I have been encouraged to think you and I are superior to everyone who matters, and best suited for each other as a consequence.

“My short time in Hertfordshire opened my eyes to the possibility of there being better alternatives for me. I do not mean to say I now consider you unworthy. Far from it. You are one of the best men I have ever known, Darcy. Only, we have much less in common than I used to think. And, well, I certainly do not feel about you the way you feel about Miss Elizabeth.”

He was too taken aback and too overcome with the exhilarating anticipation that accompanied every thought of Elizabeth to answer.

Anne nodded as though satisfying herself of something. “You love her, do you not?”

“Yes,” he replied simply, eschewing any more syllables, for no quantity of words could ever convey the expansiveness of what he felt.

“I thought as much. I assumed at first it was a passing fascination. Georgiana made it sound more, but I could not believe you were serious—not considering her condition in life, which you must admit is dire , and her disposition, which even from your sister’s bizarrely quixotic account left a good deal to be desired. But then I saw you with her.”

Darcy had been about to vehemently defend Elizabeth’s honour, but this last remark quite knocked him off balance.

Anne pulled a pitying face. “Dear Darcy, look at you, all bemused. But it is obvious to anyone who knows you. You are only happy when you are with her. At all other times, you are an awful object, impatient with everyone, angry at everything. But when you are with Miss Elizabeth, you smile—you joke , for heaven’s sake. I never knew you could. She lightens you, somehow. It is quite touching now that I have ceased being vexed by it. And, of course, nobody could mistake your feelings after you left your sister there, so you had an excuse to go back.”

Darcy did not smile, though not because he was unhappy. Rather, he felt too much to be light-hearted. “That was not my purpose for leaving Georgiana there, at least, not the one I avowed to myself. When I left, it was with a promise to Bingley that I would return for his feast a week on Monday, and a resolve to reason myself out of any irrational sentiments before I did. I hoped the trip to Rosings would remind me what I owed my family.”

Anne laughed bitterly. “That worked tremendously, then.”

“Quite. Your mother had not been in the house more than a few minutes before I realised I owed her nothing.” He did not mention how significantly Anne’s own performance over the last fortnight had aided him in his volte-face.

“So now, your real purpose in leaving Georgiana at Netherfield has come to fruition. Bravo! I only hope Miss Elizabeth will accept you.”

Anne said it laughingly, but with just such a hint of sincerity as pierced Darcy’s felicity like a hot knife. “What?”

“Well, she did not seem very pleased with you at dinner last Thursday.”

Relief banished a measure of his alarm. “I am happy to report that was a misunderstanding. Bingley informed me that thanks to a letter from his sister and some of your choicer remarks at Lucas Lodge, the Bennets were all under the impression he had brought Georgiana there as his betrothed. It took most of the evening for the mistake to come to light.”

“I see. I thought she must still dislike you for saying she was only tolerably handsome.”

The knife cut a little deeper. “That is the second time you have made reference to that remark.”

“Do not deny you said it.”

“I shall not, but I should like to know how you know I said it. If Bingley told you, then he has been unusually indiscreet.”

“Not as indiscreet as you saying it directly in front of her in the first place.”

The knife was in up to the hilt now and being twisted. The memory of Mr Bennet’s odd little smirk as he accused him of slighting one of his daughters made Darcy feel suddenly bilious.

“She heard me?”

“I thought it most unlike you, I must say. You are not usually so ungallant.”

Again, Darcy found himself wishing he could contradict one of his cousin’s opinions, but he could not. He had said it, he had meant it, at least in that moment, and it had been far from the first conceited judgment he had carelessly issued in a ballroom. And that total disdain for the feelings of others had been Elizabeth’s first impression of him. Dear God!

He had spent the last months in agony that he could not be with her, then the last few hours in ecstasy because he had condescended to overlook his own deuced pride and offer for her. This was the first time it had ever occurred to him to doubt whether Elizabeth would have him. Agony and ecstasy both promptly abandoned him, leaving him feeling only searing alarm.

“Do you know,” Anne said, “I think I should like you to take me back with you tomorrow.”

Darcy regarded her in bewilderment, too caught up in his distress to make head or tail of her remark.

“To Netherfield? You must be joking.”

“I do not see why. It was good of you to bring me to London, and I am grateful for the offer you made yesterday to take me to more parties while I am here. Especially now that I know you did not make the offer as a husband but rather as a friend hoping to help find me one. But I cannot leave Rosings indefinitely. We both know I am not well enough for London life. I shall have to go home and sooner than I should like. Will you not take me back to Meryton so I may enjoy one last week of freedom before I must face my mother again?”

“You cannot be serious. I am sorry, truly sorry, that your situation is so disagreeable, but you offended every acquaintance I have in Hertfordshire when you were there.”

“None that you had not already offended yourself.”

He could not defend himself there, so he did not pretend to, though he wished she would cease putting forth more reasons to fear that Elizabeth might despise him. He tried a different tack.

“I thought you disdained the society.”

“I said it was inferior to what I am used to. That is not the same as disdaining it.”

“It is exactly the same.”

Anne exhaled petulantly, as though he were the one being unreasonable. “Pray do not demean me by telling me what pleases me. My mother does it too often, and I cannot stand it. I found the Meryton assembly vastly enjoyable. And even Christmas Day at Longbourn had its delights, buried deep beneath the chaos and vulgarity.”

“You cannot believe, with opinions such as those, I shall ever agree to take you back there.”

“No, I do not believe you will—I know you will.”

“ Do you?” he said heatedly, glad to give the truth to her earlier account of him by being angry with everything she said. “And why is that?”

“Because you are too generous for your own good. And because you need my help.”

Darcy despised the way Anne smirked at him. “Your help to do what?”

“To correct the entire town’s misapprehension that you and I are engaged.”

He wanted to question her sincerity again, but he had already done so twice, and he did not wish to make himself appear addled. Instead, he stood up, stalked up and down in front of the fire a few times, swore aloud, and left the room.

* * *

“Have you been driving around in circles since Friday, Darcy?” enquired Bingley, laughing heartily when they arrived at Netherfield on Monday afternoon.

Darcy knew not how it was that after making it the study of his life to avoid those weaknesses that exposed a strong understanding to ridicule, he had come to be an object of amusement to so many of his friends. “No. Why?”

“You seem to have forgotten why you left in the first place. Were you not supposed to take Miss de Bourgh home?”

“I did,” he replied. “Give me a drink, and I shall tell you the story.” He dropped into a chair. “Give me two, and I shall not object if you laugh at it. Give me three, and I might laugh, too.”

“Gads, is it that bad?”

“Worse. Better make it four.”

* * *

“I shall miss you very much, Lizzy. Are you quite sure you will not come with us to London? We could wait while you pack your trunks.”

Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner were both obliged to step backwards as two servants struggled to lift a large case onto the chaise.

Elizabeth ducked her head, feigning interest in a holly bush. She picked a sprig for good measure and was pricked for her trouble. “You are a saint to invite me, Aunt, but I shall not impose, no matter how many times you press me. You must have had enough ‘Bennet’ to last you until Easter, I am sure. And with Charlotte’s invitation for me to visit her then, we do at least have a date to look forward to. Are you sure it will not be a nuisance for me to stay with you on my way there?”

“Of course I am sure,” Mrs Gardiner replied. “Your uncle and I shall anticipate it most eagerly.”

If Mrs Gardiner thought her frequent wary glances were subtle, Elizabeth had not the heart to announce otherwise, though she was, at least, forewarned when her aunt broached a more serious topic.

“If you are resolved to stay, I hope it is not with any unduly fanciful expectations for your own happiness.”

“We ought to hope not,” she replied, laughing, “otherwise, that speech might rob me of all optimism.”

Mrs Gardiner’s countenance clouded. “I do not wish to pain you, but it was obvious to me, if not to anyone else, that you were intrigued by Mr Darcy. And once the heart is intrigued?—”

“I appreciate your concern,” Elizabeth interrupted, “but you need not be under any alarm. Hill reports he has brought his cousin back with him after all. I believe we may be assured he is not here to involve himself in an affection with anyone else.”

“That is unexpected,” Mrs Gardiner replied, looking genuinely astonished.

“Is it? It was no secret that they had an understanding. I expect they have cemented their engagement on their travels. A week in Meryton no doubt confirmed all their worst fears of savage country manners and hastened them to their purpose.” Elizabeth was surprised by the bitterness in her voice—surprised and then diverted. “Goodness! How the tables have turned,” she said with a laugh.

“In what way?”

Elizabeth was glad of the interruption of her young cousins being brought out to board the coach, for it excused her from satisfying her aunt’s curiosity. Nevertheless, she could not help but be diverted by the complete about-turn that, after two weeks of the reverse being true, saw her now being jealous of Miss de Bourgh.

“Will you see him at Purvis Lodge this evening?” Mrs Gardiner whispered as her children were herded into the carriage.

“No, I do not believe so. It is a quiet affair. We are the only guests, I understand.”

Mrs Gardiner nodded. “That is probably for the best, my dear.” She leant closer, her expression earnest. “I would not see you be made a fool of by a man simply because he has too much money and a pretty face.”

Fighting the absurd urge to cry, Elizabeth forced herself to grin. “We agree, then, that he has a pretty face.”

“We could hardly disagree about that, could we? The whole purpose of this conversation being about facts, not fantasies. He is a beautiful man. And more fool him, he will never marry you, no matter how handsome or sensible or worthy you may be.” She cupped Elizabeth’s cheek with her hand and shook her head sadly. “My dearest Lizzy.”

Nothing Mrs Gardiner said was untrue. Nevertheless, Elizabeth wished she had not felt the need to actually say any of it. It rather detracted from the holiday spirit to be reminded of one’s utter lack of marriageability. She turned to peer into the carriage, resolved to concentrate on her cousins’ departure, and spare not a thought for Mr Darcy or his cousin’s return to Hertfordshire.