Page 29 of It Taught Me to Hope
T o the surprise of no one who knew her, Mary’s assessment of the situation was identical to Elizabeth’s. Of all the Bennet sisters, no two were more unalike than Mary and Lydia, which had led to some rather infamous spats between them. Lydia had always considered Mary dowdy and had taken every opportunity to tease her, while Mary considered Lydia a spoiled child—true, in Elizabeth’s opinion—one who needed whatever guidance her sisters could offer. Lydia had never appreciated Mary’s admonitions, and Mary had never cared for the girl’s lack of seriousness.
Mary’s first request was an introduction to the girl, and while she inspected her, Elizabeth wondered what her reaction would be. Though she did not suspect Mary of unkindness or censure of so blameless a girl, it was possible in Elizabeth’s mind that she would hold herself aloof. Any such expectation, however, died away at once when Mary drew the child in for an embrace, much as her sisters had done before.
“You poor child,” said she, soothing the girl’s back. “What you have suffered living such a life!”
Mary pushed her out and held her at arm’s length, gazing into eyes frightened by the sudden emotion. “Do not worry love, for you are safe now. You are family. You are our niece. We shall keep you safe forever, little one, and shall love you as you deserve to be loved.”
To the surprise of them all, the stoic child regarded Mary through widened eyes, then her lips trembled, and she burst into tears, burying her face into Mary’s breast, while Mary sat her on her lap and rubbed her back in soothing circles. For several long moments, she continued to sob, Mary gently ministering understanding and support, until with reddened, teary eyes, she drew away again.
“Thank you!” croaked she, barely able to make herself understood despite her sudden burst of emotion.
“Not at all,” said Mary, turning a bright smile on the girl. “Now, be a good girl and go to the maid, have her wash your face, then return to the other children. Tonight, you shall meet my son, then we shall all partake of dinner together. Tonight, we will show you what a family is.”
Clara nodded, tears rolling down her cheeks as she attempted an awkward curtsey, then threw her arms around Mary again. Before she would allow Sarah to lead her away, she insisted on embracing all the sisters, and then with a watery smile, her hand clutching Sarah’s, she left the parlor. When she was gone, Elizabeth drew Mary close.
“That was wonderful, Mary. You have started her healing.”
“Nonsense, Lizzy,” said Mary. “You, Jane, and Kitty began that.”
“Perhaps it was the unconditional love of us all that moved her to tears,” ventured Kitty.
“Love is what will bring about her recovery,” said Jane. “To that, we must give our all.”
Mary nodded and spoke: “Now, we must speak of what is to come, for there are decisions we must make. Might I assume you informed Uncle Gardiner?”
“We have,” agreed Elizabeth, glancing at her other sisters. “Unlikely though it might seem, Uncle might have heard something about a child, though he never passed it on to us.”
“He might have mentioned it to Papa,” said Kitty.
“I suppose,” agreed Elizabeth. “In the end, however, it does not signify now several years after the event. We can all see Lydia in Clara’s features, and that makes her family. We can no more turn her away now than we can turn back the clock and prevent Lydia’s folly.”
“Of course, we must care for her,” said Mary. “There is nothing else to be done. The question that will soon beset us is who will take on the burden of her care.”
“The other concern,” said Jane, “is that the timing is not at all beneficial. I am newly widowed, so taking her care myself is difficult, and Lizzy is receiving Mr. Darcy’s calls.”
Kitty gasped, her hands rising to her cheeks. “I had not considered that. While I do not know everything about what happened between Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham, I know Mr. Darcy did not esteem him.”
“Mr. Wickham used Mr. Darcy and his family abominably,” said Elizabeth. “How he will react to Mr. Wickham’s natural daughter I cannot say.”
“If you will pardon me,” interjected Mary, “I can see nothing in Mr. Darcy’s behavior that suggests he will do anything other than accept Clara—he is a good man, one who will not hold the faults of the parents against a child.”
“The greater question,” said Kitty, “is what this will do to his attentions to Lizzy.”
“Whether he will wish to accept Clara into his home I cannot say,” insisted Mary, “but he will not abandon his pursuit of Elizabeth. The man spent six years pining after her—he will not give her up now.”
Elizabeth, gratified by her sister’s assessment, smiled and nodded, even if uncertainty still roiled in her breast. There was no time to consider such matters, so she shunted them to the back of her mind for later consideration.
“Then who will take her?” asked Kitty.
“I suspect we all wish to take her,” said Jane. “To me, the only question that matters is who is best situated to look after her.”
“For the present,” said Mary, “I believe it is best that either Lizzy or I accept Clara’s care.”
Mary turned and smiled at Kitty. “While you would provide an excellent home for Clara, you already have three little ones, Kitty. I can provide for Clara at the parsonage and would be happy to offer her a place with my family, or Lizzy has plenty of room at Longbourn, and Jane will be here for the foreseeable future.”
“That is true,” said Elizabeth, “but there is a factor you have not yet considered. The question we must confront is how to introduce Clara to the neighborhood if she stays here.”
It was a consideration none of her sisters had weighed, for all that they understood at once. For several long moments, none of them spoke, for the implications were clear and the solution opaque. At length, it was Mary who voiced what all were thinking.
“If everyone knows her as Lydia’s child, she will contend with the disgrace all her life.”
“Our neighbors would not be so cruel,” said Jane.
“Then perhaps I should take her,” said Kitty. “If she comes to live in Bedfordshire, we can invent a history, and no one will be the wiser.”
“Could we spread the rumor that we learned Lydia was alive and married?” asked Jane.
Mary shook her head. “I have no liking for falsehood, but the truth will do Clara no good.” Mary turned to Elizabeth. “Can I suppose the servants know to eschew gossip?”
“I shall speak with Mrs. Hill,” said Elizabeth, “though I suspect she has already spoken to the servants. Sarah and Mrs. Hill both know the truth and I suspect John does as well. With any luck, the others know little.”
“The best course of action,” said Kitty, looking at Elizabeth through wide eyes, “would be to take Clara away from here and raise her in a county where she is unknown. For that, I suspect Derbyshire would be the best option.”
Elizabeth regarded Kitty, wondering if she was suggesting what Elizabeth thought she was. “It might be as you say, Kitty, but Mr. Darcy has not proposed to me, nor do I know if he will.
“I know you will all say that I am being willfully blind,” added Elizabeth, glaring at her sisters, “but I shall not expect a proposal until I hear it from Mr. Darcy’s lips. Besides, how can I ask him to take on the care and support of the daughter of his worst enemy?”
“If I have any knowledge of the gentleman,” said Mary, “I suspect he will suggest it himself.”
Now Elizabeth was confused. “How can you say that, Mary?”
“The man is a creature of duty,” replied Mary. “The years in which he ignored Mr. Wickham’s excesses, paid his debts, and endured his poor behavior emphasize that trait. Do you not suppose he will see the possibility of raising Mr. Wickham’s daughter as a means of righting past wrongs?”
“Especially since Clara is also Lizzy’s niece,” said Kitty, warming to the topic. “Clara is not only the daughter of his enemy, but the niece of his wife. That will make all the difference.”
“Sisters,” said Elizabeth, glaring at them all, “while you might be correct, it would be presumptuous to suggest any of this to Mr. Darcy. I shall not do it.”
“Of course, you must not make any such suggestion,” said Mary. “However, I agree with our sisters; I can see Mr. Darcy insisting on taking Clara’s care upon himself.” Mary offered Elizabeth a sly smile and added: “Mr. Darcy may even see this as a propitious means to obtain what he desires; it has been clear from the moment he returned to Hertfordshire that he desires you , Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth sighed and nodded. “At the very least, Mr. Darcy must know of this event, and I must inform him soon. What the gentlemen does after he knows is beyond my understanding at present, but I shall trust him to do what is best. For the moment, Clara must stay here, and we must care for her and show her what it is to be a family. Let us wait until Uncle Gardiner returns my letter—once we know if he had any word of her existence, we may determine what we can do to explain Clara’s presence at Longbourn.”
That evening, the entire family dined together, including the small children who would normally receive their dinners in the nursery. Mr. Hardwick arrived soon after their discussion, offering his opinion about Clara’s disposition, which was not far removed from what the sisters had already decided. He also echoed the consensus about Mr. Darcy’s likely reaction to this news, and while Elizabeth remained uncertain in her heart, she did not presume to argue the point further.
While Clara remained quiet and thoughtful, the girl’s subtle alteration from even that afternoon was apparent to anyone who cared to look. Cassandra’s chattering had made fast friends of the two girls, and if Clara was still cautious about her responses, she was already showing signs of Lydia’s character, meaning her two years greater age would result in her leading their friendship before long. The sisters showed the girl their love whenever the occasion presented itself, and she devoured it as if she were a starving dog come upon a juicy bone. Even Mr. Hardwick put himself forward, offering the girl the affection of a man and father figure, Clara did not quite know how to accept—it was clear she had rarely had any interaction with any men, bolstering their belief she had either never met her father, or he had left when she was young.
By the end of the evening, Clara was much easier with them, enough to bid them all good night when it came time for the children to retire, giving them all an embrace, though reserving a fierce hug for Mary. Then Kitty’s maid took all the children to their beds, leaving the adults in the sitting-room. No one felt it necessary to continue their earlier discussions, for they had done as much as they could for the moment. Mary and her husband did not stay long, citing the need to consign their child to his bed for the night, and when they left, Elizabeth stayed with her sisters for a time before they all sought their beds.
“Do you suppose we have misjudged our neighbors?” asked Kitty not long before they retired. “They did not long shun us after Lydia’s disappearance—perhaps they will accept Clara without hesitation.”
Elizabeth and Jane shared a glance before Elizabeth essayed to respond. “Perhaps they will, Kitty. I cannot say. It would be best, however, to practice caution, for it would not do to act without consideration and expose Clara to censure.”
“Lizzy is correct,” said Jane. “Perhaps Mr. Gardiner will provide us with some information we can use to prove her legitimacy. If not, there is always Mr. Darcy.”
Kitty and Jane laughed together, and Elizabeth allowed them their mirth, knowing there was little reason to become offended. Tomorrow she would see Mr. Darcy and would know the truth of his sentiments. Until then, she did not think it was beneficial to speculate.
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T HE MOMENT THE TWO Bennet sisters entered the parlor at Breckonridge, Georgiana knew something was amiss. Never could she have suspected the tale they bore, nor could she predict her own feelings on the subject. After all, had matters altered even a little, she might have found herself in Miss Lydia Bennet’s position, perhaps with a daughter of Mr. Wickham’s, as distressing as the very notion now was.
Forgotten was what happened at Netherfield the previous day, though Georgiana was still curious about their hasty retreat from the estate. Elizabeth took on the bulk of the explanation, from their shock the previous day when they returned to find the child at Longbourn, to the strangeness of hearing the girl’s history and the reason—as cloudy as it was—for her sudden appearance. Kitty added her observations of the event and some of their doings that evening, and William listened with a gravity that was such a foundation of his character, giving no hint of his thoughts. Georgiana, who knew him well, understood that William was already considering the best way to act to protect the girl. Unless Georgiana missed her guess, she suspected she knew what he would say.
“That is an extraordinary tale, Miss Bennet,” said William at length when Elizabeth fell silent. “I hope you will not misunderstand my meaning, but I wish to know if it is certain the child is your sister’s daughter?”
“There appears to be little doubt of it, Mr. Darcy,” replied Elizabeth. “We can all see Lydia’s features in her face and her resemblance to me as the most like my sister’s looks.”
“The writing on the note is unmistakable as my sister’s,” added Kitty.
William nodded. “And is she Wickham’s child?”
This time Elizabeth offered a helpless shrug. “To own the truth, I believe you are better positioned than I am to see Mr. Wickham in Clara’s face. I believe she is his child, and Lydia wrote of Clara’s parentage in her letter.”
“Then we shall visit Longbourn at the first opportunity to meet her.” William smiled at Elizabeth and added: “I cannot but suppose you wish for confirmation, though it is not germane to the subject.”
“You are not incorrect.”
“What do you mean to do with her?” asked Georgiana. “I must suppose you mean to abide by your sister’s wishes and raise her, but will you keep her at Longbourn or make other arrangements?”
Georgiana did not miss the glance exchanged by the two sisters. It was Kitty who spoke for them both.
“While I would be pleased to take her care, we agreed that it would be best for one of my sisters to step forward, as I already have three young children.”
“For the moment,” said Elizabeth, “we decided it is best that Clara remain at Longbourn with Jane and me, though Mary is also nearby and can take a hand in Clara’s care. The most pressing issue is how to explain Clara’s presence at Longbourn.”
“All your neighbors are familiar with your sister’s story,” said William, understanding at once.
“They are,” said Elizabeth. “I wrote to my uncle to learn if he ever heard any mention of a child or anything else of which we are not aware. In the end, however, it will be best to keep the absolute truth from our neighbors. There will be whispers and gossip, but if we spread the story that we learned Lydia was married and Clara was the result, they will accept that.”
“It will also become an issue when she is old enough to marry. Some men will not wish to take a woman of uncertain parentage.”
Elizabeth sighed, having thought of this complication herself. “It is a conundrum to be certain. I hope that we can provide a suitable home, an upbringing that will make her acceptable, and that she will attract a man who will not shun her for such reasons. While lying to a potential suitor is not palatable, it may be necessary to protect her. But such concerns will be far in the future.”
“Yes, I suppose you are correct,” agreed William. “I have one suggestion: do not give her Wickham’s name, for that will be a stigma and one she will not easily overcome. It would be best to give her a name that is not uncommon, but not one that will cause others to question her origins.”
“I agree,” said Elizabeth.
“Excuse me, Miss Bennet,” said William, rising to his feet, “but I have a matter of which I would speak to you. Would it be too much trouble to ask you to take a turn in the gardens so we may have some privacy?”
Georgiana felt the urge to laugh at the sudden shock blooming on Elizabeth’s face, but she did not hesitate to accept his hand. A few moments later they quit the room, and when the two remaining ladies were assured they would not overhear, they burst into quiet laughter together.
“My sisters and I tried to convince Lizzy that your brother would not turn away from her because of this, but we all know she has maintained some trepidation. Still, I never thought he would act to secure her with this much alacrity.”
“She did appear to be dumbstruck!” exclaimed Georgiana.
“Do you suppose your brother will insist on taking Clara into his home?”
“Without a doubt. His sense of honor will allow nothing less. Clara will be a welcome daughter in the Darcy family, and William will no doubt insist on dowering her.”
Kitty sighed and offered a pleased smile. “I suspected as much. If I may beg your pardon, Georgiana, we all thought Mr. Darcy was the worst of men when he stayed in Hertfordshire with Mr. Bingley. I have now concluded that he is the best of men, and I say this even though I am desperately in love with my dear Mr. Westbrook.”
“I have long considered him to be the best man alive,” replied Georgiana, “though my own Mr. Talbot is also high in my esteem.”
“Do you suppose they will make a match?”
“I believe my brother looks on this as a reason to press his suit.”
“Then I hope he proposes, for they deserve happiness.”
“As do I.”
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“M ISS BENNET,” SAID Darcy after they had walked in the garden for some moments, “am I correct to assume you were afraid that I would withdraw in response to your niece’s arrival?”
To Miss Bennet’s credit, she did not shy away from Darcy’s question, though she looked away for a moment, enough to inform Darcy of her thoughts. When she mastered herself, she turned and regarded him with as much unabashed confidence as she had ever betrayed.
“Will it distress you to learn that I did?”
Darcy returned her regard, considering her question. “That depends, I suppose. If you lacked faith in me, I might wonder if there is any chance of convincing you of my trustworthy nature. There are, however, other interpretations, and I would not wish to come to an erroneous conclusion.”
“Then I suppose I must tell you all,” said she, a hint of her sauciness clear in her statement. “Misunderstanding will not do in this situation.
“The truth, Mr. Darcy, is that I wondered. While I have no doubt of your constancy and expect you to renew your offer when you deem the time right, could anyone of sound understanding blame you if you hesitated to accept the natural child of your worst enemy? I cannot fault you if that is what you choose.”
“You did not expect me to reject her,” said Darcy, trying to understand.
“In my heart, no I did not, though the heart and the head are not always in concert. My sisters argued for your constancy, and I agreed with them. Yet I could not help but wonder.”
Heartened by her honest confession, Darcy squeezed the hand she held on to his arm. “To reject a blameless child would be heartless, indeed, for no stain can be attached to her, despite her unfortunate parentage. It is, I think, for the best that your sister saw the insufficiency of her care for the girl and sent her to you. There are now many advantages available to her that your sister could not provide.”
Miss Elizabeth sighed and looked away. “If I am honest, I cannot ascribe so much understanding to my sister. Lydia has been a reckless girl from the time she was off leading strings, and I cannot suppose she thought only of what was best for her daughter.” She paused for a moment, then offered in a small voice: “Kitty believes Lydia has become ill, perhaps to the extent of suspecting her own demise.”
“It is hard to suspect a sister’s imminent death without the hope of sure knowledge.”
“That it is, Mr. Darcy. As Lydia is my sister, I too can grieve, though Kitty’s torment must be worse. Lydia was her closest friend in the family for years. Kitty has recovered well, but some part of her still aches with loss.”
Darcy nodded his understanding and allowed the subject to drop. Having only one sibling, Darcy struggled to understand the family situation of the Bennets, but he well understood how he would feel if he lost Georgiana. That understanding was dearly bought, forced on him by Wickham’s near success in spiriting his sister away to a life of regret, loneliness, and the eventual poverty he would have forced on his sister. Darcy knew Wickham well enough to understand that when they came to that end, he would not have allowed Darcy to help his sister unless that assistance also included him.
“Then I suggest, Miss Bennet,” said Darcy at length, “that we foster your sister’s child and give her the best life we can. As the granddaughter of a gentleman, she can move in our society and perhaps find a husband when she attains the proper age. I reiterate my opinion, though, that you do not allow her to keep Wickham’s name. Choose another name, for it does not signify so long as it is one she can claim without disgrace.”
Miss Bennet regarded him, discomfort and uncertainty replaced by diversion. “Do you have any suggestions?”
Darcy considered her question, knowing it was just a preamble to her true thrust. “Do you have any relations whose name you can give to her?”
“My Uncle Gardiner’s name would not be advisable, I should think,” said Miss Bennet. “Uncle is too well known in Meryton.”
“How about his wife? Would she object to giving the girl her maiden name?”
“Ah, but you forget, Mr. Darcy,” said she. “My aunt lived for some years in Lambton as a girl—some in your neighborhood might remember it.”
“Cantwell, as I recall,” nodded Darcy. “That might be acceptable. There are enough who would recall the name and the reputation it boasted, though most will not connect it with the old parson.”
“You are forgetting one important point, Mr. Darcy.” Miss Bennet stopped and turned to him. “Clara is the responsibility of myself and my sisters, whereas her only connection with you is through the son of your father’s steward, a man you disavowed many years ago. There is no means by which she can live at your estate in Derbyshire with you.”
“That is correct, Miss Bennet. Unless, of course, you accepted my proposal of marriage. Then she would have ample connection to me, and we may raise her to be a credit to your family.”
Miss Bennet regarded him, a crooked smile on her face, her lips trembling with emotion. “Has this event affected you enough to allow you to propose to me to foster my niece?”
“Miss Bennet,” said Darcy, taking her hand in his, “you know very well that I do no such thing. I have wanted you for a wife these last six years, and my fortuitous meeting with your sister and my sister’s encouragement breached the defenses I had erected in the assumption that I could not approach you again. I told you once that I felt a passionate regard and love for you, and these past weeks taught me that love has never dimmed for an instant. The only alteration your niece’s coming provokes is the timing of my offer, for I had thought of waiting for a few more weeks. Now it seems prudent to move forward with alacrity; not only will it provide for Clara, but it will allow me to attain what I have desired for so many years that I can no longer remember what it was like before I felt this way.
“The question before us is your sentiments, for I know my heart. I have striven these past weeks to become the man you could love, since you declared you would marry for nothing less. If you cannot give me your heart yet, I shall continue to hope that someday I may have it. Do not accept me for the sole reason of your niece’s need for a home. Yet I hope you can accept me for what is in your heart. As such, I lay mine before you again and ask you—humbly this time—if you will accept my hand.”
With her heart in her eyes, Miss Bennet stepped close and pressed herself against him, Darcy’s arms surrounding her in an action borne of instinct. From her lips, soft yet as profound as if she had said them in a voice loud enough to be heard in Meryton, proceeded the five most consequential words Darcy had ever heard spoken to him.
“Yes, Mr. Darcy, I will.”