Page 33 of Lizzie’s Spirit

Her heart fought her and, to her surprise, won out against those objections that her rational mind espoused barely twelve hours earlier.

She did not love him, but she respected him, admired him, and wished for his esteem.

Moreover, without protection, the inevitability of a compromise succeeding was absolute.

She could not remain vigilant forever. So, theirs was a marriage of convenience: Mr. Darcy, because he was required to marry, and Lizzie Bennet, because marriage would keep her safe.

“There is a condition, sir.” Elizabeth smiled; an expression of heartfelt delight diffused over his face.

“Of course, Elizabeth, I would expect no less of you.”

“Can you court me? The young girl of my heart wishes to be wooed by a handsome gentleman—you, sir, are a most handsome man; therefore, you qualify for the wooing. And yes, if you agree to my terms—and find we suit—I will marry you, Mr. Darcy. But I know not your given name. Please, if we’re to be intimate friends”—she blushed as she recognised the double entendre —“I would very much like to address you as such.”

“ Fitzwilliam , but my closest friends call me William . And you, is there a name that only your family uses? For they will become my family, and I would like to enjoy a similar familiarity.”

“ Lizzie,” she whispered, “I think of myself as Lizzie Bennet , but, I suppose, with practice, I can be Lizzie Darcy . It sounds well enough.”

***

They rode back along the South Head Road, their companionable silence compensated for by the raucous laughter of kookaburras lining the branches of gumtrees along the route.

Darcy looked across to Elizabeth— Lizzie —who sat tall on her horse, her lovely chestnut hair spilling from under her bonnet, in disarray after their walk along Boondi Beach.

Who would have ever thought him to meet such a diamond of the first water here in a convict colony surrounded by felons, thieves, and vulgar women of the meanest character?

She lent him consequence: the daughter of a gentleman, so elegant, and graceful, more accomplished than any woman he had ever met, with the bearing of a marchioness but caring of women and girls of the lowest rank as midwife and matron of the female orphanage.

He was certainly the most fortunate man in the world!

She was his, but only conditionally—he would woo her; doing so would lend him the greatest satisfaction.

Passing Woolloomooloo, they were hailed by John Palmer. “Miss Bennet, Mr. Darcy! I spied you from the window of my parlour and, having some acquaintances here to dine, thought to invite you to join us.”

“Mr. Palmer, I’m not dressed for dinner; I’ve only my walking dress and Hessians.”

“Nonsense, Miss Bennet. While some aspire to dress as though they were at table with an earl, I’m a farmer.

See! Like Mr. Darcy, I wear trousers rather than breeches, their being far more practical for outside exertion.

Come, if you are missish about attending dinner dressed as you are, I’m sure my Susannah will have something suitable in her wardrobe.

Mr. Darcy, a servant will return your horses to the stables—the carriage will be at your disposal later this evening. ”

There was naught to do but accept his well-meant invitation.

Elizabeth declined imposing on Mrs. Palmer for a gown; her walking dress was adequate to wear at table but her half-Hessians were, perhaps, rather gauche.

Placing her gloved hand on Mr. Darcy’s arm, they entered the house and were shown through the hall into the saloon, whose northern aspect rendered it delightful in the evening but possibly too warm in the daytime.

The sun was now westerly, and with the doors to the verandah open, it admitted a very pleasant view of Port Jackson combined with a refreshing breeze coming from the east.

In this room, they were received by Mrs. Palmer, who, to Elizabeth’s delight, was discovered to be American, having been born in Staten Island, New York.

Her reception of Elizabeth was very civil, and, seeing Elizabeth’s hair was not done up, she took her to the dressing-room and pinned it herself.

During this time, they found they enjoyed a common interest in language, with Mrs. Palmer speaking both Dutch and French.

The former because of New York’s early Dutch heritage—when it was New Amsterdam— and, the latter because of the French Huguenots and French-speaking Flemish Walloons who had settled there during Dutch colonisation.

Returning to the company, they saw Mrs. Putland on the arm of Colonel O’Connell and Mr. and Mrs. Bent, who had come in from viewing the bay outside on the lawn.

The two ladies only acknowledged Elizabeth with a shallow curtsey, and, on greeting Mr. Darcy, turned away to talk between themselves.

Mrs. Palmer proved herself to be more truly well-bred than either of the others, and carried the conversation with Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy, the colonel, and Mr. Bent.

The last was clearly unwell, being pale and short of breath.

“Mr. Darcy,” said Mr. Palmer after they sat to dinner, “did you visit the lookout? It’s a fair view from there along the coast.”

“No, sir,” he responded, “we descended the ridge to Boondi Beach.

‘Tis impressive seeing the waves rolling in from the ocean and breaking against the shore. The noise was deafening.” Darcy was seated next to Elizabeth, and he could not resist laying his hand on hers as it rested on the table.

She smiled up at him and turned her hand so that their fingers were touching.

“Oh, the pounding of the sea is magnificent,” added Elizabeth. “I didn’t know that the waves have so much power. It seems they worry away at the land, and someday, all will disappear and erode into the oceans of the world!”

“Have no fear, ma'am,” replied Mr. Palmer. “I suspect the crow shall turn white and the heron black before we’re in any danger.”

Mrs. Putland was not part of the conversation and became annoyed Miss Bennet had come.

Miss Bennet looked uncommonly well—her eyes bright and her smile engaging—but the walking dress she wore had nothing of fashion, and to accept a dinner invitation wearing half-boots was almost indecent.

Mrs. Putland herself wore the lightest of muslin gowns, almost transparent in the bright daylight, thus in danger of revealing her pantaloons beneath, which surely showed off her figure to great advantage.

She was persuaded that both Mr. Darcy and Colonel O’Connell admired her.

But Miss Bennet was vivacious and exceedingly pretty.

She felt, once again, her position as the most eligible lady of the colony could be usurped by the younger woman.

“Pray, Miss Bennet, you should not embarrass Mr. Darcy so—to entangle your hand with his is unseemly; it’s too forward! I’m sure he doesn’t appreciate your artifice.”

“On the contrary, Mrs. Putland,” Darcy smiled benignly at her and then addressed the whole table. “You must congratulate me, as Miss Bennet has granted me the great honour of a courtship with a view to marriage!”

There were gasps of astonishment at this intelligence, followed by hearty cheers and sincere congratulations.

Elizabeth blushed, and Darcy beamed. For Mrs. Putland, she was left with all the satisfaction of having Miss Bennet now come up further in rank, being second only to the governor’s wife, Mrs. Macquarie.

Beside her, Colonel O’Connell slapped the table as soldiers were wont to do when showing their approbation.

***

“Miss Bennet, ‘tis a pity we saw so little of each other in Madeira. I believe you remained on board the Hindostan in Rio and only attended one ball at the Cape.” Mrs. Macquarie approached Elizabeth in the drawing-room of Government House prior to going in to dinner.

“Indeed, ma’am, I had little time for social engagements, being much engaged with Mr. and Mrs. Bent’s children.”

“And the regimental wives, so I’m told.”

Elizabeth blushed; acting as a midwife was considered unrefined, but she had long ago determined, as Mr. Darcy had said, that allowing the women into her house was an act of charity that she would not disdain.

“’Tis my duty, ma’am. Those of us who are the superiors in our society have a duty towards those not so fortunate.

You, yourself, are patroness of the Benevolent Society and the orphanage; I would but follow your example. ”

Touché, Miss Bennet! Mrs. Macquarie smiled.

She was holding the dinner for Mr. Darcy and Miss Bennet to celebrate their engagement—all knew their courtship to be such.

But she wished to discover more of the lady.

Mr. Darcy was intelligent, reserved, and, in London, of the first circles.

Miss Bennet was the daughter of a minor squire from Hertfordshire, with neither dowry nor connections to society.

Yes, here in the colony, her connection to trade through her uncle and her knowledge of estate management were commodities much sought after.

But, as the wife of the judge-advocate, the next rank after governor and lieutenant governor, she would be expected to comport herself with confidence, dignity, and decorum.

Oh, she was sure Miss Bennet had confidence aplenty.

But was it not a certain immaturity to risk censure for rescuing the girl—Isabella?

—from a life of toil in the convent? That was an act of compassion that she herself could have done some twelve years before, before her majority.

But now, as wife to her dear colonel, the governor, she was more circumspect.