Page 20 of Mistress of Pemberley

Elizabeth surrendered to despair in the arms of her aunt and sister, who initially received her with astonishment but soon became deeply alarmed.

“What is happening, Lizzy?” Jane cried, trying to wipe the tears streaming down her sister’s face. “What are you doing here? What have they done to you?”

With immense effort, Elizabeth composed herself. There was little time, but the story had to begin at the Parsonage. Yet, as she recounted the events of that morning, something strange occurred: the image of Darcy watching her from an armchair in that very room, a book open on his lap, refused to leave her mind. He had been right—the past no longer mattered, and his grave condition compelled her to reconsider the words each of them had spoken when his odd proposal had been angrily rejected. She did not like to lie, but what had happened in Kent did not count any longer.

“My God,” Jane murmured in shock. “He proposed to you?” Regret and perhaps even a trace of envy lingered in her voice, betraying how deeply she still suffered over Mr Bingley and how much she had wanted to marry him.

“Yes—”

“And?” Mrs Gardiner interjected impatiently, for a marriage proposal was hardly a tragedy. Yet, Elizabeth’s tears suggested a situation of serious consequence.

In a few words, Elizabeth told them the rest: her refusal based only on the fact that she was not in love with him, Miss Darcy’s letter, her arrival in London, and her decision to marry, which she revealed with some hesitation, suspecting her family might question her reasons. But, to her surprise, neither Mrs Gardiner nor Jane offered any criticism. Their expressions, far from reflecting disapproval, revealed only worry.

“I have lived since yesterday with the fear that I might open the door to his room…and find him gone. But look, it has been five days since it happened, and he lives still. He is pale and weak as he has lost much blood. He is continually in pain, but the physician assured me this morning there is no sign the bullet has shifted dangerously. I can almost dare to believe the doctor is mistaken and Mr Darcy is past the worst, but he remains convinced that—” Her voice broke.

“Oh, my dear,” Mrs Gardiner said sorrowfully. “It pains me to say this, but you must not place too much hope—”

“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked, looking at her with trepidation. Mrs Gardiner hesitated, evidently regretting her words, but Elizabeth pressed her to continue. “Please, Aunt, tell me if you know something.”

Although it seemed improbable that a lady of her aunt’s station and upbringing might have knowledge of gunshot wounds, Mrs Gardiner drew a laboured breath and resolved to speak. “Some four or five years ago, we began practising archery in our neighbourhood.”

The girls looked at her in astonishment, for they had believed that even the most inconsequential news passed between London and Longbourn, yet they had heard nothing of this pastime.

“Yes, we gave it up after a few months when, by accident, one of us struck another with an arrow.”

“Oh!” both girls exclaimed.

“They removed the arrow, but the tip remained lodged in the lady’s chest. For a time, she seemed well, but then one day, after a simple slip on the stairs, she died.”

“It shifted,” Elizabeth whispered, burying her head in her hands. Seeing Darcy so well that morning had allowed her to hope the physician might be wrong. Her aunt’s story had shattered that fragile belief. It was proof that such things happened, and no one could tell how it would end in their case. But her aunt’s story only deepened her determination not to let Fitzwilliam move at any cost.

“My dear,” Mrs Gardiner continued as she wanted to know much more about that strange situation, “we must understand what is happening here so we may write to your family at Longbourn. Your uncle will also want to know the details of this situation into which you have plunged with such urgency.”

“You said there was no time for hesitation,” Elizabeth replied.

“But marriage is a serious matter. You cannot decide upon it in mere moments—”

“Yet one can,” Jane said with determination. “It is precisely what I would have done, without a second thought, if Mr Bingley had sought my help.”

“There is much to say, and perhaps not all of it is easy to comprehend,” Elizabeth began. “I want to help him, but it is a decision not devoid of some selfishness. After all, from the very beginning, Mr Darcy offered me…a kind of position in his household which, in our case, could never be that of housekeeper…but wife.”

“It is an unusual situation…unprecedented—”

“Unique,” Elizabeth acknowledged. “Which is why it is so difficult to judge from the outside.”

“No one is judging you, my dear. I am merely concerned that you may enter into…a circumstance that could end unpleasantly for you.”

“This circumstance, as you call it, may leave my heart drowning in pain,” Elizabeth said, “but I have accepted that, so I might help him achieve what he intends to do.”

“And what does Mr Darcy intend to do?”

“To secure a future for Miss Darcy…and for me,” she admitted, tears spilling down her face.

“I require more details,” said Mrs Gardiner in a tone that betrayed her deep concern.

“I refused him because I did not love him, but now it is not a matter of love—it is about helping him.”

“There are simpler ways to assist him than becoming his wife,” said Mrs Gardiner in the same measured tone.

“Yes, there are. I could be his housekeeper. But he has proposed that I become his wife and care for Miss Darcy and his estate until the young lady comes of age. And in return, I shall be granted privileges that are nearly inconceivable. That is what he desires for me. And I…I have always longed for independence, most of all to be able to help my own family—now and when…my father is no longer here. With what Mr Darcy offers, everything becomes possible. But of course, you know me better than anyone. I wish to marry him…so that he may leave in peace.” And her voice broke with sorrow.

Yet she quickly shook off her sadness, drying her tears before requesting the butler to summon Miss Darcy. The young lady appeared immediately, and though Mrs Gardiner and Jane’s concern had not abated while Elizabeth spoke, their faces softened within moments of the young girl’s arrival. The simplicity and warmth of her demeanour dispelled their unease.

Both Mrs Gardiner and Jane offered their assistance without hesitation. By the end of their visit, Jane told Miss Darcy that far from gaining merely a sister-in-law, she would soon have an entire family to love her. A faint, more peaceful smile finally graced Georgiana’s troubled face.

Afterwards, Georgiana hurried to Darcy’s room to recount all that had transpired in the library and, above all, to speak of how wonderful Miss Bennet was. She left without noticing the glance Elizabeth exchanged with Darcy, whose guilty smile revealed more than he intended while she, forgetting he was ill and on his death bed, grinned.

∞∞∞

“Do not leave,” he said, noticing that Elizabeth had remained standing.

“I am not leaving. I merely wish to choose a gown for tomorrow.”

“From my mother’s dresses?” he asked, still sceptical of this shift but utterly delighted. He had always imagined her dazzling London society not only through her sharp wit but also with her flawless figure draped in an elegant gown.

“Only if I do not decide I prefer one with a mud-stained hem,” she replied softly, looking at him.

“You guess correctly that it is my favourite, but I believe my mother would be glad to see you in one of her dresses tomorrow,” he said.

“Shall we choose one together?” she asked, and he nodded wordlessly. He wished not only to select the gown and see her wear it but also to undress her with tender gestures on their wedding night—a night that would never come.

Seeing his distress, Elizabeth resolved to weigh each word she spoke and every action she took for as long as they were together to avoid moments when sorrow might overwhelm him.

“Wait, do not leave,” he said, still carrying a shadow of regret. “My mother adored gardening. My father would joke that, were she ever to lose her fortune, she could disguise herself as a man and find work as a gardener to the king.”

“Oh!” Elizabeth exclaimed in astonishment. “I have never planted anything in my life—”

She fell silent, reflecting on this admission, when she heard him say, “A penny for your thoughts.”

In truth, Elizabeth was thinking of her mother, and she suddenly decided that, in this room, there should be no secrets.

“I was thinking of my mother,” she said without meeting his gaze. “You were not right to judge or condemn her.”

“I am no longer the same, and not merely because of the bullet in my chest. Your words, the determination with which you defended your family, the beauty of your soul, which could not have emerged from the family I once imagined yours to be. I was still angry and frustrated by your refusal the morning I wrote to you. But when I returned to London, to the house where I had been so happy with my family, I made up my mind to come to Hertfordshire to court you properly and to win your regard as I should have done…including your family in my courtship.”

“We are not perfect,” said Elizabeth. “My mother can be annoying and a gossip. Her missteps while visiting Netherfield when Jane was ill still make me blush. Perhaps she lacks the proper tone or the right words, but she lives in constant fear that we might one day be forced to depend on the charity of my uncle Gardiner or aunt Phillips.”

“That will never happen, my dearest. You will find a way to ease her fears, replacing them with the assurance that you will protect them.”

“You thought of this as well?” she asked, feeling once more that warmth invading her entire being—joy at knowing him this way and the immense pain of understanding it could never last.

“I thought especially of you, but it pleases me to do whatever brings you happiness.”

“My mother never allowed us to work in the garden as Lady Anne did. For her, that was not what a lady did. I am beginning to discover you, and those of your rank, are different from how I once imagined you to be.”

Darcy laughed lightly. “Those of my rank? That does not sound entirely flattering, my lady.”

“That is what I believed for so long. But Lady Anne carried Georgiana to her room in the mornings when she was a little girl. She worked in the garden… These are things my mother never did. She loves us, but she is not affectionate. And some of her ideas about what it means to be a lady… I must admit, they are as false as your ideas on our assembly were.”

“My mother did not work in the garden, my love,” Darcy said, laughing again. “Pemberley has a greenhouse, which she turned into a paradise. Later, she even created a smaller greenhouse here.”

“Good heavens, I know nothing of this house, yet you expect me to manage it.”

He called for his valet with movements a little too swift for Elizabeth’s taste; she was now constantly scared that such a movement could be fatal for him. She looked at him with scolding eyes, but he just smiled at her, saying to his valet, “Parker, please ask Anna to take Miss Bennet to the greenhouse and bring back one of my mother’s roses.”

As Elizabeth did not understand what he wanted, he added for her, “And then we shall choose your gown, I promise. Have a little faith in me!”