Page 6 of Mr Darcy Gets Angry

They had scarcely concluded their repast when Mrs Gardiner went in search of Elizabeth. Her countenance bore so vivid an expression of curiosity that her niece could not but smile.

“Nothing,” Elizabeth said, with composed resolution. “Truly, nothing. We talk, smile; we conduct ourselves with civility—he is even gracious in his manner—but beyond the ease of friendship, I see no other sentiment.”

“But his glances, so frequent and lingering?”

“I do not comprehend them. Their meaning escapes me.”

“We are to depart in but a few days—”

“I know it well. It appears he no longer harbours any wish for a reconciliation. When we met in Kent, he was in a frightful agitation, so unlike his usual behaviour. I cannot help but suppose that, upon reflection, he found relief in my refusal. It spared him a union which, I now believe, he desired without the full assent of his heart.”

Mrs Gardiner, though reluctant to say so aloud, had arrived at much the same conclusion.

Mr Darcy’s earlier declaration may have been born of sudden passion—a momentary deviation from judgement—that might have led to felicity, or quite as easily, to regret.

For who could say whether, once bound by marriage, he would not have proved a husband difficult and resentful?

The married state, for most women, brought with it hardship enough.

Unless a gentleman’s affections were firm and his intentions honourable, he could offer no assurance even of domestic peace.

And yet, as she surveyed the beauty of the house and its grounds, Mrs Gardiner found herself without counsel.

In this instance, she could not decide what would best serve her niece’s future contentment.

∞∞∞

“Nothing,” was the word she repeated to her husband that evening when they found themselves alone. “You were mistaken this time.” A quiet sorrow clouded her tone.

“I am not convinced that I was wrong.”

“We depart in four days, and no proposal of marriage may be made at the carriage step.”

“No, but neither is the matter concluded. There remains time for further acquaintance. Mr Darcy resides chiefly in London throughout the winter, and Longbourn lies but a day’s journey away.

Lizzy often comes to us. You women expect everything to fall into place in the blink of an eye.

We men are more inclined to reflection. We wish to feel our decisions are sound. ”

“You may speak truly… Yet Lizzy is disappointed, poor girl. Are all his attentions to be understood as nothing more than acts of kindness or friendship?”

“I counselled patience. Only yesterday, he invited me to view part of his estate, and as we walked amidst the fields, the conversation turned to our brother Bennet and the entail upon Longbourn. I found his interest in the matter too particular to be disinterested. His concern was real; his manner betrayed a degree of sympathy that exceeded what friendship alone would warrant.”

“He is, by all accounts, a thoughtful young man—and Lizzy, too, is dear to him.”

“It cannot be mere friendship when one resolves to consult his men of law and seek a remedy.”

Mrs Gardiner looked at him in astonishment. “He has offered to present the case of Longbourn to his solicitors?”

“Precisely so.”

“But no remedy has ever been found. You know how much Mr Bennet has expended already upon legal advice.”

“Yes, but our means are not comparable to his. The men employed by Mr Darcy command both influence and skill. Let us be patient, and advise Lizzy to do the same. Let her make the most of the days remaining.”

∞∞∞

On the following morning, not long after breakfast, the ladies assembled in the drawing-room, where Miss Darcy had arranged to receive them.

The gentlemen had gone out early to ride across the estate, and the ladies had resolved upon a day of rest and gentle occupation.

Yet Georgiana had prepared a different pleasure for them.

As soon as they were gathered, she invited them to accompany her to that portion of the house where the family apartments were kept.

“Where are you leading us, my dear?” asked Lady Matlock, as they followed her through the upper passage.

Georgiana merely smiled, and as she opened the door to a particular chamber, the whole company was struck into silence by what they found.

Whether young or more advanced in years, every lady stood still, overcome by wonder.

Before them lay a collection of gowns so exquisite, so varied in colour and ornament, that Elizabeth had never seen their like.

A few bore the lines of an earlier mode.

Still, most exhibited the sloping shoulders, elevated waist, and bell-shaped skirt that marked the prevailing fashion.

They turned to Georgiana, whose satisfaction in their astonishment was visible.

“This was our mother’s apartment,” she said softly.

Elizabeth looked about with interest and pleasure, imagining Lady Anne seated by the hearth, or leaning at that window.

The garments, arranged with care, must all have belonged to her.

They were of rich silk in many hues, some adorned with lace, others with delicate embroidery, and nearly all were accompanied by pelisses of corresponding fabric.

“As you may suppose,” Georgiana continued, “these gowns were Mama’s. But please, pray be seated.” She and Elizabeth remained standing, as though they were hostesses.

“My brother and I commemorate Mama’s passing each summer.

Until this year, it was a solemn duty, filled more with grief than comfort.

But in June, something shifted. We began to remember her not in sorrow, but with joy—her laughter, her beauty, her tenderness to all around her, whether of her own blood or not.

The grief gave way, and what remained was love.

My brother acknowledged that he had delayed in carrying out one of her wishes.

In her will, she had named several friends to whom she intended various keepsakes.

Lady Matlock, Lady Edwina, Miss Butterfield, and other ladies had already received what she had designed for them as soon as the succession was completed. ”

Lady Matlock gave a silent nod. She could not speak. Lady Anne had been more than a sister-in-law—she had been her friend.

“But many of Mama’s finest garments remain with us, even if she expressed most particularly in her will that they should be offered as gifts to all our lady friends—a task my brother could not undertake.

Yet the time has now come to honour her wish, and we should be glad if you would accept such pieces as may be to your liking. ”

Though not uncommon for the possessions of the departed to be distributed amongst family and friends, it was more usual that such gifts be modest in nature.

In Elizabeth’s experience, a lady wore her gowns until they were beyond wear.

But Lady Anne’s appeared untouched by time.

What struck Elizabeth as most singular was that she and her aunt, being but new acquaintances, should be present at such an occasion.

They alone held back from approaching the dresses.

Georgiana, once more observing Elizabeth’s refinement of manner, bent close and spoke softly at her ear, urging her to partake.

Encouraged by this gentle appeal, Elizabeth smiled and walked toward a gown that had caught her eye from the moment they entered.

It was the colour of the setting sun—neither wholly red, nor orange, nor gold, but some harmonious blend of all three.

The silk was of the highest quality, so rich in texture that it required no additional embellishment.

She turned to Georgiana and silently sought her approval, which was at once granted with a smile.

Beside the gown lay a pelisse so finely wrought, Elizabeth could scarcely believe it real.

The embroidered border was of the same shade, giving it an elegance most rare.

Elizabeth noticed that the Bingley sisters had hastened forward with rather too much eagerness, and their unseemly haste rendered them—at least in her eyes—more disagreeable than ever. Nor was she alone in her censure; Lady Matlock cast upon her daughter-in-law a glance which bespoke disapproval.

Mrs Gardiner, for her part, did not approach the garments, and Elizabeth, watching her, felt inward pride. Yet Georgiana, with gracious insistence, prevailed upon her to accept a pelisse and some bonnets of particular charm. The moment, delicate as it was, drew the company closer together.

Elizabeth and Georgiana left the room together, not without regrets. It was an intense experience for both. Georgiana appreciated that her friend received those pieces of clothing not as a mere addition to her wardrobe but as objects in memory of the beautiful lady who had worn them years before.

Elizabeth, for her part, was glad to carry away a small piece of that noble house which she had come to admire and would soon lament.

“I should like to wear the gown at the Pemberley ball, to which Mr Darcy invited us this morning,” Elizabeth said.

Georgiana took her arm. “Thank you. That would please me greatly. I shall have the seamstress called at once to alter it for you.”

She paused briefly but then she continued with determination, “The ball was always arranged by my mother, and I must confess that my brother did all in his power in former years to avoid attending it. But it seems that this year has brought about certain important changes.”

Georgiana cast a thoughtful glance at Elizabeth.

She was little versed in matters of the heart.

Her unhappy experience with Mr Wickham had made her still more wary, yet something told her that the young lady before her had played a part in the alteration she observed in her brother.

Still, it was no more than a suspicion, one she sought to suppress, for she had never truly understood him.

As promised, Mr Darcy invited Elizabeth to visit the pond that same afternoon.

The outing was touched by melancholy, for she discovered that Georgiana was to accompany them in the light chaise.

Though Elizabeth held her in deep affection, she had hoped—until the last—that Mr Darcy might seek a moment’s privacy.

But he had chosen otherwise and finally she accepted that what was growing between them was nothing but a friendship.

“So, Miss Elizabeth, what impression does this ‘water’ make upon you?” asked Mr Darcy, alluding to their discourse of the preceding day.

“Excellent,” replied Elizabeth, with unfeigned animation.

The small lake possessed every attribute of perfection, being tended by human hand only so far as to enhance its natural beauty, without those artifices, so frequent in the contrivances of landscape, which would have rendered it a mere ornament in a park, rather than a place where Nature had been left free to complete her own work.

In a few words, she expressed these thoughts, and the two Darcy siblings regarded her with delight.

It was precisely what they wished for their estate.

Though parts of the grounds were plainly maintained by gardeners brought from London, there were yet those islands of beauty where the touch of man was minimal.

On her way towards the pond, Elizabeth had observed a meadow bright with wildflowers, which she had admired with all her heart.

“I should leave Nature free in every quarter—like that garden of wild blossoms,” she said.

But Darcy smiled, and answered, “Miss Elizabeth, do not be deceived; I assure you, that ‘wild’ place required as much labour as my mother’s rose-garden—perhaps even more.”

“My mother was fond of wildflowers; thus that garden came to be,” Georgiana said, with a slight regret in her tone, which was instantly perceived by both Darcy and Elizabeth.

Darcy took her in his arms and kissed her brow, and that instinctive act moved Elizabeth deeply.

The arrogant gentleman she had met at the Meryton assembly was daily receding into the distance.

She now discovered in him a Darcy responsible, solicitous of Nature, melancholy in recalling the past and his parents, and capable of offering comfort in moments of grief or sorrow.

“It is not what you suppose,” Georgiana said, with a candour which showed that she already considered Elizabeth sufficiently near to entrust her with her innermost feelings. “I remember my mother only from the accounts of others, most especially those of Fitzwilliam…this is my regret.”

“Oh, Heavens!” exclaimed Elizabeth, much moved by her words.

She took Georgiana by the arm and drew her warmly to her side.

“I do not think it signifies how or whence the memories come; it is of the moment that Lady Anne lives between you two. Such a remembrance is not a painting on a wall, but as something living, which still awakens strong emotions.”

Darcy spoke not, but merely watched them as they walked along the lake’s margin, closely united.

In such moments, he was ready to ask for her hand, and had Georgiana withdrawn then, he might indeed have done so.

But his sister was not yet of an age to perceive such subtleties, and the pleasure of remaining with them was too great.

Thus they continued their walk together, the three of them, amidst the gentle murmur of the water and the whispering of the willows.

They returned to the chaise, and, just before departing, Elizabeth cast one last glance towards the lake, that enchanted place where, for a brief moment, she had felt joy in the company of the two Darcys.

As she stood beside Georgiana, she felt the tears rise unbidden. The pang of regret was sharp. Yet, in the end, perhaps it was better thus. His intentions were now unmistakable. He was, and would remain, a most generous host and an honourable friend but nothing more.

She retired to her chamber and wept until sleep overcame her. When she awoke to prepare for dinner, her eyes fell at once upon the gown—it awaited her in silence. She was indeed at Pemberley, near to him in place, yet the distance that lay between them was a truth she could not escape.