Page 49 of Out of His Wits (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Elizabeth was reading by candlelight when Lydia appeared in the doorway, clad in her nightgown with her hair plaited. Her youngest sister was apt to burst in with tales of dances and compliments, but instead Lydia hesitated on the threshold, uncharacteristically subdued.

“Lizzy?” Lydia’s voice was quiet. “May I, that is, are you terribly tired?”

Elizabeth set aside her book immediately, for she had never heard quite that tone from Lydia before. “Of course not. Come, sit with me.”

Lydia moved to the bed and perched on its edge, smoothing her shift over her legs. In the candlelight, she looked younger than her sixteen years, and Elizabeth stiffened with concern.

“Did you not enjoy the assembly? You seemed in such spirits when you left.”

“I did enjoy it. At first.” Lydia twisted the fringe of her shawl. “Lizzy, I must tell you something that happened this evening. Something unpleasant.”

Elizabeth’s gaze narrowed. “What sort of something?”

“There were ladies speaking of you. Near the refreshment table.” Lydia’s words came out in a rush. “Horrible, gossiping creatures saying things about you and Mr. Darcy, about that evening when you were at Netherfield and Mr. Darcy was taken ill.”

Elizabeth’s blood chilled. “What sort of things?”

“They said,” Lydia’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. “They said you had been seen alone with him, unchaperoned, and that you were compromised. One of them called you forward.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly, feeling the walls of the familiar room seem to press closer.

“What did you do?” she asked finally.

“I told them they were wrong.” Lydia’s chin lifted with some of her familiar spirit. “I told them they did not know what occurred, that none of them had been there. I said you were only helping him because he was unwell, that you would never act improperly.”

It was unconscionable that Lydia had been forced into such a position. Yet she stood up for her sister with courage. “Oh, Lydia. I am so sorry you had to hear such things.”

“They did not believe me,” Lydia continued, her voice becoming smaller again. “One of them asked if I had been there, and when I said no they just looked at each other in that horrid way grown ladies do when they think they know better than you.”

“You defended me,” Elizabeth said softly. “That was very brave.”

Lydia shook her head. “It was not brave. It was just right. They had no business saying such things about you.” She paused, then added in a rush, “But Lizzy, what if they’re saying it to others? What if everyone believes it?”

Elizabeth had been wondering the same thing, but hearing the worry in Lydia’s voice made the reality of the situation strike home with new force. Her youngest sister, usually so careless of consequence, had grasped the seriousness of what such gossip could mean.

“I do not know,” Elizabeth admitted. “I suppose we shall have to weather whatever comes.”

Lydia was quiet for several minutes, staring at her hands. When she spoke again, her voice was thoughtful in a way Elizabeth had rarely heard from her.

“There was something else,” she said slowly.

“Mr. Wilkins, the officer we spoke of, he had been very particular in his attentions to me this evening. Quite flattering, really, at first, but then I heard those nasty women talking. It made me wonder. about his attentions before. Why did he suggest we might step onto the balcony for some air?”

A new sort of alarm arose. “You did not go?”

“No. I thought to, but then,” Lydia glanced up at her.

“Mary called me away. After hearing what those ladies said about you, I began thinking. What if someone had seen us? What if he had done something I did not expect? What if no one had believed me when I said I had not encouraged anything improper?”

The maturity in Lydia’s voice was startling. Elizabeth saw her sister with new eyes—not just the giddy girl obsessed with officers and dancing, but someone capable of genuine thought and concern.

“I am glad you did not go,” Elizabeth said carefully. “Not because I think you would have done anything wrong, but because well, reputation is such a fragile thing, is it not? Once damaged, it is nearly impossible to repair.”

“Is that what has happened to yours? Is it damaged beyond repair?”

The question was asked with such earnest worry that Elizabeth’s throat tightened. “I do not know,” she said honestly. “I hope not. I certainly never intended…”

“Of course you did not.” Lydia’s response was immediate and fierce. “You were helping someone who was ill. There is nothing wrong in that.”

“No, but the appearance of impropriety can be just as damaging as actual impropriety,” Elizabeth said sadly. “People see what they wish to see, and they assume what they wish to assume.”

Lydia was quiet again, considering this. Finally, she asked, “Do you regret it? Helping Mr. Darcy that evening?”

Elizabeth turned the question over in her mind. “No,” she said after a moment. “I cannot regret acting according to my conscience and compassion. But I do regret that it has caused talk, and I especially regret that you were made to defend me against such gossip.”

“I do not regret defending you,” Lydia said firmly. “I only regret that I could not make them believe me.”

Elizabeth reached over and took her sister’s hand. “You did more than I had any right to expect. Thank you, Lydia. Truly.”

Lydia squeezed her hand in return, then looked up with an expression that was half rueful, half wondering.

“I think I understand now why Jane is always lecturing us about propriety. I always thought it was just her being tiresome but to-night seeing how quickly people can turn on you, how ready they are to think the worst...” Lydia trailed off, her eyes searching Elizabeth’s face for reassurance.

“Yes,” Elizabeth said quietly. “It is not just about following rules for their own sake. It is about protecting yourself in a world that judges ladies far more harshly than gentlemen.”

“That hardly seems fair.”

“No, it is not fair. But it is reality. If something improper happens, it is always spoken of as a failing by the lady, even if the man was entirely in the wrong.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the candle flickering between them. Finally, Lydia stirred.

“Lizzy? What will you do now? About Mr. Darcy, I mean. Will you avoid him?”

It was a question Elizabeth had been asking herself ever since learning of the gossip. “I do not know,” she admitted. “Perhaps it would be wisest.”

“But you like him, do you not? I have seen how you look at him. He certainly looks at you as if he might like you. Rather, a great deal.”

Heat rose in her cheeks. “The situation is not altogether straightforward.”

“Most things worth having are complicated,” Lydia said with surprising wisdom. “But it seems a shame to let gossiping old biddies decide your happiness for you.”

Elizabeth stared at her sister in amazement. “When did you become so wise?”

Lydia grinned, and for a moment she looked like her old self again. “Oh, I have always been wise. I just habitually choose not to show it.”

Despite everything, Elizabeth laughed. “Thank you,” she said. “For defending me, for telling me what happened, for growing up enough to understand why it matters.”

“I hope I have not grown up too much,” Lydia said, rising from the bed. “I should still like to dance and flirt with officers, even if I shall be more careful about balconies.”

“A little caution never hurt anyone,” Elizabeth agreed.

As Lydia moved towards the door, she paused and looked back. “Whatever you decide about Mr. Darcy, I hope it is what you want, not what you think you ought to do because of silly gossip.”

After Lydia had gone, Elizabeth sat for a long time staring at the dying candle, thinking about courage and consequences, about the difference between doing right and appearing right. Who exactly was Elizabeth Bennet, and what did she want, in her heart?

Elizabeth was returning from the orchard with a basket of early Golden Pippin apples when Charlotte’s familiar bonnet appeared bobbing along the lane. Her friend was walking with uncharacteristic briskness, her expression unreadable even at a distance.

“Have you taken to morning constitutionals?” Elizabeth called, waving to her friend.

Charlotte smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. “I came to see you, actually. May I walk with you a little?”

Elizabeth nodded, and they turned together to walk the orchard path, the branches growing heavy with fruit.

“I have just received a visit at Lucas Lodge,” Charlotte began, “and I thought it best to speak to you plainly before the matter arrives through less gentle channels.”

Elizabeth’s brows lifted. “That sounds ominous.”

“I hope it is not.” Charlotte glanced aside. “But people are talking, Eliza.”

Elizabeth stopped walking. “About what?”

“There is talk about the evening of the Netherfield dinner, when everyone took ill,” Charlotte said carefully. “Some say you were alone with Mr. Darcy. In the music room.”

Elizabeth blinked. “Yes, I was. He was unwell. I could not simply leave him without care.”

“Yes. You sought help, and no one of sense would question it. But it seems the details have drifted.”

Elizabeth stared at her. “What details?”

Charlotte’s tone was even. “That you remained alone with him for quite some time. That he was addled. That there was a compromising situation. Others may have drawn their own conclusions.”

Elizabeth’s colour rose, then fell. “Others?”

Charlotte hesitated. “Penelope Long mentioned it. I gathered she had it from her cousin in town, who had it from her neighbour’s maid. You know how such things travel. But the name Bingley did arise—perhaps not from Miss Bingley directly.”

Elizabeth set her basket down, slowly. “I see.”

Charlotte touched her arm. “I do not believe anyone of real consequence believes it. But it is the sort of talk that lingers and grows.”

Elizabeth’s voice was quiet. “Lydia mentioned some talk at the assembly. I have no wish to be at the centre of village gossip.”

Charlotte’s gaze softened. “I only tell you so that you may decide how—or whether—you wish to answer it.”

Elizabeth looked away towards the distant hedgerows. “What is there to say? I did nothing improper. He was half-conscious. He spoke as though dreaming.”

“Does he remember it?”

“I believe he does. In part. We spoke some weeks ago. He was quite insistent that I tell him the whole of what occurred. He said he meant to make amends. To speak with Papa.” Her voice caught with a tremor “Of course, I declined.”

Charlotte started. “You—declined?”

Elizabeth turned, her posture stiff. “Yes.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Eliza, are you mad? You refused Mr. Darcy ? After all this—”

“He was offering out of duty,” Elizabeth said bitingly. “I would not accept such a proposal.”

Charlotte stared at her. “Duty and ten thousand a year would go a long way…”

Elizabeth stopped and turned to Charlotte, her arms crossed. “You think I should have accepted a man who thought himself bound by duty, not affection?”

“I think,” Charlotte said, recovering a little of her composure, “that a gentleman with that kind of honour, and that kind of estate, does not offer twice to a woman whose reputation may be under question.”

The words stung, and Charlotte must have seen it, for her tone softened—though her expression remained grim.

“You may be right about his motives, Eliza. But if the world believes the worst, your refusal will not protect you. It will only make you appear foolish. It will be assumed that Mr. Darcy abandoned you, and the only harm will be to you and your sisters. If Miss Bingley has a whit to do with this, I would wager she is counting on just that. She would see all of you ruined before she would accept her brother’s choice. ”

Elizabeth nodded.

Charlotte exhaled. “I am sorry. But you must be very sure of what you want, Eliza. What is more, you ought to be very certain it will still be within reach after the gossips have done with you.”