Page 37 of Such Persuasions as These (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

E lizabeth watched as Mr Collins handed the other Bennet ladies down from the carriage in front of Sir William’s fine house, purposely staying back to take a last deep breath.

After assisting his new favourite, however, he seemed to forget there were any others awaiting assistance, offering Mary his arm and leading her into the house without a backwards glance.

Elizabeth was not unhappy to be left in the solitude of the coach.

Indeed, she would rather have been left in the solitude of her home.

As Charlotte had been insistent upon her attending the Lucases’ soiree this evening, however, she did not feel she could refuse.

In her readiness to bring Jane and Mr Bingley together, Charlotte had assured Elizabeth that the Netherfield gentlemen would be attending.

This filled Elizabeth with no small amount of dread, as her last sight of one of the gentlemen had been so wrenching to her peace.

Her project to assist Mr Collins in his search for a bride by pushing Mary forwards in the best light had been enjoyable, but not nearly as distracting as she had hoped.

She still found herself contemplating each moment of her association with Mr Darcy—from their first meeting at the Meryton Assembly to their last tragic interview on market day, to the furious look he had sent her way that very morning.

And she was exhausted.

She could not but blame him for having invited her into his company so often, and indeed inviting himself into her own, without really knowing anything about her.

If he had known her true character, he would see that she had never had ill intent, that she had never wilfully hurt anyone in her life, much less someone who had become such a friend to her.

And should he not also have seen how desperately she wished to tell him the truth, to clear up matters, with tears and trembling more than once?

Could he not give her the benefit of the doubt as common charity might do?

That was not to say she did not blame herself at all—she had certainly been false of a manner, and just denying or misunderstanding the consequences of one’s actions did not make those consequences unjust. She was the author of her own distress, she knew.

Thus her mind circled from ire to regret and back…again and again.

After several minutes of this, Elizabeth’s grave reverie was interrupted by the appearance of the coachman at the carriage door. She gave a long sigh, raised her eyebrows, pasted on a smile, and allowed him to hand her down .

Inside, Darcy watched as Bingley anxiously eyed the entrance hall.

It had been a quarter of an hour, and it was starting to become comical watching his friend’s eager ears prick up every time the door opened.

Now that he had come to terms with Bingley’s choice, he was able to share his joy.

Within moments, Bingley was rewarded with the sight of his beautiful beloved, and in a breath, he was up and at the door, ready to lead her into the party.

Darcy expected to see Elizabeth enter behind Miss Bennet, but instead the two youngest sisters appeared, giggling to one another.

Miss Lydia caught his eye and shot daggers at him, which he put down to her being poisoned by that pernicious Wickham.

Though he knew it to be meaningless in the scheme of things, it disconcerted him to be treated with contempt because of Wickham’s treachery—especially by an ignorant flirt of lowly origins? —

No, I must not keep thinking of people this way.

His determination to refrain from looking meanly at others was tested afresh a very few moments later when the sanctimonious vicar walked in, escorting another of Elizabeth’s sisters. Was this the plain one whose nose was always in a book?

Hmm, he thought , it turns out there was a pretty face behind those tomes.

As he was admiring Mr Collins’s partner, the man himself approached and gave him a deep bow. Darcy waited to be addressed, prepared to answer with patience the obsequious attentions he knew he would be given, but was disappointed.

Instead, Collins turned to Miss Mary and began telling her about Mr Darcy’s having the unequalled privilege of being a nephew of his noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

“ As a close familial relation, I am sure Mr Darcy would not but concur with me when I describe her great condescension, her abundant favours, her kindly bestowed admonishments.”

Darcy was given no opportunity to concur. He stood blinking silently as the couple simply continued walking into the fray with nary a pause from the parson. Though a strange occurrence, he thanked the heavens for not having to endure too much attention from that quarter.

Upon turning his head, Darcy heard his name in a hushed tone. He could not make out every word, but what he heard immediately soured his mood.

“Poor Mr Wickham,” he heard one voice say.

“Cheated the man out of his inheritance,” said another.

“Not as if he could not afford it,” from yet another.

As his gaze travelled over the crowd, he saw several who refused to meet his eye or turned away.

Not only did this uncouth behaviour rankle his sensibilities, he hated that he was the centre of attention, especially over something he knew to be false.

Without realising it, he found himself moving towards the wall, then inching his way towards the corner.

He was contemplating whether he should defend himself before the condemning crowd—and becoming increasingly incensed as he considered the necessity of it—when Elizabeth finally walked in.

That familiar, light sense of relief whelmed him when he saw her, and he reflexively began to walk towards her.

Her sullen countenance recalled to him the crevasse that lay between them—a chasm he had created—and he retreated to his corner.

His worry over the other occupants of the lodge was abandoned as he focused almost solely on Elizabeth. From where he stood, he could watch her without notice, which had been his goal for the evening from the time he had accepted Sir William’s invitation.

As the minutes wore on, she floated through the room, enchanting everyone just as she had the first night they had met.

She helped the shy young Lucas girl to have the confidence to play for the party, whispering encouragement and turning the pages for her.

She noted an elderly widow who was looking a bit neglected and pulled her into her conversation, brightening the woman’s countenance.

Nervous, skinny Mr Long—home from town where he was training to be an attorney—she took by the elbow and paraded about the room, finally leaving him in the company of a handsome young lady, whose blushes bespoke her heart’s inclination towards him.

This was Elizabeth. Giving, loving, and self-sacrificing. He had been the grateful recipient of her selflessness, and she had become mistress of his heart.

He lost sight of her for a moment before her voice drew his attention. She and Miss Lucas stood quite near, evidently in deep conversation.

“Charlotte, please, take my word for it—Mr Wickham is a liar and an adventurer,” Elizabeth declared. “Mr Darcy is innocent on every charge. I cannot in honour reveal details, but I do know that Mr Wickham refused the living and was generously compensated. Mr Darcy is blameless.”

She was defending him? Could it really be? After all his accusations, could she still speak so charitably of him? If she had an untruthful bone in her body, now would be the time to use it to her satisfaction.

Yet, she did not. She could not listen to the lies being spread about him without speaking up and attempting to vindicate him.

He, on the other hand, had allowed her character to sink in his estimation at even a perceived wrong, his trust in her like a dry rope that burned through at the scent of smoke.

She was so truly good.

And he was so truly hers .