Page 19 of The Happiness of a Most Beloved Sister (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“ F orgive me, I had not meant to startle you,” said Mr Darcy as he slowly revealed himself.

The contrast between his dark figure and the white flowers surrounding him was stark, yet she was oddly unafraid.

Perhaps because she knew he was no threat to her; he had only ever been gentlemanly in her presence.

“I heard your distress and came to offer my assistance.”

“Oh!” Elizabeth’s hands flew to her face, where the evidence of her anguish was still wet upon her cheeks. She began rubbing furiously at them to make herself more presentable. “It is I who ought to beg forgiveness, sir. What a fright I must be!”

With a few long strides, Mr Darcy was before her and proffering his handkerchief.

It recalled a previous incident during which he had done the same, and her lips lifted in a wry curl.

“You must think me inclined to weep at the slightest provocation, sir. It seems I am always hidden away in a corner sobbing piteously whenever you are around to see it. ”

“I think no such thing, I assure you,” he replied, lifting the scrap of linen higher.

Taking his silent hint, Elizabeth accepted it and brought it to her face. She inhaled a snivelling breath and noted the familiar scent of basil and citrus that she associated with him. It was a light, clean, refreshing fragrance that suited him well and calmed her frayed nerves.

“Might I enquire what has upset you so this time? I hope it is not my aunt’s doing.”

Elizabeth laughed and shook her head. “No, no, Lady Catherine has naught to do with it. She is, ah…challenging, I grant you, but she has not injured me, I promise.”

He knelt beside her, visibly concerned—though apparently not for his clothes. “Then what has caused you such tumult?”

“Oh, sir, do not ruin your trousers for my sake. Do stand back up.”

“I have no care for my attire, only your wellbeing,” he countered, frowning. Elizabeth thought it somehow more resolved than disapproving, though he appeared no different from how he had been in Hertfordshire. “Do tell me your troubles and if there is aught I might do to assist you.”

Elizabeth was torn. Should she speak of her innermost feelings to this man she hardly knew? Open herself up to his judgment? Even though he had apologised for insulting her, he had not exactly been a friend during his time in Hertfordshire.

Or had he? Now that Elizabeth thought back, he had offered her his services as a sympathetic ear before, and he had made a point of making amends at the Netherfield ball.

If nothing else, she could accuse him of no worse than prideful behaviour, while acknowledging that he had been uncommonly kind to her on various occasions.

It might also be beneficial to seek a gentleman’s perspective on what had happened—particularly that of one who was friend to Mr Bingley.

Thus decided, Elizabeth began, “As you are aware, Mr Bingley left Netherfield the day after his ball and has yet to return. What you may not know is that his defection is largely my fault.”

“ Your fault? How on earth do you suppose that?”

Swallowing to loosen the tightness in her throat, Elizabeth replied in a raspy whisper, “Jane informed me of it herself.”

There was a slight pause in which his features darkened in displeasure, like a cloud scudding across the sun. “What has your sister accused you of?”

She could feel shame and mortification burning her cheeks.

“Nothing I did not deserve, I assure you. I spoke to Mr Bingley about Jane’s delicacy, you see, when we danced together.

I only meant to beg him to be gentle with her heart, but my meaning was apparently misinterpreted—I hardly know what I said, but I clearly made a hash of it.

Instead of encouraging him to treat Jane with tenderness, I unintentionally made him believe she is sickly. ”

“And so his inconstancy must be laid at your feet?” Mr Darcy scoffed. “What evidence does she have that Bingley absconded on the basis of a single conversation?”

“Miss Bingley sent Jane a letter before she departed, intimating as much. She made it quite clear that her brother would be seeking out a ‘robust’ young lady elsewhere—your sister, in fact.”

“Georgiana?” he exclaimed with alarm. “Miss Bingley has linked her brother with my sister? Are you certain?”

Nodding, Elizabeth continued, “Quite certain. She was most clear that Mr Bingley admires Miss Darcy and was likely to make her an offer forthwith. Dare I ask whether he has?”

“I should say not!” cried Mr Darcy, standing and pacing away from her.

Although Elizabeth was sorry for his distress, she could not deny the powerful surge of relief welling up within her.

Mr Bingley remained unattached—to Miss Darcy, at any rate.

“My sister is but sixteen and not yet out. She will not be marrying anyone for some time. How dare Miss Bingley bandy her name about in such a fashion!”

Seeming to recollect himself, Mr Darcy halted his steps and bowed to her, his face flushed.

Whether out of ire or embarrassment, Elizabeth could not say, but he offered her a pretty apology nevertheless.

“Forgive me for my intemperate words, Miss Elizabeth. I am not best pleased to learn that my sister has been linked to any gentleman, even one of my own acknowledged friends, by someone she ought to have been able to trust.”

“You need not apologise, sir, for I quite understand. We are both, it seems, protective of those we love.” With a sigh, Elizabeth concluded, “I only wish I could place the blame for my own sister’s distress upon someone else’s shoulders. That I am the one to have caused it torments me constantly.”

Mr Darcy again moved closer and knelt down, his mouth set in a firm line. In an unbending tone, he said, “You are not to blame for your sister’s heartbreak—if heartbreak it be—I promise you.”

“I appreciate your consolation, but you can promise me no such thing. How could you possibly know?”

“Because…” Mr Darcy paused, cleared his throat, and reluctantly continued, “Because I am more at fault than you. ’Twas I who encouraged Bingley to leave Hertfordshire be fore he became necessarily entangled with your sister. It was done and done for the best.”

“Done for the best?” It was Elizabeth’s turn to jump to her feet in outrage. “The audacity—the utter nerve ! How could you?”

Mr Darcy followed suit, standing before her looking abashed and uncomfortable.

“In perfect honesty, I felt I had no choice. When Sir William interrupted our dance, it made me aware that there was a general expectation of Bingley proposing to Miss Bennet and that he would be obliged to do so should he remain in the area any longer. This might not be such an evil if I believed your sister genuinely attached to him, but from her behaviour—and that of your mother—I was convinced that she only sought his favour due to his wealth.”

“What awful presumption! If you believe such of Jane—who is the sweetest, most angelic person I have ever known—I hardly wish to know what you think of me .”

“I assure you, my feelings for you are quite the opposite.”

Elizabeth staggered back a step from Mr Darcy—when had she got so close?—with a gasp.

Chagrin characterised his features, and his ears turned deeply red.

“I—that is—my opinion of you is high, as it has always been. My observations of you have only ever convinced me that you are exactly as you seem—no more, no less. I consider you witty and charming, as well as commendably loyal. Howbeit, I believe your veneration of your elder sister is somewhat…misplaced. Though I cannot wholly blame you for that, for I too know what it is like to want to think well of someone when presented with evidence to the contrary.”

Disarmed by his compliments, Elizabeth stared at him for a good long while, her face growing increasingly warm. By contrast, Mr Darcy’s eyes were trained everywhere except where she was standing, apparently too discomfited to look at her.

Any anger she harboured towards him melted away in favour of kinder feelings.

She even saw the justice in what he had done, disapproval of his interference notwithstanding.

After all, had she not also meddled where she was not wanted in an attempt to protect her sister?

Mr Darcy had done the same for his friend, and she could not hate him for it.

“I am sorry for chastising you, sir, for you do not deserve it. You did no more than I in looking after the interests of your friend, even if neither of us truly had the right. If I am to despise you, then I must despise myself more—not that I do not already.” Her shoulders slumped with the weight of this statement, heavy as it was.

Mr Darcy tentatively crept closer, reaching out his hand. Before it could touch her, he dropped it back to his side with a conscious cough. “You ought not to despise yourself. Anyone who loved their sister as much as you would have done the same.”

“And they would have been just as wrong.”

“Perhaps, but it was an act committed with the best of intentions.”

“Is not the road to hell paved with those?” A humourless laugh followed, and it seemed that Mr Darcy had no further rejoinder to offer. Shaking her head, she said, “Do not mind my self-flagellation, sir. I only wish there were something I could do to?—”

A thought struck her in that moment with all the resonance of a thunderbolt. She grasped Mr Darcy’s hand, which seemed to startle him, and cried, “ You could bring Mr Bingley back to Jane!”