Page 31 of The Happiness of a Most Beloved Sister (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

E lizabeth descended the staircase in a daze, turning her confrontation with Jane over in her mind.

She was not sure what, exactly, she had hoped for in pressing her sister to talk to her, but whether it was absolution or affection she did not receive it.

Perhaps she merely wished to prove Mr Darcy’s assertions about Jane wrong, only to unintentionally establish the opposite.

She was not entirely sure how to feel about any of it just yet.

“There you are, Lizzy.” Her eyes lifted to behold her aunt seated by the window in her favourite parlour—though Elizabeth only had a vague notion of how she had found her way there from the staircase—taking advantage of the afternoon sunshine as she sewed.

She did not look up from her project as she continued, “Did you have a nice drive with Mr Darcy?”

“Yes.”

The flatness of Elizabeth’s tone must have signalled to Mrs Gardiner that something was amiss, for she looked up, needle suspended mid-stitch, and examined her. “Are you well, dearest?”

Nodding, Elizabeth wandered deeper into the room and stopped before the window, gazing out onto the street instead of engaging directly with her aunt.

She slipped her hand into her gown pocket and fingered the scalloped edge of the flower stone but did not withdraw it.

Nor did she reach for her handkerchief. For once, there was no urgency to shed tears over Jane’s coldness, for her sister hardly deserved the expenditure.

Sadness over the state of her relationship with Jane remained, though it had rather diminished under the aggressive jockeying of other sensibilities.

Confusion was there also, as well as a general sense of anxious unease.

Aching hurt was perhaps most predominant, but a creeping sense of outrage was slowly pushing all others out of the way.

How dare Jane treat her thus? As if Elizabeth’s concern for her wellbeing was nothing more than an inconvenience to her.

And all out of regard for her own selfish machinations!

It seemed she had never really known Jane—or herself, if she could be so completely duped for so long.

“Lizzy?”

Elizabeth startled, having almost forgotten she was not alone. She turned to find Mrs Gardiner looking up at her with concern creasing her brow and her lips turned down in a frown.

Shaking off her malaise, Elizabeth said, “Forgive me, Aunt, I had not meant to neglect you.”

“It is well, my dear, but do tell me what has you in such an odd mood. Is it something to do with Mr Darcy?”

“Not at all, I assure you. Mr Darcy is an admirable gentleman. ”

“Then…Jane?”

A sigh gusted out of Elizabeth. “I suppose the only wonder is that Jane was not your first guess. We have quarrelled.”

Mrs Gardiner quickly secured her needle and set the embroidery hoop aside before rising and enveloping Elizabeth in her embrace. “I am sorry to hear it.”

After wrapping her arms about her aunt’s waist, Elizabeth gave her a much-needed squeeze. When she replied, her voice was muffled in Mrs Gardiner’s shoulder. “But you are not surprised, I think.”

“No, I am not.” Mrs Gardiner pulled back and stroked her hair, all motherly concern. Elizabeth could not help basking in the sort of commiseration her real mother had not offered since she was a small girl. “Do sit and tell me what happened.”

She allowed herself to be led to the sofa, where she sat next to her aunt and repeated everything that had been said between herself and Jane above stairs.

She also shared some of Mr Darcy’s opinion of Jane, as well as his insights related to Mr Bingley, and concluded with a lament of her own stupidity.

“You are not stupid—far from it,” Mrs Gardiner chided softly. “It is difficult to think poorly of those we love when all we want is to believe them everything that is good.”

Elizabeth scoffed lightly, more at herself than her aunt. “I am perfectly capable of acknowledging the faults of my mother and younger sisters—why not Jane? How did I not see her petty smallness before now? Her self-centred concern for no one but herself?”

“Because Jane has always been touted as the best of you by your mother, the neighbourhood, admiring gentlemen, and so on. Not only that, but you have been so close to her for so long that you are unable to see her clearly. Have you ever heard the idiom ‘you cannot see the wood for the trees’? I find it apt in this situation.”

“You must be right, though I have no excuse for my wilful ignorance. You, Charlotte, and even Mr Darcy have pointed out Jane’s selfishness to me, yet I refused to see it until she thoroughly explained it herself. How can I be excused from not acknowledging it sooner?”

Mrs Gardiner stroked Elizabeth’s arm. “Because you are human, and humans are imperfect. Jane might delude herself into thinking otherwise, but you now know better. We are all fallible, especially when our wishes conflict with the truth of matters.”

“I also worry that I have added to Jane’s vanity with my ceaseless kowtowing to her demands over the years. If she is the way she is, it must be partly my fault.”

“Hogwash!” cried Mrs Gardiner. “It is not up to you to shape your elder sister’s character but to your mother and father.

Jane might have attended to sermons warning against the pitfalls of pride and vanity, but she has placed herself upon a pedestal and above reproach. This is not your fault in any measure.”

“But she was not like this before Mr Wilbur and her illness,” Elizabeth countered. “Had I not begun to treat her like fine china thereafter and allowed her to command me so frequently, she would have continued on as the dear, warm-hearted girl I remember.”

Mrs Gardiner’s lips lifted in a wry smile.

“I am afraid that your childish perceptions of your sister are no more accurate than the ones of your adolescence. Jane has always been well-behaved, no one would deny that, but there has also been a conceitedness about her ever since I have known her that has only grown worse since her come-out. The admiration of gentlemen has increased her self-importance egregiously and, in her mind, elevated her above the rest of us. This, in turn, has given her a disgust of her nearest and dearest.”

“I do not think that is true,” Elizabeth protested, though her voice lacked conviction. “Jane has ever been my closest companion.”

“Aye, so long as there are no gentlemen about to turn her head. Whenever she is the object of some man’s fascination, she is quick to put you aside and bask in his attentions. Once he is gone, she recalls you to her side to take his place in feeding her vanity.”

Elizabeth opened her mouth with the intention to object but could conjure no words in Jane’s defence.

She closed it again as she considered her aunt’s position, searching her memory for some instance that would prove her sister’s loyalty.

Instead, she was beset by recollections of how imperious and remote Jane became whenever a suitor showered her with adoration.

Mr Bingley’s courtship was the most recent example, but there had been others before him, including the dastardly Mr Wilbur.

In each instance, Jane had devoted all her energies to encouraging their interest and turned Elizabeth away whenever she drew near.

She winced at one particularly mortifying incident from the previous autumn when, upon delivery of the shawl Jane had sent her for, she had all but cut Elizabeth to resume her conversation with Mr Bingley.

Her face now burned the same as it had then at her sister’s nonchalant dismissal.

No wonder Darcy was in such high dudgeon with her that evening! I did not see it myself, but Jane treated me no better than a servant. His sense of justice must have been injured.

If Darcy had another reason for being ruffled on her behalf, she chose not to think too deeply about it.

“All this admiration she takes as her due,” continued Mrs Gardiner, “thanks to your mother’s constant praise of her beauty, which your uncle informs me she has been crowing over since Jane’s birth.”

“It is rather exceptional, you must admit.” If there was one truth about Jane that was universal, it lay in her exquisite loveliness. Any man in want of a wife must be tempted by her. Although Darcy has always appeared immune. His dislike must overpower her attractions.

“It is, but then her comeliness—forgive me—is the only exceptional thing about her. Thanks to your mother’s insistence that physical wiles and a serene temper would be enough to ensnare any man, Jane has never put forth the effort to become accomplished in anything.”

“I…” Elizabeth considered this but could not dredge up any quality that society might consider an accomplishment. “Surely there must be something.”

“Not that I am aware of. You and Mary both play and sing, Kitty is a deft hand at sketching, and Lydia can boast admirable skill with a needle. You are also a great reader, no matter how much you declaim such merit, and have a vast knowledge of local botany. What can Jane do?”

“She…” Elizabeth meant to praise Jane’s embroidery, but in all honesty her abilities were nothing out of the common way.

It was Lydia who was proficient at remaking frocks and adding chains of blossoms to their hems. Kitty often designed the patterns for her, and between the pair of them, the Bennet sisters were turned out like an English garden for every assembly.

Jane could accompany Elizabeth and Mary at the pianoforte, but her voice was soft and could barely be heard over the notes.

She had taken French lessons with the rest of them but had been a lackadaisical student at best; Elizabeth do ubted she could understand any but the most hackneyed phrases en francais .

She had no talent for drawing, painting, covering screens, discussing poetry, or even arranging flowers, much less practical household management.

“It is not my intent to disparage Jane unduly,” continued Mrs Gardiner when it became apparent that Elizabeth had no answer, “only to point out that her beauty cannot entirely make up for her lack of other distinctions. Your mother places too much emphasis on Jane’s face and not nearly enough on her abilities.

That the rest of you girls managed to acquire any accomplishments at all is incredible to me.

“But that is neither here nor there.” Mrs Gardiner pivoted to another subject with a dispelling wave of her hand.

“My main concern is your tendency to criticise yourself for how Jane has turned out. I tell you here and now that her conduct is in no way your fault and you ought to cease your self-flagellation. Jane has always been inclined to think a little too well of herself and, as a result, has a tendency to blame others for her own imperfections. I have tried to counsel her otherwise—particularly in the case of Mr Bingley’s defection—but a lifetime’s worth of being called ‘the jewel of Hertfordshire’ by so many has rendered my efforts null. ”

Elizabeth sank into the sofa cushions, deep in reflection.

Was it true? Had Jane always been this way and she had simply failed to notice it?

She supposed that this must be the case, for Mrs Gardiner was the most perceptive person she had ever known—save, perhaps, for Mr Darcy.

He, too, had seen Jane for what she actually was and done his best to shield Elizabeth from harm.

She fumbled for her skirt pocket and squeezed the stone in her fist.

“You mentioned that Mr Darcy had an opinion about Jane,” Mrs Gardiner said haltingly. She observed her niece with a knowing gleam in her eye. “Is there anything you wish to confide in me about that gentleman?”

Heat washed into Elizabeth’s cheeks, and she tightened her hold on the precious token gifted to her by that same gentleman. “We are just friends.”

“Friends, eh?” her aunt repeated with a sceptical tilt to her chin. “Very well, keep your secrets for now. I trust you will come to me if Mr Darcy declares himself?”

Elizabeth swallowed, forcing the bitter taste of bile back down her throat.

“I think there is little chance of that happening, Aunt. He might make his addresses to any lady and be accepted—why should he lower himself to ask me?” A tantalising image of Darcy down on one knee and offering himself to her invaded her mind, but she banished it with a shake of the head.

“No, I am still content to remain unmarried. It is far better to resign myself to spinsterhood than risk the agony of a failed romance.”

Mrs Gardiner sighed. “I shall only say this and have done. Your Mr Darcy—for I suspect he is yours, whether you will acknowledge it or not—is nothing like either Mr Wilbur or Mr Bingley. Unlike either of them , he has proved himself steady, reliable, and utterly devoted to you. He is a rare breed that takes honour and duty seriously. Just look at how he went out of his way to bring Mr Bingley back to Jane, though he obviously continues to disapprove of the match. What could make him intervene if not love for you?”

As Elizabeth had no answer, she did not offer any. Instead, she sat silently fiddling with the flower stone in her pocket, trailing her fingers along the edges of its roughly-hewn petals. He loves me…he loves me not…he loves me…

Patting Elizabeth on the knee, Mrs Gardiner rose. “Think on it. You are under no obligation to return Mr Darcy’s feelings if you cannot, but something tells me that your affections are only a mystery to yourself.”

Mrs Gardiner then walked to the bellpull and ordered the responding maid to make up a pot of chocolate.

They spent the rest of the afternoon sipping on the decadent brew and nibbling biscuits while discussing lighter topics, Elizabeth’s hand frequently seeking out the tangible piece of Darcy secreted in her gown.