Page 18 of The Power of Refusal

A t the end of April, Elizabeth’s suspicions were confirmed. The Times column, Fashionable Parties, on page three, read:

“Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy gave a grand dinner on the occasion of the Birthday of Miss Georgiana Darcy to Lord and Lady Matlock, Lord and Lady Halliday, Viscount Grethem, Mr Heffernan and Lady Julia and Lady Harriet Halliday at his house on Grosvenor Street.”

Elizabeth was caught up in imaginings of the sweet young lady in her jonquil gown dancing with her handsome brother. She had surreptitiously scoured the papers since living on Gracechurch Street, hoping never to see an announcement Mr Darcy had wed. He rarely featured in the “Fashionable Parties” column, nor in “Arrangements for the Week.” She had found him mentioned under “Removings,” announcing his departures for Pemberley and then his returns to London. Whilst she appreciated the information, she would not relish being in his position, where his movements were reported to the world at large. She imagined it.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet, of Longbourn, Hertfordshire, travelled to the shops on Bond Street to drool over the books she cannot afford to purchase. She entertained Miss Millicent, Master Thomas, Master Edward and Miss Cassandra Gardiner with duck feeding and rolling in the grass in the park near their home on Gracechurch Street. Upon their return to their home, they were served milky tea and small cakes in the nursery.”

Few would purchase newspapers for news of her life. It seemed not even her family found her news compelling enough to reply to her letters, except for Mary. Mr Bennet was, at best, a dilatory correspondent. He had sent a handful of notes and requested she search for a book for him. Other than that, Elizabeth only heard from Lydia when her youngest sister wished for news of changing fashions in London. Mrs Bennet sometimes inserted a postscript to Lydia’s letters that comprised cutting remarks on her lack of suitors and shopping lists.

Jane, of course, wrote regularly and warmly. Letters from Lockwood were the ones Elizabeth would eagerly take from the maid and rush to her room to read and reread. Jane described her new home and her adventures in learning to manage it. She did not outright express her relief at the distance she now had from Mrs Bennet. Elizabeth could see between the lines her sister and brother-in-law were far more content at some remove from Meryton.

What Jane did not confess, however, was news of her increasing. There had been hints, but never had she confessed to being enceinte. The melancholy Elizabeth felt between the lines led her to wonder.

∞∞∞

The morning after Georgiana’s birthday party, Darcy was up early as was his habit, attending to business in his study. He had slept ill, awakened again and again by a mounting sense of loss. His sister was one-and-twenty. Where had the time gone? The promise she extracted on her birthday, that he find a bride and have a happy life, seemed insurmountable. He had not cured himself of his attachment—nay, obsession—with Elizabeth. All his pursuits, businesses of one sort or other, everything that took him back into the world were for naught. Continual occupation and changes had not weakened his feelings.

Darcy had withstood five years now without Elizabeth, having but a handful of distant sightings. Five years had wrought many changes. He still regretted the loss of Bingley’s friendship. He had heard Bingley had quit Netherfield for an estate in Cambridgeshire. The betrothal of Bingley’s younger sister was splashed about in the papers to an unseemly degree. She was soon to wed a minor baron, one whose estate desperately required shoring up with her ample dowry. Darcy had only relief at never having to dodge the blandishments of Miss Bingley again.

His last visit with Lady Catherine had been two years ago. The ferocious confrontation at its culmination severed his connection to her. Refusing to be brought to heel by Lady Catherine’s demand he marry Anne, he could not return to Rosings. Poor Anne would be as distraught as was he should he request her hand. She had been firm in her agreement that marriage was of no interest to her. Thus, he had no avenue to make inquiries of Mrs Collins about Elizabeth.

Sounds disturbed Darcy’s contemplation. Was there a caller? He determined to complete his letter, then step out to investigate. He needed a change of scenery.

Oddly, the visitor entered the blue sitting room that Georgiana used for her closest friends, not for morning callers. Darcy approached the door and heard the murmur of voices. Abruptly, Mrs Annesley came out and started at seeing him.

Mrs Annesley put her finger to her lips. She stepped around him and trapped him behind the door. He could now distinguish the sounds of Grethem’s voice and that of Georgiana. He raised his brows. Mrs Annesley raised hers in response and smiled broadly.

“You know how I feel, sweet Georgie. As we agreed, I waited until your majority. Now, you have been one-and-twenty for almost ten hours, and I wish to wait no longer,” the viscount said.

Darcy could hear the quaver in Georgiana’s voice, but he could also detect happiness. “You have always been a man of your word, Hal,” she said.

“I wish to thank you again for your menu last evening,” the viscount continued. “I meant it when I said I longed to start my days with you every morning. Whilst I expect we might prefer a later hour for breakfast, last night was perfect.”

That explained the kippers and eggs served at the party. As he had guessed, it was a way for Georgiana to communicate something to the man.

Georgiana chuckled softly.

“My darling girl, I have utterly lost my heart to you, and I never wish you to return it.You are everything to me—I barely notice whether there is rain or sun, I merely look at you and all is well. You warm my soul in ways I never knew were possible. I know I am an old man to your one-and-twenty years, but can you overlook that, and all my flaws? I will never deserve you. But I will always, always do everything possible to make you happy.” The viscount was giving a lesson in proposing Darcy wished he had studied some years ago. Whilst it was awkward being an audience to this tender moment, his alternative would be to spring up in the doorway and interrupt.

“You are not old, Hal. You are a kind, generous and honourable man. The best of men,” Georgiana said. Those words stung. Darcy had vied for that title, but he supposed his sister’s heart needed him to make way for another.

“Georgie, you know how I admire and love you. I have told you what I have felt and today feel even more for you. I swear to you I will always treat you with the love and respect you warrant. I offer myself to you with my whole heart, forever. Will you do me the very great honour of becoming my wife?”

Darcy heard no words then, but the subtle sounds of two people expressing their love as warmly as a man and woman violently in love can be supposed to do—at least in a sitting room with the door ajar.

Some moments passed. Darcy decided the pair were so well occupied he might sneak away. As soon as he had passed the open door, he heard the viscount speak again.

“Well, Miss Darcy, I must learn to brook being happier than I deserve. I only hope your brother is ready to hear me,” he said. Darcy broke into a jog and sat in his study seconds before the knock on his door.

The man’s exhilarated expression and confident posture struck Darcy with force. He did not scruple him his joy, but it reminded him of all that was missing from his own life. Here was the man who would have the great pleasure of Georgiana’s company whilst Darcy stewed alone, wishing and hoping for the impossible.

∞∞∞

Mr and Mrs Gardiner were social people and dined with numerous families with regularity. Elizabeth did not always join them when they dined out, but she would sit at the table when guests were present. When Mrs Gardiner needed a lady to even out the table, Elizabeth would oblige.

Thus, she sat between Ezekial Reynolds and Jeremiah Freund one evening in the Gardiner’s dining room. Mr Reynolds was a wool merchant Mr Gardiner knew from his dealings in textiles. Elizabeth and Mr Reynolds discussed weaving techniques and how various types of wool lent themselves to different applications.

“Miss Bennet, I have been bending your ears on matters of wool for far too long. No lady but my wife could take such an interest in my business,” Mr Reynolds joked.

Elizabeth demurred. She did indeed enjoy learning about textiles and where they came from. To satisfy the gentleman, however, she asked him about his origins.

“I hear a slight accent, Mr Reynolds. Are you perhaps from the north?” she asked.

“Indeed, I am. Like your Aunt Gardiner, I hail from Derbyshire. We were near neighbours when we were children. She was in Lambton, and I was raised on the Pemberley estate,” he replied.

Elizabeth’s heart stuttered. She tried never to think of Mr Darcy. The reminder of him silenced her momentarily. To cover her upset, she sipped some wine until she could respond.

“I have heard such accounts of Pemberley as intrigue me. Is it truly the most wonderful place in Derbyshire?” she asked.

“For a certainty. There is nowhere better in the county, perhaps in the country. The estate is, of course, as beautiful a place as you would ever want to see. I have been inside but once, and I will never forget it. My father’s cousin is the housekeeper there. I grew up on a tenant farm. We were the envy of the local farmers, the Pemberley farms. Nothing was ever neglected, no one went hungry no matter what the harvest. I would have stayed there had my parents not had six sons. I could not wait for a farm to open up for a new tenant, not with three brothers ahead of me. And none of us would settle for another place, not knowing how superior Pemberley was.”

“It must have been difficult to leave.”

“It surely would have been more difficult had Mr Darcy not made a place for me. He took me on to work with the sheep and selling the wool. In time, I went on my own, brokering wool, working with mills and the like,” he said.

Elizabeth’s cheeks burnt hearing the name Darcy. Her appetite vanished. Then, Mrs Gardiner signalled the course change, and Elizabeth turned to her other dining partner, Mr Freund.

Mr Freund was a short, round, bespectacled fellow who spoke with a pronounced deliberation, as though his words were to be taken down in dictation. Elizabeth could attend to very few of them, her mind buzzing with the praise of Pemberley and Mr Darcy she heard from Mr Reynolds. Mr Freund droned on, taking great enjoyment in having a pretty lady as an audience. Elizabeth nodded and smiled as seemed to be required, but at the end of the remove, she had no recollection of a single word.

Mr Freund seemed to take her polite indifference as fascination and warmed to his topic. She eventually caught a few words. He was going on about something to the effect of his income increasing because of a wise decision. His warehouse was expanding. Perhaps he was in the carriage trade? Elizabeth listened with half an ear, wondering whether Mr Darcy was at the beautiful Derbyshire estate or perhaps still in London.

“Would you not agree?” Mr Freund asked, and she was at a loss. What had he been speaking of?

“I am so sorry. Could you repeat that? I was not following you,” she said vaguely.

Mr Freund smiled a patronising smile. He then began again to explain the intricacies of his situation. Something about an elderly mother who required help, a sister who lived nearby but had little to do with her mother. He was adamant it was the duty of a daughter to tend to her mother, and his sister ought to take over her mother’s care.

“Where does your mother live?” Elizabeth asked.

“My mother has a house in Spitalfields,” he replied, naming a mixed neighbourhood that ranged from comfortable dwellings to mean places occupied by the very poor.

“Does she manage on her own? What servants does she have?”

“There is a scullery and a maid of all work. A cook comes in, and I have a man, of course,” he said.

“You live with your mother, then?” she asked.

“I have always lived with her. We get on well, and since I have no wife, my mother ran the household. I now require a lady to run my home. Mother is getting on, and things are too demanding for her. I am certain my sister could take that in hand rather than expecting me to hire a housekeeper.”

“Your sister would live with you and your mother, in that case?” Elizabeth said.

“Ah, no, that would not do at all. Her husband and children require more space than our house would provide.”

Elizabeth wondered how Mr Freund expected his poor sister to run her own home, care for her children, and then care for her mother and run his home as well. This did not sound like the idea of a man who understood the duties of a lady. Elizabeth had a sinking sensation. Mr Freund was in want of a wife, in the guise of an unpaid housekeeper.

Mrs Gardiner poured tea for Elizabeth and the two ladies of the party. Mrs Reynolds was cheerful and gracious, but shy. She spoke little and glanced at the door to the dining room as if wishing for her husband’s presence. Mrs Tate was an older lady, and she commanded Mrs Gardiner’s attention with her litany of nonsense. Elizabeth sat back and sighed. She was ready for this night to be over.

As soon as the gentlemen entered, Mr Freund made directly for Elizabeth. She took a deep breath and pasted on a smile of greeting.

Elizabeth was at a tactical disadvantage. She ought to ask her aunt to never invite but one unmarried man to a party she was to attend. Perhaps Mr Freund saw the arrangement as an invitation to inspect her as a potential mate. Did Mr Gardiner have no single men in his circle who were attractive or interested in knowing another person? Thus far, the men who had singled her out were entirely absorbed by their own concerns. Elizabeth wondered if she had become shop-worn goods, viewed as available cheaply to meet the needs of any taker. It was a discomforting sensation. She was nearly six and twenty and had no prospects and was a burden on her family. Her economisations and her tiny income from her illustrations kept her in stockings and gloves, but she was another mouth to feed at the table. Perhaps it was time to take up Jane’s offer and relieve her uncle of the cost of her meals.

Mr Freund was speaking now of horses and pairing them to carriages. There was a science to it, apparently.

“With a coach and four, it is even more complex. Most people wish for an excellent colour match. There are never enough Cleveland Bays and Yorkshire Coach Horses available. I had one lady wanted only black horses with a white star pulling her coach. Every horse in the team had to have very similar markings—black legs, mane, tail, and noses, with the small white star. It took months to put that team together properly,” he said.

“Ladies can be particular about their attire. I suppose this is much the same. She would not wear one pink slipper and one blue,” Elizabeth said.

Mr Freund looked stunned, then burst into laughter. “One pink and one blue! How droll you are, Miss Bennet!”

Elizabeth smiled. She had again forgotten her mild teases were often seen as extraordinary by gentlemen. Mr Freund soon recovered and continued with further details. She learnt about matching height, back length, gait, shoulders, chest, and far more specifics than Elizabeth had ever imagined. It was remotely interesting, but soon Elizabeth was stifling a yawn and thinking fondly of her bed.