Page 19 of The Power of Refusal

O ver the following weeks, Mr Freund appeared at a musicale, a dinner at Mrs Tate’s, and then as a caller in Mrs Gardiner’s drawing room. Like the proverbial bad penny, Mr Freund turned up with unwelcome frequency. He latched on to Elizabeth. His torrent of words continued. He provided her with intricate and tedious explanations of various carriage fittings and the difficulty in sourcing his particular preferred stuffing for squabs. His association with Mr Gardiner had its origins in the quest for a durable velvet for seat cushions. The slight business association surely did not warrant the concerted effort to mix with the Gardiners in society.

Elizabeth became increasingly alarmed at the implication as he appeared in the drawing room during calling hours for no apparent purpose but to bend her ear.

When at last Mr Freund inevitably came to posing the question, Elizabeth needed no time to consider. He was a decent fellow, with a modest income. Some woman might be happy to take on his household and his ailing mother in exchange for a place of her own. Elizabeth recalled Charlotte Lucas willingly accepting a similar proposal. Elizabeth could not do the same. Perhaps one day she could regret her convictions as she sunk into a state of genteel poverty. For today, she could do nothing but refuse. She must gently refuse this decent man, for whom she held little more than pity.

“Please allow me to express my sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned. I am grateful for your offer, and I am sorry to occasion pain to anyone. It has never been my intention to lend the impression I wish to wed. I wish to remain single. Please do not take offence. I make no negative judgement of your very fine situation. I am content to remain a spinster.”

Hearing the tale, Mrs Gardiner shook her head in dismay. “I suppose Lizzy, you will soon have laughed yourself out of the shock of these unexpected proposals.”

“Is it very improbable we should meet at all again? I surely hope he will not come to see me now,” Elizabeth replied. It would be mortifying to meet Mr Freund at a dinner party after his shock at her refusal.

“We cannot be sure. You could easily attend the same parties or see one another again. I am more concerned about there being talk. You have declined two proposals since you have been with us. I do not disagree with your choices, but we cannot control what others might say.”

Elizabeth flushed with anger. “It is not my doing, Aunt. It is unjust I should suffer any blame when all I have is the power of refusal. I never intended to seek the attentions of either man.”

“I know the foundation is unjust. Society, however, may not see it that way. As much as we love to have you with us, I do not want your reputation to be damaged in this small pocket of society. You were considering a visit with Jane, were you not? It might be well for you to have a change of scene and spend some time in the countryside for your own peace of mind. Jane has invited you so many times” Aunt Gardiner said.

Elizabeth could not for a moment deny her comfort in the Gardiners’ small circle had been compromised. Mr Baxter’s angry words a year earlier had not been limited to his conversation with her uncle. Elizabeth knew he disparaged her to others. She was “above herself” and “unmarriageable” in his opinion. The friends who reported his remarks did not credit them, but who was to say whether others did. Now, Mr Freund, whilst a far less unpleasant man, still might harbour some resentment at her declining his proposal. He ought not to say anything, but…

Letters were dispatched to Lockwood, requesting Elizabeth be permitted to join Charles and Jane at their estate for a visit.. Jane welcomed the idea with enthusiasm.

We must go to London in two months to see Caroline wed—a major event we have long anticipated. Could you come to us for a few weeks and then return to London with us? If that is too much travel, please come to us after the wedding and stay as long as you wish. Charles assures me he has a carriage and staff to spare to transport you whenever you are able.

Elizabeth resolved to retreat to Cambridgeshire when most convenient to her aunt and uncle. She had no little fear her absence would remind them they need not have her constantly underfoot. As much as she did her all to be useful, the couple had no obligation to house their spinster niece indefinitely.

Elizabeth listlessly began sorting her things, preparing to pack. Many of the dozens of drawings she deposited on her uncle’s desk. He always welcomed her illustrations and was amused by her caricatures. Beneath those, however, her eye lingered on her portraits of Mr Darcy. Her rendering of his eyes and lips dissatisfied her. She had for so long mistaken his expression for fault finding. Now, she knew she had not the skill to depict the tender warmth hidden behind his arrogant pose. After contemplating for too long, she tucked one small drawing in the back of the book she was reading. The rest, she rolled with care and tucked them beneath her winter gowns. She could not let them go.

∞∞∞

It seemed Elizabeth had barely had time to settle in for her visit to Lockwood before Mary wrote to announce that she was increasing. Elizabeth brought the missive to the breakfast table to share the news with her sister and brother with some trepidation. As the years since her marriage ticked by, Jane seemed despondent at her failure to conceive a child. Elizabeth could only imagine the horrific words her mother must be writing to Jane to instruct her on how to ensure she fell with child. Jane mentioned her mother’s insistence Jane have only boy babies until she had filled their nursery to bursting. How she expected Jane to accomplish many times what she herself could not do even once, she gave no explanation.

At Elizabeth’s announcement of Mary’s news, Charles had risen from the breakfast table abruptly, and left Elizabeth to sip her tea alone. Jane had not come down, which was out of character. After several minutes, Elizabeth heard Charles leave through the main entrance, speaking quietly with his steward. She abandoned the breakfast table, intent on determining whether Jane was well.

As she approached the mistress’s suite, Holly, Jane’s maid, rushed past. Her expression was pinched and grim.

“Is my sister well?” Elizabeth called after her.

Holly stopped and turned politely. “She is a little indisposed, miss,” she said, then curtsied and continued on her way.

Jane’s “Come” in response to Elizabeth’s knock sounded feeble. Elizabeth made her way to Jane’s bed chamber. Her sister was still abed, her face pale and her smile watery.

“Are you ill? Jane, do you have a fever?” Elizabeth approached her sister, hand extended to touch her forehead.

The housekeeper, Mrs Cobb, stood by the bed, a cloth covered basin in her hands. She shook her head and turned to leave through the servants’ door.

Jane was cool, if clammy, to Elizabeth’s touch. Elizabeth saw a tray with tea and toast, not a bite taken from any of it.

“I am well, Lizzy. I am but indisposed.” Jane attempted to smile again, but it was more a grimace.

“How may I help you, my dear? Shall I sit with you? Is there anything I might get for you?” Elizabeth said.

“No, I will rally soon. It is only the first hour or two. I am unequal to much activity,” Jane said.

Elizabeth lowered her brows. “You have been ill for some time?”

Jane reached out to stroke her sister’s hand. “Oh Lizzy, it has been many a morning I have had this illness. Do you know how a lady learns she is increasing? She casts up her accounts before breakfast. I am sure I have conceived again.” Jane’s voice held none of the excitement and joy Elizabeth expected with such an announcement. She opened her mouth to speak, but then stopped. Something was not right.

“You are with child?” Elizabeth asked tentatively.

“Yes. Again. Oh Lizzy. I know not why I am thus. I have been with child so many times. This will be the fifth time since we came to Lockwood. It is no longer a cause for joy. I cannot bear disappointing Charles again.”

“What happened, Jane? "

“I cannot keep a baby. I have weeks of nausea and all the other signs of increasing. Then, suddenly, I bleed. The midwife confirmed I have lost the babies. Charles had me see a physician in London whilst we were there. He gave me no explanation. I cannot bear to lose another baby, Elizabeth. I am so terribly sad.”

Elizabeth embraced her sister. “I did not know, Jane. You have borne this alone!”

Jane shook her head. “Not alone. Charles mourns with me. He is, I think, more unhappy about my feelings than about the losses. But I am not alone. I could not put this in a letter you might expect to share with another. I spoke with Aunt Gardiner in confidence, but I could not burden you with my sorrow.”

Elizabeth held her sister and wept. Wrapped up in her own troubles, she had not even known her dearest sister had been suffering so.

“What might I do to help?” Elizabeth asked.

“Sit with me. Distract me. I feel I am on a sinking ship. Only time will tell when the bleeding begins. It is not enough I am bereft and nauseous. I am constantly in fear I will cause some harm myself. Should I not walk out? Should I not eat the ragout? I fear some small action I take causes this, and I cannot clear my thoughts. I need your company,” Jane said.

Elizabeth spent the next many mornings sitting with Jane as she suffered through the illness that plagued her every day. By midday, Jane could go down to the drawing room and assume her regular activities. Knowing what her sister and brother had endured, Elizabeth saw new meaning in Charles’s fond looks and subtle embraces. She only wished she could see Jane happy.

Jane’s equanimity teetered on a knife’s edge. Elizabeth watched, her heart constricting, as her sister’s appetite vanished. At dinner, Jane merely pushed morsels around her plate, the scrape of fork against china grating. Only in the evening did Jane seem capable of ingesting anything, and then she shied away from robust meats and pungent flavours, preferring bland, colourless fare.

Elizabeth’s dismay grew daily as Jane’s once-soft features sharpened, cheekbones jutting prominently beneath pallid skin. Her form became alarmingly delicate. Her collarbones were visible beneath thin muslin, wrists as fragile as a bird’s.

∞∞∞

The fire crackled in Darcy’s study, but it did little to warm the chill in his heart. He stood by the window, gazing out at the manicured gardens bathed in moonlight. In his mind, he replayed the conversation from earlier that day.

Viscount Grethem had come, as tradition dictated, to ask for Georgiana’s hand. Darcy had given his blessing, of course. He’d seen the love between them grow, had watched his sister blossom under Grethem’s attentions.

Now, alone in the quiet of his study, the full weight of what was to come settled on Darcy’s shoulders. Georgiana would leave him and start her own family. And he would remain alone .

A soft knock at the door interrupted his brooding. “Come in,” he called.

Richard entered; his usual jovial expression replaced by one of concern. “How are you holding up?”

Darcy sighed, turning to face his cousin. “I’m happy for her, truly. Grethem is a good man.”

“But?” Richard prompted, settling into an armchair.

“But I find myself… unsettled,” Darcy admitted. “Pemberley will be so empty without her.”

Richard nodded sympathetically. “Have you given any more thought to finding a wife of your own? Lady Amelia Ravenwood has been asking after you.” Richard’s twinkling eyes betrayed his thoughts on that subject.

Darcy’s jaw clenched. “Lady Amelia has been hounding me for a decade. I have no interest in her or any of the other eligible young ladies Aunt Eleanor keeps parading before me.”

“You cannot see your way to consider any of them?”

“I cannot. They are all as one—dull, spoilt, and seeking to raise their fortunes by marriage. I am merely a means to that end.”

“Which explains their lack of interest in me. It is not a crime to require some money to live on,” Richard began, but stopped. He regarded Darcy with concern.

“You still pine for Miss Bennet?” Richard asked gently. Darcy’s silence was answer enough.

∞∞∞

Nothing thrilled Georgiana more than Lady Julia’s betrothal to Mr Heffernan. The two close friends shared the excitement of preparing to marry at the same time. Whilst Georgiana wished for a quiet, simple wedding, Lady Julia’s family convinced her that, given her brother’s modest celebration, she ought to have an extravagant event. Darcy rarely saw a day pass without the two ladies talking and laughing in the blue sitting room as they discussed wedding plans.

Darcy immersed himself in managing his estate and investments. He rarely went to his club. All entertainments at Darcy House were for Georgiana and her friends. He attended as required, but his spirits were grim. Darcy’s life compressed down to his work, his sister, and his library.

“Fitzwilliam, you seem in poor spirits. I was going to marry someday, was I not? How can I leave you when you seem to be in such a state?”

“I am well. Please do not be concerned about me. You have far more pleasant matters to concern yourself with.” Darcy scolded himself for dampening Georgiana’s joy.

“Will you not come with us to the theatre? There is supper after at Halliday House. It is a small party, and we would be pleased to have you join us.”

Darcy could not deny Georgiana again. The future held nothing for him but a routine of work and silence.

The Hallidays’ box was filled to capacity. Lord and Lady Halliday were jubilant with the company of their children, Hal—as Darcy now called Grethem—and Julia, with their betrotheds and various friends and relatives. Darcy squeezed himself into a seat in the box’s rear, cognizant his height would impede other guests’ ability to see the performance if he sat forward. Hal came to welcome him and sat beside him for a moment. After the two exchanged greetings, Darcy’s curiosity drove him to ask after Lady Harriet’s absence.

Hal’s face fell. “Poor Hattie has had a bad turn. She could not attend, but insisted the party go on. She has been attempting far too much with Julia, going to the modiste and what all. Even though it drains her, Hattie wishes to share the excitement. She must rest. But, as always, she urged us to proceed without her. If she is able, she will join us at supper.”

Darcy said how sorry he was for Lady Harriet’s illness. “I am sure you have consulted all the best physicians. Is there nothing that helps her condition?”

“You know it is consumption, Darcy. The treatments, such as they are, seem often worse than the disease. Bleedings and purging seemed only to weaken her. The best doctors merely advise her to rest, eat well, and exercise outdoors. Though she can rarely exercise—you have seen how weak she is.” Hal spoke quietly, his face a grimace of pain.

“Does she manage better in the country? The filthy air of London in summer cannot benefit her.”

“Indeed, she does better at our country estate, but she insists on being with her sister now.All the shopping and parties, she wishes her share of them. It is important to her to at least experience vicariously the excitement of the wedding. She will not speak of it, but I am certain she mourns the loss of her own future. She will never marry nor have a family of her own.”

Darcy heard Hal’s words as a blow to the stomach. Lady Harriet and he were in the same predicament. Neither could have the future they wished for. He ought not to feel such pity for himself. His heart restrained him, not a cruelly shortened life.

Hal returned to Georgiana’s side. Throughout the performance, Darcy contemplated Hal’s words. He chastised himself for his self-absorption. The harsh reality of Elizabeth’s marriage meant he had lost the possibility of true love. He might still live for decades. He would see Georgiana’s children born. With his resources, he might do anything he pleased.

Hattie had no such future. And despite the ferocious toll her illness took, she persisted in savouring what little she had. Darcy could not help but admire that.