Page 22 of The Power of Refusal

W hen Charles had praised Lockwood over Netherfield to Mrs Bennet, Elizabeth attributed his sentiments to justifying their move. In reality, Lockwood was far superior. It rivalled Rosings Park for grandeur, but Jane had redecorated with elegant taste. Mr Collins would have had much to say about the chimneypieces and the array of windows reflecting the late summer sun. Elizabeth had a sense of justice that her dearest sister lived in such a place.

For the first time in her life, Elizabeth had a chamber, dressing room, and sitting room dedicated to her own use. Jane would have her select her own maid as well, but Elizabeth was reluctant to accept. She intended to make herself useful, not to add to their obligations. Charles was generous, but Elizabeth knew she could, in time, be a burden to them.

Elizabeth continued sketching for her uncle and dabbled in caricature. The new faces at Lockwood provided ample subjects. She especially enjoyed rendering glimpses of Jane and Charles and presenting one to the other.

“You have captured Charles’s expression of concentration when he reads the newspaper precisely. Every morning he glowers at the columns so.”

“That is exactly how Jane looks when the cook has made the stew too salty. She never says an unkind word, but her face tells a complete story!”

Elizabeth did plain sewing with Jane, visited tenants, and entertained the tenant children, whilst Jane met with the women. She drove the phaeton with great relish, causing Jane to grasp the handholds in mock terror. Elizabeth rather enjoyed life as the sister of the wife of a wealthy landholder, so long as she never thought about her future. The warmth and tenderness she saw in little embraces, kind words, and adoring looks the couple exchanged were unintentional reminders of what she had not.

No such union had tempted Elizabeth. She could not repine her refusals. None of those men had offered her more than the opportunity to be a drudge under his exclusive control till death. Except, of course, for Bingley’s former friend.

Despite the affection between the couple at home, Elizabeth knew Jane was not demonstrative in public settings. Anyone who had not lived twenty years in Jane's company would be wholly ignorant of her feelings. That Jane and Bingley were now married, living contentedly at Lockwood, and that Elizabeth herself had this privileged existence with them, was due entirely to Mr Darcy acknowledging his error and making amends. When Elizabeth had tentatively raised the matter of Bingley's break with Darcy, Jane had shrugged.

“Charles, for all his good humour, has a very stubborn shade to his character. It is a strength in business and managing the estate, but it has not served him well in the case of Mr Darcy.”

“You are very forgiving of a man who wished you not to wed Charles,” Elizabeth said.

“Indeed, he ought not to have spoken on the matter. But, given better information, he did not adhere to his opinion. He went directly to Charles and corrected his misinformation. He caused my greatest happiness.”

“But Charles views it differently?” Elizabeth said.

“Charles was affronted that Mr Darcy—and even more so his sisters—had interfered. He insisted Mr Darcy only spoke later out of a sense of scruple. Mr Darcy, he says, hates to be wrong. But I have suggested from time to time he reconsider. He lost a good friend over the matter, and he feels the loss,” Jane said.

“Men can be quite interesting, can they not?” Elizabeth said.

Jane laughed. “You know not the half of it. If we spend more time in London now Caroline is disposed of, I will see if I can get Charles to see reason. He misses his friend still.”

A frisson disturbed her middle. What was this? A thrill at the thought of Charles reconciling with Darcy? After she had abused him so abominably to his face, could she ever be foolish enough to expect a renewal of his love?

∞∞∞

Colonel Fitzwilliam appeared one afternoon, seeking to commiserate with Darcy in the loss of their charge. Richard had been uncharacteristically emotional about Georgiana’s wedding. He shared his pain with only Darcy.

“I suppose we could congratulate ourselves on a job well done, but I think I would rather turn the calendar back a decade and watch her grow up again,” Richard said.

“We did well enough for two bachelors. Little Georgiana, a viscountess—think of it. I never expected her to marry, if I am honest. I thought I would have her with me always.”

“I could not have parted with her to anyone less worthy. Yet I do not relish the change, either. What will you do now? Find a wife at last?”

“Georgiana made me promise to do something. She wants me to marry,” Darcy said with a sigh.

“So, attending social events, meeting ladies on the hunt for a husband?”

“Utterly distasteful,” Darcy said. Any lady would be a poor second choice to Elizabeth. “Then a marriage of convenience? You would have no difficulty finding a lady who wished to be mistress of Pemberley. Will you arrange a marriage with someone who wants your fortune and connections?”

“I think that would be worse than living alone. I would prefer to be useful—to be needed. Georgiana has always depended upon me. Now, aside from matters connected with the estate, no one needs me.”

“That is a dark view of the matter.”

“Perhaps, but it is the truth. I am an interchangeable part of Pemberley. As long as the work is done, no one need care who I am.”

“I suppose that is true for anyone. We are most valued by those close to us. Or those who are most vulnerable. Could you not find a lady who needs a champion, not a mere provider?” Richard asked.

Darcy sighed. It might be enough to care for someone who needed him, not for his money or influence, but for who he was. If he could not find love…

Darcy sat forward. Richard looked expectantly at him. “What if…” Darcy began.

“What if what, man? Have you thought of a needy bride?”

“Perhaps I have. I must think this through. I must be certain.”

???

The letter from Mary arrived on a crisp autumn morning, the paper crackling as Elizabeth unfolded it:

Dear Elizabeth,

I fervently pray that you, and Mr and Mrs Bingley are in good health. Mr Couper and I are well, anxiously anticipating a blessed event expected in the coming month.

Knowing Jane may require your presence, I hesitate to ask, but should she be able to spare you, I implore you to consider staying at the Alton parsonage for some weeks. Though I have capable help and parish support, I long for a familiar face as I approach my time of travail.

Our mother has offered her services, conditional upon our sending a carriage and maid, providing her with the best chamber, and my refraining from delivery until after the Longs’ supper party three weeks hence. I would gladly forgo her assistance if I might have my dear sister Elizabeth at my side. I am well aware that Mother Couper and Mother Bennet would not make for a congenial mix.

Please respond with haste regarding your ability to assist. I entreat my brother Mr Bingley to provide transport, as I would not wish to ask you to travel by post.

With earnest prayers for your continued health and happiness,Mary Couper

Elizabeth’s hands trembled as she shared Mary’s letter with Jane and Charles. Charles immediately insisted on sending Elizabeth in their best carriage. Jane spoke of Mary’s joy, her own words hollow, a sense of foreboding casting a palpable pall over the household.

Later that afternoon, the rapid patter of footsteps on the stairs heralded Jane’s maid. “Miss Elizabeth,” Holly called, her voice hushed and urgent. “Come, please, to my mistress. I fear she has lost the child.“ The words hung in the air. Elizabeth’s stomach lurched, bile rising in her throat.

Jane’s chamber door creaked open, revealing her sister’s tear-stained face, confirming their worst fears. The room smelled faintly of copper and despair.

“Lizzy,” Jane wailed, her voice cracking, “I cannot bear to tell Charles I have failed again.”

Elizabeth rushed to embrace her sister. Jane’s fragile form felt weightless in her arms, bones sharp beneath thin skin.

“Jane,” Elizabeth murmured, her voice thick with emotion, “you have not failed. No one could have been more attentive to your condition. We cannot control the will of God.” The words felt inadequate, but she held her sister tighter, willing her strength into Jane’s frail body.

∞∞∞

Elizabeth rested her head on her arm, attempting to sleep in the carriage en route to Alton. The scent of leather and polish mingled with the earthy aroma of the countryside drifting through the window. Charles had made arrangements for her trip, his thoughtfulness evident in the plush cushions and warm blanket, but even his solicitude could not smooth the rutted roads or make the journey pass more quickly.

She had attempted to read, but, as always, the swaying of the carriage made the words swim before her eyes until she was too addled to read on. The rhythmic clop of hooves and creak of wheels became a melancholy lullaby, accompanying her tumultuous thoughts. Her poor sister, Jane, had barely risen from her bed since the terrible morning when she miscarried. Elizabeth was torn asunder by the needs of her two sisters, but Jane insisted she go to Mary where she was needed. The long hours passed slowly, and Elizabeth’s mind wandered through a fog of memories and regrets.

Never was Mr Darcy far from her mind. It seemed whenever she closed her eyes, the image of his handsome countenance rose up, as vivid as a painting. The memory of him at when at Hunsford, dressed for travel but gazing at her with a tender warmth that tossed her insides about wildly, was a constant reminder of all she had thrown away. The phantom touch of his hand, the imagined whisper of his voice—these haunted her waking moments and coloured her dreams.