Page 7 of The Power of Refusal

R ichard’s man returned in a few weeks with the report of Wickham’s attempt to elope with a minor heiress in Meryton. That cast the die. Approached by Colonel Fitzwilliam of the regulars, Wickham’s superior officer was more than willing to release him into the custody of His Majesty.

Wickham arrived in chains to London where he was consigned into the custody of the magistrate. Between the threat of Marshalsea, courtesy of many debts Darcy had in his possession, and the irate uncle of the young gentle lady who nearly followed in Georgiana’s path, passage on a decent three-decker sailing ship and a small stake to establish himself in some business was enough to convince Wickham to leave the shores of Britain. Wickham’s typical situation of pockets to let, and now the threat of imprisonment or a duel, made Van Diemen’s Land an appealing alternative.

Darcy was delighted to report this to Georgiana, whose warm embrace and teary words of thanks were reward enough for his trouble. That he had remedied what he now saw as an error in failing to protect the people of Meryton was a boon.

∞∞∞

Despite the utter dearth of encouragement from Elizabeth, Mr Fisher returned. During calling hours a few days after the dinner flinging debacle, his form darkened the door to the drawing room. Lydia and Kitty rose, curtseyed and left; their giggles barely suppressed. Lydia mouthed “White soup!” to Elizabeth as she scurried off.

Mary remained in the drawing room until Mrs Bennet had exhausted her store of pleasantries and told Mary to order tea. Dutifully, Mary left the room to speak with Mrs Hill. Having escaped the questionable company of Mr Fisher, Mary found pressing business in the back parlour and remained away.

Elizabeth would have been delighted to run from the room as well, but her mother’s piercing glare pinned her to her seat. Mr Fisher glanced her way, then fell into another recitation of the misery of attempting to manage a household as a single gentleman. His newest complaint was regarding the poor governess, who had given notice. Elizabeth had the impression she was most recent in a series of governesses who had been unable or unwilling to take on the Fisher brood. During his diatribe on the unreliability of young women, he, without irony, continued to cast appraising gazes at Elizabeth’s person. It seemed he regarded her as a potential governess with additional benefits. She could not even manage a polite smile.

After pouring tea and displaying Elizabeth's domestic virtues by having her arrange the tea table, Mrs Bennet expressed a sudden need to consult with her housekeeper. She stepped from the drawing room, looking back at Elizabeth with a speaking look. She left the door marginally ajar.

Mr Fisher looked around the room. He was silent for several minutes. Elizabeth, having seen two men summon themselves up to a proposal, found his foot-tapping, handwringing, and throat-clearing suspect. Indeed, she had seen this performance before, and it had yet to warrant a positive review. When at last he spoke, his words may well have reached a level even lower in her estimation than those of either Mr Collins or Mr Darcy.

No “I ardently admire and love you” was forthcoming. A familiar pang struck her recalling those words. Neither did Mr Fisher wax on about his situation and patroness. His was a very business-like address.

“Your elder sister is well married, is she not?” “Yes, Jane is very happy.”

“You wish to be married?”

Elizabeth hesitated. This was, undoubtedly, a question meant to entrap.

“Of course, you do. All single young ladies are in want of a husband,” he spoke for her.

Elizabeth saw no point in wasting her breath in response.

“I have a decent situation. My estate is solvent, and my home is comfortable. I require a mistress to raise my children. I do not need any further children, as I have an heir twice over.” He paused then, apparently rethinking his approach. “I would, of course, expect a true marriage,” he continued, his eyes running up and down her form with a hungry leer.

Elizabeth’s spine stiffened. He informed her she wanted a husband, and he determined she might meet his requirements for a wife. Why did these men think their wishes were all that need be considered?

“I did not say I wished to wed, sir. At present, I am uncertain I would be happy in such a marriage as you suggest,” she ventured.

He stared at her as if she had suggested he climb up the roof naked.

“My situation is not undesirable. You have an unhappily small portion and bring nothing to a marriage. It is by no means certain another offer of marriage may ever be made to you.” His voice was indignant.

Where, Elizabeth wondered, did these men learn that telling a woman she was of so little consequence she could expect no offers of marriage was a necessary part of a proposal? Mr Collins had been wrong, of course. And Elizabeth knew of only one offer of marriage she might wish for. The offer she had stupidly refused.

“If, as you suggest, my future is spinsterhood, I am content to remain a spinster. If your words are meant as an offer of marriage, I must respectfully decline,” she said, keeping her voice low enough to prevent her mother’s ear, no doubt pressed to the other side of the door, from hearing her words.

“Young lady, you do not know what you are about. I am an eligible man in need of a wife. You are nearly on the shelf. When my eldest daughter is sixteen, I will find her a husband as soon as may be. She will marry as I direct her and not linger in my charge until one-and- twenty. I would not accept such recalcitrance from her, and I am certain your father will not accept it from you.” Mr Fisher was loud, and Elizabeth expected her mother to barge in to berate her. But would her father take her side as he did with Mr Collins? Mr Fisher offered nothing better than Mr Collins had, nor would he inherit Longbourn. But she was of age now. She would not marry where she had no affection.

“I suggest then you inquire of Mr Bennet,” she said placidly, even whilst anxiety surged through her. Papa had to tell the man she need not marry him if she did not wish to. Her hands trembled in the folds of her gown. She sat bolt upright in a fair imitation of confidence she did not possess.

Mr Fisher rose, cast her a disdainful smirk, and stalked from the room. Mrs Bennet’s voice was frantic as she trailed him towards the study, “Whatever is wrong, sir? Was Elizabeth impertinent? I know not what to do with that girl!”

Elizabeth placed her hands beneath her legs to stop her fidgeting. The indistinct sounds of male voices rose and fell at a distance. A door opened. Elizabeth held her breath. Then Mrs Bennet again began demanding an explanation. “What has happened? Did Mr Bennet give his consent? Is there not a betrothal?”

“Good day, madam,” Mr Fisher said, and the door slammed shut.

Elizabeth whooshed out her breath. Without question, her mother was enraged. But it appeared her father had again spared her. But her life at Longbourn would no longer be tolerable.

“Your mother is irrational on the subject. I cannot make her comprehend expecting a girl of one-and-twenty to wed a man of two-and-forty to be a drudge and take on his dozen brats is foolish at best,” Mr Bennet said.

“Thank you, Papa, for making the effort. Even had I an iota of interest in the man, being a mother to a girl nearly of an age with Lydia would be impossible, let alone a set of children who have driven away a succession of governesses. But I am more concerned about the theme of her efforts than at their current target. My mother wishes to be rid of me.”

Mr Bennet did not deny Elizabeth’s statement. His mournful expression informed her matters were as bad as she thought, or worse.

“Your mother wishes you married. If it is not Fisher, it will be someone else, no doubt equally distasteful. Whilst Jane has done well for herself, my new son has spoken of leaving Netherfield. She is desperate for a daughter to marry and provide a home for her nearby when I am gone.

“I daresay she would be quite disappointed in that regard if I were compelled to marry for her convenience.” Elizabeth felt the bitterness of her words deeply. Her father sat silently for some minutes, then looked up.

“What say you go to London for a spell? Your aunt and uncle can put you to use with a mere four children to manage. I think it best if you are out of your mother’s sight for the nonce.”

Elizabeth was not unhappy to visit her relations in London, however, she knew she needed more than a temporary solution. She could never return to Longbourn without her mother’s ire reigniting. And should she return without having secured a husband, the whole charade would begin again.

Elizabeth excused herself and ascended the stairs with a heavy tread to pack her things. A knock on her door sounded as she was sorting her night rails.Lydia was seeking Elizabeth’s company.

“You will go to London?” she asked.

"My, news travels quickly. Papa thinks it best,” Elizabeth replied.

Lydia smirked. “Mamma has been shrieking about it since she heard. I wish I could go to London. It has been frightfully dull here since the regiment left.”

“Dull, perhaps, but considerably safer. You know there was a great deal of mischief, and worse, afoot with all those men in the camp.” Elizabeth fixed Lydia with a serious stare.

Lydia blushed, looked away, and then spoke. “Do you not think an elopement would be romantic?”

Elizabeth dropped what she was sorting and turned to Lydia.

“Certainly not! The best one could hope for would be that the scandal not ruin the lady and her family. Who would wish to sneak off to marry without even their family to support them?”

“It sounded rather exciting, but then I thought, perhaps it was a little fast. Would a girl really be ruined?”

“The sort of man who asks a girl to run away rather than speaking to her father and making a marriage agreement is hardly honourable. It is as likely a marriage would never happen, and then what? She has lived with him outside of marriage. Everyone knows of her ruin. No decent family would ever receive her again.” She knew Lydia was enamoured of rather gothic novels, and she hoped her inquiry referred to that and not some real-life acquaintance.

“Maybe the father is an ogre or wants the girl to marry higher. Would that not make it all right for them to elope?”

“I think not. Most fathers want what is best for their daughters. Do you think our father would refuse an honourable offer, if you wanted it?”

Lydia picked at her fingernail in silence. “Wickham said we ought to elope if I went to Brighton. But then Mamma made me stay home for Jane’s wedding. And then Mary King was caught sneaking out early in the morning, and who was waiting for her but Wickham. They planned to go to Scotland!”

Elizabeth was not shocked. Wickham’s attentions to any lady seemed to increase in direct proportion to her dowry. What a lucky break for Miss King she was discovered.

She fixed Lydia with a firm look. “Wickham is not a good man. Why would he not go to Mary’s uncle? If he had honourable intentions, he would have courted her openly and sought her uncle’s approval. He only cared about her dowry. You remember, Lydia, all the fuss when Wickham left Meryton without paying his debts? There were several merchants who were in desperate straits after he ran up bills and then went off without taking care of them. I doubt Mary’s ten thousand would last a year the way he spends.”

Lydia’s eyes lit with realisation. “Oh, yes, he ran up a bill of nearly a hundred pounds at the haberdasher for new uniforms, and then poor Mr Henry was stuck with the loss. But it got paid, you know. Some man from London came to Meryton and covered all Wickham’s bills to the local shops. Said he was from an ‘interested party’ and he held enough markers to send Wickham to Marshalsea.”

“When was that?” Elizabeth asked. A tingle in her stomach told her she knew who it was. “I believe it was whilst you were in London with Jane.”

“After I left Charlotte’s?”

“Yes, just before we went to meet you at the inn. I have remade that bonnet again, by the way. It is vastly better now. I will fetch it so you can see my success!” Lydia ran to her room to bring her bonnet for Elizabeth’s praise.

Elizabeth sat on her bed. Another piece of the mystery that was Mr Darcy had fallen into place. He had reconsidered his actions in Meryton and his reluctance to speak of Wickham’s misdeeds. Only Mr Darcy would know or care that Meryton merchants were likely to face disaster when a man of Wickham’s ilk was among them. Rather than allow the community to pay for the ignorance he might have remedied, Darcy had made the merchants whole. His place in her heart was even more firmly established.

Two weeks later, Elizabeth settled into the worn velvet cushions of the Bennet coach, her heart heavy with the weight of her departure from Longbourn. The rhythmic clopping of the horses’ hooves against the dirt road filled her ears, the sound a constant reminder of the distance growing between her and the only home she had ever known. She had packed thoroughly, each item carefully selected and placed in her trunk with the knowledge she might never return to the questionable serenity of her childhood home.

The coach rolled to a stop at the inn north of London, the bustling noise and crowded atmosphere a stark contrast to the peaceful countryside she had left behind. Elizabeth stepped out, accompanied by her uncle’s maid, her legs stiff from the long journey. The cacophony of voices and the clatter of hooves against cobblestones assaulted her senses. It sounded a reminder that her life was about to change in ways she could scarcely imagine. There was nothing for it.

Elizabeth took care of her necessary business, then she marched directly back to the waiting coach with quick and purposeful steps. The safety of the carriage beckoned a haven from the gaggle of strangers milling about the inn. She settled back into her seat, her eyes drawn to the activity outside, noting the vast number of equipages patronising the inn.

A particularly well-turned-out carriage pulled into the yard across from her, the hostelry staff jumping to attention with impressive speed. Elizabeth watched as a liveried coachman descended from his perch, joining the head groom in inspecting the lead pair’s hooves. A tall, well-dressed gentleman emerged from the far side of the coach, his posture and manner of walking unmistakable even from a distance. From yards away across a busy inn yard, Elizabeth knew that figure. Her heart leapt into her throat, her breath shallow. Mr Darcy stood across the busy stable yard; his face obscured as he spoke with his coachman. She watched, transfixed, as he stepped away and approached the inn with his servant, her emotions a tumultuous mix of longing and regret. Then he looked up, facing in her direction but not seeing her. Elizabeth caught her breath as she took in the face that haunted her. Mr Darcy entered the inn with his coachman.

The jostling of the carriage as her coachman and footman climbed aboard jolted Elizabeth from her reverie. She sat frozen in her seat as the horses began to pull her away from Mr Darcy. As much as she might wish to leap out and beg him to forgive her cruel words, she could do nothing. The words she longed to speak, the apologies she yearned to make, remained trapped in her throat, unspoken and unheard.

The last two hours of the journey passed in a blur, the scenic countryside of Hertfordshire giving way to the bustling streets of London. The acute misery of her situation threatened to overwhelm her carefully constructed composure. She allowed herself a brief moment of tears. Salty droplets slid down her cheeks as she tried to hide them from the maid.

As the carriage approached the familiar streets of Cheapside, Elizabeth dried her eyes.

She shifted her focus to the joy of seeing her beloved aunt and uncle. The hectic pace of London life stretched out before her as a welcome distraction from the turmoil of her heart. She knew the city’s charms would soon wear thin, but for now, she was grateful for the refuge her relations were providing. With them, she could trust her future would not be dictated by the whims of a matchmaking mother.

Elizabeth blended easily into the Gardiner household. Her aunt, enceinte and managing four children under eight, appreciated a pair of willing hands to assist with all her tasks, and Elizabeth was useful as the lively cousin who made stories come alive and drew up pictures of all their fanciful ideas entranced the children. Her busy days helped keep her mind off her sorrows.