Page 52 of The Riches of a Life Well-Lived

A s soon as she returned from her walk with Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth went in to breakfast with her family. How peculiar it was to sit and listen to an entirely different conversation! Although the content of the conversation was similar to yesterday’s (the officers, especially Mr. Wickham, featured prominently in her sisters’ discussions), it still startled her every time someone said something new.

As breakfast ended, she pulled Jane aside. “Would you join me on a walk this morning? I would like to speak to you privately.”

Jane studied her with concern. “Of course, Lizzy.”

After Mr. Collins was ensconced (temporarily) in Mr. Bennet’s library, Elizabeth collected her wrap and her sketchbook and dragged Jane outside, steering her out of sight of the house.

“Are you well?” Jane asked her.

Elizabeth nodded. She was well—it was Wednesday and she could finally interact meaningfully with the people around her. Suddenly, the depth of her longing for Jane swept over her. “Oh, Jane, I have missed you so!” She pulled her sister into a hug.

“Missed me?” Jane asked, returning Elizabeth’s fierce hug.

Elizabeth stood there in her sister’s embrace as a storm of emotions raged through her. Tuesday had been a blessing, a way for her and Mr. Darcy to grow, and she would not trade it for the world. Yet, it had also been a time of loss. She nodded against Jane’s shoulder, eyes shut tight. Now that Wednesday was here, it was as though she could finally allow herself to feel all the things she had not even recognised at the time. She sniffed and hugged Jane tighter. “I had not even realised how much I missed you until this moment.”

“Lizzy, what is wrong?” Jane asked with alarm.

Elizabeth stepped back and smiled at her sister. “Nothing now. Or—I do not know. I am all mixed up.” She took Jane’s hand and squeezed it. “Shall we walk?”

Jane threaded her arm through Elizabeth’s and drew her close. “Only if you will tell me what has happened.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath and then chuckled. “You will think it incredible, but Monday, November 18th, was almost four months ago.”

Jane slowed.

“Oh, I know how it sounds, Jane. But truly, one hundred and ten days ago was the first Tuesday, November 19th. Instead of the next day being Wednesday, Tuesday repeated over and over again. You do not remember any of it, do you?”

Jane shook her head and then reached up to feel Elizabeth’s forehead.

“No fever, Sister dear. I am perfectly sound. It really happened. When we reach the bench by the stream, I shall sketch for you.”

“Sketch for me?”

“My increased skills proved the truth of my words on one of the Tuesdays, and I spent quite a bit of time working on my sketching with Charlotte as well as practising pianoforte, doing vocal exercises, and reading a quantity of books. Right now, however, for proof, I offer a piece of information which you yourself told me for this purpose: Mr. Drake kissed you and that is why you rejected him.”

Jane came to a halt, nearly slipping on the fallen leaves. “How do you know that?”

“You told me one Tuesday so that I would not have to provide all sorts of other proofs.” Elizabeth pulled Jane closer. “I wish you had told me at the time—I would have been more vigilant.”

“You were already quite vigilant,” Jane said slowly. “I did not see any point in telling you as it would only have distressed you and you already ensured that I would not be alone with him.”

“So you said before. Still, I hate that you had to carry that secret.”

Jane smiled. “You were with me even if you did not know it.” She grew serious. “I am certain I did not tell you that, nor would you have remained silent if you knew the truth earlier.”

“You are quite right! I certainly would have objected more vociferously every time Mama tried to leave you alone with him.”

“I know you would have,” Jane said, her brow troubled.

“Does that mean you believe me about Tuesday?”

Jane’s frown deepened. “I do not believe that you are lying, but it is truly fantastical.”

“Masterfully spoken,” Elizabeth said with a laugh, linking arms with Jane and resuming their walk. “I am not lying, and yet my words are impossible. Can you suspend your disbelief until I sketch for you then? I should like to talk to you about—oh, about anything really. I have just missed you a great deal. I feel as though I have been on a long journey and am only now returning home, even though I have seen you every Tuesday.”

“That must have been difficult,” Jane said sympathetically.

Elizabeth quirked a half-smile. “I am not sure I would have survived alone.”

“You were not alone?”

“Mr. Darcy was with me,” Elizabeth said in a rush.

“Mr. Darcy? Was that awful?”

As she could not explain the depth of her feelings for Mr. Darcy without telling her sister why they had changed, Elizabeth began with how she had “awoken” on the twenty-ninth Tuesday, how she and Mr. Darcy had initially believed their quest to be rescuing Miss Darcy, and then detailed the various steps they had taken, finishing with a brief recounting of more recent events.

Jane blinked at her. “I do not know what to say.”

Elizabeth laughed. “ I would not believe me if I had not personally experienced it.”

“It is not that I do not believe you; the way you describe Mr. Darcy is confirmation that you have changed more than seems possible in the space of a day, and yet....” Jane trailed off, the frown appearing etched on her features.

“It is a fantastical story,” Elizabeth agreed. After that, she remained silent, listening to the crunch of fallen leaves and observing the scenery for minute changes. It was probably her imagination, but the sun seemed brighter and the wind felt warmer today. Even the berries appeared riper than yesterday.

“You are—you are certain—no, of course you are,” Jane said after several minutes. “You would not have told me if you were not.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I am.”

“Are you well, Lizzy? If you were alone with Mr. Darcy for so long—you did not even like him!”

“I did not. We have since resolved our differences. He was unaware of how he appeared to others.” A smile played about her lips. He had certainly taken her critique to heart. “Mr. Darcy is one of the best men I have ever met, Jane. His pride was no more than a facade, and underneath, he is a good man. Once he realised how poorly his pride had served him, he worked hard to change how he interacts with others.”

Jane stopped once more and turned to face Elizabeth. “The best man you know? Truly, you have changed, Lizzy.”

“I have,” Elizabeth agreed. “And I am so glad you are here now.”

“You truly care for him?” Jane asked, studying her sister.

“I do. Over the past few months, we became close friends.” Elizabeth sighed. “I was more than ready for Tuesday to end, yet now that it has, I miss the freedom we had.”

“Freedom?” Jane prompted, one eyebrow raised.

Elizabeth flushed. “Not what you are thinking, Jane dearest. We did nothing improper—well, very little that was improper. It is only that I miss being able to spend time with him. We did try to be circumspect, as we were unsure who else might regain their memories of previous Tuesdays—or even if everyone might do so once Wednesday arrived. You still do not recall anything?”

“Not at all. At least, nothing beyond what happened yesterday, which I suppose was your most recent Tuesday.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I imagine so.” She resumed walking, unable to meet Jane’s gaze while she related the next part. She had longed for her sister’s opinion on whether she was being foolish about Mr. Darcy and now she could finally ask. “He has proposed,” she admitted quietly.

Birdsong was her only answer for a long moment.

“I must confess that I am still attempting to understand the material change your feelings have undergone,” Jane said carefully. “Have you accepted his proposal or did you decline?”

Elizabeth sighed. “Neither.” She kicked at the leaves along the edge of the path. “I could not accept—not when we did not know how long Tuesday would continue, nor if he might change his mind once time resumed.”

“You believe him to be inconstant?”

Elizabeth chuckled. “On the contrary, I believe him to be a bit too constant—once I had accepted, he would never back out, even if his feelings changed. I cannot bear to watch his love for me sour once he realises how much he would have to give up to marry me.”

“What would he have to give up?” Jane asked with a frown.

Elizabeth’s lips twisted in a bittersweet smile, and she pulled her wrap tighter as the wind’s chill grew. “He is too good a man to count the cost, particularly when faced with weeks of Tuesdays without consequences. He could marry nearly anyone in the ton. Diamonds of the first water. Debutantes with wealth and position. Women of connection and breeding.” She gave a little shrug. “What am I compared to them?”

Jane reached over and squeezed Elizabeth’s hand. “You are a gentlewoman too.”

“You cannot deny the practicalities, though,” Elizabeth said.

“I do not. Yet, does not Mr. Darcy have a right to make his own decisions? You say he would not be inconstant and he strikes me as a man who considers carefully before taking serious steps—would he not have already counted the cost before offering for you?” Jane asked, shaking her sister’s hand gently.

Elizabeth shrugged again. “Were it not for our unusual circumstances, I would have said ‘yes.’ However, you cannot imagine how difficult it is to be mindful of consequences when one has been living without them for some time. Not to mention that it is one thing to be certain of his own heart; it is another to face the disapprobation of his peers and his family.”

Jane raised one eyebrow. “You said that you did not tell me of the repetitions every day because it was too painful, did you not?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said.

“Then I believe you were still mindful of the consequences. Perhaps less attentive than normal, but not entirely heedless. I doubt that Mr. Darcy was any less mindful.”

Elizabeth bit her lip. “That may be so; however, my concerns remain.”

Jane threaded her arm through Elizabeth’s. “How did you answer his proposal then?”

“I told him that I care deeply for him, but that I could not accept while we were trapped in Tuesday.” Elizabeth slowed. “He quoted Shakespeare to me and promised to renew his addresses once we have returned to the normal rhythms of our lives.” She took a deep breath. “It is for the best: we cannot live our entire lives as though we are alone in the world. He has to be certain— we have to be certain that we still wish to be together, even when others are around, when tasks have to be completed, when the world continues to revolve, regardless of our behaviour. Returning to our normal lives will give us both the opportunity to re-evaluate whether our friendship may continue.”

“Then why are you still upset?” Jane asked gently.

Elizabeth’s eyes unaccountably filled with tears. “Honestly, I do not know, Jane. I confuse myself. I should be ecstatic, and indeed I am. However, I am also....” A jumble of emotions that swirled like fallen leaves on a blustery day filled her. She did not know how to explain it to herself, let alone to her sister. She missed Mr. Darcy. Was he having as much trouble adjusting to their change in routine as she was? Elizabeth took a deep breath. “I am off balance.”

Jane pulled her to a halt and handed her a handkerchief. “Of course you are. You have just endured months of a very different sort of reality and now you are having to adjust once more.”

Elizabeth wiped her tears. “As usual, you are too kind.”

“As usual, you are expecting too much of yourself,” Jane retorted, pulling her sister into a tight hug.

“Oh, Jane—if only you knew how wretchedly I misjudged Mr. Darcy. I have not been nearly hard enough on myself. If I had been more skilled in self-reflection, perhaps I would not have been so stubborn.”

“Oh?”

Elizabeth stepped out of Jane’s embrace. “I believed Mr. Darcy’s worst enemy over the man who had never given me reason to distrust him. My vanity was injured, and I refused to give Mr. Darcy the benefit of a second impression—I thought myself so clever, so wise, so able to judge people, and I was still taken in by the worst sort of charlatan and disdained the best man I have ever known.”

“A charlatan?” Jane asked, her brow furrowing. “Who are you speaking of? Presumably someone we met yesterday.”

“Mr. Wickham. I cannot tell you everything, but―” They continued walking, and as Elizabeth told her sister about Mr. Wickham’s manufactured story and the truth of what he had done to Mr. Darcy (save for what had happened with Miss Darcy), Jane grew very grave.

“But surely there is some miscommunication between them,” Jane protested. “Mr. Wickham’s appearance and manners are so genteel. Can anyone like that be as horrible as you represent?”

Elizabeth came to a halt and held her sister’s gaze. “Though you do not wish to think ill of anyone, yes, Mr. Wickham can be as horrible as I represent. Mr. Darcy holds many of the man’s debts and has taken several young women into his household with Mr. Wickham’s natural children. There is nothing gentlemanly about Mr. Wickham, save for his appearance and mien, which he has cultivated solely to deceive. As I said, he told me the tale of Mr. Darcy refusing to give him his inheritance several times. Eventually, I began asking questions and his responses were entirely contradictory. He is dangerous. As I said, Mrs. Engel put Mr. Darcy and me into the repeating Tuesday for the purpose of ensuring that neither of us would end up related to such a blackguard.”

Jane’s brow creased. “I suppose there are such people. Are you truly certain that Mr. Wickham is one of them though? He seemed quite congenial.”

Elizabeth raised one eyebrow. “Why else are people so often taken in by cads if they do not present themselves, as Mary would put it, with the appearance of an angel of light?”

Jane merely appeared thoughtful.

They reached the streamside bench and Elizabeth brushed it off, taking out her sketchbook and beginning at once on another sketch of a nearby squirrel.

“Speaking of Mr. Wickham,” Elizabeth continued, “I intend to walk into Meryton today to tell Uncle Phillips my concerns about the militia in general and about Mr. Wickham in particular.”

Jane gracefully joined her on the bench. “If you think that is best,” she said, studying the way Elizabeth’s pencil moved across the page.

“I do. The good men in the militia will not be damaged by the increased scrutiny and the scoundrels ought to be watched.”

“There is more than one scoundrel?” Jane exclaimed, tearing her eyes from Elizabeth’s drawing.

Elizabeth began on the squirrel’s tail. “I have no idea, though, apparently, Mrs. Engel told Mr. Darcy that removing Mr. Wickham would only result in his obtaining someone equally deplorable as a brother. I do not wish for any of our sisters to suffer such a fate.”

“Nor do I.”

Elizabeth hesitated. “I have tried many short conversations with them about the dangers of marrying poorly, but perhaps, now that we have more time, you and I may do our best to help them?”

Jane glanced back and forth between a squirrel who chittered at them from a nearby tree and Elizabeth’s paper. “What do you believe would help them?”

“I do not know,” Elizabeth paused mid-sketch. “They seem utterly ignorant of the cost of maintaining a household and of the necessity of marrying someone who is not penniless. Nor do Kitty and Lydia seem to care a fig about whether or not their husbands are men of principle. I almost think they equate morals with someone like Mary or Mr. Collins.”

Jane clasped her hands in her lap. “Perhaps we may convince Papa or Mama to disclose more of the household accounts.”

“Perhaps. Mr. Darcy thinks Mama ought to be teaching all of us all about the household accounts.”

Jane’s lips curved up. “Well, if Mr. Darcy thinks we ought to pursue that course―”

Elizabeth poked her sister in the side. “Do not tease me, Jane!”

Jane chuckled. “Because you have never teased me?” She sobered. “It would do our sisters good to look at the household accounts. Mama taught me about the accounts and Papa taught you, but they really ought to have educated our sisters too.”

“I was thinking you could mention what a necessary skill it is for future wives, especially if they intend to marry rich gentlemen,” Elizabeth said tentatively. “Miss Bingley is an excellent example—at least, Mama will likely see her as such. Maybe you could include something about Miss Bingley’s prowess as a hostess?”

Jane turned to face her sister fully. “Elizabeth Bennet! You know that Mama prides herself on being the best hostess in the county. Are you suggesting I use that against her?”

“Only if it works.” Before Jane could argue, Elizabeth held up her sketch. “What do you think?”

“It is lovely. I never would have imagined you drawing so well. Look at the details on its face,” Jane said, taking the sketchbook for closer study. “You must have spent hours working on this skill.”

“Quite a few,” Elizabeth agreed. “When one has ninety-one days nearly without responsibilities, one has to find something to do.”

“Are you going to continue drawing?” Jane asked.

Elizabeth shrugged. “Probably. I have found it to be a relaxing diversion.” She took her sketchbook back and began packing her drawing things. “Do you wish to come to Meryton today too?”

“Yes,” Jane said, linking arms with Elizabeth and walking back towards Longbourn.