Section I, Next Section
Part 1 Posted on Sunday, 11 July 1999
It was simply infuriating. Charming, smiles, and with eyes that glimmered of beautiful and mysterious nature. It should not be allowed that a woman possessed all this!
Fitzwilliam Darcy took a turn about the room, smiling pleasantly enough. The London ballroom was filled with many deliriously delighted debutantes, garrulously gossiping gabbers, and merrily mirthful men.
Delight tinkled on crystal glasses, as he smiled at a servant. The ball was good enough, he thought. Being a worldly twenty years, Fitzwilliam had attended enough of them for the novelty to wear off by now.
Fitzwilliam Darcy was not looking forward to many more years of flitty meaningless chatter and artificial advances as transparent as the crystal.
Sighing, he looked at the masked young woman who stood at the opposite end of the room. He had known of her for three days. That smile for him, as if mocking him, possessing an ounce of something that she knew she had but he did not.
He had taken tea with her once, at the home of a mutual acquaintance he had forgotten the name of already. Beautiful, her eyes mocked him as she spoke in hushed, darker tones to the hostess's daughter.
He had seen her in the park, while riding in the carriage, on his way to pay his addresses to Mr. Kilbourne. She had run in front of his carriage, chasing after a ball some child had dropped. His man had stopped so abruptly he fell forward in the carriage, to which when he got up, she reacted with a slow, lazy smile, and a shrug. She must be about sixteen, he imagined.
Her name was unknown. Her presence was felt everywhere.
She had been the talk of the masquerade the moment she had arrived. Her clothes were not fashionable; they were not Paris originals, and certainly the lace on her gown was charming; it had a classical rustic quality to it, as he had heard Louisa Bingley snidely remark to her younger sister. But she was by no means unpleasant to look at.
She was not in want of a partner. Many approached her, he had noticed, but just as quickly, she'd send them a remark that would color them, and they'd beg their leave, and take it.
She was a wily one. Certainly he was not interested. Not his type at all. No, there was that Frenchie right there, with the twittery accent, and big sapphire blue eyes who had been sizing him up all evening. And yet, he despised high pitch stutters and unintelligent conversation.
Deciding, he approached Mr. Portstanque. "Do you know the young lady?" he gestured to Mysteriously Masked.
"I am sorry I do not..."
This was not working. The past twenty minutes, he had vacillated between approaching her, or not. He had asked discreetly of people who knew the mysterious young woman across the room. Her name was left a mystery. And he was left without proper introduction.
Propreity be damned, he sighed, approaching her. I bet she's worth it.
"Good evening, mademoiselle," he addressed her politely.
"Good evening, monsieur," she smiled back mysteriously.
Her heart gave a jump. Keep this one, Lizzy... it said. She smiled to the handsome young man in front of her.
Oh, yes indeed he was handsome, though the candlelight was by no means distinguishing, and the mask he carried to hide his face did do a turn. Fashionably dressed, with that same look of slightly intrigued frustration that he possessed the first time she had seen him. And very bold, if he was going to approach her without proper introduction. Something in her heart smiled at that, though.
"I have come here to talk to you, my friend," he addressed her casually.
"Oh?" her brow quirked. Intrigued, she let herself slip into a walk with him as he gestured towards the balcony. Indeed a different approach. She'd let this one amuse her for a little while.
Oh it felt so glorious being the mysteriously beautiful tonight! She wished she could have visited her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner more. The powder she wore, the rouge had her looking different from her usual appearance. Her fashions were all gowns had worn before, fixed up to look new. She came to London determined to leave someone else at home. This whole trip, she had been someone different! She had already spent the time of it walking about the streets, enjoying the shops, and the people, the ability to be anonymous in a city so large.
She looked like the type he could talk about different things to. She'd be bored with questions of laces of other women's gowns. She'd be the type who liked to fight the fight, not be the prize of one. All this, he took in careful consideration as he chose the first question of conversation. "No, this will not do. I can't say that neither of us perform to strangers very well. Therefore, I will assume myself a dear acquaintance of yours, and we will continue from there."
Confused, she looked at her partner. No, indeed, he was not the usual man.
Oh, she had found him earlier. But to be sure, it was different now. She wasn't talking to him when she smiled across the table during tea. She wasn't talking to him when she ran in front of his carriage, or when she caught his eye in the opera the other night. No, now, was conversation.
And to her pleasant surprise, he was very charming. If she were at home, she'd say presumptuous, but this was London! It was highly unlikely that he should know her long enough to find out she wasn't beautiful and mysterious, so she decided to play off his bantering, and enjoy the evening. "All right. You are to address me as Beth, then," she said, giving him a somewhat false name. But being Beth was so much easier than using her real name. No, she was a different person tonight.
"You may then call me Liam," he smiled back to her, knowing that anonymity did have its rewards. Yes, he could see himself enjoying this evening very much, if his companion and him were to be total strangers.
"What a singular name!" she smiled back to him, exhilarated. Finding someone as fun as Liam, and knowing that he was the same way...
"I like being a singular person," he responded smilingly.
"I'll wager you do," she smiled back to him.
He guided her to the gardens, and she smiled. "Oh, gardens are so delicious in moonlight, are they not, Liam? Do you not think them mysterious and charming, with their flowers all bundled up, hiding from cold and darkness?"
"I'd have to say that I think gardens rather selfish at night. They remain quiet, and never bloom. They will not share beauty with anyone or anything...like coquette little French misses who wink and wander away."
"Touché." She smiled. Interesting company indeed!
Why couldn't she get him out of her mind?
The day after the ball, she sat in her room, penning a letter to her sister Jane.
I find the society here is very diverse. We are strangers here, Jane, where people may wear masks, and be whomever they wish.
She sighed, sitting back in her chair. She wondered what Liam would say, should he find out that the charming "Beth" last night was wearing a borrowed personality.
There is much to be said about the benefits of such surroundings. You can pretend, experiment, and no one is the wiser. No one remembers what you were really like when you were younger. No one recalls your relations, your society. Your position. Only those who really care of position and name are not of your concern. And those that don't, well, I suppose they have passed the test, then, haven't they? But ah, I have a meeting later that I must prepare for. I hope you will not mind, but I must now quickly close this letter. I will be with you in a few days, my dear sister. Yours, Lizzy.
Writing the direction on the envelope, she quickly smiled to herself, as she stood up, and walked out. She walk the letter to the post herself, and meet her aunt and uncle for dinner within an hour.
He wished to see her again. She was charming, and all things delightful.
Perhaps, this mysteriousness, however, was desired. If she actually knew him, and he her...
No, it was better this way. Walking to the post, he carried an epistle he had scantily jotted down for his father, informing of his plans of remaining in London a little while longer; the determined time for return was as of yet unnoted, and unknown.
Perhaps... he thought.
Walking to the post, she caught herself looking at the surrounding people, examining faces. Rediculous, Lizzy, really.
Oh how she wished she were home, and how she wished that her return would be delayed just a few more days. Yes, she knew she couldn't carry on the charade much longer than the time she was to stay here anyhow. No, she would leave before she gave herself away for the poor country lass she really was.
Oh my! Was that him? She turned away, hiding herself behind a bonnet, discreetly examining. No. Sigh.
Oh! That top hat looked familiar! On a blond head. No. Not him either.
Lizzy! You will stop this! You are acting like your little sisters!
"Beth!"
She jumped, as she felt her heart jump above her head and dive deep into her feet. "You gave me a fright, Liam," she caught her breath.
"I'm sorry," he smiled.
"No you're not," she smiled playfully to him.
He smiled for a moment, and gave in and laughed. "No, not at all."
They stood awkwardly for a moment, and Lizzy wondered if she had time to stand here, go to the post before her aunt missed her.
Liam must have noticed, for he offered her an arm, "I am currently going to the post, and you?"
She smiled brightly. "Yes!" she took the letter out of her coat and showed it to him.
He snatched it out of her hand. He had to find out her real name.
"Hey!" she berated.
"Tsk, tsk, very unladylike," he teased her, noting that she had not, after all, written her own name for a return direction. The ink for the direction it was to be sent was still wet, however. He pressed it against the inner cuff of his white sleeve. His valet would be very angry with him, but he would be able to wash it out later. After making sure he had a good imprint, he handed the letter back to her, which she took, thanking in her mind that she had anticipated such an event, and "forgotten" to write the return direction.
"London is full of people, who don't have to be ladies," she looked at him, observing what she had stated to Jane in her letter.
"Very true. London is full of people in general. It is just as easy to get lost in the crowd as it is to emerge from it..." he observed, continuing. "Whether it is a benefit or not, is up to the one who chooses to use it his or her own way," he observed.
Lizzy smiled. "Absolutely! I find it absolutely marvelous. In some parts, you may be one person, in some other districts in London, you can pretend to be someone else. The whole town is, in truth, a large masquerade."
"Very insightful, Miss Beth."
"I like insightful conversation," she smiled to him.
"Yes," he laughed back. "I imagine that very well. You're the type of girl who would probably love her father's library the best in the whole house. You're your father's child, and probably are the most independent of your family."
"You read me well, and yet I have not yet time to form a likeness of you."
"It is true that a woman is easier to pick out from the crowd. What rules they chose to follow, how much of their imagination they actually allow to surface all give away what she's like. While a man of any status can be educated, women are singular individuals; only those who strive to find themselves some knowledge will be able to find it."
"Very observant, Mr. Liam, I'll have to agree with you there."
He gestured to the post. "And here we are...the post."
They stood there awkwardly for a moment in silence, while people walked about them, not caring that Fitzwilliam Darcy, was standing with a mysterious woman of whose connections were unknown. "The post," she repeated.
"Ah I-" they both began.
"I am going to leave London early tomorrow morning..." she began.
"Oh?" he felt something sinking.
"Yes, I am afraid that I have stayed long enough in London, or at least enough to satisfy curiosities for quite some time. I do not pretend that this has been an unpleasant interlude..." she continued quietly.
"Yes, I have enjoyed this very much..." he said, not knowing really what he should say. What do you say to such a person? That he has not been acting as himself lately? That this person whom she talks to, is not the true him? That in all this, he strove to deceive, to use this masquerade as his advantage? "Beth..."
"Have a good day, Liam," she smiled to him. "Let us part on good terms," she held out her hand.
He took it, and kissed it softly. "Take care, Beth."
"Good-bye, Liam."
The carriage ride was bumpy. Her head ached.
She felt something odd in her as she left the cobblestone streets of London. As if she tore a part of her away while she left.
She always felt this way when she left her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, though. She loved them very much.
But still, even that departure never felt as acute as now, as if she had thrown away one of the best opportunities in her life. Oh, she would miss him. She admitted to herself. She would miss being this mysterious, charming being. She would miss talking these topics away, into hours that men and women do not go into. She would miss it all.
She would miss being her other self. She would miss being smart and clever, and being appreciated all the more because of it.
The sky was changing colors now, though, and the day was coming. As she said farewell to the London Knight...she meant Night.
Smile.
August 27Dear Ms. Jane Bennet,
Forgive me if this letter seems forward, but it is of import to me. I am not of your acquaintance. However, there is one woman of your acquaintance who I do know of, and her name is Beth.
I met her currently in London, just three months ago, and for the life of me, I could not forget her face. I received your address by clandestine means which I wish not to disclose, but be not alarmed that I write with intentions that are more than what they seem. I must write, and implore you to somehow send her this letter, which I have enclosed.
I only sign with the name
Liam
She could not forget him.
She had spent hours in the garden, "mooning about" her mother called it, wondering on just how selfish the roses really were.
When she thought of the flowers, she thought of him. At the country dances, when she entered the room, she would sit out at least half the dances, not for lack of prospective partners, but for her strange desire to sit down and close her eyes, and listen to the music, perhaps muse a little over the happenings of the day, what Liam would have to say, some cunning remark she would say back to him...
Her mother worried tremendously.
"Mr. Bennet," his wife said to he one day. "Lizzy is acting very peculiar..."
"Ah, stuff and nonsense!" he shrugged it off, but noted it in her mind that she now showed a deeper interest in books, in the news. She discussed more topics with her father, ranging from all sorts.
And though he was a great conversationalist, she missed him.
She sat in her bedroom one night, brushing her hair.
Quietly, Jane entered.
She'd never seen her sister so distracted. Lizzy would spend evenings quietly reading, musing on something or another, perhaps jotting part of it down on some paper...letters that she never sent.
She was happy enough to be sure. There was nothing so excessively sad about her. In fact, she'd never seen her sister so happy. But there were times, like now, when she'd simply sit, and stare at her reflection, as if she were in conversation with someone.
"Lizzy..."
She turned. "Good evening, dearest!" she smiled delightedly to her sister. "What brings you here tonight?"
"I've had a letter, from a mysterious stranger from London, and I think it regards to you...I might add that it was difficult to receive this in the first place, for you know how mother gets when she finds out we've received letters from gentlemen. You owe Hill much," she showed her sister the missive.
Her eyes glowed. "Oh Jane! He wrote!" She stood up, and took her sister's hands, and spun around the room with her. "Oh, he wrote, and I am so delighted! So where is his letter?" she asked, bubbling with energy.
Jane smiled at her sister. "Lizzy, who is this Liam? For surely he must be a prince to have you smiling so!"
"Oh, nothing really. I don't really know him. We met at a ball, and he asked me to walk with him, and we talked a lot, and found many things in common. We don't talk of personal things really, just ideas, and reflections on happenings. Oh, and he's so charming! Did he leave a name? A direction?"
"A post office box in Lambton, and the name 'Liam'."
"No other name?" Lizzy asked.
"Well, here's the letter he wrote me. Here's the one he wrote to you..." she left them in her sister's hands, and exited quickly.
Lizzy read through her sister's first. Elegant hand, she mused, with a hint of much good breeding and culture. Was he the son of a calligrapher? A steward? Or was he an English Lord?
She smiled, and set it down, eager to open the one addressed to her.
My Dear Beth,As I have already addressed you as such a dear friend, I cannot pretend to start with trivial reflections and inquiries about the weather which will be already different and stale when they reach your eyes. And so...
My dog Scott is an astounding hound; runs as quick as any horse. But alas, the mutt is very lazy, and rather than hunt with the finest huntsmen in the country, he has elected to stay with me, so that he may lounge for 18 hours a day on the fine velvet pillow my housekeeper has affectionately sewn him.
Puzzled, Lizzy could not help but laugh. Yes, this was Liam. Impulsively charming, careful yet free in style.
Ah, England in the fall. Isn't it just a charming little piece? The hunt has begun, and by Michaelmas, the season should be in high gear. Men are already relishing in it; women are relishing in the imminent time to be rid of their men. I look at Scott, and he shakes his head, and I know that I will once again meet failure if I try to bring him out again. But alas, it is all right, as I am not a very good huntsman. No, I talk too much, and spend more time watching life, than to hunt for it.But the autumn is very charming, all the same. Breezy, light and very cool, autumn is like a woman, enjoying the prime of her life. I myself love fall most of all seasons. The change in colors are so wonderfully inspiring. I see the results of different inspirations when I look at women who buy strangely colored gowns from Paris, such as the orange oddity my friend's sister brought home the other day. I have concluded that I shall never understand Paris fashions.
But alas, I do not want to chat your head off. I await a reply, my dear friend. I hope I receive one.
Yours
Liam.
The challenge was issued.
Part 2 Posted on Tuesday, 13 July 1999
"Why can't you send it, Lizzy?" Jane smiled. "I'm sure he'd love to find out who you really were."
"Which is exactly why I don't want to send it myself. No it will not do. You must act as ambassador for both of us. Please, I beg of you. From the way I behaved in London, I could have easily been the daughter of a Spanish duke as a little country marm."
She had never seen her sister so preoccupied with how she appeared to another. Really, this Liam must be special. "Well, all right then, Lizzy, but I only hope you know what you're doing. I may remind you that while you strive not to let him know your identity, he has not given you many hints of his."
Lizzy laughed. "Jane, Jane. It's harmless, meaningless, happy conversation. Trivial banter, if you will, that makes the day more bearable. He really is such a great conversationalist, and he keeps up so well. No, I will not afford to lose such a correspondence."
"Very well, Lizzy, if you're so determined to have him..." Jane sighed.
September 15My dear friend,
The night is romantically young in autumn, don't you think? While we always agreed not to muse of the weather, I will now bore you a bit with the reflection that autumn weather is indeed the best in the world as you say, for it is neither too warm, nor too cool. And moreover, it does not shower as it does in the springtime. The breeze is a fresh dancy kind of thing, it tickles the ear, and whispers secrets. Sometimes, I can hear your voice in it.
I write this letter outside, at a bench, on which I occasionally pretend to be conversing to you. I now imagine that instead of addressing you thus in a letter, I am talking to you, and that you have ventured to come to visit with me this evening, enjoying this flitty breeze with me, as we are the dearest of friends, instead of two strangers who met at a masquerade, who happened to both retain a horrid fascination with strange society...
'I wonder what Liam would say to this?' I said to myself one day, alone, and imagining you once more with me. I sat in my room, pondering over it, and then I found a note.
It was not long; just three words, but in those three words, I forgot everything. I heard nothing outside, not the barks of our hunt dogs, nor the sounds of my twittery sisters about me; nothing but the beating of my own heart, and the echo of your voice, and three words that Miss Jane Bennet indicated to me;
I've got mail.
From you.
Thank you. As you can see, I do not pretend indifference to the arrival of your letter. I admire your persistence, and honor it with my own. I hope you will return the favor.
Beth.
Not the whole truth, but if she gave away that she was Jane's sister, what would the fun be in that?
October 9The purpose of the hunt, in essence is to run away from home and society. As you are still in the society of other men, and in uptight confining clothes, I still see no use for it."
Liam.
October 20A society dinner is a large amount of people who don't really like each other in a room and who stay to see who can show off their skills in civility the most.
We've had another one of those these evenings, and the guests were our neighbors, whom my mother respects, but does not fraternally love. I find the society in here rather confining; people know you too well, and really, there is no news to be told to anyone, as it has all been said this afternoon when we've all gathered for tea time.
Not to say that I don't appreciate news. After all, a girl must find something to occupy herself these days.
Beth.
November 5Every night men retire into the 'library' for a glass of port that lasts exactly an hour, no more no less. I have sat, and observed them, night after night, and timed them. Time after time, I have seen them stand, and say, 'well, let us join the ladies,' at exactly the hour, without looking at watch, nor out the window, into darkness that would give nothing away anyway. An hour.
How is that?
Liam
November 17An accomplished woman is really just a woman with too much time on her hands. As much as I praise my sex for the patience and persistence to create such intricacies to baffle young men, I believe the only reason they do it is to show each other up.
And of course, to put men in their place.
Beth.
December 21Ah, Christmas. Celebration of the birth of our Savior. I might add, 'tis the season to make up for all the birthdays you've missed by buying a profound amount of presents, and doling out as many compliments on the lovely centerpieces as you can.
Liam.
January 7Dear Friend,
I write to you with a letter of more serious nature today, because I find myself in need of counsel, or maybe just someone to listen to me.
Every year, around Christmastime, the families of the town where I live, and I imagine in all towns in general, all throw Christmas parties, to show off their successes and delights.
Every year, I attend to these parties as they are obligations but confident I will make it through another season, in tact. I mention 'in tact' because I have found myself many times in the position in which I lack many qualities to 'fit in' with others. Being so excluded hurts me. Sometimes, I cannot help but wish that I were one of them, as tragic as you think it may be.
I wonder at the importance of my existence. What is my purpose if I will not fret about looks and worry away about my marriage prospects? The girls around me, they smile and giggle at all times, they live with joy in gossip and news. And I...
Lizzy paused, looking out into the snowy darkness.
I miss that, some times. I tell myself that though they are happy, their goals are smaller, and therefore their happiness is not deep, nor fulfilling. I figure myself to be waiting for a larger happiness, I suppose, but what?I, as you know, are starting into the 'marriageable age range', a grievous position for a young lady to be in. And yet, what would I do, if I were not to marry? I confess I am not in that comfortable position to be charitable with donations of my time, nor am I so poor that my position demands work, and the charity of others.
And yet, I am of no disposition to marry, and therefore I can only conclude that I am the most ill-destined being on the planet. Sometimes I wonder, as grotesque as it appears, if I would be happier worrying about festooning bonnets with new ribbons, and the quality of the satin I wear in my hair.
And yet, what if I stretched out once more? What if I had the courage to stand up against these rules and regulations? Would I feel less lonely?
Am I coward for hiding these oddities within myself? If I were braver, would I be somewhere else? Would I feel differently about life?
I don't require answers, I just want to send these questions, and thoughts out to the void, so that I may find some peace. So good night, dear Void.
Beth.
February 14Dear Friend,
I have been remiss in our correspondence, at that moment when you most needed me, and I apologize.
It is Saint Valentine's Day, a day of romantics. I imagine you are attending a ball currently, worrying once more of your courage.
Don't.
There is, in the most faithful, romantic a heart a wish..." he paused. "...A promise..." he corrected himself, "for prizes unknown to many. While many women talk of happiness found in a marriage of advantage, they do not talk of true happiness. Or at least, in your eyes.
No, Beth, while their standards of 'happiness' remain weak and rather small, as well as superficial, the happiness that you will find, not might, will surpass any trivial feeling they may have, such happiness that any amount in the world may not buy.
Do not try to change your heart now, friend, for you know that should you try to concentrate your passions to such small and trivial matters you will only frustrate yourself in the inane banality and artifice such a life offers.
Take care, dear friend.
Liam.
February 25I have only to conclude that you've got quite an amount of money, my friend, for no one tosses such matters aside unless they have no worry about it. So I trust that you're either so poor you don't know the effects that money can have, or you've got so much of it you don't know what to do with it.
But alas, I will scold you no more. You are safe from me, my dear friend.
I thank you for the advice, and though I may disagree on some points, I must concede to your argument. Yes, should I reduce myself to the state of wishing for material items, to obsess over less important things, I would very much be disappointed in myself.
My birthday is fast approaching, and I am to be seventeen in a month or so. I only hope that this next year which follows will be easier than what has already transpired. But I imagine that life only becomes more complicated.
Beth.
March 10It is a sad truth that life does get more troublesome as time passes, but it does not mean that we should enjoy it any less.
It is with sadness that I will bid adieu to winter, for women's fashions in spring are always so radical, as evidenced by that same sister of my friend. I hear she has decided to dabble a bit in the pink arena, which is by all means a pleasant color, but when mixed with pukish sort of brown, which she claims as the 'heart of the earth', to signify the breeding of many a future...I go into shiver-shock thinking about it.
I hope this letter finds you in even better spirits than you were before. And why ever should you not? While winter is so jolly in general, you look forward to many a spring picnic that will be rained on.
Take care not to walk outside when it is too muddy. Men do detest a muddy skirt, my dear.
he teased, penning the last line, thinking of her own nature, and his own weakness of seeing the ankles of pretty ladies when they try to brush off such debris off their shoes.
Liam.
March 27I am 17 today. I feel myself feeling repulsive longings of rouging myself, and acting coquettish.
Beth.
April 4After such a letter I do not know what to say.
Liam.
April 10You weren't supposed to.
Beth.
April 15And wasting the postage again, are we? Well, I'll do more than that now. A happy happy birthday wish to you, though this comes about two letters late.
Today I find myself traveling to stay with my aunt, as I always do, with my cousin, every spring. And so I write to you a letter of apology in advance for any delay in post we will have further on in this month. I am to stay a full month, as she always requires my presence for that duration so that I may fall in love with her daughter, who supposedly gets more and more beautiful every year.
Don't get me wrong; there is nothing wrong with the daughter, if you dismiss the fact that she is always in the shadow of her mother. I simply don't have a way with women, and she spends much of the duration of the visit hiding in her room, claiming illness, which somehow I don't doubt.
Illness of her mother, I'd only venture to guess.
I hate the type to think their opinions over everybody else's. My aunt is such a character. She would make tea time a counseling session, and the tea itself a sedative, or some sort of hypnotic drug, so that she may dose you with gobs of information which you do not need or want to know.
I will write to you when time permits.
Liam.
May 6Oh I do pity you, my dear friend. I find myself more agreeably engaged this spring. I only wish my sister felt so. Being the eldest, and being in the 'proposal season', my sister is expected to make a match this year.
I find that unlikely, as she so keenly wishes to marry for love.
Poor, poor dear.
As for myself, my days are spent outside, enjoying this weather. The Reign of Rain is over now, and we are now prepared to enjoy the Blossoming.
And the flowers this year, sir, are anything but selfish.
Beth.
Part 3
She sighed as she finished stitching the next cushion that would grace the parlor. Reaching for the scissors, she smiled at Jane, who smiled back to her.
He hadn't written for a little while. It had only been eight months, but really, it felt like a lifetime.
He'd warned her, though. Business on the continent, he called it. She'd had no address other than the post box in Lambton so she hardly considered that useful, so she patiently awaited the reply to her three letters.
But she was at serious disadvantage without her companion's ideas and witticisms. She always was, when he'd choose to go trotting about the country, or in this case, the continent, on business.
She retired to her room soon after to write out some invitations to her family's Christmas dinner.
Ahh...Christmas...only one month away now.
What would she do without his consolatory letters? She closed the door carefully after her, and went to the chest, and opened it quietly, withdrawing a bundle of letters, wrapped in blue velvet ribbon. Smiling at the well-read letters, she settled herself on the bed, neglecting the Christmas invitations for the meantime. Opening her letters, she read them letter after letter, smiling in some kind of sadness. Even he wasn't here with her now.
But she hardly expected him to be with her. After all, he could be engaged to be married, for all she knew.
Or he could already be married!
She was not falling in love with her correspondent; she was young yet, and did not need to marry at this age, whatever her mother would say.
At this age? She was already twenty now.
And this correspondence had lasted so long now, four long years. Granted, they've had their tougher times...such as when he was away, traveling on his father's business.
A son should stay at home, she'd concluded not long after she'd gotten Liam's second letter in three months. She understood he was busy.
She just missed him dreadfully.
Standing up, she put the letters back, snug in her chest as she went to the desk, and began to write her invitations.
New Years in France was not a bad tradition, Darcy mused, as he paid the vendor and proceeded down the street.
Carrying a new outfit of sky blue silk he knew Georgiana would just love, he smiled in the joy of going home, finally, after eight months of traveling.
A part of him did whisper that he eagerly awaited going to that post box in Lambton, and finding Beth's epistle.
He'd missed her. It was saddening how they never got to correspond regularly now, as they used to. But when his father's health started to fail four years ago, he'd had to take on his father's duties. Left with his sister under his care, he'd done everything he could to make sure life would not lose balance.
But responsibility was so...difficult when he wanted to enjoy his life, and be young. Granted, he'd never be truly carefree...but he wanted to believe life would be enjoyable.
September 7
"It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single of man in possession of large fortune must be in want of a wife."
"However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighborhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters."
"As implied, there is a rich young man coming into our neighborhood...'what a fine thing for our girls!' my mother exclaims. Can you see my eyes rolling?"
"I am reminded of how narrow our society is...I hope you come from somewhere very different, but I imagine that in all society...we've been through this topic before..."
"Beth."
She sighed in the air and smiled to the morning. It was going to be a beautiful day, she told herself, and she'd enjoy it very much.
The prospective owner of Netherfield was supposedly riding through the fields at this time, and Beth sighed.
Will's own answering epistle mentioned some more travel, and she mourned the absence of her friend. He occasionally wrote her when he had spare time, and she'd receive images...she missed him so much.
She missed his letters.
She wondered if she would ever meet him again.
She feared she would not.
She had no right to feel this way for a perfect stranger...but he was...perfect/ she'd never met anyone with such ease, poise, and insight. He was understanding, kind, sympathetic, and she dared to even believe she was in...
She shook her head. She would not play such games with herself. She knew nothing about him; he could be married! Such a thought was highly doubted however, form the way he'd go traipsing about the country and continent with no root in any given quarter, save for his home in Lambton.
She'd deduced from his many images, though taken in nature and on streetlanes, rich and poor, were not the works of a poor mind. He must have had quite a sum to always be traveling. But he might also be a tutor, seeing as he always traveled for "business". But he could also be the son of wealthy merchant...
Or he could easily be the son of a poor merchant...or the son of a beloved steward who traveled often with the master...or he could be a valet!
So much confusion...she longed to write him with her own history and ask him for hers...but why couldn't he initiate this?
She sighed. For now, as always, Liam would remain her image...her paragon.
"It's a fair prospect..." Darcy mused, resting his horse on the crest. Looking to his friend, his brow creased in something that hinted at worry as he thought of Beth.
So he was in Longbourn...where the third party of the letters resided...Ms. Jane Bennet...he did not tell Beth, for he knew that such details were far too personal for notice in their strange generalizational musings.
But now, knowing he was somehow closer to Beth...
Oh...it was so difficult for him not to already have sought out Ms. Jane Bennet, and asked her about Beth. He'd only been here a whole day! What would he do for the rest of autumn, while Bingley got his affairs in order here. He'd already been invited, and being a cad, he accepted.
And now, he was tied to this town, which could determine his future; what was he to do?
He did not know that Beth would want this; breaching the rule inherent from their first conversation; there was to be no personal detail in their contact; seeking her out would bring him to the most intimate details of her life, while she remained oblivious to the details of his.
He knew, from her letters, that she was still unmarried. He wondered if she knew he was as of yet still unwed.
Being here, however, made a difference to him. He'd never felt so alive. Just being nearer to her...it made him feel her vitality around him, thrumming in the landscape.
And it comforted him. It made him smile to his friend devilishly in a way he had never before.
Charles looked to him confusedly, perhaps even worriedly.
Looking out over the land, she sighed at the breathtaking morning. Indeed, autumn had come, she mused, as she inhaled that breeze. A woman enjoying her prime she heard Liam's voice whisper to her.
Smiling sadly, she wandered down the hill, ready to attend to daily duties. Around the corner of her sight...through the wooded bend that was now starting to change color...
"Darcy! Will you wait up a minute!"
Elizabeth looked at to the rider to currently came barreling down the lane swift on his horse.
She found herself admiring his posture, strong and lithe. As he passed he looked at her and winked, giving a slow smile.
She felt her heart pound, her hand going to her throat, at her bonnet ribbon.
Oh my...
She'd never felt such a jolt of physical attraction...not even for Liam. This rider, with his smile disarmed her heart, and she could not help but stand and stare admiringly after him.
Soon enough, the patter of hooves came around the bend, and she turned slowly, reluctantly away from the mysterious dashing rider to the another handsome rider, with a smile that rivaled Jane's in goodness.
"Good day, mademoiselle!" he greeted her in elegant French.
A good day indeed! A charmer who liked to slip into French?
There was an air of change today.
"The name's Bingley," he tipped his hat to her. "And you are?"
"Bennet..." she curtsied to him. Oh, he was nice and handsome enough...so this was the one...looked like a pleasant sort...entirely too pleasant for her...she needed a brooder...maybe like that mysterious...Darcy? Was he called that?
"Indeed!" he declared. "Then we are to be neighbors of sorts! I myself at to take Netherfield this fall..."
Mentally shrugging at the word, she decided that the first rider would be one to use the word "autumn". But this minor detail would not stop them from being friends, at the least.
"How delightful!" she smiled to him.
"Now, I wonder...where is my friend at...you didn't by chance see a tall rider, rush on by, have you? My friend Darcy is somewhere about...confound the man!" he smiled to her.
Elizabeth smiled. "I believe it has not been above five minutes since he rode by. If you ride very quickly, you may catch him..."
Mr. Bingley then nodded his head and said, "If I may take my leave..."
"Have a wonderful day!"
"Same to you!" she saw him salute and ride off quickly.
Darcy...
She wasn't really being unfaithful to Liam...he would have wanted her to meet someone eventually, right? Wasn't that what he had implied in his letters?
But what was in her to make her feel so attracted a man he had seen fractions of a second? The smile that hinted at the mischievousness she had seen before, in Liam...
She frowned at that.
He was probably in his mid twenties...he could be married! Elizabeth groaned. No, not such a handsome man...no, he'd be the toast of London, with that air he exhaled. He would be desired, but never taken in.
But she wondered...would he indeed in insightful? She'd been horribly spoiled by Liam...
Those elegant clothes he carelessly wore hinted at wealth...would affluence in his partner in matrimony matter to him? Something in his smile showed that he did not care what others thought...but even the most careless hearts (such as hers) still heeded to a personal...innermost desire to be accepted...had she not told Liam so many times?
Liam...
Oh she missed him more than ever now...What would he say to this?
In her, there was a grain of relief that he was not here to witness this...
"She was uncommonly pretty was she not?"
"Who?"
"Why, did you not see her? Miss Bennet!"
Darcy's heart stopped. That beautiful woman he had just tossed the smile to...Jane Bennet?
She was beautiful...those eyes...glimmering in a humor that was reminiscent of Beth...
He had admired the woman, for the mere amount of time he'd seen her; he'd wanted to stop and chat, but it was never his way anyway, and stopping then would have been awkward for his horse anyhow, as he was going at such high a velocity.
But that was Miss Jane?
Confusion...how would Beth feel to find out...
So he wasn't in love with this woman...he just admired her...and perhaps that wasn't Miss Jane...Jane Bennet could very easily have sisters...
But somehow, the news would go to Beth.
He didn't deny that there was a special relationship there. And somehow he knew she'd be hurt...how so, was yet to be determined...
Confusion...he'd never felt that attraction for anyone before. Beth had been beautiful, but the last time he'd seen her, she's been just out of girlhood...he imagined her now, a beautiful witty slip of a woman...perhaps even rivaling Miss Jane in beauty...but it was so long ago...
He wished to meet her again! If only he could see her again!
But would his...feelings for Beth now...be equal to any attraction?
He was fond of her...but...well...there was attraction back then...would there be now?
She was twenty now...
He sat, brooding about it as Charles carried on his friendly manner of Netherfield, and Meryton's, pleasantries.
Part 4
The music floated on a frothy layer of merriment, festive playful. It reminded him of Miss Jane Bennet's eyes.
Sparkling, delicious eyes that haunted him now, days after he had last seen her, that day when he stupidly rode past her without a word of acknowledgment.
He wondered if he affected her as much as the sight of her affected him. He wanted to meet her, talk with her...
Of what? Of who? Of Beth?
The name now made his heart pound in slow, lead-like dread.
Beth, who he had corresponded with so faithfully for these many years now.
There had to be a time when he'd actually fall in love, but he had always thought that maybe...
But that was an impossibility.
And now, confronted with a woman of so much...
And yet he did not even know her. And she had to be Beth's friend?
Darcy, you're a cad!
Muttering to himself, his face remained wrinkled in thought as he saw Bingley walk towards an elderly woman with Sir Lucas. Leaving him be, he searched out for a glimpse of Miss Jane.
"Mr. Bingley has expressed a wish to be acquainted with you and your daughters," Sir Lucas smiled.
The Bennet girl isn't here... he mused absently, looking around the room. Where is she?
Mrs. Bennet's smile was almost as loud as her voice. "Oh! What an honor! Well, this is my eldest, Jane..." she began, gesturing to the gentle, handsome blonde.
If there were such thing as magnetism in such at time, this would have been it. The eyes met in a dance that was more intimate than any minuet, and both good-hearted souls knew that in the depths of their whole beings, there was a link that entwined their hearts.
Jane blushed profusely and looked away quickly, though she felt she'd already spent lifetimes in his gaze, in his heart, as Mrs. Bennet continued to carry on about her other daughters. Charles looked dumbly at to woman, and failed to realize he was ignoring the older woman, not at all registering just how many Bennet girls there were and what their names here.
There was no room for courteously listening. His thoughts were focused on the woman before him.
So this was love. This pounding of the heart, this warm feeling that satiated a hunger he had long been unaware of...and now reflecting upon it, was one of the largest and most painful ones of his life.
And this woman, he was almost sure, felt this.
"Miss Bennet," he uttered the name reverently, once he realized that the older woman had, for some time, stopped the introductions, and was reduced to staring at him in some sort of amazement.
Jane looked up, almost afraid to look into the intensity she knew that awaited her in those beautiful blue eyes.
"If you are not engaged," he asked, pausing at its implications, "may I have the honour of being your partner for these first two dances?" he entreated, smoothing his desperation over with a layer of calm, almost indifference. Simple amiableness.
"No I am not engaged, sir," she answered, her voice husky, now finally pressing the barriers of butterflies in her throat.
He smiled.
Oh my...
At the moment Fitzwilliam Darcy was carousing about the ballrooms of Meryton, searching for his mysterious Miss Bennet, Elizabeth Bennet was lying down on a mattress in London, reading a bedtime story to Kurt and Dulcie Gardiner.
Her aunt had only sent the express a few days ago, begging her mother to allow one of the older girls to come and stay with her, as she was feeling considerably under the weather lately, and wanted company, and someone to take care of her children.
Her mother, seeing that Jane's beauty would probably be of more use in swaying Charles Bingley than Elizabeth's biting tongue and moony ideas, had sent Elizabeth.
It was with a slight reluctance that Elizabeth left Longbourn.
She loved her aunt; she loved her little cousins, and she loved London (a predilection formed from previous experience...)
But this time, she felt something tear at her when she left, as if something weren't right. Namely, that she was leaving her beloved Darcy behind to the wolves during the Meryton assembly.
She wondered if he'd already be "claimed" by one of the neighborhood beauties by the time she came back. She sincerely hoped not. It agitated her, and constantly bothered her until it was a buzzing niggling thought that rang in her ears. Shifting uncomfortably, she smiled down at the children and continued to read them "Cinderella".
As she absently turned the page and continued in a passionless reading that was very much unlike her, she thought about him again.
She imagined a different ball, in which she'd enter, beautiful, mysterious, catching the eye of many and all. Especially his. The minute he met her eyes, she'd see in the velvety depths of his admiration of the highest order, and...
Love. There was an instant attraction, she had decided, on the carriage ride here. It only naturally led to love. Right?
And yet, there was still that one thing...
A tug at her sleeve.
She looked down in the smiling child with blond ringlets and beautiful violet eyes like her own.
"Who's Liam?"
"What?"
Confused, she looked down at her text, and found in her portly edition of fairytales, Liam's latest epistle, signed at the bottom.
"Dulcie! You can read fairly well now," she smiled, less than pleasantly surprised, to the seven year old, with quivering smile.
"And so we have met the famous Miss Bennets..." Caroline lazily mused.
Darcy, deep in thought, prowled by the mantle clock, staring obliviously at it, lost in thought.
Charles choked on his tea.
"Really I don't see what all the fuss is," Louisa sniffed. "They are hardly spectacularly gorgeous..."
"Granted, the eldest...what was her name? Janine? Jamie?"
"Jane..." Charles said softly.
Darcy woke from thoughts. The eldest...
"I do not believe I met her..." he said softly. "The eldest Miss Bennet?"
"Did you not see her? Jane Bennet is an angel!" Charlie declared. "How could anyone not see it?"
Darcy turned from his friends, and frowned. Angel? Surely, sure was beautiful, but he'd hardly call her angel. Her mouth was velvety fire, formed to speak delicious, passionate words. Her eyes were velvety violet, of a seductive, beautifully enchanting nature. Her hair was mahogany silk rope that entwined and entangled hearts...hardly an angel...more like an enchantress, a siren, a witch...anything but the trite "angel".
And yet, he had not seen her all night. Not once, in his musings, and here were his friends, all talking of Miss Jane Bennet! He ventured the topic carefully. "I do not believe I met her this evening."
"She must be no more than one and twenty! Tall, handsomely perfect in every single dimple of that smile. Darcy, you have truly missed out on this one!"
Darcy frowned. No, I suppose I have not...
It was quite evident that his friend was enamored with Miss Jane. And here he was, with a predilection himself. He felt his heart quicken.
Suddenly feeling ill, he claimed the evening's festivities too taxing; he'd spent the evening walking the room looking for Her, and dancing with one or two women he'd been introduced to (he was not known for being much a conversationalist after this evening...with that strange wandering eye of his...). He quickly excused himself and hid in his room.
He finally found restful sleep after pacing and thinking through two candles.
"I shall conquer this...I shall!" he muttered to himself, wiping his brow with the loose sleeve of his cotton shirt.
The second day in London.
He'd done the naïve thing; he'd left...faster than you could say "fine eyes" he had left Netherfield. He'd only assumed that Bingley's attraction for Jane would continue to burgeon, and eventually, the match would be made...and he...
He'd leave his friend in peace.
The absence was not only for Charlie's sake, though.
He hadn't replied to Beth's letter yet.
What was there to say? Every time he started a letter to her, SHE came into his thoughts, and he'd want to mention her.
"Will you go again?" his partner asked him.
Darcy set his jaw and loosely shifted grip on his foil. "All right."
Elizabeth stared out into the rainy day. Ah, so it is not only glum on the inside of me, but it also follows that it must be glum outside as well?
Exasperated with the weather, she paced the floor in great agitation.
"Lizzy..."
Elizabeth jumped as she looked up at Jane, who entered the room. "Yes?"
"Mama wishes for me to tell you that your pacing up here agitates her nerves greatly. The floorboards squeak when you do that..."
Elizabeth looked down at her feet. Oh dear.
"Lizzy, what is the matter? You've been restless and agitated for some time now. Papa thought it would go away with your trip to London, that you just had an inclination to travel for a little while. But I do not think it so. Lizzy, does this have to do with a man?"
Elizabeth laughed nervously. "Don't be ridiculous. You know I don't care for those kind of matters. Though I heard from Kitty that you have some rather interesting news to tell me of how the ball at Meryton passed for you on the night before last, and as I finally have you to myself, I beg you to relieve me of my suspense. I can hardly ferret any kind of meaning in Kitty's melodramatic descriptions you know. From the way she told it, I only assume that Charles Bingley somehow saved you from terror that night, and before long, you are to get married and ride off to the clouds, leaving me behind here."
Jane smiled, in that soft Jane way of hers, and Elizabeth leaned forward. "So?"
"Oh Lizzy! I am so happy!"
"I could have guessed that..." Elizabeth nodded.
"The new gentleman at Netherfield is so kind and generous and very sweet."
"Sweet? Jane, is the man a pastry?" Elizabeth teased.
Jane blushed. "He's introduced me to his sisters."
"And pray, what are they like?"
"Oh, very fashionable and very elegant."
"And better pleased with themselves than with the surroundings?" Elizabeth's eyebrow lifted.
Jane scolded her sister. "You know that isn't sound. You haven't met them. I like them."
"And you like everybody, so I must say that your details do little to assist me. I can only say this: when one resorts to using the word 'elegant' to describe a person, it is an obvious sign that there is nothing more to say; falling back on one's outward appearance to first describe someone shows a remarkable lack of depth of character, either for the observer or the observed, and as I know my Jane is a great studier of character," Elizabeth grinned. "I can only assume they are very pretty women with a lot of finish and no beginning. Now did he bring any gentlemen to the party?" Elizabeth strived to make the question casual.
"Yes, two gentleman. One is married to one of Mr. Bingley's sisters."
Elizabeth's breath lodged a huge ball of annoyance in her throat. "Oh REALLY?"
"Yes, Mr. Hurst."
She felt the tension in her body simply bubble away. "Oh, well, that is, indeed..." she could not complete the sentence aloud. Excellent. "And the other gentleman?" Come, talk of Darcy!
Jane laughed at her sister. "You seem very much interested in the operations of our mysterious new tenant, Lizzy, and his friends..."
"Only out of sisterly concern for you. After all, Charles Bingley could be a pirate, or a French spy..." Her eyes glittered in mirth.
Jane laughed.
"...he could be truly evil...he could be...the inventor of the corsette!"
Jane smiled, laying herself back on Lizzy's bed. "Oh, I'm glad you're home."
Lizzy lay down next to her sister on the bed. "I am as well."
Silence.
She dared not broach the subject of the mysterious stranger again. She'd be exposed to the teasing of Jane once more.
Her brow curled in thought. She needed to do more investigations.
"Charlotte! I found myself walking by your home, and decided to call on you..."
"Oh Lizzy, you're becoming as adorable as Jane. Really, why are you here?"
Lizzy threw herself back on the chair across from Charlotte's, and put her hand to her forehead. "I've decided I'm madly in love," she said, melodramatically.
Charlotte prepared a cup of tea for her guest, and handed it to her. "This should cure you of it."
"Did you not hear me, Charlotte?" Elizabeth sat forward in her chair, letting her gaze level with Charlotte's.
"Oh, I'm pretty sure I heard you excruciatingly clearly. As I am sure that you probably did not meet anyone in London in the duration of one week, I am pretty sure you have settled your affections on one of our new neighbors."
"Excellent deduction, Charlotte!" Lizzy toasted her friend with the teacup.
"You become more amusing every time I see you, Lizzy. Now which of the gentlemen at Netherfield do you feel so ardent a passion for, and pray, if I may ask, how did you fall in love with him when you were not even present at the assembly?"
Lizzy contemplated her tea. "I'm in love with Mr. Darcy. Why? Because I hear he has ten thousands pounds a year. And you know I am of the extremely shallow and conniving variety."
Charlotte laughed. "Very well, I will only assume that your mother sent you after me to inquire after the mysterious unknown, as you seem to lack an obvious reason."
"I'm telling you! I am a very manipulative woman..." Elizabeth stated, smartly. "Now, about Mr. Darcy."
Charlotte sipped her cup, and contemplated the details she had received. "Well, Mr. Darcy is a very handsome young man. He has an estate in Derbyshire, and from what I heard, it is very well kept."
"But the man Charlotte. How may win him over?"
"It's fairly difficult. He's gone back to London."
"Yes, I thought as much as he was not present at the party last night," Elizabeth sighed. "Is he to return?"
"Perhaps. Not much is known about Mr. Darcy. He was congenial at the Meryton Assembly; neither distant nor too amiable. While he does not possess the frank openness of his friend, he conversed with many of the gentlemen, in the room. He expressed in interest in the residents of Meryton and its surroundings, and politely allowed men and women alike to tell him all about their sons and daughters."
"You're no help at all, Charlotte," Elizabeth frowned.
"I know, I try," Charlotte smiled wisely. "After all, Lizzy, I may be after him myself."
"At least tell me how his friends are, then...if matters do not resolve with Mr. Darcy, perhaps I can steal Mr. Bingley away from Jane?"
"Oh no, Jane's entranced and tamed him. You may see for yourself tonight; my father is giving a party."
"Well, indeed..."
Well, the Lucases's party was a dismal failure. He was not even there! He'd run off to London, Mr. Bingley had said, after being formally introduced to her.
And she'd been so clandestine in her manner of asking! She'd asked, "And where is your gallivanting friend, Mr. Bingley? Is he out saving young women from disrepute?"
And he'd said. "I'm afraid, Miss Elizabeth, that he's had to ride off to the sunset for a little while. He'll return, though, we hope."
And so, she was still stuck.
And the letter was still not yet written.
Elizabeth stared at the blank sheet before her. What would she write to Liam about?
My dear friend... she began.
"I must tell you about the most fascinating person..."
Frustrated, she crumpled up the sheet, and tossed it aside.
It'd been awkward writing to Liam ever since she'd seen the mysterious rider.
Frustrated at herself, she stood up and went to her window.
You must put this man out of your mind!
That did not stop her from looking for the figure of a rider on the horizon.
There are ghosts at the horizon tonight. It is enough to make you feel old and rather bitter if you are as old as I. Ah yes, my friend, we are getting fairly ancient now, I fear. But do not let that prevent you from acting young; many of the women around meHas it been so long since we had first met? I believe it has...
Sometimes I wonder about you now. Are you still the smiling, witty conversation partner that I met at that ball? Or have you perhaps changed?
Or are you perhaps married...
Do you ever wonder...
She crossed the lines out.
Oh I miss you so much! There is a matter on which I have been dwelling on entirely too long. I am in much need of counsel. Or I am in need of...I need to see you, Liam.
Frustrated, she tossed the letter aside.
The letter he had received was simple, witty, and he laughed at it.
October 3My Dearest Friend,
I should make some insipid remarks on the weather, but find myself in no humor to support the menial trivial talk of the masses.
I, sir, am a very independent soul, you see.
Oh Liam, I'll never understand the strange practice we call 'courtship'...it's just all too befuddling. A gentleman, or just a man finds a woman intriguing. And then what?
Commence the ballet. One woman speaks to another on private matters, and that woman, in turn, speaks to the next...it's all so very confusing and maddening. And frustrating.
Where, in all this clutter, is one to fall in love?
Or, if one is a high-handed conniving sort, only after money, where is one to get one's foot in?
Beth
William sat back in his chair, letting his headache and the worst of his troubles go away, for a brief moment of quiet contemplation.
He wanted to see her again. See those sparkling eyes and see if he recognized the young woman that had enchanted him so long ago.
The post that also came lay opened beside it, and tossed aside.
Darcy, you cad!Get thee to Netherfield! We miss your scowls.
You are missing some very uncommonly pretty young women...
Charles
"I take that as signal to send for the carriage."
"It is only three miles..."
"Three miles, in all that dirt? You will not be fit to be seen!"
"I shall be fit to see Jane, and that is all that matters."
Dull dull dull...Elizabeth mused, as she walked the grounds of Netherfield, trying to concentrate on keeping her sanity.
There was nothing to entertain her, save Mr. Bingley's wonderful hospitality. No relief in sight. The Miss Bingleys were cats that Elizabeth only imagined existed. Could a mind survive on so little substance?
And Mr. Hurst...
She stomped the ground harder. It was a very good thing that Jane was getting better. They'd be able to leave in a few hours.
And good riddance. She wanted to be far away from the house.
One would suppose they'd eventually talk of the member absent of their party! But no, they simply talked of other people. Other people.
"I wouldn't stomp there if I were you..."
She looked up, and jumped back.
There he was, leaning against the tree, watching her with amused expression.
"And why should where I choose to stomp concern you?"
"Because you're about to stomp on my dog."
She looked down. Sure enough, in front of her, a lazy dog restfully and blissfully slept.
"Oh."
The man came forward. "We haven't been formally introduced. The name's Darcy."
"I know. I hear the gossip."
"Yes, I do as well, Miss Bennet."
"Touché."
"Allow me to escort you back to the manor. The carriage is prepared for your departure. And even if you do look healthy, I would beg you to stay so that we could perhaps talk of stomping on cats instead. Come alone, Scott," he said to the dog.
Elizabeth allowed her arm to be taken (the gesture sent clouds whirling in her head, and she almost fell down.) Concentration on keeping her calm did not allow her to hear his words, but had she heard them, she might have been confused anyhow.
In the halls, they parted, after he gave her a soft kiss on her gloved hand.
Dearest friend,I am sorry to hear your escapades of marrying yourself off to the highest bidder are not working out as well as you thought.
Perhaps you should try wearing orange. Women of fashion always wear orange.
And be wary of the smarmy men. And the handsome ones.
Be wary of all men. We are ten times as dangerous as women are, for while you are manipulative and calculating, and know very well who's going to do what, we are rather stupid and blunder women into our mistakes.
Marry well, darling. I hope your next letter reveals more progress.
Liam.
"Mr. Collins." You smarmy little thing...
"Would you do me the honor of escorting me to town?"
I'd prefer not to. "I'd be...hesitant to oblige..." she caught the glare of her mother. "...under any other circumstances. But as you are my dear cousin, I shall have to eagerly consent to."
He did not see the sarcasm seeping in her words. Jane did, though, and she turned away before she could burst out laughing.
She did not like George Wickham. The entirely too flirtatious glint in his eye unsettled her, and the way he looked at her was not pleasing at all. Not to mention his conversation was tiresome. She smiled back artificially, and letting Lydia gush on and on with him in the street, she let her eyes wander.
And they met the eyes of Mr. Darcy, on his horse, riding into town, who grinned at her.
Looking at the group, though, his gaze fell on George. He scowled, and looked at her.
She watched his eyes. He currently signaled her to look in the direction of...George Wickham? She turned back to him discreetly, and rolled her eyes, showing her disgust for the patently suspicious man.
He smiled, and an understanding was achieved. Trusting that she knew how to deal with the situation, he followed Mr. Bingley on his horse.
"Good day!" Mr. Bingley said to the party.
"Good day..." Lydia said. "Mr. Bingley, we would like to present to you our friend George Wickham."
At the word "friend" Elizabeth cringed. She kept her eyes on Mr. Bingley, who was apparently oblivious to his friend's dislike for the stranger, and Lydia, who cared not for how anyone else felt for him.
George now met the eyes of Mr. Darcy.
Mr. Darcy smiled at him. Elizabeth could see the pain in his expression as he did so.
George's reaction was one of patent surprise.
Mr. Bingley now said, "We were on our way to Longbourne to inquire after Miss Bennet."
Jane and Elizabeth both smiled.
Darcy watched the blonde. Who was she? Well, he had heard a cousin of the Bennet's coming to visit...
"This is Mr. Collins," the blonde was saying.
William went into shiver shock just looking at him. And who was he? Another suitor to the Bennet girls?
Elizabeth's shrug of disgust indicated a disapproval of the character as well.
When a woman and man thought on the same wavelength, wouldn't it follow they'd be together? If only Charles didn't feel so about her...
And Beth...if only Beth didn't exist...
If Beth didn't exist, he'd be miserable.
Hating the contradiction and the mess he was in, William sighed, and turned to Charles.
"Will you be joining us at our Aunt Philips's this evening?" Jane asked of the gentlemen.
Charles cringed. "Sorry, we have other business to attend to tonight."
Elizabeth teased. "Other business? With all your gallivanting about the country, on your clandestine errands, Mr. Darcy, I am surprised you even settle down long enough to make friends."
"I strive to be as mysterious and unaccommodating as possible," he teased back.
"Come, Darcy, let us go."
Darcy, remembering his friend's regard for this lady inwardly hit himself on the head. That was not very intelligent, Darcy.
"But surely, you will join us, Mr. Wickham," Lydia asked of the officer as the other two gentlemen left.
"I can think of no greater pleasure," he winked at Elizabeth, who politely returned the smile. He's up to something...