From Pemberley to Paradise, page 2
Elizabeth had a good laugh. “I shall be with you as often as you need me!”
“Yet you have to think about your future. To imagine the possibility of marrying a virtuous man without loving him is so courageous on your part. However, I still dream you will find the love of your life…as I did.”
Elizabeth was reluctant to be optimistic. Since Jane’s betrothal, she often dreamt of having a husband—a life away from her parents’ house. She saw things differently than she had in the past. They had lived the last years dreaming about love as an essential condition for marriage, but despite Jane’s conviction, there was no assurance that love would appear for every woman in the world. There were spinsters whose existence proved that, for many, love never comes. Her sister had a pure vision of life. Maybe that apparent simplicity had helped her find a man. Elizabeth was different; she always analysed life and relationships and men, yet it may be possible she was not attentive anymore to little signs that could put her on the path to love.
“Charlotte married Mr Collins, and she seems to be content with the life she has,” Elizabeth said.
“You keep discussing Charlotte but remember: we did not agree then with her choice as we knew it was not a love match.”
“I know, but sometimes you have to take what life gives you. How many years can I wait for love? Because, you see, time passes. We are young now, but look at our friends who are thirty or more, their youth slowly fading, and I assure you no man would want a woman in her thirties with no fortune or land.”
“So…” Jane said with prudence, looking at her sister who seemed lost in a daydream, “you imagine marrying…Mr Darcy?”
“No!” her sister shouted, so loud that she was afraid someone might hear her. “No,” she repeated in a milder tone, “I only wonder what to do with my life.”
“But you still have no feelings for the poor man?”
“I have many feelings for him, but not love—not the love I see between you and Charles—this joy of living together, this urge to form a couple. When you are together, love flows all around you.”
“But Mr Darcy is so different from my Charles. It is one of the reasons I have always wondered how they could be close while being so different. However, now that I know about Mr Darcy’s qualities, I understand that Charles admires his friend…” Jane laughed as she forgot what she wanted to say—her thoughts always turning to her love.
“Anyway,” she continued, “just think, Lizzy…we would remain close if you decided to marry him!”
Her sister laughed, but for her it was a different kind of laughter. She was amused by Jane, who wanted her to marry a man who was close to her and Charles while she wondered what arguments she could use to marry a man without love.
First, he would have to be a man with certain qualities and education and, of course, of a certain wealth. If love came one day, she would not care a bit about wealth. Love would be enough to marry a clergyman or a military man, but without love, she would have to gain an independence that only money could provide.
“You are too thoughtful!” Jane scolded her. “Let us think about the beautiful days to come, about the people who are gathering at Netherfield as we speak and hope that you will find there a man to love. Have you ever thought of Colonel Fitzwilliam?”
Elizabeth blushed, for she had thought, indeed! “Yes,” she answered, “but the colonel does not seem eager to marry and, as a second son, he needs to marry a woman with money, as he made clear to me at Rosings…yet…I have thought.”
“You always make jokes when speaking to a man. Just try to look at him with another kind of gaze that could tell him you are interested in his presence.”
Elizabeth looked at her sister in amazement, “Did you ever use such a gaze?”
“Of course I did. The very moment I met Charles, I looked into his eyes, telling him how much I liked him…without words, of course. You are so intelligent, but sometimes you seem not to know what to do in a man’s presence. I remember how you spoke with Mr Darcy, how wicked you were sometimes and reproachful—always wanting to have the last word. I know you think women have to feel equal to men, but life is not like that. It is the man who chooses whom he wants to marry; he is the one to propose. Why do you think a gentleman would court you when you have this defiant attitude?”
They walked in silence for a time; Elizabeth hated to admit that her sister was right.
“Still, despite how I behaved, Mr Darcy was attracted to me!” she said.
“Yes, he was attracted by your beauty and intelligence and maybe decided to forget your poisonous words…” Jane laughed. “Marry him, then. You will not find many men who appreciate your liberal way of thinking.”
Maybe Jane was harsh, but she was right. Love had given Jane a new perspective on life, one her sister never had. Elizabeth must find a man who would appreciate her intelligence and independence. Looking around, she could see only one man with that quality—Fitzwilliam Darcy. The colonel had the same tolerant view of the world, but the colonel never said he loved her.
As they were idly strolling along the road, two riders appeared, fulfilling Jane’s wish. They were no other than Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy. Jane stopped, impatiently waiting for her betrothed to dismount and greet them.
Thinking that only an instant ago they were speaking about Mr Darcy, Elizabeth blushed, swept by an emotion that was more shame than excitement due to the nature of their discussion. She made an effort to regain her calm because they had to stroll together in front of the happy couple. Elizabeth did not dare to look back, easily imagining what was going on—probably hand holding and kissing. That is love, she thought. Charles could not be half a day without seeing Jane, and despite his message to the contrary, he had come.
Walking alongside Mr Darcy towards the Bennets’ house, they had to cover perhaps half a mile. That distance with Jane seemed short but returning beside a man she did not know how to approach transformed the stroll into an ordeal. Mr Darcy’s reclusive nature—along with Elizabeth’s angry refusal of his proposal—likely contributed to his silence.
“I hope you enjoyed your ride,” Elizabeth said in a light tone, looking at him as he walked beside her, his horse’s reins in his hand.
“Yes, thank you. Charles was eager to see Miss Bennet, and I preferred to accompany him since, at Netherfield, preparation for the wedding is at its height.”
He was content to see her but also prudent, not knowing how she felt about their meeting. He had wished to see her; in fact, it was all he could think about along the way from Pemberley, yet he feared her feelings for him had not changed.
“Did your sister accompany you to Netherfield?”
“Of course!” he said, showing a relaxed expression on his face. “Georgiana seems to live for this wedding. It has been our sole subject in the last weeks. I hope the ladies here will take this burden away from me!” He was smiling but also remembering the perfect atmosphere they had at Pemberley when Elizabeth visited. Georgiana continued for some time to praise her beauty and her total lack of infatuation with him—so uncommon with other ladies her age. Georgiana was too delicate to pronounce names, but he knew she was referring to Charles’s sister Caroline and similar ladies from their circle. During their journey, she had said at least ten times that she hoped Jane Bennet would be as natural and kind as her sister was.
“She is secretly hoping that Miss Bennet will involve her in all the preparations!”
“Of course, she will,” Elizabeth said, “what a wonderful idea.”
“Are you Miss Bennet’s witness?” Darcy asked with certain hope in his eyes as he was Charles’s.
“I am,” Elizabeth said, a happy smile on her face, “I shall enjoy being close to them as they take their vows!”
“It will be a beautiful wedding; it is indeed enjoyable to see two young people so in love, beginning their life together.”
Elizabeth’s mood suddenly changed; their discussion was travelling a fearful road. Talking about a wedding was the worst possible subject. As she felt only respect and gratitude for him, she hoped that, meanwhile, he was looking for a lady who would respond to his sentiments.
∞∞∞
“Well?” Jane impatiently asked when they arrived home, the gentlemen having departed for Netherfield.
“Do you want to know whether my sentiments for him have changed?”
Jane awaited an answer with new hope. Being two sisters married to two best friends would be quite special.
“I am sorry, my dear, but I do not like him as a man, and I am far from having more torrid sentiments!”
“But do you still have the idea of marrying a man for the qualities he has?”
“Yes, any girl has to reflect on that possibility, but for now, I want to search a little more and see if love is not possible with another.”
“But you have to decide very soon regarding Mr Darcy. A man like him is always surrounded by women wanting to become his wife—look no further than Caroline, who has had her eye on him for a long time or his cousin Anne de Bourgh to whom he is said to be betrothed since her birth.”
“Oh my,” Elizabeth exclaimed as they prepared to depart for Netherfield, “I have met that poor thing. She is a frightened girl looking for approbation from her mother for every word she says. Mr Darcy would never have a wife like her—and besides, this custom of betrothing infants is nothing but an illusion. Mr Darcy is a very decided gentleman; such resolute traditions cannot hold him.”
“I agree, but Charles told me that there is an estate near Pemberley where a certain marchioness lives, a widow who was married for mere weeks before her husband died in a riding accident…and it seems Mr Darcy helped her during her recovery!”
A strange feeling took hold of Elizabeth. Since his proposal, she was sure that he continued to look for her acceptance, never thinking other women could interfere. She coldly analysed her reaction to this news. It was nothing other than selfishness; she enjoyed being admired even by a man she did not love.
The best decision would be not to care about his new interests and be fair. However, she could not be anything but disappointed when Darcy did not come to dinner.
Chapter 2
Elizabeth was surprised to find she had a room for herself. In the past she had shared one with Jane. Only Jane was already considered the mistress of the house with all the privileges. She smiled realising that from Monday on she would have the same rights as Bingley’s sisters—being the sister of Netherfield’s mistress.
Her room was just above the parlour and through the open windows she could hear voices and laughter, yet she decided to have a moment of solitude in the library, before joining the others.
The silence and solemnity of that place, which was seldom crowded, appealed to her. But a silhouette on a large sofa made her hesitate yet, as it turned out to be Darcy’s sister, she entered with a broad smile. Georgiana was a young girl entirely to her fancy.
“Miss Elizabeth! Please come and stay with me!” Georgiana said with visible joy.
The library was Elizabeth’s favourite room. It was her way to acclimate to a house and sometimes provided an excellent opportunity to know the people living there. She already loved the large room with three sides of bookcases and two elegant mahogany tables where one could read or write. Seated on a large leather sofa, Georgiana enjoyed the tranquillity and tried to rest after the five days trip from Pemberley to Hertfordshire. She did not much like Bingley’s sisters who seemed to have only one preoccupation in life…gossip. When Georgiana was around, they were friendly and obliging, but only because Caroline wanted to marry her brother. Without Darcy, they would have treated her like they treated Miss Bennet and her sisters. Georgiana left the parlour as they decided to make Elizabeth their scapegoat for all the miseries they pretended to find in Hertfordshire.
Georgiana liked Elizabeth a great deal. She admired her education and intelligence and the way she was able to talk to her brother—unaffected and serene; not like other women who wanted only to have his attention. She was glad when Charles announced that ‘his Jane’—as he called Miss Bennet—and Miss Elizabeth were coming for that evening’s dinner and the party, planned for the next day.
“It is an interesting library Charles has here,” Elizabeth said while reading some of the titles, “but I must confess I was greatly impressed by your library, at Pemberley.”
She took a book from a shelve, finding it was Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe, a novel she had liked during her first years of intense reading. She smiled, remembering the edition in her house, torn up by reading. Admiring the splendid book, bound in a golden cover, she compared it to the Crusoe from home—coming from her great-grandfather—read and reread by every generation. Their book was alive, unlike the one in her hands, which was a prisoner in a golden cage. Then the library at Pemberley came to her mind, full of precious books in luxurious mahogany bookcases with precious glasses but also a lot of opened shelves, inviting anyone to take one to read before sleep.
“It was not only the imposing room I admired,” Elizabeth said, “but also the books you have. I suppose the library is the work of generations of masters of Pemberley who seemed to have a common preoccupation for reading.
“Oh, yes and no, Miss Elizabeth, our library is also my brother’s achievement,” Georgiana said. “When we go to London, he searches for days to find and buy rare books.”
Elizabeth looked with much curiosity to the young woman on the sofa; she could unveil secrets about the man who had become almost an obsession. His propensity for books was not new, but his talent and dedication as a collector made her understand that she knew very few things about him. Her impression was rather superficial, made in parlours, between people not interested in anything else than their daily life…and that of their neighbours.
“You must stay near me at dinner this evening,” the girl said with a happy voice that brought a smile to Elizabeth’s face. “My brother is visiting some friends at a nearby estate, and I am a little out of my place in this gathering.”
Elizabeth could confess the same complaint. She had accepted the invitation to allow Jane to stay at Netherfield the night before the party, a condition that Mr Bennet imposed. But she also agreed in order to find an opportunity to talk with Mr Darcy; to thank him for his efforts to find the fugitives and oblige Wickham to make an honourable woman out her foolish little sister. She decided to say a simple “Thank you for everything,”—that could also mean—"I am sorry for the way I behaved in Hunsford.” Then maybe to add, “I hope to be friends.”
And now she found out he would not attend the dinner and it was not certain he would return even the next day. She blamed herself for not talking in the morning, but it was difficult to open such a discussion after not seeing him for a long time.
∞∞∞
Later, in the parlour, Elizabeth finally met the guests; she smiled and curtseyed while Charles made the presentations, with Jane at his side. His sisters greeted her with a false friendship and instantly ignored her to continue their discussion. It was their way of telling Elizabeth how little she mattered to them.
Luckily, Georgiana made a delicate gesture to invite her into the garden. It was comforting to see a friendly person among the strangers she found in the parlour or on the terrace where a lavish table was set for at least twenty people.
They strolled for some time admiring the sunset, away from the guests until Jane invited them to have, before dinner, a glass of sparkling wine from the Cotswold, as Charles wanted to begin the evening by reminding his friends that only three days remained until the wedding.
“We must celebrate because as soon as the wedding reception is over Jane and I shall depart for a secret location!” he said, smiling at his betrothed who wore a splendid smile on her face.
It was to be an uninteresting dinner for Elizabeth. With Darcy gone, she mostly talked to Georgiana, who was so shy when in society that she hardly spoke one word or two. Fortunately, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s arrival saved the evening. He was a Godsend, saving the dinner that risked collapsing in monotony just before his arrival. Tanned and joyful he wanted to sit near Elizabeth and Georgiana, causing a stir that he did not care about. He laughed and ate, poured wine into Elizabeth’s glass and insisted on drinking it; he was a force of nature and a happy man who brought a little colour to the table.
“Where is my cousin?” he asked curiously looking around the table.
“He has gone to pay a visit to the Earl of St Albans, and he probably will stay the night,” Charles responded.
The colonel laughed with force while saying, “That frisky boy of ours knows exactly where to be tonight; the Earl has a beautiful daughter…he will probably invite to the wedding.”
Elizabeth smiled; she was avenged by the colonel’s indiscretions as Caroline strongly blushed, a dangerous reddish colour that showed her exact state of mind. She still hoped Darcy would be her husband, considering every woman as a possible rival. It was one of the reasons she did not like Elizabeth and finding out she had more rivals made her so furious she could hardly breathe.
Back in her room, Elizabeth had to admit she also regretted Darcy’s absence. She pretended—at first—only to be sorry for not having that discussion, but in truth, she was plainly disappointed by his absence.
No need to hide—she wanted a husband; she wanted a man. It was hard not to remember what her sister said in the carriage that took them to Mr Bingley’s estate, “It is no longer just a sentiment; it is like a hunger…yes, hunger or thirst, not like you read in books, but it hurts your whole body…”
She praised her sister for letting her know such intimate things. Even so, she needed to find out for herself—to understand what was to happen to her mind and her body near the man she loved…and married.
Lying in bed, she tried to sleep but found it impossible. For the first time in her life the idea of having a husband became real, an event that would eventually happen to her, too. It was her sister’s wedding and her departure from their home triggering such a vivid preoccupation. She remembered Mrs Bennet’s tiresome tirades about marriage and the necessity for every woman to be married. However, she also remembered the gossip about marriages that went wrong, dramas, tragedies or only nuisances. However, it seemed that most of the time a marriage went on in a steady and satisfactory direction. She avoided believing the gossip as it appeared not to be the real core of marriage.
