Teaching Eliza, page 33
Ceasing his restless pacing but not choosing to sit himself, Darcy faced his audience. “Georgie, perhaps what I have to say is not for your ears, but you are intimately involved, and therefore deserve to hear it. Eliza, forgive me for saying in public what ought to be said in private, but here, too, others have interests in this matter, and what I have to say concerns them as well. Afterwards, if you choose to think of me at all, I pray you do so with good will. I could not bear to know that you are alive in the world and thinking ill of me.”
Lizzy felt her heart hammer in her chest and her hands grew damp as she clutched at her skirts. This did involve her, and most directly, so it seemed. What disaster was he about to unleash upon her that required so dire a preface? She began to wonder how quickly a message could be sent to the Grants at Arlenby requesting the carriage, or whether she would be forced to walk into Lambton to take a room at the inn for the night. She squirmed in her chair and breathed, “Shall I ask my maid to pack my belongings, Professor?”
He flinched, as if struck by a stone. “Oh, God, no!” he fairly shouted back. “I wish no harm upon you, none at all. Just the opposite. I have thought hard and deeply about matters, and I have come to realise that until now, my concerns have all revolved around myself. I agreed to your request to teach you, Eliza, because the scheme was to my ultimate benefit. I encouraged your association with my Aunt Patricia because it pleased me and furthered my plan. I thought to entice you into a proper engagement because it was what I wished. At no point did I think of you, of your needs. Not even when you shouted at me and abused me after that wretched, damned ball,” he ignored Georgie’s gasp of shock, “did I think to ask myself what you truly desired.
“But today, as we confronted that miserable excuse of a man, Wickham, I perceived at last his real crime, which is unchecked selfishness. Moreover, I dared to examine myself for such a fault. And I found it, oh, how painfully I found it. In my own way, I treated you, my dearest Eliza, as abysmally as Wickham treated first Georgie, and then Caroline, thinking he was harming me. Afterwards, I saw Freddy talking to you, Eliza, and I knew the meaning of his conversation. My heart railed against the very thought of it, black clouds threatened me at the sight, but I knew that in this instance, my wishes must come second to yours.”
He squeezed his eyes closed and allowed his head to fall back on his neck before resetting his expression. He seemed to firm his resolve and faced her once again. With tight lips and deep brown eyes that threatened tears, he continued, “Consider my cousin’s offer, Eliza. For all that I have grown to esteem you, I cannot stop being the wretch I am, and your happiness means more to me than my own. Freddy can do well by you, and he will make you a better husband than I.” Stopping, he turned around and found the nearest chair, into which he fell as if all the strength had suddenly been sapped from his bones. “There. I have said it. I cannot live if you are not happy.”
There was silence. No one dared utter a sound and Lizzy felt the loud beating of her heart must resound through the stunned void of the room. She saw, from the corner of her eye, Georgie and Freddy both sitting with mouths agape at the enormity of Darcy’s unexpected pronouncement.
All at once the silence was filled with expressions of wonder and alarm. “Fitz, you cannot mean it? Are you giving her up entirely?” Georgie flung herself up from her chair and to her brother’s side, whilst Freddy boomed, “I say, Darcy, that’s awfully good of you. I had not thought you such a self-sacrificing sort at all.” Lizzy alone remained mute as the import of these words reverberated through her head.
So absorbed was she with what she had heard that she did not notice right away that the others were now all looking at her. She came to her senses with a start and tried to speak, but her voice was dry. Immediately, Darcy was there with a small glass of sherry, which she drank rather too quickly. She grew warm, and rose unsteadily to walk towards the windows, now open to allow in the warm summer air.
“What say you then, Lizzy? Do you accept me?” Freddy was at her elbow, tugging at his lace cuffs, eager anticipation written on his noble face. “You would then be sister to Charlotte. I shall order matching garb that we may present the perfect picture when we are about in Town. We shall look so fine together! And think on it—one day you shall be a countess! May that day be long in the coming, for it is a mantle I am in no hurry to take up, but it will, eventually arrive. Will you accept me?”
Turning to take in the room, Lizzy regarded the company set out before her. Freddy was there, as he was always there, willing to please and anxious to be of service, a good man beneath his aura of frivolity. He was by her side now, and would always be there for her, even if his concerns were as much for his horses and cravats as for the sensible management of a household. Georgie sat perfectly still, a statue of shock and amazement, whilst Darcy had turned away from the group. But this time, Lizzy knew in her heart, he had not turned away out of disdain or incivility, but because he could not keep the pain from his face and did not wish to burden his friends with his own personal agony. He lived in broad strokes, and when the veneer of curmudgeonly hauteur was wiped from his visage, he felt deeply and keenly, and his eyes could not lie. His pain was palpable, and she longed to rush over and comfort him, but she knew she had to speak now. This had gone on for too long, and she finally knew her heart.
“Freddy,” she turned to the man at her side and took his hand in her own, heedless of the impropriety of the action, “I have come to care for you deeply. You are the best of men, and I am honoured to have received your admiration and your offer. You have always been so good to me, and it was you who truly taught me to be a lady.” She caught and held his eyes. “For unlike your cousin, you understood that the difference between a country miss and a lady of the highest ranks is not how she behaves but how she is treated . You have always behaved to me as if I were a duchess, not some scamp from a small estate in the countryside.”
Freddy preened, but Lizzy stopped him with the softest touch of a hand upon his forearm.
“But I cannot marry you. I like you tremendously, and I cherish your friendship, but we would not really suit. If I love you, it is as a friend or a cousin, not as a husband. And you do not love me, not in any permanent way. You desire me, perhaps, and you are enamoured of the creature your cousin created, but you do not love me, not in that way. You are a wonderful man and you deserve real affection, and I will not keep you from that. We will always remain friends, I hope. I’m so sorry.” She kissed his cheek and stepped away from him.
Freddy’s face fell, but with the disappointment of a plan gone wrong and not with the dreadful devastation of a broken heart. Not with the pain his cousin had tried to suppress moments before. He said nothing, but took her hand and bestowed a sweet and delicate kiss just below her fingers, then released her and fell into a chair.
With careful steps, Lizzy walked over to where Darcy stood, his shoulders tense and his breath unsteady. She dared to be bold, and reached out to gently touch his shoulder. He spun around with a haunted look in his eyes, the latent vulnerability now overshadowing every other aspect of his being. He stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, then turned away from her once more. She could see tears brimming in his eyes.
“Fitz,” she said, so quietly it was almost a whisper. “That was the bravest thing I have ever seen you do, and the noblest. You have put another’s interests above your own, even to your own detriment, and you are prepared to suffer to see someone else be happy.
“Today I learned something I had not before understood. I understood what it is to be trusted, entirely and completely. All the while Wickham was slandering me—or the person he thought I was—you never once doubted me. With every new accusation and every assertion of his evidence, your faith in me never wavered. Each vile lie he uttered only made me stronger, for I saw how you had come to know me completely, and you understood that the woman I am would never do the things he said I had done. And that complete faith in me is reflected in the complete faith I have in you. You have never intentionally hurt anybody, and I know you never will. You may be foolish or a tyrant at times, but you are fundamentally a good man who strives to do well by all you deal with.”
He began to turn slowly around her, with something akin to hope creeping across his face, and she felt drawn into those deep brown eyes. He did not speak, although his lips moved as if trying to recall how to form words. She continued, “I cannot promise always to be the lady you have worked so hard to create; at times I may forget myself and resort to my country ways…”
“I ought never to have tried to change you!” Darcy exploded, words suddenly returning to him. “You were perfect the way you were.” He lingered on the word “perfect” and gazed at her in wonder.
“You did not change me, Fitz. I am who I have always been. The accent and the manners have changed, and for the better, but in essentials, I am who I have ever been. The creature you met in Meryton was more than adequate for the country, but recall: it was I who requested your assistance. And while you have been rude and condescending and surly and a trial to be around at times, you are a fine and decent man beneath it all. Even your gravest errors are made in what you consider to be the interests of others. I know that life with you will not always be easy,” she smothered a smile at his hurt look, “but I can think of only one reason a man would willingly give up his deepest-held dreams.”
“The reason is that I love you!” he protested. “I love you and wish only for your happiness!”
“True and selfless love… a woman can ask no more than that. If you still want me, I’m yours.”
For the longest time, he stared at her, as if he could hardly believe what he had heard and feared that this vision of all he desired would disappear like mist on a summer’s morning. “Is this true?” he asked at last. “Can I be dreaming?”
“You are not dreaming, my love, for you are my love. All the while you shouted and ranted, I slowly began to learn of the man beneath the facade, and became fascinated, and whilst here, at Pemberley, I have learned more of you and of the essence inside of you, and I have grown to love you in return.”
“Then you will marry me after all?” Wide-eyed, he asked this question.
“I will. Most delightedly.”
Before she knew what was happening, Lizzy was swept up into his arms and held tight against his strong chest. She felt his heart beat within his breast, and she sighed in contentment that it beat for her. Her arms now crept around his waist and she felt his face nuzzling in her hair. Her coiffure would be ruined, but she cared not. This was love. It was not passion, although that existed as well, nor was it self-interest, but rather, a deep and abiding love, and her hair be damned (she chuckled to herself at the terrible example her Fitz had shown her), she would revel in his embrace. With a broad smile, she raised her head to gaze at him, and the contentment and sheer happiness on his face was, itself, worth all the tribulations she had gone through.
“Eliza… my Lizzy, may I kiss you now?”
She nodded, her eyes alight with joy.
“Oh, my beautiful one, my darling, my fair Lizzy!” and his lips claimed hers.
EPILOGUE
~
“IT IS A TRUTH UNIVERSALLY acknowledged,” the tall gentleman said, “that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.” He took a sip from the goblet of fine brandy he held in his long and manicured hand, and then observed the amber liquid as he swirled it around the inside of the glass, the colours reflecting in the firelight. He sighed the sigh of deep satisfaction. “And how true it is, Charles, how utterly true that is.”
“‘Tis even so for an impecunious old soldier as myself!” joked the former colonel who occupied the third chair by the fire. “I never knew how much until it was upon me.” He raised his own glass, and the three men toasted each other, each revelling in his own great fortune.
The three friends sat in the comfort of Darcy’s study in his London townhouse, whilst their wives gathered in the drawing room next door, engaged in deep and delighted conversation about whatever it is that sisters and dear friends discuss when they have not seen each other for some time. Jane Bingley was proudly showing off her latest acquisition, a perfect little boy, now three months old, named Oliver Charles. With his golden curls, rosy cheeks and sparkling blue eyes, the babe was an instant favourite with all who saw him, and Jane was right to be most pleased with her creation. Charles, too, doted on the lad in a manner most unfashionable amongst the haute set, and none could blame him.
Richard had cooed over the child with an unexpected enthusiasm that had his cousin baffled, until it became obvious that his dear Charlotte would soon be presenting him with an heir as well. If Eliza had a similar secret, she was not yet telling anybody.
Well comfortable with his close friends and in the knowledge of his beloved being only a short few yards away, Darcy allowed himself to relax into pleasant conversation while his mind toyed with the events of the past several months.
Of these events, his own engagement and wedding took primacy in his thoughts. After Freddy’s initial disappointment, his cousin had come to see that Lizzy had been quite right and that his affection for her was that of infatuation and friendship, rather than the selfless love that she deserved. The viscount had quickly offered his heartiest congratulations and had promised to do whatever was needed to smooth Lizzy’s way during her first season as Mrs. Darcy. He had returned to Town shortly after the wedding with Georgie in tow, and according to rumour—substantiated by Richard—he had become fascinated of late with a young woman who had but recently arrived in London from the colonies. Her father, the third son of a baron, had taken a post in Lower Canada as a young man. Having dwelt in Montreal with his family for the past twenty years, his duties had recalled him to England, and with him came his wife and four children, amongst whom numbered the charming and exotic Miss Helena Hutchison. It was far too early to plan his wedding suit, but Darcy began to hope that there might be a happy ending for his cousin Freddy as well.
Aunt Patricia had been delighted at the news that the false engagement had become real, for she had taken an immediate liking to Elizabeth, which over the course of the countess’ ministrations and guidance, had become a genuine attachment. She would, of course, have welcomed Lizzy as a daughter, but was almost as happy to see her as a niece, for it was apparent that this arrangement was of the most satisfaction to everybody. She had continued to squire Lizzy around town and to introduce her to the right people in the highest circles, and was right now preparing the new Mrs. Darcy for her presentation at court. The former country girl was completely accepted in society as a fine lady, and if none knew of her background, that would be quite acceptable as well.
The wedding itself had been as simple and without ado as was possible for two such people as the esteemed Professor Darcy—nephew to an earl, after all!—and the daughter of Mrs. Bennet. That lady, immediately upon hearing the happy news, had set off for Pemberley and arrived days later with none other than Patricia, Lady Malton. The two set right to work on arranging the wedding and the subsequent celebrations, and only the most strenuous objections by the couple succeeded in tempering any of their plans.
Darcy complained loudly and often about the entire affair, and on several occasions waxed poetic to his betrothed about the relative advantages of eloping to Scotland. “We are, after all, half way there!” he declared more than once. Eliza agreed with him, but reminded him that their suffering was to be of short duration—for they were to be wed within the month—and that other people’s happiness depended on their acquiescence. Reluctantly and with no good humour, he agreed to suffer through the elaborate celebrations.
“After all, Fitz, ‘tis only the wedding that they are planning,” she would remind him once and again, “and we all know that what is truly important is not the wedding but the marriage. And that we shall conduct on our own terms, with no influence by anyone wholly unconnected to ourselves.”
In the end, both survived the rites, as well as the attendant trials and tribulations, and were most happy in their new domestic arrangements.
Lost in these pleasant memories, Darcy smiled to himself and allowed the quiet conversation of the others wash over him like the warmth of a good fire on a cold day, soothing and reassuring.
“Tell me, Charles,” he asked at last, when the conversation had reached a natural lull, “what is the latest from Caroline and Wickham?”
Charles rolled his eyes and let out a very uncharacteristic huff. “Caroline will forever be a thorn in my side. Fortunately, she is more a thorn in her husband’s than in mine, and so I shall survive the experience. She writes nothing but to complain. She is unhappy with the lodgings though they were most comfortable when I travelled thither to see them; she complains of the food, for it is not the finest French fare, but simply good and hearty country cooking. She complains of the society, despite the people being good and honest friendly folk, with nothing but an excellent intention behind every action, and she complains of her husband. She was happy enough to bed him, but not to wed him, and it was only when I informed her that her dowry was not quite large enough to overcome her status as another man’s discarded mistress that she agreed. No one forced her into the alliance, any more than anyone forced Wickham. They have made their bed, and I truly believe that if they only decided to be content with their lot, they might be quite happy.”
“Then,” quipped Richard with a smirk, “there is little else to say. My modest income affords me only half of what they seem to have, if your accounting is accurate, Charles. Their community clearly does them well. And yet I am grown most content indeed with my lot, meagre though it may be. I have enough, and I have Charlotte. What more could I possibly desire? I believe it is the necessity to live exemplary lives that troubles them more than the physical or societal inconveniences they complain about.”
