Page 39 of The Heroic Mr Darcy's Bad Manners
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Elizabeth
Elizabeth had stiffened in her seat when the butler had announced Mr Darcy, and by the time their visitors entered, the air had been as frigid as a winter filled with woe. His eyes had swept the room as if he was looking for something, or rather someone. Someone other than the country bumpkin Elizabeth Bennet.
It was plain to see that Mr Darcy’s opinion of her had changed once he had become aware of her elevated status. Of course, now that he had discovered she was not without desirable connections, he would want to introduce his sister…
He paid her every deference as Lady Elizabeth. The contrast between how he had behaved towards her when she was the plebeian Miss Elizabeth brought a foul taste to her mouth. Mr Darcy was nothing but an arrogant, prideful man who thought about nothing but standing and consequence, which was a trait that she could not respect. His disappointment when he discovered that she was Queen Elizabeth must have been very great indeed. Mr Darcy’s crestfallen expression bespoke his shock. The very thing she feared the most had happened—her face was a disappointment. He did not regard her as beautiful, merely tolerable but not handsome enough to tempt him. Why had he come?
If it were to further disparage her, she did not plan to be as lenient as she had been in the past. The blindfold had been ripped from her eyes, and she could see him for what he was—a pompous, arrogant, insufferable oaf, devoid of every feeling. And this infatuation she suffered must naturally abate with time.
The butler entered with a letter addressed to Elizabeth on a silver salver. She unfolded the paper and was stunned at its contents. Her dear friend was engaged to be married to none other than Mr Collins.
“Unfathomable,” she whispered.
“My thoughts exactly,” her grandmother replied drily. “Please enlighten me, Eilís. What have you done to poor Mr Darcy?”
“Nothing,” she replied truthfully.
“Do not play coy with me. You must know why he has turned from an ardent lover to a miserable creature who hardly dared speak a word to you. Do not think that I missed your cold reception, and I must admit that I was heartily disappointed in you. Why, you hardly talked about anything but Mr Darcy after the masquerade. Yet, since your return to London you have not mentioned him once. I thought that it was because you despaired of ever seeing him again. His aunt and I were greatly anticipating reuniting the two of you, as I have it on good authority that he was as bewitched by you as you were by him. What happened, Elizabeth?”
Grandmother only used her English name when she was cross—a notion that Elizabeth could not bear. It broke the dams that had teetered on the verge of destruction for weeks. Once unleashed, the tears gushed down her cheeks in a steady, untameable stream.
“Oh dear!” Her grandmother rose and enveloped her in her arms. “Let us adjourn to my sitting room. We can speak freely there, where no one can hear us.”
Elizabeth managed to nod and kept her head down until they entered her grandmother’s sanctuary. She sat whilst her grandmother went to her chamber for a fresh handkerchief. Through the door of the room she had never entered she saw an intriguing painting. It was a young boy with a halo of white curls on his head. He was dressed in a pink coat and short breeches. It was her father as a young boy, but that was not what surprised her. They had a similar painting at home, but in the one here, a girl who appeared to be exactly the same age stood smiling with her hand laced with his.
“Who is that girl with my father?” she questioned her grandmother when she returned with the handkerchief.
“That is Catherine, his twin sister.”
Elizabeth forgot her own misery for a spell at that shocking news.
“I did not know you had a daughter or that my father had a sister.”
“She died before you were born, and the subject is painful to me. I beg you not to enquire any further. Besides, I am not to be distracted from my purpose. We were discussing Mr Darcy, and I shall not rest until you have related all your dealings with the man.”
Elizabeth did as requested and told her grandmother everything she remembered from when she had left town last summer until Mr Darcy had entered their parlour that very day.
When she had finished, the matron looked pensive. “He mortified your vanity, which justly incurred your contempt and indignation,” she declared.
“How unreal and fleeting the glories of love are,” Elizabeth lamented. “I was a child, unprepared for the heavy affliction that had befallen my heart like a thunderbolt. Yet, these events withered a healthy affection irrevocably and crushed its hopes forever.”
“I would not go that far,” her grandmother replied. “Love is complicated and may begin with more pain than pleasure, but I assure you, it is worth it in the end. Do not despair yet.”
“I bow to my fate, which compels me to resign any aspirations I previously may have harboured,” Elizabeth said with humility.
“I need some time to think…” Her grandmother appeared lost to the world after that remark. Elizabeth left her to her contemplations to reply to Charlotte’s letter.
Dear Charlotte,
I do not know whether I shall be able to come to your wedding as my grandmother has embarked upon refurbishing the house and Uncle Henry is forever occupied with his business.
I would love nothing more than to visit your new home at Easter, but as my family’s plans are not yet fixed, I can make no promises.
Life in London is rather dull at the moment. We have few engagements and even less good society. I miss my friends, and your letters are a great comfort to me…
Over the following days, her grandmother was much occupied and left the house for hours on end. Elizabeth surmised she was ordering fabrics and furniture.
