Page 33 of A Quiet Affection

Jane was filled with a sort of unreality. She knew, rather than felt, herself to be happy and in love. Everyone told her that she must be so happy, to be so well settled, and to such a handsomeman who she had known since earliest childhood. He was charming, he hurried himself to serve her every whim, and there would be so much money from the gifts of Mr. Darcy. She knew that she loved George. The only thing that made sense was being in love with George.

She would be a quite irrational and paradoxical creature, the sort of person who disappointed all who cared for her wellbeing, if she wasnotin fact in love with George.

That was not something that Jane could be; she was the person who made those around her happy, and who delighted them all by being exactly what she was supposed to be.And, and this was no small consideration in Jane’s mind, if she married George, the settlements upon her would precisely ensure that they could always keep Lizzy with them, and that Lizzy would never need to worry for anything. It was proper that her sister be a burden upon her dearest family, rather than upon Mr. Darcy.

Despite this, Jane was not happy.

She felt always uneasy in her stomach and in her chest. She woke to sweat-filled nightmares. She heard a voice in the back of her mind telling her to beg off, to simply explain to everyone that she did not want to marry George, and that she was that awful sort of paradoxical creature.

It was so strange. She rather imagined such a thing happening to Lizzy rather than herself. She had never felt this way before. Likely it was that she did not believe she deserved to be happy, so very happy as she would certainly be when they were married. But as Lizzy had once told Jane, she had as much right to happiness as Lizzy, or Georgiana, or anyone and everyone else.

Jane looked at Mr. Darcy’s face, slowly becoming more sunken, and she imagined herself saying that she could not marryGeorge. But she couldn’t bear the imagined disappointment he would feel.

Every week when the banns were spoken in the Kympton parish church Jane heard them like a dread sentence of death pronounced by a hanging judge.

Even though Miss Bennet was neither the most suspicious, nor the most perceptive of creatures, during her long acquaintance with George, she had perceived some marks of falseness and unusual selfishness in his character. The way that he spoke very differently with his friends, with herself, and with Mr. Darcy. The way that when he failed to do something, it always ultimately was the fault of another who had harmed him. With servants and those whom he considered to be his social inferiors, he had a delight in commanding them, in acting the master, the superior. And, once, when his best friend Mr. Clarke had received an unexpected gift of some value from his grandfather, Wickham had complained to Jane for half an hour about how ridiculous it was thatJohnreceived something of that sort, when he was just as deserving. Even though he always spoke with friendliness to Fitzwilliam, there was something in his eyes when he looked at the son of their godfather that Jane knew could not reflect a good emotion.

The idea that perhaps, maybe, possibly, George was not a good person, a moral person, a worthy object of her affections arose frequently in Jane’s mind.

But that was impossible.

Jane was always determined to think the best of everyone. She had seen no positive evil in Wickham, just occasional lapses of goodness. She could not expect him to be perfect. She was not perfect herself. And it was wrong for her to wish for others to be perfect when she was not perfect. Only God was perfect. Georgemust have a good heart. He said he did, after all. He always said all that was proper. And he wished to be a clergyman. He would not wish to take orders if he was not good and filled with every good sentiment.

Any mistrust that Jane had towards George must be a mark thatshewas being a wicked creature who did not deserve him.

But when Jane said that she did not deserve him, George insisted that there was no need for her to doubt herself, and that she was perfect, and that he was happy to marry her. And then he complimented her beauty at length.

Yet, this did not settle her at all. It showed how paradoxical and odd Jane’s emotions were, and how she could not trust them at all. It occurred to Jane that Wickhamoftenspoke of her beauty, and sometimes of how biddable and submissive she seemed to be. But nothing else about her, none of her other virtues, the things that Jane thought mattered more, seemed to have any weight with him.

But, she of course did not in the end do anything to delay or prevent the wedding. She was not an irrational and paradoxical creature. She was in love with George. She did wish to marry him.

Chapter Eight

On one of those surprisingly warm days in October, when one might sit about outside if cautious, and when the air is clear, and the leaves are orange and brown, the remaining birds swirl about, and there is a mulch of leaves underfoot where they have not been cleared, Elizabeth went out with a thick wool blanket to sit on a swing in the portion of the garden that faced towards the hill rather than the approach to the house. This was two weeks after she had reached her fifteenth birthday. Elizabeth felt quite warm, and the breeze was pleasant rather than freezing. The sun shined on her face, and the blanket and her coat protected her from the cold. She picked up a fallen leaf to hold on her lap. From ancient memory she filled in the image of the orange leaves and the flitting birds.

Elizabeth pushed back and forth on the swing with one foot, hearing the squeaking of the swing with every motion. The aged texture of the wood was pleasant to run her fingers over, and it was kept sanded down so that there was no risk of her catching splinters.

Miss Wilson was quite busy these days finishing all of the subjects that she hoped to teach Georgiana before she was sent south.

But, since Elizabeth’s education had been declared complete by joint decision of Miss Wilson and Mr. Darcy, there was nothing to do.

Elizabeth did not like that.

Over the years, especially as she had quit insisting on climbing trees and become more ladylike and superficially biddable,Sarah had been less insistent on keeping Elizabeth under close supervision when she was not in the nursery.

Thus, Elizabeth was tolerably certain that she was at present wholly alone.

They were already packing both her things and Georgiana’s, for their separate journeys. Elizabeth rather wanted to cry. It was harder than she had ever remembered to keep her spirits up and to remain cheerful under unpleasant circumstances. She thought that the chief part of the difficulty was that she knew shemuststay cheerful forJane’ssake. It would be wholly unfair to her sister to have a doleful countenance in the week before her wedding.

Being cheerful for her own sake, and because she was in fact a cheerful person was easier than being cheerful to avoid ruining a wedding to a Wickham.

Mr. Darcywas more cheerful than Elizabeth could ever remember him, and he was slowly dying. Elizabeth ought to expect as much from herself.

She looked up towards the sound of footsteps coming from the direction of the pond and stables. But Elizabeth of course could notseewho was walking towards her, so she turned away. Likely it was one of the grooms, though Elizabeth was rather surprised that one was coming through the portion of the park with seats and tables, and varied entertainments, that were in regular use by the family.

The footsteps stopped about ten feet from her, and before Elizabeth asked who it was, a strong, familiar, and beloved voice said, “Lizzy Bennet, what are you doing sitting outdoors in the middle of October?”

Elizabeth immediately leapt to her feet. “Fitzwilliam! Oh, we have missed you so much!”