An Odd Notion of Kindness
Chapter One

Afterwards, he asked, "Did I hurt you?" He pressed the palm of one large hand against her back. The question was inane and too late in coming. It would have done him well to think about her comfort before he acted.

She said yes, then she said no, then she laughed — a harsh, joyless sound, mixed with tears. "There was much discomfort," she said finally, "yes. But, I would say my pride is hurt more than my body."

He considered this, then replied, "Though I did expect discomfort, it grieves me to hear of it." She nodded. She had anticipated pain and humiliation, and been rewarded with all the pleasure of being correct. "Your pride," he added, "I hope will recover."

"It might be better for you," she countered, "if I were to remain mortified and meek."

"I would not have your spirit broken by my actions," he confessed, "though in this case, I thought some difficulty necessary."

She twisted to look at him over her shoulder, surprised and betrayed. She was under no illusions he still loved her. She had counted on lust alone to raise her fortunes. Yet, she had thought purposefully tormenting her beneath him.

"I think," he said, settling against the pillows, "that you will find yourself quite capable of rising to the challenges your new circumstance will present. Some of it, you may even enjoy. But as a gently-bred woman, a part of you must be repulsed. A part of you must be mortified. I have no intention of hiding you from my friends or society. I hope you will learn to face the world with courage. But that is my hope for the future. For the present, I understand it will be difficult. And so, I thought it kinder to you to make this as difficult as may be. What you face beyond these walls, I hope, will seem easy by comparison."

He had wanted her nude. He had wanted her in the daylight. Every swell and contour of her body, he insisted on seeing, on touching. From the moment his eyes first lit upon her unclothed form to the moment he withdrew in exhaustion, the act had been the most shameful experience of her life. At least it had been over quickly. She had never intended to be naked before any man, much less one who was not her husband.

But she said, "You have an odd notion of kindness."

"Oh, Lizzy," Jane said, dropping onto the bed in sympathetic despair, "I wish it had been me."

"I am just as happy it was not," Elizabeth countered quickly. She shut the bedroom door behind herself. "You would have accepted him! No, better he ask me. I am practiced at refusals."

"Mr. Harvey is a respectable, gentleman-like man and a good friend of my uncle's," Jane said carefully. "If a man is willing to raise our fortunes, we must accept him with gratitude."

Spirits agitated, Elizabeth opened and closed the wardrobe. "You resent me, then? I knew Uncle would not be pleased, but I cannot marry a man I do not hold in some esteem."

"Lizzy!" Jane cried, leaping from the bed to fly to her sister's side. She embraced Elizabeth tightly. "I will never resent you. I do not care how many of my uncle's friends you disappoint, I know you have good reason."

Half-heartedly patting Jane's hands, Elizabeth wondered aloud, "Are my reasons good enough? Uncle Gardiner has his own children and a wife to provide for. They bear it cheerfully, but you cannot deny how much our presence here taxes them. I am sure it is worse at Meryton. Mama, Mary and Kitty all living in Uncle Phillips's house! Had I accepted Mr. Harvey's proposal, I would have gained independence, my own house and the means to send a little money to Mama."

"You do not love him," Jane replied, resting her chin on her sister's shoulder.

"Nor do you," Lizzy said, "but you would have accepted him, had he asked you."

"Our prospects are very bad," Jane sighed. "Every morning I pray for happy news from Lydia, but I find myself growing more and more resigned to it never coming."

As long as Jane's sweet, sanguine temper had been able to weather their circumstance, Elizabeth knew she would be able to, as well. But even her sister, who truly thought the best of all persons, had lost hope. If Jane could not see a happy conclusion, Elizabeth was forced to admit there must not be one. "If she is alive," Elizabeth said, "I know she is in Town."

"You think she has died?"

"I do not know what to think!" Elizabeth cried. "I am certain Mr. Wickham did not take her beyond London, and he must have abandoned her by now. If they had married, Lydia would not have kept her silence for so long. Yet, it is equally unthinkable that she should be abandoned, and not sought help from her friends. Mr. Wickham would have taken all of her money, but surely she could acquire pen and paper somehow."

"I agree that if he had abandoned her in London, she could have done something to find my uncle," Jane replied thoughtfully, "so I think they must have not stopped in London, as we all thought. They were not traced any further, but I think it certain they did travel further."

Skeptically, Elizabeth bit, "You cannot think they have married." To the more cynical sister, Jane's disposition had always been the most delightfully wondrous thing about her. She could not credit even Jane finding goodness in Mr. Wickham. Elizabeth wished there was some to be found, but everything she knew about him — his treatment of Miss Darcy, his debts in Meryton — told her the man who stole her youngest sister in the dead of night had no virtues. An elopement was scandalous, but had a marriage taken place, it would be forgiven with time. What Mr. Wickham was done was worse than murder. Lydia was gone, facing untold horrors alone. Her family had been robbed of a vivacious young girl and their honor in one fell swoop. The uncertainty was a constant companion; nothing distracted her from thoughts of Lydia, wondering what she was doing.

Jane bit her lip. "No," she admitted. "I did hold out hope for so long that they had wed. Lydia would have written to my mother of her triumph had a marriage taken place."

"More likely," Elizabeth said, "Mr. Wickham would have written Mama, demanding his share of Lydia's portion."

"Oh, poor Lydia," was all Jane to could add.

Elizabeth smiled weakly. "I miss her. I long to know what has become of her. Yet, if she was to walk through that door, I promise you, I could cheerfully throttle her! To put us through this! Six months of the agony of not knowing where she has been, who she was with! It is nigh unforgivable!" With a sigh, she mused, "Though I should like the option of forgiving her.

"Someday, perhaps," Jane said, squeezing Elizabeth tighter, "some opportunity will arise."

A sudden pounding on the bedroom door cause the sisters to jump. The door swung open. "Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth."

"Sally," Jane said, recovering herself first. "Does my aunt have some need of us?"

"Mr. Gardiner has a visitor in the parlor, ma'am. He asks Miss Elizabeth come wait on him."

Elizabeth grimaced. Her uncle had the best interests of his own children and his nieces in mind when he tried to make matches, but Elizabeth was feeling rather like a prize cow up for auction. She did not doubt Mr. Gardiner's friends were excellent men. Her uncle was kind, intelligent and gentleman-like. She was sure his friends were of the same mold. With Lydia's disgrace tainting the family, a tradesman was the highest status any of her sisters could hope for in a husband. Yet, Elizabeth did not entertain any intentions of marriage. The three remaining girls did. Kitty was as eager for male attention as she ever was. Mary hoped to distance herself from her family's moral failings through a change of name. Jane only wished for her uncles to pass her maintenance on to a husband. If only one of them had been selected as the sacrificial lamb! Jane's bloom of beauty had faded with stress and depression. The shopkeepers of Meryton were not yet feeling bold enough to offer for genteel ladies, however reduced their circumstance.

As for Elizabeth, the only man she could marry had been left in Derbyshire the dreary day she learned of Lydia's flight. Her entire party had scrambled back to Longbourn, beckoned by a panicked Jane. With every passing mile, Elizabeth was taken further away from the man uniquely suited to make her happy. Mr. Darcy was a gentleman. With an unchaste sister, she could not expect him to renew his addresses. Six months of separation did nothing to weaken her resolve. She would have no other.

"Miss Elizabeth, sir," Sally announced, ushering Elizabeth into her uncle's parlor. She wondered how it had happened that Mr. Gardiner should learn of her refusal of Mr. Harvey so quickly. And that he should have another prospective husband to trot out already! Did he expect her opinion on marriage to change so drastically?

Though Elizabeth strode into the parlor with every intention of maintaining a facade of cool dignity, the sight of her uncle's guest made her stumble. Forgetting her manners, she cried out, "Mr. Darcy!" without so much as a curtsy.

Mr. Darcy leapt to his feet. "Miss Bennet!" he said, tone equally surprised. "I had not known you were in Town." He remembered to bow. She curtseyed.

"Jane and I have been in London these four months," Elizabeth said awkwardly. She cast a questioning glance at her uncle from the corner of her eye. "Had you not heard?"

"Indeed I had not," Mr. Darcy said. "I have arrived only recently myself. I heard about your father's passing and wished to express my condolences to your uncle."

She nodded.

"Though," he added, "now that I see you are in residence, I, of course, wish to express my condolences to you as well."

"I thank you. My uncle has been very generous, taking on the maintenance of Jane and myself."

"Is Miss Bennet in good health?"

"Very good health, thank you. And Miss Darcy, how is she?"

"She is very well, I thank you for thinking of her. She is visiting Lady Catherine, on whose information I learned about your father."

"Yes," Elizabeth said slowly. "I should have suspected as much. I understand she was disconsolate to lose a rector like my cousin, Mr. Collins, but selflessly recommended his immediate possession of Longbourn. How do you find his replacement?"

Mr. Darcy considered. "I like him very much. His understanding and education are both excellent. My only concern is that I do not believe he is as attentive to matters of rank as my aunt would like."

Elizabeth smirked. "Oh, yes, my cousin was singular in that regard. Men like him must be difficult to come by."

With a secret smile full of shared amusement, he answered, "I fear they are."

He must think her shameless. Her desire for his good opinion must be in the curl of her lips, in the lack of grace in her every movement. Elizabeth did not allow her imaginings bitterness; she will not read arrogant pleasure in his amiably. If he knew her thoughts, he would not be happy to break her heart. Mr. Darcy was above such pettiness. She was willing to allow him, however, any relief he may feel on escaping a connection to Lydia.

He stayed a quarter of an hour, then took his leave. When she applied to her uncle for how it should be that Mr. Darcy appeared in his parlor, Mr. Gardiner confessed to their friendship, but nothing more.

Though Elizabeth did not see Mr. Darcy again for several weeks, she quickly learned that the relationship he forged with Mr. Gardiner the previous summer had blossomed into an abiding friendship. Mr. Gardiner had not written to Mr. Darcy to share news, but that she could dismiss as deference to the disparity of their positions. The men were in company frequently. It was not until Mrs. Gardiner invited Mr. Darcy to dine with them that Elizabeth had the opportunity to converse with him. Her aunt dominated his attention during the meal. Much later, after talking and drinking and smoking cigars with her uncle, Mr. Darcy entered the drawing room in search of coffee. Elizabeth was happy enough to pour for him, and they were able to enter into conversation:

"You uncle seems very pleased to have Miss Bennet and yourself residing with him," Mr. Darcy said.

"Tell him he may praise me all he wishes," Elizabeth replied merrily.

Mr. Darcy hesitated, then said, "He will be distressed when you are gone to your own establishment."

Elizabeth's smile drooped. "I do not understand your meaning, sir."

"Mr. Gardiner expects you will be married soon."

Her smile disappeared. "My uncle is mistaken."

"Perhaps I misunderstood him."

His manner was cautious, neither hopeful nor disappointed. Elizabeth wished she could gauge how he felt about her marrying, and who the prospective groom might be now. Her uncle no longer thought her fit to be a gentleman's wife. He would not be hoping Mr. Darcy would make an offer. She looked for her uncle. He had formed a card party with his wife, Jane and another dinner guest. Mr. Gardiner was a man of many talents, but she did not think him capable of convincing Mr. Darcy to take on a ruined wife.

"I do not believe so," Elizabeth answered honestly. "He has hopes I will marry as soon as may be."

"And your own hopes," Mr. Darcy wondered, "do they match his?"

Looking at Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth thought her hopes were in tandem with Mr. Gardiner's for the first time in months. The similarities were superficial. She hoped some solution may present itself to give her a future with Mr. Darcy. Mr. Gardiner would not aspire to a match that grand. So, Elizabeth said, with all honestly, "They do not." Thinking it better to explain fully, Elizabeth added, "My uncle hopes to marry myself and my sisters to tradesmen. You know too much of Lydia's situation to question why he thinks that the best hope for our futures." Here, Mr. Darcy nodded. "I understand his point. To an extent, I even agree with him. Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Phillips cannot support five women indefinitely. We must marry, and relieve them of the burden."

"Yet you admit to your agreement having stipulations."

"It is a different thing all together for man! A man takes on a wife, and his lot changes not at all. A woman cannot enter into the marriage state lightly."

"You use your uncle ill," Mr. Darcy stated, "if you accept his charity, but think he toys with your future."

The accusation stung. "I am not mercenary," she answered. "I have no wish for my uncle to support me as a spinster, but I cannot marry for money alone."

"I will not ask you to betray any man's confidence," Mr. Darcy said after a moment.

He would not ask if she had received proposals of marriage other than his own. Elizabeth thought him curious. He would not have drawn attention to a failure to ask otherwise. She could not acknowledge his own proposal in a drawing room, crowded with family and guests. If anyone should overhear, poor Mr. Darcy would be embarrassed. "By the reckoning of some," she said vaguely, "I am perhaps more experienced refusals than a girl in my position ought."

Taking charge of his own embarrassment, he asked, "More experienced than I would have predicted?"

"Indeed."

His eyes wandered to her uncle. "Have you made your feelings on this score known to your uncle?"

"Some," Elizabeth answered. "He knows I am not swayed only by practical considerations."

"Yet his hopes remain unchanged?"

"He believes I shall have to accept my situation and act accordingly soon enough."

"Perhaps in time, some other solution may present itself."