Blinded By Prejudice by KaraLynne Mackrory
Chapter Thirteen
By the same time the next day, I had fully analysed my ragged thoughts. It was only natural that I should feel some disturbance of thought on the day that I became betrothed to a man I had not chosen. And the appearance of Mr Darcy for the first time since our terrifying and difficult time together in the ruins must bear some blame. Certainly, that event bore culpability for the volatile state of my feelings. I knew it was only to be expected that after such a harrowing event, my feelings upon seeing the only other person to endure it with me would be overwhelming.
Furthermore, the man himself was altered by the experience. Indeed, it ought to be expected that he might be! But I had not anticipated that his manner might be softened and his vulnerability would be attractive and disconcerting in equal measure. My new awareness of his physical presence, or susceptibility to his growing charm, was surprising, to say the least. The result was the flustered and fevered panic that beset me when he left in his carriage the day before. The crazed notion of one day loving Mr Darcy—and the fear of it—was certainly a product of all the tumult of emotions set upon me on a most trying day.
After the therapeutic effects of a long walk, a quiet evening, and an exhausted, blessedly dreamless sleep, I awoke the next morning feeling more myself and certainly more able to meet the occupants of Netherfield, one in particular, with a more rational frame of mind. I would not be overset as I had been the day before. With resolve, I determined I would attempt to reconcile myself to the match and be a good wife for Mr Darcy despite my many fluctuating thoughts about the gentleman.
I drew a fortifying breath and lifted the bedclothes to ready myself for the day. At that moment, the clouds outside my window drifted and a beam of the bright morning sun shone directly in my face, causing me to protect my eyes with the blanket once again. My eyes were shut but still felt the sting of the light beam behind their lids. With chilling realisation, my newly betrothed came to my mind. I knew that if I waited but another moment and turned my face away from the window, I would see without hindrance. Mr Darcy would not. Furthermore, he would not have even felt the sun’s rays pierce his vision.
Compassion warred with curiosity as I thought of his plight. The accident had wrought many significant changes to my life that I was still grappling with. Those same changes had sentenced Mr Darcy to marriage and added unto it tenfold with the loss of his vision. Consideration for my determination to be a good wife to him, despite how these changes came upon us, had me contemplating more and more the difficulty each day must be for my betrothed.
I lifted the blanket but kept my eyes closed. With careful movements, I sat up and moved my feet off the bed. Immediately, they felt the cold of the floor and my eyes flashed open to look for my slippers. It was but a second before I closed them again. I do not know when I had decided to try to understand what losing one’s sight might feel like, but having already succumbed to the temptation of sight with merely a bit of cold toes made me realise how truly dependent I was on that sense.
With my eyes closed again, I determined to attempt to ready myself for the day as far as was possible without using my sight. I shifted my feet around until I felt the softness of my slippers and gratefully pushed my shivering feet into them.
From there, I stood and felt my way to the foot of my bed to find, and then quickly don, my dressing gown. The next step would be to cross the room to my dressing table. With hands out to protect myself, I shuffled wary steps in the direction I felt most accurate. With a bit of laughter, I found myself touching the wall, but much to my chagrin, I could not locate my dressing table. After long side steps around the room, I reached the opposite wall where I finally found my destination. That discovery occurred when my knee collided with the leg of the dressing table most painfully.
Inelegantly, I slumped into the chair there, feeling somewhat accomplished despite my mishaps. My mind went to the way Mr Darcy’s relations had subtly led him where he needed to go, and I felt at first a little smug thinking of how I managed to get to my location from the bed without any aid. Immediately, even though I had felt proud, I thought of how embarrassing it would be to have every movement aided by another, yet how essential too. I had not gone unerringly to my dressing table, but had traversed much of the room to get there. My small triumph fell flat, and I was at once filled with shame for even glorying in it.
This was what I set out to do, was it not? To try to understand the plight that my future husband was, and would likely be, facing daily. With a lift of my chin, I set about releasing my plait and combing through my hair. This, I believed, could be accomplished without sight, as I felt I could pin my hair in my sleep, so oft had I accomplished the task without so much as a mirror when assemblies were held. My younger sisters often burst into my room to sit at my looking glass and fuss at their own appearances, pushing Jane or me aside as they grappled with their coiffures.
After pinning my hair and feeling about my head to determine whether I had missed any locks, I drew a deep breath for what I believed would be the most difficult portion of my toilette. Dressing for the day.
This time when I ventured in the direction of my closet, I stayed near the wall so as to not misstep. My fingers ran along the length of the closet door from the cold metal of the hinges to the opposite edge. From there, I felt the smooth wood, marvelling at how textures seemed to stand out to me and trying to decide whether I even remembered what the grain of the wood looked like. I found the knob and opened the closet. The easiest choice, of course, would be to select a dress that had fastenings in the front. I had several such dresses, but without seeing them, I would most certainly make a mess of the space.
I felt along the shelf and encountered the first dress, using both hands to get a feel for its texture. I felt lace at its neck, and knowing that this dress did not fasten in the front, I quickly plucked it away to feel for the next. Every dress I encountered seemed to fasten in the back, and I became more and more frustrated. I did not have so many dresses that the task should be this difficult!
I was sorely tempted then to give up this ridiculous experiment. So Mr Darcy had similar struggles daily and had for some weeks since the accident. He was rich and could afford any number of servants to find him his clothing, dress him, and see that he does not bump his knee on the furniture.
I do not know why I then did not give up and open my eyes. I might have ended this burning frustration and humiliation at being so helpless in an instant. Instead, I slid down to the floor, sat among my discarded dresses, and found to my utter disbelief that I was crying. My eyes stayed closed though. Perhaps it was the failure that kept them so—or the fact that I was an obstinate, headstrong girl.
The dresses surrounded me like an ocean of muslin and satin. I had felt so many textures that at this point I could no longer determine which dress was which. When I had first entered the closet, I was certain I could picture each garment as I encountered it. Now, they all felt similar, and that hopelessness came back to me. I felt like a child, dependent and stupid. Unable to even select something to wear.
Mr Darcy’s question about my dress the day before came to my thoughts then with such force that, with a puff of air, I leant back against the closet wall with the memory. How plain and dull his world must feel to him now. He could not see the brilliance of the garden and the blue clarity of the sky or know whether or not his valet had dressed him as a clown. Such a simple question he posed to me yesterday: What was I wearing?
At the time, I had felt all the impertinence and rudeness of the query, thinking only of the impropriety of his asking. Now, as I sat defeated on the floor of my closet with dresses strewn about and likely becoming wrinkled beyond repair, I thought only of his need to know something certain.
I had spent perhaps half an hour without my sight and felt as though everything I had once trusted in was murky with uncertainty. I believed I knew my way to the dressing table, but the bruise on my knee told otherwise. I knew I possessed at least three dresses that closed in the front, yet I found not a one. Every thought I believed to be truth was now shrouded with doubt.
A feather-like touch of fabric fell upon my head and slid to my lap in what was a crowning point to my humbling realisation. I felt for the fabric with clumsy hands and determined it was a thin scarf my aunt had gifted me for my birthday. I held it a moment, feeling its texture and searching my mind to paint the pattern of the fabric as I remembered it.
Instead of setting it aside once I had successfully conjured its image, I drew a deep breath, and with determination tied it about my eyes. I would not cow to this difficult task I had set for myself. One day, if Mr Darcy’s sight did not return, I would be married to a man who would daily endure this hateful darkness. I could at least ready myself for the day once.
I used the shelves to assist myself to stand and, in doing so, felt another dress. With more careful movements this time, I located the neck opening and felt along its structure to discover happily that it closed in the front. Upon this lucky conclusion, I paused in thought. There was simply no way I could find and secure my stays without my sight.
I felt my cheeks warm at the thought of being thus caught and how ridiculous I must look. There was simply nothing to it; I must dress without stays today. Most of my dresses were modest enough not to need them, and in the heat of the summer, indeed, I sometimes went without.
It took much longer than I thought it ought to, but eventually I was able to pull the dress over my head, place my arms in the right places, and pull the dress down to cover myself. Finding and locating the lacings was somewhat of a trial, but I credit myself with eventual success. The gown did seem to gap a little unnaturally at the bodice, but I could not find the string to cinch it tighter.
Just as I had finished lacing my boots, Jane’s surprised and concerned voice reached my ears.
“Lizzy, what on earth are you about?”
Startled, I stood too quickly and hastily tore off my blindfold. My eyes were not adjusted to the brightness of the room, and shocks of pain shot through my head. My hands lifted to cover my face, both to protect it from the brightness and to hide my blushes.
“Why did you not knock? I was simply…well I was…“
“I did knock but heard no answer. I was worried and—Lizzy, your hair! And your dress!”
It was then, as my eyes adjusted and looked down upon myself, that my heart sunk. What success I thought I might have had this morning was as clear as my vision to be an utter failure. The ties of my dress were offset by one and that explained the gaping bodice, for I had tied the wrong straps together. Looking to my right at the dressing table, I saw at once that the elegant coiffure I had proudly made without sight was nothing more than a nest of curls and pins.
I stepped towards the mirror, already pulling pins out to correct the horrible wrong I had inflicted upon my hair, when my feet caught. I stumbled into the basin of water at the table beside my mirror and knocked the entire thing to the floor. My dress was now soaked and water ran down my legs into my boots, which I saw had been laced together. It was the last straw.
Laughter bubbled up inside me as I once again sat inelegantly at my dressing table. This time, tears streamed at the unseemly mess I was and the complete and utter disaster the morning’s experiment had become. My sides developed a stitch as I tried repeatedly without success to curb my mirth. Jane, bewildered and amused at my strange state, ventured further into the room and sat at the end of the bed.
When at last I was able to regulate myself a little better, Jane’s compassionate and soft voice was my undoing.
“Lizzy, were you attempting to…that is, were you practising being without sight?”
My heart burst, painful slivers of emotion transforming my tears of laughter to tears of anguish. I had determined to be a good wife to Mr Darcy despite our unwanted union. I realised now that I had issued this test to myself to prove it could be done and was not so terribly bad. A part of me wanted to believe that, since he had lost his sight as a consequence of saving my life, it was a not-so-very-awful thing to be blind. Difficult but not horrible. My tears were for my own ugliness and indifference. How could I be a good wife and still have so little compassion for what he had given up in order to save me?
Going without one’s sight was not simply a hardship, it was a grievous, never-ending night. Every task made a question; every minute, a blank, dark canvas.
Jane sweetly sat waiting for my answer, and in time, I was able to give it. Yes, I had been attempting to see what it was like to be blind. And given the state of my hair and dress and the disorder of my room, I had failed utterly at manoeuvring even the most simple of tasks.
“I cannot, Jane. I cannot see how I can ever marry the man. It would be too much. My heart breaks now for what he must be enduring. How shall I ever live with the constant guilt of knowing it was for me that he gave up his sight? Oh, just listen to me! I have spent the better part of nearly an hour attempting to understand and find compassion for his situation, and still I am beset with my own fears.”
Jane silently came and knelt at my feet. Instead of bestowing the much-needed comfort, she sweetly untied the mess of my boot laces and removed them. Then she took my hand and led me to the bed and held me as I cried. My heart broke for Mr Darcy and for the shock he must have felt realising he could no longer see. It broke for both of our uncertain futures, tied so irrevocably to that fateful day at Bodden Chapel.
I wish I could say that I did not shed any tears for my own unhappy state of being forced to marry where I did not love. Where I could not even like. But shame burned through me as a number of tears were for those selfish thoughts.
“Lizzy, you have every right to worry for your future. It speaks well of you to worry. If you did not, I would think you as unfeeling towards Mr Darcy as you batter yourself now.”
She silenced my protest as she removed pins and, retrieving the comb, began the arduous process of fixing my hair. “Lizzy, you are very hard on yourself. You see yourself as unfeeling towards Mr Darcy, yet you tried to put yourself in his shoes.”
“And only proved how very awful it must be to lose one’s sight.”
“Indeed. However, I feel certain that should Mr Darcy ever know of your actions this morning—“
“He must never know!” I asserted with mortification at the thought.
Jane laughed and set the brush aside. “I swear to tell no one, dearest sister. But should Mr Darcy ever learn, I am certain he would tell you that you must not feel any guilt at all. I do not believe he is the type of gentleman that would blame you for it nor regret his heroic actions in the least.”
For once, despite my own uncertainty on the topic, I allowed my sister’s tendency to view all the world as good to permeate my bruised and upended emotions. Humbled and comforted at the same time, I accepted Jane’s words and allowed her to help me correct the deficiencies in my toilette, if not my attitude.
We laughed at the immodest bodice of my dress, which proved to be one of Lydia’s placed in my closet by accident. Jane helped me shake and fold my dresses once more to restore my closet. Once I was fully and properly dressed, I embraced her for a long moment.
“Thank you, dearest sister.”
Jane left me then with a squeeze of my hand.
I determined that I could not change what had already occurred. Therefore, as was my nature, my lively spirits reappeared, and I decided I would attempt to be the best companion to Mr Darcy that I could. I would not argue with him or be a source of disquiet. In this, I could repay him for his bravery and assure him he need not be ashamed of the wife that was thrust upon him. In my efforts to adhere to decorum and provide good care to my future husband, I would be able to keep my mind and heart focused on the role I was now required to play and prevent myself from being vulnerable to any sentiments of affection at the same time.
With this reminder, I stood up at the sound of a carriage on the drive, and with a deep breath, followed my sister out the door to greet our guests. It was not a surprise that they should call again. Mr Bingley had visited nearly every day since the accident, and now that Mr Darcy and I were engaged, it was to be expected.
I kept a polite smile in place as Mr Bingley, Miss Darcy, and Colonel Fitzwilliam descended the carriage steps. I felt the stiffness in my smile when, after the colonel exited, the door was closed and the grooms walked the carriage towards the stables as our guests approached.
I felt Jane reach for my arm and knew she sought my thoughts on the absence of my betrothed, but that would require me knowing how I felt on the subject. As it was, I felt a mix of emotions: affronted at the slight, worried it portended a reversal of his recovery, and disappointment that he had not come. None of these feelings were appropriate to speak of with our friends, who were even now coming up the steps.
“Welcome! I trust all is well at Netherfield?”
Mr Bingley laughed and affirmed that it was. “We had the pleasure of an early visit from Mr Collins this morning. He is most attentive to my sister. He stays on with her and Mrs Hurst.”
Only Mr Bingley could deliver such a speech without an ounce of cynicism. He was truly pleased with how constant a suitor my cousin was proving to be for his sister. I was suddenly beset with curiosity to know how Miss Bingley bore her intended’s ceaseless attention. Most days since their betrothal, Mr Collins left early each morning and did not return until after supper. I had expected Miss Bingley to dissuade the parson from such relentless attendance long before now. She seemed to have no trouble rebuffing his advances on the day he proposed. So the realisation that Mr Collins was not sent packing sooner was indeed a curious thought.
My eyes strayed to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s, and there I detected the humour I might have expected in the voice of anyone else speaking as Mr Bingley did of his new brother-to-be. He stifled a mischievous smile and clapped his hands to draw attention.
“And thus you have found our reason for calling again so soon upon you lovely ladies!”
Miss Darcy quietly rebuked her older cousin despite the smile on her face and the laughter all around. I suggested another walk, this time on the lane leading to a small incline.
Mr Bingley enthusiastically seconded the idea and, after a brilliant smile to me, asked Jane whether he might have the pleasure of her company. Unsurprising to all gathered, Jane accepted, and the two of them walked on. For a moment I smiled at the picture, and it struck me that if I took a page from my mother’s book and allowed some distance between our groups, perhaps Mr Bingley might use this time to a purpose.
Intentionally, I delayed our departure with a civil smile for my companions as I spoke. “Mr Darcy did not wish to miss Mr Collins’s visit today?”
Miss Darcy, tender-hearted as she was, did not pick up on my jest and was quick to begin speaking assurances that her brother did wish to visit Longbourn. Apparently, he had insisted they come in his stead. He was terribly sorry to have to send his regrets. On and on, Miss Darcy spoke reassurances. My face was plastered with understanding and false cheer.
When my eyes turned towards Colonel Fitzwilliam, I was dismayed to see that he saw through my expression to the simmering feelings beneath. Mr Darcy sends his regrets? He sends his relations in his place, and this is the man, who only just the day before expressed a wish for me to know him better? I barely managed to swallow down the scoff that threatened to escape.
“Miss Elizabeth. My cousin suffers terribly this morning with one of the plaguing megrims that he is apt to have now.”
“Richard! He did not wish us to disclose that,” Miss Darcy whispered, though not quietly enough, which made clear her shock and annoyance at the brazen disregard of her brother’s wishes.
I locked eyes with the colonel, unconcerned at present for Miss Darcy’s worry of her brother’s displeasure. In that moment, I felt all the anger bleed from me, replaced with sincere concern. Before I could shutter those feelings, the colonel nodded imperceptibly to himself. Whatever he was able to discern in my eyes apparently satisfied some problem for him, and he smiled amiably.
“Do not fret, Poppet. You will not be left to face any of his vexation. It was I who outed my stubborn cousin and shall face the beast alone.”
Although he had said it with humour, and Miss Darcy was relieved, displaying an indulgent smile at her cousin, I could not help but ask, “Is Mr Darcy difficult to face when he is made unhappy? To call him a beast does not sound pleasing to a future bride.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed, and before Miss Darcy could worry herself into a state, I assured her, “Miss Darcy, if we are to be sisters, you must know something of my character. I dearly love to laugh and therefore shall probably tease all my new family, not the least of which will be your brother. Incessantly. I mean no harm when I do, and you must always tell me whether I go too far.”
Miss Darcy nodded and looked to me with awe in her eyes. Uncomfortable with anything nearing praise, I turned to her cousin.
“I am sorry to hear that Mr Darcy is unwell,” I began, and soon real concern coloured my tone. “Please tell me, does he suffer much still, from his heroics on my behalf?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam gestured with his hand, and Miss Darcy and I each took an arm. As we began walking, I saw that Mr Bingley and my sister had quite the lead on us. I was pleased with this and turned towards my walking companions for the answer to my question.
“My brother is nearly recovered in every way except for his sight, but on some days, he has the most terrible headaches. They do not always prevent him from being able to join with the rest of the company at Netherfield, but on occasion he is kept to his bed.”
Miss Darcy blushed for being so candid and worried her lip a little. I suspected she was concerned with having said too much, and certainly more than her brother would apparently have me know.
“Miss Elizabeth, you will find, if you have not learned this already, that my cousin, in the best of times, is a stubborn, active sort of man. I can see from the smile you are so charmingly trying to hide that you indeed have learned this aspect of his character. It is a strength that served him well when he had an estate to rival Chatsworth thrust upon his shoulders after my uncle passed. Darcy had barely reached his majority at the time. In that instance, his obstinacy was a tool he utilised to learn the responsibilities and perform them with admirable competency—essential for the master of Pemberley.”
“I can imagine you are correct, Colonel. I have yet to see Mr Darcy do anything without total competency.”
“Then you might likewise see how difficult it is for him to suddenly be unable to determine even where the food is upon his plate. And on days such as today—which I am pleased to say have become less frequent of late—he cannot endure the rigors of traveling outside his chambers, let alone to a neighbouring estate, no matter the enticement, or shall I say, temptation, waiting there.”
I gave Colonel Fitzwilliam a side eye, acknowledging his reference to our conversation the day before, though still not accepting his opinion on the matter. All my life, I had imagined what it might be like to have a brother, and it surprised me to find that the brotherly connexion I felt so soon upon making the colonel’s acquaintance brought with it a bit of irritation. Thankfully, he was not to be so near as that, only a cousin, though I imagined the distinction would matter little to him. Already, I had learned he relished in teasing. How unfortunate for me to have met someone who could turn all my mischief right back on me.
His words did give me pause, and I murmured an expression of consideration for Mr Darcy’s state. The gentleman evidently discerned a moment of thought was required and turned to his other side, engaging Miss Darcy in a discussion on the surrounding vistas as we climbed the gentle slope of the walking path.
Despite my resolutions that morning, I was affected by the colonel’s words. I could imagine a man like Mr Darcy might be brought low by his condition. Impatient to recover yet still beset with perhaps permanent damage. I could not help but feel pain at what he was suffering for his actions to save my life. It did not seem fair that he would be rewarded in such a contrary way. I sent a prayer heavenward on his behalf. I hoped he would find peace and soon find healing sufficient to relieve him from these headaches. I determined to search the library later for my father’s herbal remedy journal. Perhaps I might learn more of what may be the source of these megrims and find a solution that could possibly bring Mr Darcy some relief. At the very least—and it might be the only thing I could offer him—I vowed again to be a source of compassion and aid.
Turning back to me, Colonel Fitzwilliam remarked, “I learned today that your cousin’s parish is Hunsford, in Kent.”
“That is correct. And I imagine, since you learned that from Mr Collins, you likewise may have learned much more than you ever wished to know about his patroness. She is, I am told, a most illustrious lady.”
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I believe,” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied, a smirk about his lips.
I could see that, indeed, my cousin had performed to his best and spoken of the great lady. I wondered what absurdities were uttered and whether I ought to feel embarrassment for them.
“Yes, that is the one. She is most attentive to her vicar and, I am told by my cousin, even condescends to advise him on his sermons!” Laughter bubbled up between us, but before the colonel could speak further, Miss Darcy playfully slapped his arm.
“Desist, Richard! Miss Elizabeth, Lady Catherine is our aunt.”
“Oh dear.” I choked in sudden concern, but the colonel laughed, easing my conscience.
“You must forgive me, I could not help the little ruse. I learned of your cousin’s preference when I overheard him describing his home to Miss Bingley. When I enquired further, I realised the connexion. Mr Collins was yet unaware that Lady Catherine is our aunt.”
“I hope you did not educate him on the fact. For I fear if you did, Mr Darcy will not have a restful time at Netherfield.”
“I did tell Mr Collins of our connexion, and I believe he made his pleasure quite obvious. And have no fear for my cousin, he is safely in his chambers and will bless me for my interference when he learns all.”
“That does sound ominous. What interference did you have to utilise? Miss Darcy, Colonel, please forgive any improprieties exhibited by my cousin. Mr Collins can often forget his place.”
“There is nothing to forgive!” Miss Darcy assured, though her sweet temperament did nothing to placate me. I looked to the colonel for the truth.
“You need not fret. In this, your cousin and my aunt are well matched. She, too, often forgets her place. Especially when it comes to the private affairs of her nephews and nieces. My primary motive in revealing to Mr Collins my connexion to his parish was to ascertain whether he was aware of the engagement.”
“He is not known for his intelligence, but I should think he could not be so obtuse as to be unaware of such current events as that when he is staying in the same home as one of the betrothed. I am quite certain my cousin is aware of my engagement to Mr Darcy, as it was necessitated by the same event that brought forth his own betrothal.”
“Richard!” cried Miss Darcy. “I must once again apologise for my cousin. He means to tease you by being deliberately obtuse in his speech. He refers to the engagement of my brother and my cousin, Miss de Bourgh.”