Chances Come, Ney Mitch [snow like ashes series TXT] 📗

Gardiner would secretly apprise her of the news.

While being alone, I removed my gown, put on a nightdress, and slipped into bed. For truly, I did not go downstairs for the rest of the day.

Mr. Wickham had proposed!

And Mr. Darcy had come to visit at that particular moment. Now that I was given the time to reflect and consider, it implied that he was not at all scandalized at me sending him the letter. His coming was therefore him taking ahold of something that other narrow-minded souls would hold in contempt: he had taken initiative. For, soon after my arrival, he had sought me out.

Feeling all the comforts of not being judged, mingled with all the happiness in his assisting me, my composure returned, and my nerves became less rattled.

Faith! Though my spirit was still greatly disturbed by Wickham’s disastrous proposal and his inability to accept my rejection, the shock was fading. Peace and solitude were truly my aid in this particular circumstance, and slowly my confidence had returned to the proper place that it had originally been.

It is quite perplexing how the soul can recover from such overwhelming circumstances. For something so terrifying to be endured, and then to look in the mirror and see oneself afterwards, should invoke passions and emotions that it takes a long time to recover from. Yet, that was not so now.

I had undergone a shock.

My disposition was affected.

And now, I was already recovering from it and willfully choosing to move on from the moment as well as allowing the moment to move on from me.

I suppose that was what such minor emotional lacerations feel like after losing a parent; everything else does not affect you for a great length in time.

Yet, I still felt perverse in some form and manner. All felt as if it had every right to weigh upon me heavily and cause disorientation. In truth, I felt wrong for not feeling wronged.

But the silence in which I was given to myself did not last long, in the best sense. In a brief amount of time since I retired to my room, I heard Jane’s familiar sounds as she came up the steps.

Between the rise of her footsteps and the fall of her footfalls, I wondered how I was going to approach this discussion. What could I say and how could I say anything that would not overwhelm her gentle disposition?

Yet, when she entered, her expression grief-stricken, all planned dialogue on my part had quite fallen to the wayside and I gave way to impulse and instinct. I just decided to open my arms to her and tell her all that I was feeling, be it correct or perverse.

“Oh, Lizzy, how you must have suffered!” she cried after closing the door behind herself. Racing toward me, she collapsed on the bed and folded her arms around me as I fell into her embrace.

“Oh, Jane, I wish that you had been there,” I sighed, “it was horrible.”

“Yes, I am sure that it was. Did Wickham harm you in any way?”

“Just my pride,” I said, “and that was misplaced to begin with. Therefore, I am already on the mend.”

“Lizzy, surely, you cannot be. You are frightened now, perhaps?”

“Indeed, I cannot begin to explain it, but I am neither unsettled, nor in agony. My spirit is moved and a little askew, but I am not afraid. I do not know how to explain it, for I was overcome during the incident, but now I am recovering.”

“I am not surprised,” she observed, “for you always were of the strong sort. And perhaps it is best to recover at this time.”

“Yes, for I suppose that there is nothing better than to be taken over by sense rather than sensibility. But I would prefer sensibility, to be strangely honest. For, I feel like being driven mad by my passions shows a saner way of being. It not affecting me anymore gives an indication that I am cold inside.”

“Think not in that way. And if it helps, then you do not have to think of how you are feeling now, at all. You can always restrict the conversation to how you felt at the time. How did it all feel when it occurred? Or is that too painful to discuss?”

“That is the other frightening thing. I am not afraid of discussing that either. I cannot help wondering why, but so it is. And did our aunt tell you that Mr. Darcy was the one who came to my rescue?”

Jane’s eyes widened at this.

“What?”

“Yes, he did. And he was the one who ultimately drove Wickham away.”

“Forgive me, but please tell me what happened. Now that I see that you are not scared, I am unashamed to ask how everything unfolded. Start from the beginning, if that is your pleasure.”

“It is my pleasure very much.”

I told her everything, from when Wickham had arrived to when Mr. Darcy had left.

When I had finished, Jane was amazed.

“And to think!” she gasped, “that it was Mr. Darcy, of all people!”

“When considering my recent history with him, it is not so shocking.”

“Is it not?”

“Yes. Jane, I know that you were not there to see it, but while we were at Rosings Park, there was a change in our relationship. We learned to tolerate each other. And perhaps tolerate is not even a strong enough word. But rather, we learned to understand the other, accept the other, and possibly enjoy each other’s company. I do think that he and I became friends.”

“Did you? Well, Lizzy, if it be so, then I am glad. For you often heard me wish that Mr. Darcy would improve upon closer acquaintance.”

“You were correct. I merely had to offer him a stronger olive branch.”

“You were the one to attempt peace first? Well, I am really quite proud of you now.”

“I wish that I could say that my actions were sparked from my own wisdom, but they were not. With our father being gone, I find myself still affected. It helps