Fitzwilliam Darcy’s Wager—The Next Chapter…

What happened to the green ribbon? If you’ve already read the first installment, you may well wonder.

I won’t make you wait. Here’s what happened next!

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

Longbourn, fifteen years and seven months later…

Elizabeth Bennet shook her hands and stretched her neck from side to side.

It was rare for her to lose, but the stakes were higher today.

Widening her stance, Elizabeth raised her fist, her two youngest sisters standing opposite — Lydia as her opponent, Kitty as their mediator. On Lydia’s nod, they began.

“One! Two!” Elizabeth counted, her vision trained on Lydia’s hand. “Three!”

“Scissors cut cloth! Lizzy wins,” exclaimed Kitty.

Elizabeth exhaled.

Lydia crossed her arms and stamped her foot. “It is not fair! You always win at that stupid game.”

“If you thought the game so stupid, why did you consent to play it?” Kitty’s point was good, but she must have regretted expressing it when Lydia pinched her.

“You are supposed to be on my side,” Lydia complained.

Kitty rubbed her arm, wisely keeping her peace, though a grimace displayed the severity of her displeasure.

“Girls, please, do not fight,” said Jane, their eldest sister and the Bennet family’s peacekeeper. “It is only a ribbon. I have several shades of pink and blue which will suit your complexion most becomingly.”

Elizabeth smiled her thanks, grateful for Jane’s attempt to distract Lydia from her objective — Elizabeth’s green ribbon. The green ribbon.

Too many precious memories were entwined in that satin for her to allow anyone who did not appreciate its value near. It marked the day Uncle Gardiner had met the lady he would later make his wife. Elizabeth adored Aunt Madeline, and she liked to think her green ribbon had something to do with their romance. That it might, somehow, someday, bring her a romance like theirs … if she ever had a chance to widen her society outside Longbourn.

Lydia stuck out her bottom lip. “But that shade of green is perfect for my complexion. I already have a bonnet with a feather to match.”

Mary, their reasonably minded middle sister, paused in the hall outside Elizabeth’s door. “Does it signify when you will not wear your bonnet inside the assembly rooms?”

“Of course not! It would crush my coiffure. But you care nothing for ribbons, Mary. You cannot possibly understand the importance of being seen wearing the perfect color.”

Assuming her best (and oft-practiced) pious mien, Mary said, “You ought not place so much importance on them either. Such things are vanity. It is the inner quality of a lady which adorns her with beauty, not baubles and fripperies.” Her point made, she continued past Elizabeth’s room and down the squeaky stairs where one could easily presume from the harsh staccato notes resounding through the halls and open doors of Longbourn that she had seated herself at the pianoforte.

Elizabeth held out her hand and wiggled her fingers until Kitty draped the ribbon over her palm.

She had not yet placed the green satin inside the drawer when Lydia tugged on her arm. With a sweet smile, Lydia said, “I have a lovely pink which I am certain would suit you splendidly.”

“The same pink you declared you would never wear again after seeing Maria Lucas wearing the same color in Meryton only yesterday?” Elizabeth closed the drawer and waited for Lydia to reveal her self-serving scheme.

“Green is such a difficult color to wear.” Lydia fluttered her lashes and pouted, continuing, “With the new arrivals from London coming to the Meryton Assembly, you will want to appear to your best advantage — especially if they bring young ladies with them who have easier access to the latest fashions. See how considerate I am to put your interests first?”

“How gracious of you to call attention to your consideration. I might have missed it otherwise,” Elizabeth mumbled dryly, earning a look from Jane.

Lydia, however, did not hear her sarcasm. Or, more likely, she had not heard Elizabeth over the cacophony Mary produced downstairs. Clutching Elizabeth’s arm, she continued, “That ribbon is old, and I would hate for you to be cast aside as outdated. Or, even worse, for its reflection to cast a sickly pallor over your skin. Handsome men of fortune do not want sickly wives.”

“If you think the ribbon is so old, why do you wish to wear it?” Kitty asked.

Elizabeth sucked on the insides of her cheeks when Lydia hissed at Kitty yet again. Once her merriment was contained and it was safe to open her mouth, Elizabeth said, “I see. So, you are doing me a favor?”

Lydia opened her eyes wider, giving the appearance of innocence, and nodded. “Oh, yes. I would never forgive myself if you gave a poor impression and ruined your prospects over a silly ribbon.”

“It would be silly for my future happiness to depend on a ribbon,” Elizabeth owned. She was tempted to wear the ribbon to see if it would repel unworthy suitors who despised her favorite color. Could she love a gentleman who did not like green? She thought not.

Lydia flashed her dimples. Many were fooled by that smile, but Elizabeth had caught Lydia practicing the expression in the mirror too many times to believe her sincere.

Continuing her display of sisterly concern, Lydia said, “You already stand in Jane’s shadow. She is the beauty of the family … for now. And I am infinitely more lively than you are and will soon best Jane in looks once she is past her bloom. Everyone says so. If you wear that ribbon to the assembly, you risk going unnoticed.”

Elizabeth bit her lips together. Jane was hardly close to being shelved as Lydia implied. If they could widen their circle, Jane was certain to attract a gentleman who would appreciate her for more than just her pretty face and comely figure. Nor did Elizabeth believe herself so unfortunate in appearance as Lydia also implied. Perhaps Elizabeth would be fortunate enough to meet a gentleman who would appreciate her mind as much as society touted the importance of beauty, position, and fortune. She craved intelligent conversation and good-natured, witty banter … traits sorely lacking in her current limited society.

If only she and Jane could accept Aunt’s invitation and go to London!

“What about me? I am lively, too,” Kitty whined.

Jane ushered their younger sisters out of the bedchamber. Elizabeth was glad. Between Mary’s zealous attention to the pianoforte and her sisters’ arguing, a dull pounding had commenced at the base of her skull.

Mercifully, Jane closed the door, and the pounding which threatened to spread to Elizabeth’s temples appeased.

“Lizzy, do not pay Lydia any heed. Everyone in Meryton says you are a beauty, and I know it to be true. Yours is the kind which will not fade, as it stems from within.”

Elizabeth smiled at her dear sister. “Thank you, Janie, but you know I place little importance on my appearance. I am content how I am.” Did there exist a man who would love her as she was? She had to believe it possible.

“As you ought to be. Handsome features fade with time, but your cleverness will only improve with more experience.”

Elizabeth considered her reflection in the mirror of her dressing table. The gold strands with which the summer sun had brightened her hair had faded into an insignificant brown. The ringlets framing her face never quite stayed smooth or in place, despite her maid’s coaxing. Freckles spattered over her nose and cheeks. They were light, and Elizabeth rather liked them, but they were the bane of her mother’s existence.

She smoothed her hands over her skirts. She lacked the pleasantly plump roundness of Jane and Lydia, but they had to endure the ogling stares of indiscreet men and pinching corsets. They could keep their curves.

Jane wrapped her arm around Elizabeth’s waist. “You ought to wear the green tonight. The color suits you. It brings out the golden glow in your eyes.”

Elizabeth kissed her on the cheek. “You are everything good and kind, Jane. If we are expected to sign away our freedom — as is our lot — and come under the control of our husbands, to depend on a man so entirely for every comfort and kindness, then I want for both of us to have a choice in the matter. And I would rather choose from a larger selection than is available to us here.”

“All I require is a gentleman who is truly kind. But what of you, Lizzy? I would not see you marry a fool or anyone cruel.”

“For you, I wish a gentleman who will appreciate your character as much as your beauty.”

“You know that is not what I meant. What do you want for yourself?”

Elizabeth chuckled. “A man who will think me beautiful despite my overactive curiosity and frequent impertinence. If, indeed, such a man exists.” She twisted her face, then, more seriously, she added, “A gentleman I can laugh with … and in whose embrace I find solace when I am sad. Someone who will challenge me while never making me feel less than beloved. Who has enough depth of character for me to explore over a lifetime and who has a will as strong as my own, for you know I hold little respect for indecisive, inconstant men.”

“Is that all?” Jane teased.

It was not all. Now that Elizabeth considered the subject, she realized she held a much higher standard than she had initially contemplated. More than anything, she wanted someone who understood her … and liked her anyway.

It would also help if he knew how to kiss properly. Not that Elizabeth had much — or any — experience with kisses, but she had a competent imagination and was confident she would know a proper kiss when it was given to her.

These thoughts she kept to herself. They would shock Jane. Aloud, she said, “I will stop at nothing until we have secured a season in London. Our odds are better there than they are here.”

Jane squeezed her. “Or, perhaps, Mr. Bingley and his friends from London will prove to be everything we seek, and we will not have to leave at all.” Jane pulled back, looking intently at Elizabeth. “You must allow that it is possible.”

Possible, but not likely. However, for Jane’s sake, she would keep an open mind. “I am curious to meet Mr. Bingley and his party.”

“Will you wear your green ribbon?” asked Jane.

“No,” Elizabeth answered immediately. “I am looking forward to the assembly, but I do not think the occasion so special to merit wearing it.”

“You have not worn it once.”

Elizabeth stiffened. “Not so! I wore it to Uncle Gardiner’s wedding.”

“That was years ago, Lizzy. What is the use of having something so lovely if you never use it?”

Elizabeth was taken aback. She expected this from Lydia, but not from Jane. “I see my ribbon every day, every time I open the top drawer of my dressing table.” She had even cut a strip to mark the page she left off reading in her books. It was the worse for wear for its constant use, and, therefore, further proof the rest of the length was better kept in her dressing table drawer.

Jane just looked at her.

Elizabeth chewed on the corner of her mouth. How could she explain that seeing the ribbon, that knowing it was there, was enough for her? That she did not know which occasion would be special enough for her to wear her treasured satin until she felt the importance of the event? Elizabeth would have pondered the question at length, but Jane was not finished.

“Contrary to what Lydia says, the color is perfect for you.”

Jane opened the door to leave, and the silence in the house made the hairs on Elizabeth’s arms stand on end. She rubbed her hands over them, a sick feeling twisting her stomach before her mind drew the same conclusion her instincts had.

“Lydia!” Her feet moving of their own accord, Elizabeth brushed past Jane and charged down the stairs.

Mother would think nothing of taking her ribbon away from her when Lydia wanted it. Lydia was her favorite.

Lydia would spill mulled wine on the perfect green and leave it stained and trampled on the floor when the evening’s diversions were through. She cared not for the significance behind the item. She only saw a fetching color nobody else would be wearing.

Elizabeth entered the drawing room to a medley of fake tears and mendacious wails. Mother wrapped her arms around the talented actress, patting Lydia’s arm and clucking her tongue while her eyes narrowed into slits at the entrance of her second daughter, her least favorite.

Papa lowered his book, peeking over his spectacles at her. “Ah, Lizzy, perhaps you can restore peace to our household. I have attempted to assure Lydia that ribbons are hardly worth crying over, that only silly girls can become heartbroken over a length of satin, and she insists on proving my remark correct.”

Mother rose to Lydia’s defense. “Mr. Bennet, have pity on our poor nerves! Lydia only wishes to look her best for Mr. Bingley and his gentlemen friends. Why should she not wear a ribbon which her sister has not cared to use these many years?”

Elizabeth’s pulse thundered in her ears. “I do plan to wear it,” she blurted, wincing at the loudness of her own voice.

Her father chuckled. “So much commotion over a ribbon. Why do you not go into Meryton and purchase more of your own?” he asked Lydia.

She wailed, “I have already spent all my pin money.”

“Is that what this fuss is about? You are out of pin money, and so you are attempting to procure Lizzy’s ribbon for yourself? Well, my child, consider this an advance on next month’s allowance.” He pulled some coins out of his pocket.

Lydia recovered with miraculous speed, snatching the coins from him quicker than she could hiccup or summon another tear. “Thank you, Papa!” She planted a kiss on his cheek and fled from the room (no doubt to boast to Kitty about how she had extracted extra pin money from Papa).

Father looked rather pleased with himself, though he would surely regret his lenience when Kitty came downstairs to demand an advance on her allowance as well.

Mother fanned her face, leaning against the couch cushions contentedly. “I am pleased you will finally wear the ribbon, Lizzy. It is such a becoming color on you, and we all know you can use all the help you can get with Jane and Lydia at your side.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes to keep from rolling them. Mama was of the opinion that marriage was the means to happiness, and any means of attaining it was fair. Elizabeth did not agree. She did not want her wedding day to be the happiest of her life. She wanted every day after her wedding to be the better than the one before, for her and her husband’s happiness to grow long after they exchanged vows.

Mother inspected her with pursed lips. “We shall ask Sarah to cinch your corset tighter to lift the little you have on top and create roundness where you lack on the bottom.”

Elizabeth sighed. If Mother had her way, she would squeeze all the diversion out of the evening.

“If Lizzy faints from lack of breath, you may take comfort knowing it was done in the pursuit of a suitor,” Papa commented dryly, raising his book.

Mama clapped. “An excellent idea, Mr. Bennet! Only, Lizzy, do take care to faint within arm’s reach of Mr. Bingley or one of his wealthy friends so they might catch you.”

Over my dead body, thought Elizabeth. She was not the simpering, swooning sort, and she refused to resort to such tactics. Jane would loosen her stays for her.

Seeing her father in an agreeable mood, Elizabeth brought up the topic foremost in her mind. “Papa, Aunt Gardiner wrote last week with an invitation for Jane and me to stay with them for the season in London. I have yet to give her an answer.” Because her father, as was his wont, had not made a decision.

Mama was quick to protest. “Why should you wait until the season to marry when Mr. Bingley is here now? I have it on good authority he intends to bring back several of his friends from London. If you do as I suggest, you will be married before the end of the year and well before the start of the season.”

Papa shook his head. “I do not know, Lizzy. Your mother makes a valid argument. You may not need to go to London at all.”

Elizabeth would not give up so easily. “Consider the probability, Papa. Is it not reasonable to consider that Jane and I have an improved chance of successfully making better matches with a larger selection from which to choose?”

“You make marriage sound like an arithmetic problem,” her mother huffed.

Her father rubbed his chin, and Elizabeth could only hope his deliberations would land in her favor.

He said, “Nobody will argue that the number of unmarried gentlemen in London far exceeds the number here. However, you have not taken into account the increased number of females vying for their attention. It is another factor to add to the equation.” He winked at Mother.

Mama fanned her face with increased vigor. “If you cannot secure the attentions of a gentleman here, what makes you think you will do any better in London? It is a pity you are not as beautiful as Jane, nor as attractive as Lydia. If only you would not think so much. Men do not want clever wives.”

Elizabeth felt her chin jut out. How could one live without curiosity and wonder? What a dreadful existence that would be! “Please, Papa, may I accept Aunt’s invitation on behalf of myself and Jane?” she asked.

He rubbed his chin, his gaze settling on Mama. “While gentlemen like to think themselves more intelligent than their companions, they do not wish for silly wives.”

Mama huffed. If her tendency was to think too little, then Papa’s was to think a great deal too much, to the incitement of biting sarcasm and the exclusion of action.

“I will give you a reply four days hence,” he continued, “after the Meryton Assembly. Your aunt has already waited a week for a reply, and a few days more can do no harm. You will have the opportunity to meet our new neighbors, and your mother will see for herself if there is any hope for you and Jane in that quarter.”

Mother positively gloated. She found encouragement where there was none.

Elizabeth contained her excitement. She had no intention of encouraging affection in Mr. Bingley or any of his gentlemen friends — no matter how rich and handsome they might be. Not when she and Jane would have more opportunities in London.

She smiled. “Thank you, Papa.” The season in London was as good as theirs. She returned upstairs to tell Jane the news.

Coming soon, Fitzwilliam Darcy’s Wager !