Falling Like Snow

Five | The Lunch

The day began innocently enough, if with a mild disappointment. William, when he called upon Netherfield, appeared jittery and on-edge, but guilty about something at the same time. His usual spirits were dulled, and no amount of inquiries or abuse from Lizzie seemed likely to drag an answer - and the truth, at that - from him. She was loathe to push too hard at first, for fear of forcing him to close off further, but she just couldn't seem to shake the feeling that his culpable, iniquitous demeanour was something that they would both come to regret.

Against her best efforts, Lizzie's previously high spirits were hopelessly dashed against the virulent rocks, then lost to the churning depths of the roiling, turbulent ocean, where the marred tatters were condemned to a watery grave beneath thundering heavens. In other words, it became fouler, and blacker, than a chimney sweep's nose. William's disposition fared hardly better, although at least for him he didn't have the self-doubting, self-blaming uneasiness as to the the cause of the icy rift between them.

Eventually, Lizzie had had enough. She stopped, so abruptly that William, whose arm she had been walking on, halted hurriedly. "Whatever is the matter?" he frowned, seeing no obvious reason for their pause.

"Well, I'm sure I don't know," Lizzie snapped sourly. Scowling, she continued, "I am accustomed to the impeccable, gentlemanlike behaviour you usually exhibit; this estrangement, and my lack of explanation thereof, has proven to be the topic of much vexation for me; and I am certain that you can understand my hesitation in venturing forth farther with you notwithstanding a sufficient vindication, or at the very least palliation, from and of yourself."

Here, William attempted to interrupt, an unreadable expression veiling his face. Holding up a hand, Lizzie continued. "Having examined my own behaviour and character, I can find no fault that you are not already aware of or that should induce such a distancing. If my anxieties and disquietudes are not of resolute foundations, and no elucidation of satisfactory motivations are determined, then my mind has no choice but to fall back upon the first impression of the character that I constructed of you, of which I have already imparted to you the unfavourable nature."

Drawing herself upright in indignation, and her breath in sharply, Lizzie awaited his response with apprehension. Her accusations were not unreasonable, but her reaction was stronger than friendship warranted. Yet, the level of betrayal she felt from his secrecy was undeniable.

"I owe you an apology, and I beg of you to accept it," he began. He swallowed, and ran an anxious hand through his tousled hair. "It's no excuse, but I've hardly known where to start. I was asked not to tell you, but I planned to warn you of the event regardless, yet have been so unsure of your reaction that I have postponed the inevitable to a foolish - almost critical - degree."

Outwaiting his hesitation in pensive silence, Lizzie awaited the conclusion to the tale. "Elizabeth - Lizzie - have you heard of Lady Catherine de Bourgh?"

She blinked in surprise. "Catherine de Bourgh? As in the world-renowned critic?"

"And my aunt. Unfortunately for everyone, including you. I'm afraid that she has invited herself to stay at Pemberly over the next few days." He huffed, rolling his eyes. Lizzie ignored the way his roguish expression made her heart beat faster. "Don't fret, she'll be sure to let us all constantly know that Pemberly is barely a mark on her estate, Rosings Park, although 'it is so much finer than most places I have the displeasure of visiting'."

"I still don't understand why I was not to know - surely, for all her faults, she cannot be so bad for you to be ashamed of her?" It bothered her, the idea that they should be embarrassed to introduce family to each other. She had not thought to broach the subject of her mother's potential introduction to the Darcys, and had made quite the caricature of her. "Or, if you are, then there would be no need to hide such sentiments from one such as myself, whom you are aware holds you and Georgiana in the highest esteem and would not devastate a good opinion of you for one singular relative; or, alternatively, I hail from a family so far beneath her as to be entirely inconsequential, and so she could not care for me anyway."