Carrie Bebris - Suspense & Sensibility

"As his kin, I wonder that you did not send me word immediately." Lucy admonished the housekeeper. "I will, of course handle all the arrangements, in consultation with his mother."

She tried to push her way past the servant.

"Good evening, Mrs. Ferrars." Elizabeth greeted her. The housekeeper looked as if she had every intention of staying, but Elizabeth dismissed her. "What arrangements would those be?"

"Mrs Darcy." Lucy opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. It was the first occasion Elizabeth could recall of her being at a loss for words. "I did not expect to find you here." she said finally.

"I did not expect to be here myself today, but necessity required it."

Lucy nodded sympathetically. "It was good of you to come. Those senseless servants obviously didn't know who to summon. But I'm here now. Where is the — where is poor Harry?"

Mr Dashwood's aunt had hardly referred to him as "poor Harry" the last time Elizabeth had seen her.

"In the drawing room." °

"The drawing room?" She appeared puzzled "Well. I suppose that's as good a place as any. Is he — is he quite dreadful to look at?"

Actually, Elizabeth reflected. Harry's appearance had continued to improve dramatically since he'd regained consciousness. At present, he didn't look a day over fifty.

But to Lucy she said. "How did he look when you last saw him?"

An expression of guilt flashed across her face. It lasted the merest fraction of a second, but it was long enough "Oh, you know.. " Lucy shrugged

Yes, she did.

"I came to bid you farewell" Mr. Dashwood said as he entered Darcy's library.

Darcy greeted Harry, though not the cause of his call, with genuine pleasure. In the three weeks since Mr. Dashwood had been restored to himself, Darcy had come to hold him in esteem surpassing that of their earlier acquaintance. His ordeal in the mirror had purged him of those flaws of character Darcy had obviously defined as a want of seriousness, leaving him instead a sober young man mature beyond his years. In fact, both Elizabeth and Darcy worried that he had grown a little too serious and hoped that eventually the passage of time would lighten his spirits.

He invited Mr. Dashwood to be seated. "You look very well today."

"I am, thank you." In physical appearance, Mr. Dashwood had remarkably improved. The effects of premature aging that Sir Francis's tenancy had wrought upon his person had receded beyond anyone's expectation. He had appeared gradually younger each day for a fortnight, until settling into the form of a man perhaps in his mid-thirties. Professor Randolph theorized that when his soul reentered his body, it had yet borne the image of child, and that this fortunate circumstance had somehow countered the years Sir Francis had added. He still looked considerably older than he ought, and probably always would, but his appearance was superior to what could have been.

"I understand you leave on the morrow?" Mr Dashwood asked.

"Yes." The Darcys had extended their London stay to see Harry through his initial recovery, but now they headed back to Pemberley. They would stop en route at Longbourn to return Kitty. "But I expect it is not I to whom you particularly wish to say good-bye."

"I hoped to see Mrs Darcy, too, of course."

"And no one else?"

Mr. Dashwood had enquired after Kitty at every opportunity but the two had not yet met in person. Though free of his obligation to Regina — breaking the engagement between the cousins had seemed best for all involved — the awkwardness of seeing Kitty again, after the hurt Sir Francis had inflicted upon her, had deterred him from calling at the Darcys' townhouse.

"She is out with Mrs. Darcy and my sister at the moment but should return soon," Darcy said.

"I do not know what to say to her — how to begin to apologize, or even explain"

"Mrs. Darcy told her you have been unwell but are on the mend. What you reveal beyond that is your own choice."

"Do you think she could ever possibly believe the truth?"

"I suspect she still wants very much to believe in you."

Mr. Dashwood avoided Darcy's gaze. "I am unworthy of that faith."

"Do you still care for her?"

His ardent expression said that he did, but it quickly transformcd to one of misery. "I have nothing to offer her. My fortune is gone, my friends alienated, my reputation blackened beyond redemption. My very body is so changed I don't yet feel entirely comfortable in my own skin." He held up his hand before him. "I cannot tender her a hand I don't even recognize as my own and a name everyone recognizes as infamous!" He slumped against the chair back and shook his head. "I have nothing to recommend me."

"Nothing but yourself"

"That is not enough, and you know it even better than I"

Unfortunately, Darcy did know it. Even if Miss Bennet could overlook the alteration of Harry's form, and her family the damage Sir Francis had done to Mr. Dashwood's reputation, no one could ignore the loss of his fortune. Love alone could not sustain the couple, nor could the interest on Kitty's one thousand pounds.

Mr. Dashwood rose. "I think honor requires me to distance myself from Miss Bennet, so that her heart is free to bestow itself on a more deserving gentleman. I shall leave now. before she returns."

"Where do you go?" Darcy asked. "I speak not merely of the present moment, but of your future. Without your inheritance, how do you plan to maintain yourself?"

"During my captivity, I spent a great deal of time comtemplating my life and its value — not just to myself, but to others, and concluded that I had been a rather selfish creature, though I hoped I had started to mend that deficiency under the influence of Miss Bennett's regard. I resolved that, should I ever be so blessed as to escape my prison, I would endeavor to prove a more useful human being. I have been granted salvation; I believe it now my duty to help others reach it."

"You intend to enter the church?"

"As soon as I can take orders I think quitting town for a quiet life as a country vicar, such as my uncle Edward Ferrars enjoys, is the very thing for me. By some miracle, he and my aunt Elinor are still speaking to me. and I plan to solicit his assistance in getting ordained and finding a modest living-provided the reputation Sir Francis left me with does not prejudice one and all against my serving as a clergyman. I hope, perhaps, in some place far removed from London, there may exist a potential patron who has not heard the tales."

A life devoted to the church, if Harry served well, could go a long way toward restoring his respectability. Darcy studied Mr Dashwood, not in the light of the summer sun streaming through the window, but in the light of the trial he had just endured. The young buck Darcy had first met at the Middletons' soiree would never have made a good minister, the gentleman who entertained them at Norland might have, but lacked any motive for

entering the profession. This man before him, however — this chastened, reborn Mr. Dashwood, baptized in the mirror's fire — he would make a very good clergyman, indeed.

"I know of a living in Derbyshire that will become vacant soon. In Kympton, a pleasant little village."

"Indeed?" Mr. Dashwood's interest was evident. 'Do you think its patron might be prevailed upon to consider me?"

"The living is mine to grant. And yours if you want it."

He was silent a moment. "Mr. Darcy, I hardly know what to say. I am humbled by your generosity. You have already done so much for me and are one of the only friends I have remaining. I most gratefully accept, and pledge to devote myself wholeheartedly to the parishioners in my care."