Beginning, Section II, Next Section
Part Nine
It was the usual habit of the Bennet family to receive Mrs. Bennet's brother and his wife and children for the Christmas holiday, and would be staying until after the New Year for Mary's wedding. Their uncle and aunt Gardiner were great favourites with all the Bennet sisters, being sensible, well-bred, intelligent, amiable and elegant, and with Elizabeth and Jane was Mrs. Gardiner particularly close, for she was several years younger than their mother and near enough to their own age for them to relate easily with her. Mrs. Bennet, Kitty and Lydia had very little to discuss with her once the subject of the latest London fashions and their Christmas presents had been exhausted. Mrs. Bennet did take the opportunity to bewail Jane's ill-usage by Mr. Darcy, and expound upon her raptures over securing Mr. Collins as a son-in-law.
"To think! I shall have one daughter married! Mrs. Collins! How well that sounds. And of course, she shall be a favorite with Lady Catherine de Bourgh, for who can help but admire my Mary? So studied and accomplished--she shall make an excellent parson's wife, I'm sure, and now I need not fret over Longbourn being entailed, for I know my Mary will take care of us.
"But Jane! Oh, when I think of the way she almost had won Mr. Darcy! I do not blame Jane," she continued, "for Jane would have got Mr. Darcy if she could. No one could have tried harder..."
"Mama," Elizabeth said gently, the impropriety of correcting her mother warring with the need to intervene, for Jane was looking very discomfited indeed. "You forget that Mr. Darcy is engaged to his cousin and it would not have mattered how hard Jane tried. So in the end, it is best that he is gone, and Jane bears him no ill will."
"And what of you, Lizzy?" her Aunt Gardiner asked. "What did you think of Mr. Darcy? I grew up not five miles from Pemberley, the Darcy estate, you know. I never knew the family but by reputation, though."
"I admit, I never liked him as well as Jane did. And now I know too much of his character to ever think well of him. His friend Mr. Bingley, on the other hand, was all that was good and admirable in a gentleman. The neighborhood misses him sorely."
Her aunt nodded, but did not pursue the subject until she had a moment alone with Elizabeth. "Well, I am sorry for Jane that she came to like an engaged man so well," she mused. "But I am surprised that Mr. Darcy never mentioned his engagement and let people believe he had any serious designs on Jane. From what I've heard of the family, they value their honor and reputations highly. Perhaps he did have some affection for Jane, and was obliged to quit her company out of honor for his engagement."
"I fear Mr. Darcy values his pride more than his honor," Elizabeth said, bitterness coloring her tone, "trifling with a young woman he no doubt considered far beneath his own circumstances no doubt inflated the one but left the other quite neglected. And not for the first time, for I have heard reports of Mr. Darcy's character which make his offenses toward Jane seem utterly gallant in comparison."
"Jane seems to be bearing it as well as can be expected...do you think she felt very deeply for him?"
"I've never seen her so melancholy," Elizabeth replied. "She is not one to display her feelings readily, but she has not been the same since the Netherfield party quit Hertfordshire. If that is not the symptom of a broken heart, then I don't know what is."
"And what of you? You seem to think highly of Mr. Darcy's friend, Bingley."
"I admit, I liked him very much indeed. But I am not heartbroken. There was not time enough for me to fall in love, nor for him to feel such a way for me, though he seemed somewhat fond. Jane will not hear of it, but I am certain it's his sisters behind his leaving Hertfordshire, and perhaps even his friend. I cannot imagine they, with all their pride and lofty expectations, would think well of having our family as relations."
"You speak lightly of it, Lizzy, but I detect some disappointment. Do you think you would like a change of scenery? After Mary's wedding, what if you were to accompany us back to London? Perhaps you and Jane both; maybe she might get over her heartache if she were exposed to other young men in society."
Elizabeth was delighted with this idea, and accepted for herself with alacrity, certain that Jane would approve of the plan. Then Mrs. Gardiner fretted, "I hope that no consideration with regard to this young man will influence Jane. We live in so different a part of town, all our connections are so different, and, as you well know, we go out so little, that it is very improbable that they should meet at all, unless he really comes to see her."
"Oh, heaven forbid!" Elizabeth cried. "My dear aunt, how could you think of it? Mr. Darcy may perhaps have HEARD of such a place as Gracechurch Street, but he would hardly think a month's ablution enough to cleanse him from its impurities, were he once to enter it. But you are right. If she goes, Jane would feel obliged to call upon Mr. Bingley's sisters out of her friendship with them. But then, I worry needlessly, for if I have an accurate understanding of Caroline Bingley, she will manoeuver to keep any competition as far away from Mr. Darcy as possible. Poor girl. I could almost pity her when Mr. Darcy's engagement becomes public knowledge. But perhaps it's best that Jane not accompany us, after all, for if that horrid man attempts to trifle with her again, I do not think she will recover."
"Yes," Mrs. Gardiner agreed, "perhaps you are right. We should not risk it, until Jane is over the worst of her disappointment."
"I quite agree." An impish light came to Elizabeth's eyes. "I shall go and call on Miss Bingley in Jane's place--for surely Jane will insist upon it--and dare Miss Bingley to do her worst." Mrs. Gardiner smiled a knowing smile, for Elizabeth could not deny she anticipated the opportunity to be in the company of Mr. Bingley again, and was confident she was proof against the schemings and disappointments that Jane was not.
Jane, as it turned out, was not at all disappointed to not accompany Elizabeth and their aunt and uncle to London. Mary, it seemed, had extended an invitation to visit Hunsford in March, which Jane had accepted. As the day of her nuptials approached, Mary--who had blossomed under the attentions of her mother and sisters and was no longer quite so plain--was increasingly nervous about her marriage and leaving her home, a fact which she confessed only to Jane and Elizabeth, whom had become her confidantes since their role in abetting her engagement. Two months would give her a proper amount of privacy with her husband, and by then she felt certain she would want some company, and Jane's would be the most reassuring of them all. Mrs. Bennet was affronted at not being invited until Mary, with remarkable cleverness they had previously not suspected her of possessing, reminded her mother how much she disliked traveling and going out in company, and that she thought only of her mother's comfort in choosing Jane to come in her stead. Jane, displaying humor she had not exercised since Mr. Darcy's departure from Netherfield, assured her mother it was so, that she was to act as Mrs. Bennet's proxy in examining her daughter's situation and would report back in great detail. Elizabeth testified that she had heard her sisters concoct just such a plan, and thus the conspiracy between the Bennet sisters was complete. Mr. Bennet would travel with Jane, but would remain only a few days. That was as much, he told Elizabeth confidentially, as he was sure he could bear of the Collins' hospitality. He would later return by way of London to escort Jane home, first collecting Elizabeth from the Gardiners so that she, too, might see how Mrs. Collins was getting on, and perhaps, if she was astoundingly fortunate, make the acquaintance of Mr. Collins esteemed patroness.
The week leading up to Christmas, and then the one following as the New Year and Mary's wedding approached, were filled with social engagements. Mrs. Bennet had so carefully provided for the entertainment of her brother and sister, and the celebration of her daughter's marriage, that they did not once sit down to a family dinner. The officers, and most particularly Mr. Wickham, regularly attended these affairs, and thus is was that Mrs. Gardiner become acquainted with that gentleman. Mrs. Gardiner was made uneasy by her niece's preference for the officer. That they liked each other's company was quite apparent, and Elizabeth had stated she was not in love with Bingley, but only thought she might have been, had she known him better. She would have been reassured if her niece had confessed an attachment for someone else, but as it was, she felt caution was in order.
She did take pleasure in exchanging tales of Derbyshire with Mr. Wickham upon finding he had grown up there and shared many of her acquaintances. She had seen Pemberly, and known the late Mr. Darcy by character perfectly well. Here consequently was an inexhaustible subject of discourse. In comparing her recollection of Pemberly with the minute description which Wickham could give, and in bestowing her tribute of praise on the character of its late possessor, she was delighting both him and herself. On being made acquainted with the present Mr. Darcy's treatment of him, Mrs. Gardiner was appalled and had to accede that Elizabeth's summation of his character had, no doubt, been perfectly correct.
She took the opportunity of speaking with Elizabeth alone, however, to caution her against any serious attachment to Wickham.
"You are too sensible a girl, Lizzy, to fall in love merely because you are warned against it; and, therefore, I am not afraid of speaking openly. Seriously, I would have you be on your guard. Do not involve yourself or endeavour to involve him in an affection which the want of fortune would make so very imprudent. I have nothing to say against HIM; he is a most interesting young man; and if he had the fortune he ought to have, I should think you could not do better. But as it is, you must not let your fancy run away with you. You have sense, and we all expect you to use it. Your father would depend on YOUR resolution and good conduct, I am sure. You must not disappoint your father."
"My dear aunt, this is being serious indeed."
"Yes, and I hope to engage you to be serious likewise."
"Well, then, you need not be under any alarm. I will take care of myself, and of Mr. Wickham too. He shall not be in love with me, if I can prevent it."
"Elizabeth, you are not serious now."
"I beg your pardon, I will try again. At present I am not in love with Mr. Wickham; no, I certainly am not. But he is, with only the exception of Mr. Bingley, the most agreeable man I ever saw, and if he becomes really attached to me...Well it's best for all of us that he shouldn't. I see the imprudence of it. Oh! that abominable Mr. Darcy! It seems I can go no where without encountering the disappointments he has left behind. It is as well that I am to travel with you and my uncle to London. Perhaps there I might find some relief from his influence."
"Perhaps it will also be as well if you discourage Mr. Wickham's coming here so very often. At least, you should not remind your mother of inviting him."
"As I did the other day," said Elizabeth with a conscious smile: "very true, it will be wise in me to refrain from that. But do not imagine that he is always here so often. It is on your account that he has been so frequently invited this week. You know my mother's ideas as to the necessity of constant company for her friends. But really, and upon my honour, I will try to do what I think to be the wisest; and now I hope you are satisfied."
* * * * *
Thus it was that Mary Bennet became Mrs. Collins, and the day after her wedding made her departure for Hunsford parish with her husband. The next day, Elizabeth departed for London with instructions from Jane to carry her regards to Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. Which she did conscientiously, at the first possible opportunity. She found herself rebuked that they had had no knowledge of her being in town or expectation that she would call upon them, to which Elizabeth made the amused observation that it was rare indeed that two letters from Jane in a row should completely go astray in the post.
She took enormous satisfaction in the discomfiture of the sisters as they struggled to fulfill the obligations of courtesy due a guest. Thinking to irritate them with cheerful conversation, she began a long, gay discourse on the details of her sister's wedding and relocation to Kent. Elizabeth could not resist observing that once again, they appeared to have missed Jane's correspondence if they were unaware of these facts at all, for surely Jane would not have withheld news of such magnitude and joy.
The visit concluded with a perfunctory invitation to call again that Elizabeth accepted with less pleasure than she had anticipated. She had hoped to bore them with inane conversation about which they could not possibly be interested, and instead the sisters had been avid listeners to all her news and had been particularly pleased with the portions relating to her sister's marriage for a reason she could not fathom. Nonetheless, it was worth it when she encountered Mr. Bingley entering the foyer just as she was about to leave.
"Miss Bennet!" he cried with delight, remembering rather belatedly to execute the necessary bow. "How marvelous to see you! I had no idea you were in town."
"Mr. Bingley," Elizabeth replied with a curtsy, smiling. "I only arrived a few days ago with my aunt and uncle and have just now been calling upon your sisters. It is a pleasure to see you, as well. How have you been since leaving Hertfordshire?"
"Alas, not nearly so happy as I was while I was in Hertfordshire," he answered graciously, with a charming smile Elizabeth couldn't help but return. "I don't think I can recall a more delightful time."
"Well, I can say for certainty it was a sore disappointment to the neighborhood when you quit Netherfield. Will we be seeing you back there, do you think?"
"I was considering returning in the spring, but Caroline and Louisa don't care for the idea. They've always been much happier in town and do not find the country as pleasing as I do. Tell me, is your family well?"
"Indeed, they are quite well, or were when last I saw them three days ago. This past week my sister was married and is now gone to live in Kent with her husband."
"Your--your sister? Married?" Bingley repeated, sounding as though he were suppressing a cough.
"Yes, to our cousin, Mr. Collins, whom you met at the Netherfield ball, if I recall correctly. She seems quite well pleased with the match, and our mother is, of course, overjoyed."
"I see...well, you must wish her joy on my behalf. Now...if you'll excuse me, Miss Bennet...I have a pressing matter of business that cannot be delayed." He cleared his throat again, and looked anxiously toward the door.
"Then I shall not detain you," Elizabeth replied with a bright smile. "I was on my way home just now. I shall look forward to seeing you when next I call upon your sisters, then."
Bingley bowed hurriedly and, mystified at his behavior, Elizabeth departed.
* * * * *
It was to Elizabeth's great surprise and pleasure that Mr. Bingley accompanied his sister when she came to call upon Elizabeth. Caroline Bingley dominated much of the conversation, determined to have all the details of Elizabeth's sister's wedding to Mr. Collins. Elizabeth observed with amusement that this conversation was not to Mr. Bingley's liking; men had little patience for such matters, and she imagined she could pardon his pained expression and unresponsiveness. Leaving her Aunt Gardiner to relate the information of the wedding, she attempted to divert Mr. Bingley from the tedium of a conversation in which he had no interest by sharing with him the latest news of all the acquaintances he'd made in Hertfordshire. This attempt was only partially successful; despite his dislike of the subject, Caroline Bingley made a point to call his attention to details of the wedding regularly, much to his visible dismay. Finally he pointedly ignored his sister's interruption and turned his enthusiastic attention fully to Elizabeth.
It was not to be the last time she was to see Mr. Bingley socially over the following months. Once the subject of the wedding was exhausted, Caroline Bingley seemed to have little interest in conversing with Elizabeth or any of her family. She did not call on them again, nor encouraged them to call upon her.
* * * * *
"I think we should invite them to dinner," Mr. Bingley announced to his sister one evening as he sat silently by the fire in the music room.
Caroline hit a wrong chord in her concerto and stared at him in dismay. "Why on earth would we do that, Charles?"
"Because it would please *me* to have them to dinner," he said shortly. Caroline Bingley mused again on just how much her brother had changed over these months; the gay and carefree man who had entered Hertfordshire against her better advice was gone. This new Charles was less patient and pliable and willing to please; he sulked like a recalcitrant child and was given to spurts of anger. Again, she wished her family had never set foot in Hertfordshire nor eye upon anyone by the name of Bennet.
"Charles, do you really think it wise? It's very plain now that Jane Bennet cared nothing for you. That part of our lives is over now; perhaps we should just let it go."
"We shall invite them to dinner!" he announced, rising and walking toward the door. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob and half-turned in her direction, speaking to her, but never looking at her. "If you are unable to fulfill the most basic of requirements of a hostess in my house, Caroline, perhaps it would be best if you went and stayed with your sister, and I can find someone more able and willing to keep house here."
He left the music room, stopping just short of slamming the door, and leaving his astounded sister staring after him.
* * * * *
An invitation to dinner was issued to the Gardiners and their niece. This was returned by a similar invitation a week later. Not long thereafter, Elizabeth and her relations were invited to join the Bingley's at the theatre. And so forth. Elizabeth finally found her chance to come to know Mr. Bingley as a person in the way she had hoped to do all those weeks in Hertfordshire. He was as amiable and kind and charming as she recalled, though she noticed this manner was not as effortless as he had once made it appear. There were times he seemed close to brooding, until he shook the mood off decisively and turned his attention to her. It was not long before she decided she was actively being courted; the formality of extending the invitations to her Aunt and Uncle or including his sister (who spent most of these occasions in an ungracious silence) was merely fulfilling the requirement of propriety. She spent a great deal of time pondering how she felt about this; that she was fond of Mr. Bingley was certain. He was everything a gentleman should be, and if his usual cheer occasionally gave way to lapses of taciturnity or if she caught the occasional expression of sorrow crossing his face, it made him only that much more fascinating. At length, she concluded she could be quite content with Mr. Bingley, if an offer of marriage were made. They were well matched in temperament and interests; both had a fondness for balls and parties and the diversions of society. There was never a shortage of conversation between them; he laughed regularly at her wit, and occasionally surprised her with a wit of his own. It was decided then, she thought. If Mr. Bingley sought her hand, she would accept him.
* * * * *
Elizabeth returned from her morning walk to find a letter from Jane awaiting her. Smiling, she retired to the parlor to read it, ringing for tea as she did so.
Hunsford Parsonage
April 07
My Dearest Lizzy,
Things continue well here at Hunsford. Amazing as you or I may find this, Mary really seems truly pleased with her situation. We have been invited to dine at Rosings twice more since Papa departed and it is apparent that Lady de Bourgh thinks well of Mrs. Collins. Mary is not always pleased to accept Lady Catherine's advice--for she does offer it frequently--but for the sake of her husband, she acquiesces graciously and does not take offense when the lady implies a criticism.
Yesterday, we had a surprise. Lady Catherine's nephews are come to visit her as they do every year, we have been told. They called on us at the parsonage yesterday afternoon. In addition to renewing our acquaintance with Mr. Darcy, we also got to make the acquaintance of his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. We are invited to have tea at Rosings tomorrow, and I must say I look forward to it. Mr. Darcy is as kind and gentlemanly as I remembered, and his cousin is everything that is amiable and charming...
Elizabeth set down the letter with a gasp of dismay. This couldn't be! Jane's letters had been full of the same melancholy she had demonstrated before Elizabeth left Hertfordshire and only now was she displaying any sort of pleasure or animation--for that wretched Mr. Darcy, of course. Now he would again excite Jane's affections, and under the nose of his very own fiancee, the cad!
Agitated, Elizabeth sought her aunt and related the contents of the letter to her.
"Oh dear, this is unfortunate," Mrs. Gardiner sighed. "But Jane is a sensible girl. Having met Mr. Darcy's fiancee and her mother, she cannot now entertain any hope of a match with him. Perhaps this is the best thing that could happen; allowing her to see the hopelessness of any attachment to him will help her get past it just that much sooner."
"But if Mr. Darcy is encouraging her affections for him, what then? How can she see the hopelessness of the situation if he willfully gives her cause to hope? You read what she wrote; already he has come to call upon her, the very day that he arrived in Kent!"
"Well," Mrs. Gardiner said with some humor, "if Lady Catherine is the termagant she seems to be according to Jane's oh-so-gentle description of her, I would find reasons to call on the neighbors while visiting her, also."
"Aunt, do be serious! Whatever shall I do?"
"What can you do? Jane must see to her own heart."
"I do not wish to see her hurt again--or more, as the case may be. Perhaps I should go to her, go into Kent early and be there with her for the duration of Mr. Darcy's visit. I should very much like to dare him to trifle with my sister while I am there to watch over her. I could take the post to Bromley and have Mr. Collins collect me from there."
"Travel post alone! Oh no, Lizzy...your uncle and I could never face your father again if we allowed it."
"My uncle could accompany me. If he could get away from his business affairs long enough--if he were willing."
Mrs. Gardiner sighed. "I'm sure he will be willing, if you feel it's the only way. But Lizzy...what of Mr. Bingley? It seemed to me the two of your were becoming very close."
Elizabeth stopped her pacing and sighed. "I should be very loath indeed to depart London without seeing him again. But it cannot be helped. Jane's welfare must come before my own happiness."
Elizabeth received her aunt's promise to speak with her uncle about accompanying her on the Bromley post two days hence. She an express to Jane and Mary letting them know to expect her early, and then dispatched a note to Miss Bingley, explaining she would be quitting London unexpectedly to visit her sister in Kent, and that she hoped to see the Bingley's in Hertfordshire again some day soon. She could only hope the message would reach Mr. Bingley.
Part 10
Before leaving London, Elizabeth was invited to accompany her uncle and aunt in a tour of pleasure which they proposed taking in the summer, an offer she was grateful and eager to accept. They would go perhaps as far as the Lakes. The plan might change if Mr. Bingley returned to Hertfordshire, and resumed his suit, naturally, but she did not feel she should share this with her aunt, lest her aunt feel the need to caution her against unfounded hopes.
As planned, her uncle accompanied her as far as Bromley, where she was collected by her cousin. She hardly paid attention to his discussion of the scenery they passed (a discourse which somehow always managed to return to Rosings Park and its mistress) for her eagerness to get to Jane was too consuming. It did not matter, however, that she was inattentive; Mr. Collins required no answers and was content simply to be allowed to effuse uninterrupted.
At length the Parsonage was discernible. The garden sloping to the road, the house standing in it, the green pales, and the laurel hedge, everything declared they were arriving. Mary and Jane appeared at the door, and the carriage stopped at the small gate which led by a short gravel walk to the house, amidst the nods and smiles of the whole party. In a moment she was out of the chaise, rejoicing at the sight of her sisters. Mrs. Collins welcomed her sister with solemn dignity, extremely conscious of her obligations as hostess and determined to execute every one of them with the same painstaking precision she displayed at the pianoforte. Jane greeted her with serene joy, and this caused Elizabeth some distress, for while she did not take pleasure in her sister's melancholy, she was afraid Jane's happiness meant she had once again found cause to hope in Mr. Darcy's affections, and that she would, inevitably, be disappointed once more.
Mary, it turned out, was masterful at keeping her husband in check. Whenever he was prone to go on at length about the parsonage, its attributes, and the hand his patroness had played in making it all come about, his wife would rein him in with a reminder of his duties as host. It could not be said that Mr. Collins had changed in any particular aspect, but that the skillful handling of his wife kept his more grievous deficiencies at a tolerable level. At last, he was encouraged to tend his garden, which he had not done that day, and when he invited his cousin to tour the garden with him, Mary reminded him that Elizabeth had not rested after her journey and that surely tomorrow was soon enough for her to see the garden. At some length, the three sisters were left alone and Mary showed Elizabeth to her room to freshen up. She and Jane were left alone while Mary went to see about dinner.
"Mary does indeed seem quite content with her situation," Elizabeth remarked to Jane after the door was closed. "But Mr. Collins--is he quite content with Mary?"
"Lady Catherine de Bourgh seems content with Mary," Jane replied diplomatically. "And therefore, Mr. Collins is content."
Elizabeth nodded solemnly. "I have feared the consequences of my manipulation on that front," she murmured. "I all but tricked Mr. Collins into proposing to Mary, and I feared he might resent her for that. Father credits me with cleverness, but I was afraid I might have been a bit too clever in this circumstance and left Mary to reap the results of it."
"I think we have given Mary not enough credit," said Jane. "She is as conscientious and attentive a wife as any could be and makes certain Mr. Collins wants for nothing. What Mr. Collins wants most is someone who will attend him when he speaks, and Mary seems to do that without difficulty. They even have had theological debates which are almost...spirited. She is also very attentive to her duties within the parish as the minister's wife, and her husband's parishioners seem to think highly of her, indeed. If she is overly solemn about the way she fulfills her obligations, well--that is simply our Mary."
Elizabeth sighed in relief and embraced her sister. "Thank you, Jane. You have set my heart at ease. How I have missed you these months!"
"And I you. But tell me, Lizzy, why did you come so early? Were you not happy in London?"
"I was quite content in London, but I worried for you, Jane. You have not been yourself since Mr. Darcy left Hertfordshire, and once you told me he was here, I feared for you. It would grieve me indeed to see you disappointed again."
"Lizzy! You came all this way thinking to protect me! You should not have done that. Mr. Darcy is a friend to me, nothing more. I shall not be heartbroken over him."
Elizabeth stared at her sister in astonishment, for to dissemble was not at all like Jane. Jane looked back at her with a serenity that Elizabeth could not credit, having known her sister's melancholy over Mr. Darcy's abandonment. For the first time in her life, she hardly knew what to say to Jane.
"And what of you, Lizzy?" Jane asked at length, looking away as though uncomfortable. "You mentioned in your last several letters that you had met Miss Bingley and her brother quite frequently. Are they well? How did you like them?"
"They seem very well indeed," Elizabeth answered, grateful now to leave the subject of Mr. Darcy behind. "Miss Bingley, I am certain, likes me not at all, but that does not concern me very much. Mr. Bingley remains, of course, the most amiable of gentleman and I like him very much indeed. He mentioned he was hoping to return to Hertfordshire before long."
Now Jane seemed discomposed. She ducked her head, her an expression of worry on her visage.
"Jane," Elizabeth said gently, taking her hand. "You must not hope that Mr. Darcy will accompany them again."
"I have told you, Lizzy," Jane answered without meeting her sister's eyes, "I have no hopes where Mr. Darcy is concerned. I think it well that the Bingleys should return to Netherfield, and if you like Mr. Bingley and if he likes you, then it is so much the better, is it not?"
"Well, I do not know that Mr. Bingley likes me so very well," Elizabeth demurred, "but he was very attentive in London. I should be very pleased indeed if he came back to Netherfield."
Jane nodded, looking away again, and once more, Elizabeth's heart ached for her sister's pain, and her disapprobation for Mr. Darcy reached new heights. She resolved to speak no more of Mr. Bingley, for she did not wish her own good prospects to remind Jane of her loss. Every time she thought on it, Mr. Darcy's crimes against her sister seemed to take on new and more horrible proportions. Before long, she had fully convinced herself he was a rake of the first water and deserved to be publicly humiliated for his treatment of Jane.
* * * * *
Elizabeth and Jane compared letters from home; in case one had missed any news the other had been privy to. Their younger sisters were by no means faithful correspondents (in this regard, perhaps, they took most after their father) and their mother's account of events consisted more of idle gossip and fault-finding with any girl whom she considered to be competition for her daughters in the race to find eligible husbands. Their most reliable source of information was Charlotte Lucas, who wrote Elizabeth once a week faithfully. According to Miss Lucas, Mr. Wickham had begun a suit of an heiress shortly after Elizabeth's departure from Hertfordshire. The young woman, by the name of Mary King, had recently come into a fortune of ten thousand pounds. By Charlotte's report, Mary King was a nice girl who was not a great beauty, but whose fortune made her a most eligible bride. Jane had had this same news from her mother, though that good woman's account of the tale had Mary King (an ill-favored and graceless girl) deliberately luring Mr. Wickham's attentions away from her daughters. Elizabeth was glad, then, that she had not fallen in love with Mr. Wickham, for she could see the prudence of his pursuit of Mary King and understood its necessity. As Mr. Darcy had reneged on the living his father had promised Mr. Wickham, that fine gentleman did not have the luxury of following his heart as he otherwise might. It was yet another crime to lay at the feet of Mr. Darcy to Elizabeth's mind. Jane protested this harsh judgement of that gentleman, and so Elizabeth spoke no more of it.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh was, of course, in attendance at Sunday services, with her daughter and nephews. But, aside from a brief introduction and the most perfunctory of greetings, Elizabeth got no opportunity to meet either Anne de Bourgh nor the Colonel Fitzwilliam Jane's letter had mentioned, nor did she (much to her relief) find opportunity to reacquaint herself with Mr. Darcy. He was present, but he gave the appearance of being every bit as disapproving and unsociable as she had ever thought him to be. His greeting of them as Mr. Collins presented her was stilted, fulfilling the requirements of courtesy but no more. Elizabeth should have felt insulted if she hadn't been rushed into the church for the start of services.
As was Lady Catherine's usual habit, they were invited to dine at Rosings that evening. They would walk down the lane and would be brought home in one of Lady Catherine's carriages. Mr. Collins was stopped just short of lecturing Elizabeth on the proprieties and respect due a woman of Lady Catherine's station by the timely intervention of his wife, and Elizabeth recalled with some amusement how she herself had told him she had a tendency toward impertinence which his patroness would surely find displeasing. So she found she could not be too annoyed with his presumption. After it, his impression of her had in the end spared her the ordeal of refusing a marriage proposal from him and led to Mary's happy situation as his wife. She did not pretend to understand how Mary could be content--or be devoted to him, as she obviously was--but Elizabeth had to concede that Jane's assessment of Mary's marriage was indeed an accurate one and not influenced by Jane's inherent need to see to good in everyone.
They were hurried out the door with Mr. Collins being much in a dither about Lady Catherine's emphasis on the importance of punctuality. Elizabeth was also reassured that she need not be worried about her dress being plain, for his patroness preferred to have the distinction of rank preserved. She thanked her cousin for his assurances and promised him that, should she ever worry over her dress being too plain, she would keep them in mind. Jane gave her a glance full of affectionate humor and exasperation as Mr. Collins hurried them down the lane.
The walk was a very pleasant one on such a lovely spring day, and Elizabeth greatly admired the scenery that surrounded them and resolved to make a point of taking many walks in the park during her stay. So pleasantly occupied was her mind on this prospect that she missed Mr. Collins' discourse on the number and cost of the windows on the house itself. They were led to the parlor where Lady Catherine would receive them and announced, and Elizabeth was afforded her first opportunity to observe this noblewoman about whom she had heard so much.
Jane's letters had, of course, been kinder toward her than was merited, that much was quite certain. She was not only aristocratic but autocratic, and what Mr. Collins termed condescension Elizabeth stopped just short of interpreting as insult. The woman greeted Mr. Collins, Mary and Jane, and then imperiously demanded that Mrs. Collins present her sister, which she did studied solemnity.
Lady de Bourgh assessed her for some time, then nodded decisively. "You seem a genteel, pretty sort of girl. I understand you play the pianoforte?"
"Very little, ma'am, and very ill indeed," Elizabeth assured her.
"Hmm. Mrs. Collins plays reasonably well. I have offered her the use of the pianoforte in Mrs. Jenkinson's room to practice, since she has not one of her own. She would be in no one's way there. But she has declined my offer."
"Thank you, my lady," Mary said with great dignity. Elizabeth stared at her sister in amazement that she had not taken exception to this effrontery. "But I have overcome my childish need to exhibit. I do not think it appropriate for a married woman to draw attention to herself in such a way. I must set an example for the women in my husband's flock."
"Lady Catherine, you are all graciousness and condescension," Mr. Collins hastened to assure her. "And my dear wife is all that is proper and respectable, and if she must decline your generous offer, then surely there cannot be a more fitting reason."
"Yes," Lady Catherine said, not looking displeased at Mary's refusal. "A woman of Mrs. Collins' station cannot be too conscientious of propriety. I approve. So you, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, may play for us instead, after dinner." This did not come as a request. Imperious though it was, Elizabeth accepted graciously.
"If you wish it," she acceded with a nod.
"You will find there are few people in England who have more true enjoyment of music than myself, or a better natural taste. If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient. And so would Anne, if her health had allowed her to apply. I am confident that she would have performed delightfully," the lady professed, the abruptly changed the subject, gesturing for her guests to be seated. "You were introduced to my daughter Anne and nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam, this morning, and I understand you already know my other nephew here."
"Indeed," Elizabeth replied as she seated herself beside Jane on a settee. "It is a pleasure to meet you both," she addressed Colonel Fitzwilliam and Anne de Bourgh. Anne was a pale, sickly, cross-looking girl, and inwardly Elizabeth was pleased. Darcy deserved such as she for a wife.
"The pleasure is all ours, Miss Bennet, I assure you," Colonel Fitzwilliam replied. "We've heard a great deal about you from your sisters since our arrival." Fitwilliam was about thirty, not handsome, but in person and address most truly the gentleman and affable in the extreme. Mr. Darcy looked just as he had been used to look in Hertfordshire and paid his compliments, with every appearance of composure, to Mrs. Collins and herself. To Jane, he exerted himself a bit more and actually conversed, in low, muted tones. To Elizabeth's jaundiced eye, it seemed most scandalous that he should pay Jane such attention before his fiancee, when she had yet to see him speak a word to that girl. Indeed, he seemed to treat her with the same cool disinterest with which he had regarded everyone in Hertfordshire. So distressed was she over his callousness, and so watchful was she of Jane as Mr. Darcy spoke with her, that she barely could attend the conversation in which Colonel Fitzwilliam attempted to engage her. She had to force herself to make a concerted effort to listen and respond to the Colonel, and to his aunt's frequent interjections during which she authoritatively espoused her expertise on whatever matter happened to be under discussion at that moment. With Mr. Collins' obsequious attempts to insinuate himself into Lady Catherine's favor on every subject, and with Mary's carefully dignified piety, the absurdity of the party left her feeling as though she had never left Meryton at all.
Lady Catherine came nigh unto being scandalized by the fact that all Elizabeth's younger sisters were out, and that they had never had a governess. This was obviously not news to her, as she'd had Jane in her company for several weeks now, but nevertheless, she felt obliged to let Elizabeth know of her disapproval with the state of affairs. Elizabeth did find it pleasant diverting to imagine this woman making her displeasure known to her mother, for she imagined her mother might actually be made silent for once by the experience. Lady Catherine did consider it fortunate for Elizabeth's family that Mr. Collins had married one of her sisters, thus resolving the issue of the Longbourn entail to everyone's satisfaction. She then went on to pontificate on her disapproval with entailing estates away from the female line, and Elizabeth's attention wandered. It was called back when Mr. Darcy deigned to address her.
"I understand from correspondence with my friend Bingley that you were lately in town."
"I was," she replied coolly. "I stayed with my aunt and uncle--in *Cheapside*," she emphasized, with a pointed glance toward Jane, lest he be tempted to forget the inferiority of her connections. Jane blushed, not looking at either of them. Mr. Darcy nodded once, his jaw tensing, then turned away.
They dined, and then Colonel Fitzwilliam entreated Elizabeth to keep her promise and play for them. When she had finished, Lady Catherine pronounced her in need of constant practice. The pianoforte in Mrs. Jenkinson's room was duly offered with a repeated reassurance that Elizabeth would be in no one's way should she make use of it. She made note of the accomplishments of Mr. Darcy's sister whom, he reported at the lady's inquiry, practiced conscientiously. Elizabeth acknowledged the criticism with what she thought was acceptable grace. "I'm afraid I have not the diligence of Miss Darcy," she replied.
Colonel Fitzwilliam was an engaging conversationalist. He turned the pages for her when she performed and kept her entertained when she did not. For some time, Elizabeth managed to take her attention away from Mr. Darcy and his unusually preferential treatment of Jane. She watched Miss de Bourgh to see how she reacted to this, but so far as she could tell, the girl was so dull and uninterested in anything around her that she gave it no notice. Colonel Fitzwilliam entreated her to play again, and they displayed better breeding than their hostess by pretending not to notice when Lady Catherine began talking to Darcy again after listening to only half a song. Mr. Darcy soon left his aunt with Jane and Mary and Mr. Collins to comprise her audience and made with his usual deliberation towards the pianoforte, standing squarely in her line of vision, so that if she looked away from her music, she could not miss him. Elizabeth could not resist taunting him about it.
"You mean to frighten me, Mr. Darcy, by coming in all this state to hear me? I will not be alarmed though your sister DOES play so well. There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me."
"I shall not say you are mistaken," he replied, "because you could not really believe me to entertain any design of alarming you; and I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance long enough to know that you find great enjoyment in occasionally professing opinions which in fact are not your own."
Elizabeth hardly knew what to make of this reply, and said to Fitzwilliam, "Your cousin will give you a very pretty notion of me, and teach you not to believe a word I say. I am particularly unlucky in meeting with a person so able to expose my real character, in a part of the world where I had hoped to pass myself off with some degree of credit. Indeed, Mr. Darcy, it is very ungenerous in you to mention all that you knew to my disadvantage in Hertfordshire--and, give me leave to say, very impolitic too-- for it is provoking me to retaliate, and such things may come out as will shock your relations to hear."
"I am not afraid of you," said he with a smile.
"Pray let me hear what you have to accuse him of," cried Colonel Fitzwilliam. "I should like to know how he behaves among strangers."
"You shall hear then, but prepare yourself for something very dreadful. The first time of my ever seeing him in Hertfordshire, you must know, was at a ball--and at this ball, what do you think he did? He danced only four dances, though gentlemen were scarce; and, to my certain knowledge, more than one young lady was sitting down in want of a partner. In fact, he even went so far as to insult the local ladies in general and one in particular, as not being worth his notice--and he did so in the hearing of the young lady he insulted. And while there is certainly no one in Hertfordshire or any other county of comparable beauty and grace as my dearest sister Jane, you must concede that is quite uncharitable of him. Mr. Darcy, you cannot deny the fact."
"I had not at that time the honour of knowing any lady in the assembly beyond my own party."
"True; and nobody can ever be introduced in a ball-room. That you managed to make Jane's acquaintance that evening is something of a mystery, I suppose. Perhaps we can even consult my cousin and his wife to see if it qualifies as a bona fide miracle."
"Little was I aware at the time that I would rue that indiscreet remark to this very day. Perhaps," said Darcy, "I should have judged better, had I sought an introduction and subsequently made my apologies; but after realizing the insult I had paid to the local ladies, did not think myself equal to the task. I fear I am ill-qualified to recommend myself to strangers."
"Shall we ask your cousin the reason of this?" Elizabeth asked Colonel Fitzwilliam. "Shall we ask him why a man of sense and education, and who has lived in the world, is ill qualified to recommend himself to strangers?"
"I can answer your question," said Fitzwilliam, "without applying to him. It is because he will not give himself the trouble."
"I certainly have not the talent which some people possess," said Darcy, "of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as I often see done."
"Indeed, there is nothing more tedious than attending to the concerns of others," Elizabeth agreed with contrived solemnity. "My fingers," she continued after she felt sufficient time had past to let her blow meet its mark, "do not move over this instrument in the masterly manner which I see so many women's do. They have not the same force or rapidity, and do not produce the same expression. But then I have always supposed it to be my own fault-- because I will not take the trouble of practising. It is not that I do not believe MY fingers as capable as any other woman's of superior execution."
Darcy smiled and nodded. "You are perfectly right. You have employed your time much better. No one admitted to the privilege of hearing you can think anything wanting. We neither of us perform to strangers."
At this, Lady Catherine interrupted them, determined to have a portion in their conversation. She listened for a moment and once more declared Elizabeth's performance wanting. Her taste was not what Miss de Bourgh's would be, either, had Miss de Bough's health ever allowed her to learn. Darcy and his cousin looked somewhat pained at the lady's ill breeding in saying such to Elizabeth's face, but Elizabeth took the comments in good stride. She was more interested in Darcy's reaction to the praise of his cousin, but she could discern no interest on his part in pursuing that topic upon which his aunt lingered so fondly. He appeared wholly disinterested in the potential accomplishments of his fiancee and returned to the drawing room and his conversation with Jane. Elizabeth was not sure she pitied Miss de Bourgh any less than she did Jane; Mr. Darcy's affections appeared not to be engaged by any young lady no matter what her charms.
End of Part Ten
Part 11
Her complacency was dissolved one morning as she sat in the parlor writing a letter to Charlotte Lucas while Mary and Jane had gone into the village on business. The doorbell rang, and she put aside her letter only seconds before Mr. Darcy, alone, was announced.
He looked discomfited at finding her alone, and confessed he had understood all the ladies to be at home, leading Elizabeth to believe his intention had been to call upon Jane. Gritting her teeth, she made the perfunctory inquiries after the inhabitants of Rosings. For lack of anything else to discuss, she recollected the last time she had seen him in Hertfordshire. She was curious to know what he had to say for himself on his sudden departure from that county, and observed:
"How very suddenly you all quitted Netherfield last November, Mr. Darcy!"
"Yes, quite," he replied calmly. "For myself, there was emergency business which could not be delayed. I hadn't expected Mr. Bingley to follow so soon; he had seemed quite content in Hertfordshire."
"He said as much himself when I saw him in Town some weeks ago. He has mentioned he may be returning to Netherfield this spring."
"I had thought so as well, but just this week, I received correspondence from him that he may spend very little of his time there in the future. He has many friends, and is at a time of life when friends and engagements are continually increasing."
"Indeed? That is surprising, for he seemed quite determined on returning when I spoke with him. If he means to be but little at Netherfield, it would be better for the neighbourhood that he should give up the place entirely, for then we might possibly get a settled family there. But, perhaps, Mr. Bingley did not take the house so much for the convenience of the neighbourhood as for his own, and we must expect him to keep it or quit it on the same principle."
"I should not be surprised," said Darcy, "if he were to give it up as soon as there are any eligible purchase offers."
Elizabeth made no answer. She was afraid of talking longer of his friend, lest her disappointment at this news become apparent. Mr. Bingley had seemed quite determined to court her in London, and she had been looking forward to a continuance of his suit upon his return to Netherfield. Why should he had given up his resolve to go back to Hertfordshire so suddenly? Troubled and perplexed, and having nothing else to say, Elizabeth was now determined to leave the trouble of finding a subject to Mr. Darcy.
He took the hint, and soon began with, "This seems a very comfortable house. Lady Catherine, I believe, did a great deal to it when Mr. Collins first came to Hunsford."
"I believe she did-- and I am sure she could not have bestowed her kindness on a more grateful object."
"Mr. Collins appears to be very fortunate in his choice of a wife."
She nodded graciously at the implied compliment to her kin. "Yes, indeed, his friends may well rejoice in his having met with one of the very few sensible women who would have accepted him, or have made him happy if they had. My sister is a fine woman, and though I am not certain that I consider her marrying Mr. Collins as the wisest thing she ever did, she will make him an excellent wife. She seems perfectly happy and in a prudential light it is certainly a very good match for her."
"It must be very agreeable for her to be settled within so easy a distance of her own family."
"An easy distance, do you call it? It is nearly fifty miles."
"And what is fifty miles of good road? Little more than half a day's journey. Yes, I call it a very easy distance."
"I should never have considered the distance as one of the advantages of the match," Elizabeth responded. "I should never have said Mrs. Collins was settled NEAR her family."
"It is a proof of your own attachment to Hertfordshire. Anything beyond the very neighbourhood of Longbourn, I suppose, would appear far."
As he spoke there was a sort of smile which Elizabeth fancied she understood; he must be supposing her to be thinking of herself and Netherfield, and she blushed as she answered:
"I do not mean to say that a woman may not be settled too near her family. The far and the near must be relative, and depend on many varying circumstances. Where there is fortune to make the expenses of travelling unimportant, distance becomes no evil. But that is not the case here. Mr. and Mrs. Collins have a comfortable income, but not such a one as will allow of frequent journeys--and I am persuaded my sister would not call herself near her family under less than half the present distance."
Mr. Darcy leaned toward her and said, "You cannot have a right to such very strong local attachment. You cannot have been always at Longbourn."
Elizabeth was surprised and perplexed by this sudden turn in conversation and was relieved when he drew back in his chair, took a newspaper from the table, and glancing over it, said, in a colder voice:
"Are you pleased with Kent?"
Thus began a short discussion of the surrounding country, until the return of Mary and Jane from their walk. They were surprised to find Mr. Darcy calling, and he related the mistake which had occasioned his intruding on Elizabeth, and after sitting a few minutes longer without saying much to anybody, went away. Elizabeth was surprised but pleased that he did not linger with any undue attention toward Jane. But why, then, had he called at all?
* * * * *
Mr. Darcy, it seemed, was determined to plague her existence. He did not often call at the parsonage after that visit, but she did encounter him regularly during her walks through the park. It had to be deliberate, she determined after she had made sure he knew which were her favorite rambles and he continued to show up there. She thought perhaps he was hoping Jane would join her on these strolls, and for that very reason, Elizabeth was determined that Jane WOULDN'T join her. She was grateful that Jane was not as enthusiastic a walker as she herself was. But Darcy was nothing if not persistent. Nor did he stop with paying her a mere courtesy. Instead he actually thought it necessary to turn back and walk with her. She knew not what to make of this, but if he thought to ingratiate himself to her in the hopes of recommending himself even further to Jane, his attempts were doomed to failure. She was always grateful to find herself arrived back at the gate of the parsonage and able to bid him farewell. Despite her assumption that he meant to see Jane and Mary's occasional invitation, he rarely came inside. Elizabeth noted with some confusion that he now spent more time in her own company than in Jane's.
Their conversations were stilted and uncomfortable in the extreme; he persisted in asking her odd unconnected questions. His foremost topic of inquiry was about the time she spent in London with Mr. Bingley; she would have assumed he was simply inquiring after the welfare of his friend, had his questions not tended more toward her feelings about it all. Had they been only slightly more personal, they would have been downright impertinent. He also questioned her about her pleasure in being at Hunsford, her love of solitary walks, and her opinion of Mr. and Mrs. Collins's happiness. He spoke of Rosings and future visits there, and oddly enough, he seemed to expect that whenever she came into Kent again she would be staying THERE too. His words seemed to imply it. Could he have Colonel Fitzwilliam in his thoughts? Surely not; he could not possible approve of any match between her and his relations, and she did not think Colonel Fitzwilliam cared that deeply for her at any rate. That he liked her was apparent, but there were prudential matters to consider, and besides, her preference had already been determined.
She was engaged one day as she walked in perusing Charlotte's last letter when, instead of being again surprised by Mr. Darcy, she saw on looking up that Colonel Fitzwilliam was meeting her. Putting away the letter immediately and forcing a smile, she said:
"I did not know before that you ever walked this way."
"I have been making the tour of the park," he replied, "as I generally do every year, and intend to close it with a call at the Parsonage. Are you going much farther?"
"No, I should have turned in a moment."
And accordingly she did turn, and they walked towards the Parsonage together.
"Do you certainly leave Kent on Saturday?" said she.
"Yes-- if Darcy does not put it off again. But I am at his disposal. He arranges the business just as he pleases."
"And if not able to please himself in the arrangement, he has at least pleasure in the great power of choice. I do not know anybody who seems more to enjoy the power of doing what he likes than Mr. Darcy."
"He likes to have his own way very well," replied Colonel Fitzwilliam. "But so we all do. It is only that he has better means of having it than many others, because he is rich, and many others are poor. I speak feelingly. A younger son, you know, must be inured to self-denial and dependence."
"In my opinion, the younger son of an earl can know very little of either. Now seriously, what have you ever known of self-denial and dependence? When have you been prevented by want of money from going wherever you chose, or procuring anything you had a fancy for?"
"These are home questions-- and perhaps I cannot say that I have experienced many hardships of that nature. But in matters of greater weight, I may suffer from want of money. Younger sons cannot marry where they like."
"Unless where they like women of fortune, which I think they very often do."
"Our habits of expense make us too dependent, and there are too many in my rank of life who can afford to marry without some attention to money."
"Is this," thought Elizabeth, "meant for me?" He was apologizing to her! She realized with surprise. He had been serious in his intentions toward her and wished her to know that had circumstances been different, he would have offered for her. She coloured at the idea, and answered with levity to let him know that no apology was required, "And pray, what is the usual price of an earl's younger son? Unless the elder brother is very sickly, I suppose you would not ask above fifty thousand pounds."
He answered her in the same style, and the subject dropped. To interrupt a silence which might make him fancy her affected with what had passed, she soon afterwards said:
"I imagine your cousin brought you down with him chiefly for the sake of having someone at his disposal. I wonder he does not marry, to secure a lasting convenience of that kind. But, perhaps, his sister does as well for the present, and, as she is under his sole care, he may do what he likes with her."
"No," said Colonel Fitzwilliam, "that is an advantage which he must divide with me. I am joined with him in the guardianship of Miss Darcy."
"Are you indeed? And pray what sort of guardians do you make? Does your charge give you much trouble? Young ladies of her age are sometimes a little difficult to manage, and if she has the true Darcy spirit, she may like to have her own way."
"Indeed not!" he exclaimed, seeming most affronted. "A more gentle, sweet, and kind girl never walked the earth. Your older sister is second only to Georgiana in this respect. But then, I may be biased; I am sure you would consider your sister to be second to none for sweetness. Why on earth would you believe Miss Darcy likely to give us any uneasiness?"
His vehemence started her. She could only consider him as protesting too much, and credit the accuracy of Mr. Wickham's account of Miss Darcy. "You need not be frightened. I never heard any harm of her; and I dare say she is one of the most tractable creatures in the world. She is a very great favourite with some ladies of my acquaintance, Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley. I think I have heard you say that you know them."
"I know them a little. Their brother is a pleasant gentleman-like man--he is a great friend of Darcy's."
"Oh! yes," said Elizabeth with a wry smile; "Mr. Darcy is uncommonly kind to Mr. Bingley, and takes a prodigious deal of care of him."
"Care of him! Yes, I really believe Darcy DOES take care of him in those points where he most wants care. From something that he told me just this week, I have reason to think Bingley very much indebted to him. But I ought to beg his pardon, for I have no right to suppose that Bingley was the person meant. It was all conjecture. It was only that the conversation happened just after Darcy had received a letter from Bingley."
"What is it you mean?"
"It is a circumstance which Darcy could not wish to be generally known, because if it were to get round to the lady's family, it would be an unpleasant thing."
"You may depend upon my not mentioning it."
"And remember that I have not much reason for supposing it to be Bingley. What he told me was merely this: that he congratulated himself on having lately saved a friend from the inconveniences of a most imprudent marriage. But, remember, I know not for certain. Darcy mentioned no names or any other particulars, and I only suspected it to be Bingley from believing him the kind of young man to get into a scrape of that sort, and from knowing them to have been together the whole of last summer and in close correspondence recently."
Elizabeth froze. "Did Mr. Darcy give you reasons for this interference?"
"I understood that there were some very strong objections against the lady."
"And what arts did he use to separate them?"
"He did not talk to me of his own arts," said Fitzwilliam, smiling. "He only told me what I have now told you."
Elizabeth made no answer, and walked on, struggling to keep her composure against the pain and rage consuming her. After watching her a little, Fitzwilliam asked her why she was so thoughtful.
"I am thinking of what you have been telling me," said she. "Your cousin's conduct does not suit my feelings. Why was he to be the judge?"
"You are rather disposed to call his interference officious?"
"I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to decide on the propriety of his friend's inclination, or why, upon his own judgement alone, he was to determine and direct in what manner his friend was to be happy. But," she drew a deep breath, fighting to keep her sense of betrayal from her tone, "as we know none of the particulars, I must suppose there was not much affection in the case."
"That is not an unnatural surmise," said Fitzwilliam, "but it is a lessening of the honour of my cousin's triumph very sadly."
His triumph, she thought bitterly. His triumph indeed, and the ruin of perhaps he best prospect for a marriage which comprised both prudence AND affection. Was it not enough that Mr. Darcy had broken Jane's heart already? Why should he plague her as well?
Sensing her unease, Fitzwilliam attempted to speak of light matters until they reached the Parsonage, and did not seem affronted that she was unresponsive. She retreated to her room, not speaking to Jane or Mary, and sending even Jane away when she inquired after Elizabeth's well-being.
It couldn't be a mistake, despite Colonel Fitzwilliam's disclaimer, she mused, too stunned to be saddened. There could not exist in the world TWO men over whom Mr. Darcy could have such boundless influence. She had always attributed to Miss Bingley the principal design and arrangement of Mr. Bingley's leaving Netherfield, but that matter seemed to have righted itself. But now, for Darcy's interference, all the progress she and Bingley had made in becoming acquainted in London was undone, and he would not renew his addresses to her. Darcy's vanity had led him to play with Jane's affections and then abandon her, a crime for which Elizabeth could never pardon him. His pride and
caprice were the cause, of all that Jane had suffered, and still continued to suffer. He had ruined for a while every hope of happiness for the most affectionate, generous heart in the world; and no one could say how lasting an evil he might have inflicted. She could never have imagined she could think worse of him, yet now she did.
"There were some very strong objections against the lady," were Colonel Fitzwilliam's words; and those strong objections probably were, her having one uncle who was a country attorney, and another who was in business in London. Of course, it might just be a general dislike of herself, Elizabeth imagined. She'd seen no reason to attempt to recommend herself to Mr. Darcy; it seemed an exercise in futility to try to secure the good opinion of someone who thought well of absolutely no one. But, she prided herself, she was a respectable woman. She had not the loveliness and goodness of Jane (not that Darcy appeared to be swayed by that consideration, if his abandonment of Jane was any indication) but her understand was excellent, her mind improved, and her manners and wit made her an enjoyable companion. Her father, though not without peculiarities, was a sensible and respectable man. When she thought of her mother, her confidence gave way a little; but she would not allow that any objections THERE had material weight with Mr. Darcy. His pride, she was convinced, would receive a deeper wound from the want of importance in his friend's connections, than from their want of sense. She was quite decided, at last, that he had been partly governed by this worst kind of pride, and partly by the wish of retaining Mr. Bingley for his sister.
Her tears and distress gave her a headache which only grew worse as the day aged and she could not escape her ruminations on the subject. Coupled with her absolute belief that she could NOT be in company with Mr. Darcy and conduct herself with any sort of composure or credit, she declined to accompany her sisters and brother to Rosings that afternoon where they were invited to drink tea. She narrowly escaped having Jane remain behind as well to tend her, but she needed to be alone and encouraged Jane to go and represent them both and hopefully offset whatever offense Lady Catherine (who seemed rather fascinated by Elizabeth for being so ready and free to offer her pert opinions) might take at her absence.
* * * * *
She spent her time that afternoon stoking her resentment of Mr. Darcy, pondering Jane's heartbreak and melancholy. She re-read the letters Jane had written to her while she was in London, for while Jane never actually made any complaint, her lack of spirits and want to cheerfulness was evident in her style of writing. Mr. Darcy's shameful boast of what misery he had been able to inflict upon herself gave her a keener sense of her sister's sufferings. She hated him doubly now; on behalf of her sister, who would not think ill of him, and on behalf of herself, who was all too willing to do so. It was some consolation to think that his visit to Rosings was to end on the day after the next--and, a still greater, that in less than a fortnight she and Jane would return home and recover their spirits in the familiar surroundings of Longbourn.
She could not even mourn the departure of Colonel Fitzwilliam from Rosings, though he was a highly agreeable companion, for it signified Darcy's absence as well, and that she could only anticipate with utmost fervor. She was tempted to lay the grief of Colonel Fitzwilliam's lack of intentions toward her at Darcy's door, but she decided she could not be heartbroken over two men at once, and it had been upon Bingley whom she had pinned her hopes. Her lack of fortune was not Darcy's fault; it was only the matters of Jane and Mr. Bingley with which she had to reprove him.
The doorbell rang, and she thought briefly it might be Colonel Fitzwilliam come to inquire after her. She was in no spirit to receive visitors and fervently hoped it was not he. Her wish was granted, and instead she stared in astonishment as Mr. Darcy was let into the room. Almost breathlessly, he asked after her health and still struck senseless with the gall of the man, she answered she was tolerably well, her tone one of cold civility.
In a state of agitation, he paced the room, sitting one moment, standing the next, crossing from window to door to mantle and back again. Elizabeth sat silently fuming, restraining herself just barely from cuttingly demanding to know his purpose in coming. At length, he turned toward her and stated brusquely, "It has been my intention to leave Kent without ever making this declaration, but I cannot. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."
Elizabeth felt her fingers and lips grow cold and number with shock. For a moment she thought she might swoon as a ringing filled her ears and her heartbeat was amplified in her skull.
Apparently Darcy considered her silence as encouragement. "This is not an admission which comes easily to me," he continued after a pause, his words hurried. "The inferiority of your connections and your want of fortune means any association between us must be considered a degradation, and this is not a matter I can disregard lightly. Despite all this, I must--"
"Mr. Darcy, you must STOP!" she cried. "How dare you come here, sir, and say these things to me? I must ask you to leave at once!"
He blinked at her, stunned into silence, and after a moment, flushed angrily. "And this is the reply which I am to have the honour of expecting? I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with such blatant incivility, my offer is thus rejected ere I ever had a chance to speak it. But it is of small importance."
"Incivility? You come here and insult me and accuse ME of incivility?" Her countenance flushed with rage as she rose to face him. "I might wonder why a man with such an obvious desire to offend me would expect civility in the first place, all the while telling me you like me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character, but that is indeed of small importance. I have never desired nor expected your good opinion, so it does not signify that it is given so ungraciously. Come, sir! Do you honestly expect that I would ever entertain a declaration of love from the man who has broken the heart of a most beloved sister? Who has abandoned her to disappointed hopes and misery of the acutest kind? You departed Hertfordshire so abruptly to avoid marriage with her. Can you deny it?"
"I have no wish to deny it! She--"
She interrupted again, so excited in her rage that she had no desire to hear his reasons. "And just this today I learn that you have been instrumental in discouraging the attentions of a good and decent man who wished to pay court to me. You are the reason that Mr. Bingley will not be returning to Netherfield, and yet now you have the audacity to approach me not half a mile from where your fiancee sits awaiting you and declare your ardor! I have every reason to think ill of you, sir. It is not merely this affair on which my dislike is founded. As if your offenses against my sister and myself were not grievous enough, long before it had taken place my opinion of you was decided. Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received many months ago from Mr. Wickham--"
"You take a eager interest in that man's concerns!" Darcy replied harshly.
"Who that knows what his misfortunes have been, can help feeling an interest in him?"
"His misfortunes!" repeated Darcy contemptuously; "yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed."
"And of your infliction," cried Elizabeth. "You have reduced him to his present state of poverty--comparative poverty. You have withheld the advantages which you must know to have been designed for him. You have deprived the best years of his life of that independence which was no less his due than his desert. You have done all this! And yet you can treat the mention of his misfortune with contempt and ridicule."
"My faults," cried Darcy, crossing to face her squarely, "according to this calculation, are heavy indeed! But perhaps," added he, stopping in his walk, and turning towards her, "these offenses might have been overlooked, had not your pride been hurt by the insult I dealt you that first night of our acquaintance, which you cling to with an astounding tenacity of memory. These bitter accusations might have been suppressed, had I, with greater policy, flattered you into the belief of my being impelled by unqualified, unalloyed inclination. But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence. I am not ashamed of the feelings I related. They were natural and just. Could you expect me to rejoice in associating myself with a woman whose condition in life is so decidedly inferior to my own?"
"I expect nothing of you, sir," Elizabeth replied in frigid tones, "except your expeditious absence. From the very beginning--from the first moment, I may say--of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressed me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others. This was such as to form the groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built an immovable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed upon to love. Fault me for incivility if you will, for not allowing you to complete your offer. For my part, believe me when I tell you there is no consideration which would tempt me to accept any offer you care to make to me. And there is no offer I believe you capable of making, sir, which would do you any credit as a gentleman, and certainly none which I, as a woman gently reared, should be importuned to hear."
At that, Mr. Darcy reared back, his face going white with shock.
"This," he gasped with an expression akin to pain, "is your opinion of me?"
Elizabeth glared at him with implacable resentment.
"Miss Bennet, I came here to ask you to consent to be my wife," he said hoarsely. "But of course, that is quite unthinkable now. You have made your feelings understood perfectly; now I have only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness."
He left hurriedly before Elizabeth could speak another word, and she stared at the door as it closed behind him in shock and horror, the flush of rage subsiding as the full import of what he had said sank in. Pale and trembling, she sank weakly into a chair, and whispered, "Dear God--what have I done?"
Part Twelve
Elizabeth repaired to her room that evening before her sisters and brother-in-law returned from Rosings and would not come down to supper, pleading illness. Twice Jane tried her door and attempted to check on her, and twice Elizabeth sent her away with an entreaty not to be disturbed. Her shame, her utter mortification, could not allow her to be in company--even if only amongst relatives--with the knowledge of how disgracefully she had behaved heavy in her mind. She did not know how she could ever possibly face anyone again, much less her dearest Jane, of whom she thought so well and whose approval was so very important to her.
Whatever insult she had imagined Mr. Darcy to be dealing her, the one she had dealt him in actuality had been far, far graver. She had accused him to his face of the basest, most dishonourable motives on a mere assumption of his intent. That he was not engaged to his cousin was quite belatedly apparent to her, and that engagement had been the rationale upon which she had based all her understanding of his "scandalous" behavior. Thus, the non-existence of that engagement meant that all her understanding of how he had conducted himself was false. And if she had been wrong about that, what else might she have been mistaken about?
There was still the matter of his treatment of Jane and his interference with Mr. Bingley, but Elizabeth felt she could no longer trust her judgement on these matters. Of Bingley, she could only say to Mr. Darcy's credit that he had been far kinder to Mr. Bingley than he had to himself, to save that fine gentleman from marriage with a woman who could behave as shamefully as she herself had done. Still, she attempted to hearten herself, he HAD paid Jane a great deal of attention, and then abandoned her, and Jane WAS heartbroken since Mr. Darcy had left Hertfordshire. Of that, she could not acquit him. Even though, and no matter how dearly she loved Jane and ached for her pain, it was a far lesser crime than the one her imagination had led her to accuse Darcy of. She still had much cause to resent him, but her own disgraceful behavior ameliorated that resentment until she was no longer sure how much fault she should rightly assign to him.
She passed the night in fretting wakefulness, and was up before anyone else. Still unable to bring herself to face the others, she went out for a walk and did not return until well after breakfast. When she did so, it was to find that Mr. Collins was calling at Rosings as he did nearly every day, and Mrs. Collins was out tending to an ailing parishioner. And shortly after they had left, Jane reported, Mr. Darcy had called to make his farewells.
"Mr. Darcy was here?" Elizabeth asked in distress.
"He left not half an hour ago, and I understand he was immediately for town. It seems he has been required to return to London two days sooner than he had originally planned. Colonel Fitzwilliam will remain at Rosings until Saturday as he had originally intended. And Mr. Darcy gave me *this*...for you." Jane pitched her voice low, and presented Elizabeth with an envelope upon which was inscribed her name.
Elizabeth stared at the sealed missive in her hands, her eyes downcast. She could not bring herself to open it, for she knew the condemnations it would contain. That he had made the indiscreet move of writing her a letter was offset only by his highly discreet means of delivering it, for none could be relied upon to handle such a matter more circumspectly than Jane.
"He did not say what it was about," Jane said after a moment, her tone an unhappy one, "and I did not ask. I know only this: Lizzy, you are distressed, and it pains me to see it. Will you not explain to me what has happened?"
Elizabeth nodded mutely, then: "I shall. Only give me a moment to read this, first. Then certainly my tale shall be complete ere I tell it." Elizabeth excused herself to her room and with shaking hands, broke the seal on the letter. With no expectation of pleasure, Elizabeth opened the letter.
It was dated from Rosings early that morning, and read:
Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of those sentiments which were last night so disgusting to you. I write without any intention of paining you, or humbling myself, by dwelling on wishes which, for the happiness of both, cannot be too soon forgotten. It is not my inclination to defend or explain myself in any regard to you after the day which has passed, but I am compelled to do so, lest I find false report of my character has spread. You must, therefore, pardon the freedom with which I demand your attention; your feelings, I know, will bestow it unwillingly, but I demand it of your justice.
Three offenses of a very different nature, and by no means of equal magnitude, you last night laid to my charge. The first mentioned was that I had wilfully engaged the affections of your elder sister and excited a general expectation of marriage, and then abandoned her, leaving her humiliated and heartbroken. The second was that I did intervene in the matter of your association with Mr. Bingley and prevent him from seeking your own hand. The third is that that I had, in defiance of various claims, in defiance of honour and humanity, ruined the immediate prosperity and blasted the prospects of Mr. Wickham. Wilfully and wantonly to have thrown off the companion of my youth, the acknowledged favourite of my father, a young man who had scarcely any other dependence than on our patronage, and who had been brought up to expect its exertion, would be a depravity, to which the separation of two young persons, whose affection could be the growth of only a few weeks, or the abandonment of a young woman whose affections were profound and sincere, could bear no comparison. But from the severity of that blame which was last night so liberally bestowed, respecting each circumstance, I shall hope to be in the future secured, when the following account of my actions and their motives has been read. If, in the explanation of them, which is due to myself, I am under the necessity of relating feelings which may be offensive to yours, I can only say that I am sorry. The necessity must be obeyed, and further apology would be absurd.
The first two counts, I think you will find, are one in the same when all is explained. I had not been long in Hertfordshire, before I saw that Bingley preferred your elder sister to any other young woman in the country. And because I had taken the time to become acquainted with Miss Bennet and establish a friendship with her (something which, I confess, I did not trouble myself to do with most others in Hertfordshire society--a fault upon which you have already dwelt with uncommon zeal and for which I shall not excuse myself again) I soon came to understand that she returned his attachment full measure. This was not easy to discern or immediately apparent, for your sister exhibits a serenity and reserve not terribly common in young women. Indeed, this was one reason why I found her society pleasing above that of the rest of your Hertfordshire acquaintance. I had often seen Bingley in love before, but never had I witnessed such a depth of attachment from him. I thought their natures very well suited each to the other and while I did point out to Bingley the disadvantages of marrying into a family with such low connections and fortune, these considerations, I confess, troubled his sisters more than myself, for after witnessing the attachment between your sister and Mr. Bingley, I felt them not insurmountable. There were, however, other causes for concern that I did felt it within my responsibilities as his friend and confidante to point out; causes which I myself would have done well to remember however strenuously I endeavoured to forget. These causes must be stated, though briefly. The situation of your mother's family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison to that total want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly betrayed by herself, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father. But amidst your concern for the defects of your nearest relations, and your displeasure at this representation of them, let it give you consolation to consider that your elder sister has conducted herself in such a manner as to avoid any share of the like censure, and praise is no less generally hers for her sense and disposition. Because of this, despite all concerns, in my heart I wished Bingley and Miss Bennet well and anticipated that it would not be long ere he made an offer for your sister.
However, on the night of the Netherfield ball, while I had the honour of dancing with you, I became aware, by Sir William Lucas's accidental information, that my friendship with Miss Bennet had given rise to a general expectation of our marriage. He spoke of it as a certain event, of which the time alone could be undecided. Upon the propriety of such a presumption we shall not dwell, but I do contend that I paid your sister no greater attention than did any other friend of her acquaintance (and considerably less than Bingley himself did) and that any assumption that our association would lead to marriage was an extraordinary one indeed. From that moment I observed the conversations and behavior of the company closely and understood that, aided no doubt by your mother's certainty that such an event would be soon forthcoming, this expectation was a common one, closely held by all your society. Indeed, it seemed the only person in Hertfordshire with no such misapprehension of my intentions toward Miss Bennet was she herself. Lest my continued presence excite further speculation about my regard for your sister and cause undue distress to her and my friend, I resolved the only honourable course of action I could take would be to quit Hertfordshire immediately. I expected Bingley would remain and court her and that eventually they would marry. I have no understanding of his reasons for leaving the country so soon thereafter, except that his sisters encouraged his return to town. I assure you, if your sister has been heartbroken over these last months, it is not for me, and if you detected symptoms of a woman in love in her behavior, they were, likewise, for my friend. Normally, I would credit you with a superior knowledge of your sister and her emotions and accept that if you said she was in love with me, then so it must be, but on this matter, especially in light of my continued friendship with Miss Bennet here in Kent, I am quite certain of the accuracy of my assessment. If it be not so, if I have been misled by such error to inflict pain on her, your resentment has not been unreasonable, and shall be only slightly greater than my own grief, for I consider her a dear friend and would be greatly troubled to have occasioned any pain on her part. But I feel it only fair to assert that the serenity of your sister's countenance and the amiability of her temper (those very traits for which I found her so eligible a friend) would confound even the most acute observer as to her true inclination. I do not believe her to be indifferent to me and in love with him because I wish it--indeed, I can imagine no greater honour than to be so esteemed by a woman of Miss Bennet's intelligence, understanding, and discernment--I believe it on impartial conviction and on my acquaintance with both her and Mr. Bingley.
As regards the second charge you laid against me, that I did wilfully contrive to bring an end to Mr. Bingley's attentions toward you, I fully admit that this is so. In light of the preceding rationale, surely you cannot be hard pressed to understand my reasons for doing so. Though I know not the particulars of Mr. Bingley's departure from Hertfordshire, I do know that his affection for your sister holds true and that he has not been the same man since returning to London this winter. Why he then turned his attentions to you was something of a mystery to me, as his correspondence is difficult to decipher under the best of circumstances, but I believe him to be under the impression that your sister has no regard for him, and has never had any regard for him. But when he lately wrote me and announced his intention to return to Hertfordshire to pay court to you, I knew I could not allow the matter to pass without intervening, especially after I had witnessed what had passed between he and your sister. It gives me no pleasure to bring you pain, madam, but you must know that whatever affection he held for you is one borne of disappointed hopes and the desire to salve a wounded heart. He wished himself to be in love with you, rather than believed it to be so. I did interfere and make known to him that I believe both he and yourself deserved more happiness than such a union could provide, for I detected in your behavior no symptom of peculiar regard for my friend, either. You have spoken of him these last weeks no more or less indifferently than you have of my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, or any other gentleman of your acquaintance. To my observation, you are congenial and affable to all, but preferential to none. There is but one part of my conduct in the whole affair on which I do not reflect with satisfaction; it is, I confess, that my presumption in interfering in this matter was not entirely disinterested. But of that, I believe it is best, we shall say no more. I offer no apology for what I have done, because I believed myself to be acting in the best interest of all the parties involved, not discounting yourself. If I have wounded your feelings, it was unknowingly done and I have not yet learnt to condemn my motives for doing it.
With respect to that final and most weighty accusation, of having injured Mr. Wickham, I offer no explanation, excuse, or defense to you, madam. Not because I stand guilty of the indictment, but because after the night past, I am in no humour to lay bare the dealings of my family for your approval and see no reason to expose my private concerns to you. Of what he particularly accuses me of, I am ignorant, but it does not signify. Acquit or condemn me for cruelty towards the man, it matters not to me. I offer you only this, for your own sake and that of your family (and hopefully I have with the preceding explanations regained enough credit in your estimation that you will believe the advice is given with the complete sincerity): take the utmost care of how you expose yourself and your family to the society of George Wickham, else you may come to rue the day you made his acquaintance. There is more than one witness of incontrovertible credibility who will attest that the man is not what he makes himself appear to be. Colonel Fitzwilliam, in point of fact, is such a one and may attest impartially on the man's character. Protect yourself and your sisters and be on your guard in his presence. On this matter, I have nothing more to say.
I shall endeavour to find some opportunity of putting this letter in your hands in the course of the morning. I wish you every happiness. God bless you. FITZWILLIAM DARCY.
Elizabeth sat immobile for a good while after reading the letter. She had thought that surely she could not have been more mortified than she had been after the import of what she had said to him the previous evening had sunk in, but she had been mistaken. His disdain for her and her good opinion was made painfully obvious by the portion of the letter dealing with Wickham, and by the fact that he did not exempt her from the arguments her family posed against Bingley's inclination for her sister. And for that, she could not fault him, for in what aspect of her acquaintance with Mr. Darcy had she conducted herself with any degree of credibility? How many times had she gossiped about him, or attempted to draw others into conversations disparaging his character? How many times had he attempted to converse with her as she responded only by trying to provoke him and further secure her judgement against him? Now she was left to look back on their association and recognize just how shamefully she had behaved from the moment he had first insulted her. But for that one indiscreet remark, he had never been anything other than a gentleman, had never treated her with anything less than civility and courtesy. Reticent he was of a certainty, but was that such a sin that she should blast the man's character and twist his every motivation as she had, until she believed him capable of the most base conduct? She had thought, upon first receiving his letter, that he may have intended to apologize, but now she understood that he owed her no such apology. The fault was almost universally HERS.
She read every sentence of the letter dreading the next for the new facet of her own folly it would expose, and yet she was unable to stop herself reading it. His disapproval of her was right and just, his explanations completely unwarranted, for none were due her. That he felt the need to PROTECT himself lest she gossip and damage his reputation with her accusations demonstrated just how deeply she had sunk in his estimation. If he had believed himself to be in love with her before, it was quite certain that no such inclination could exist after what she done. His letter was full of the pride and insolence of which she had always accused him, only now she could not reprove him for it.
His refusal to defend himself on the matter of Mr. Wickham filled her with a sinking sense of dread that you had been grossly misled on that front. The honesty of Wickham's countenance now worked against him in her mind, for she knew she had never for a moment questioned his assertions, had never considered the impropriety of his laying the matter bare before her only after a few moments' acquaintance. Also called into question was Mr. Wickham's inconsistent conduct. He had said he would not run from Darcy, yet he had done just that on the night of the Netherfield ball. And he had also said he would not publicly expose Darcy's treatment of him, yet Elizabeth could not think of an acquaintance in Hertfordshire who did not know the story, and she had heard Wickham relating it to her family and other officers of the regiment at tea. The man's own behavior was full of contradictions! Why then did she give his words such weight as to never compare them with his actions?
On the matter of Jane and Bingley, she tried to disregard his words, but couldn't. Now, every particular of Bingley's interaction with Jane in Hertfordshire came back to her, and she saw again those moments which had confirmed in her opinion that Jane was in love. The blushes and smiles and general tendency toward happiness--and all of them happened not in just the presence of Mr. Darcy, but while Mr. Darcy was accompanied by Mr. Bingley! Mr. Darcy conversed with Jane, it was true, and even danced with her that first evening in Meryton, but Mr. Bingley danced with her far oftener and paid her more attention. Darcy's behavior had only stood out because it contrasted so with his behavior toward all the other young ladies in Hertfordshire. Excepting, of course, Elizabeth herself! For he had invited her to dance more than once, and had conversed with her nearly as often as with Jane. But Bingley's attentions had been almost universally exclusive; she now could not form an accurate tally of the number of times she had seem him dance with Jane at the Netherfield ball. His concern over Jane's illness, and all the time he spent conversing with her now took on new significance. Had not an expectation already been formed of Jane's union with Mr. Darcy, it would have been quite apparent to everyone that she was being courted by Bingley!
How had she not seen all this before? Elizabeth could not account for it in any regard, but for wilful blindness. She had thought to attract Bingley herself and had never considered that he might prefer another. And why had she been determined to attract Bingley in the first place? Mr. Darcy was completely right; she did not love the man, had never loved the man, had never even been in the slightest danger of loving the man. Yet she had fully contemplated and decided upon marriage with him! And why? Because he had danced a dance with her and complimented her after Darcy had insulted her? Or was it more than that? Was it that her mother had decided from the very start that Jane should get the wealthiest and most eligible gentleman, and Elizabeth should take whatever was left afterwards, even her odious cousin, Collins, if he would have her. Had her determination to win Bingley been an attempt to demonstrate that she, too, could appeal to a wealthy, handsome, and respectable man? She had never even stopped to question her mother's judgement where Jane and Darcy were concerned, even though she had known for years just how frequently her mother's understanding was faulty. Had she truly let her mother influence her to this extent, that she would have entered a marriage with a man she had never more than merely liked simply because she expected no better? Why, she was no different from Charlotte Lucas! She had protested Charlotte's scheme of exaggerating affection to secure a comfortable union vehemently indeed, but was that not exactly what she had attempted to do?
Elizabeth had never imagined dispair such as she was experiencing now, for she now knew herself to have been unjust to a decent and honorable gentleman, and now she had a scope of the breadth and width of that injustice. Tears of remorse and regret were an insufficient and somehow self-congratulatory penance. Indeed, she knew not how she could ever atone for such behavior, and she sincerely doubted she should ever get the opportunity.
A knock on her door drew her from her musings, and she looked up, wiping her eyes as Jane entered.
"Oh, Lizzy," Jane sighed, seeing her sister's distress and rushing to embrace her. Her beloved Jane's tenderness caused a renewal of her weeping, and she let herself be held in her sister's arms and rocked comfortingly for some moments.
"Dearest Jane, how foolishly I have behaved!" Elizabeth confessed after a moment. "Why did you never tell me you were in love with Bingley?"
"Because I thought you preferred him," Jane murmured in her hair, hesitating only for a moment. "And I did not wish to be in competition with you.".
"No...I only ever just liked him. I somehow managed to convince myself that it could be more if I just had the time to know him, but I see now what a vain hope it was. And now when I think of all the pain I have given you..."
"Oh, no, Lizzy...you have given me no pain. If I am heartbroken it is my own fault; I presumed too much on his affections. It is apparent now that he did not love me, for he has never returned to Hertfordshire and never means to."
"Oh, but you are wrong, my Jane. I have it on good account--" Elizabeth gestured to the letter which she still held clutched in her hand, "that Bingley does indeed return your affections. And would have returned to Hertfordshire, had be not been rescued from the folly of courting me!"
Jane made no remark to this, and Elizabeth knew she was still considering this intelligence. At length, Jane asked, "Will you not tell me what happened with Mr. Darcy?"
Haltingly, Elizabeth related the events of the night before; how Mr. Darcy had come to propose and she had misconstrued his intentions, wrongly thinking him to have been engaged and to have already trifled with Jane's affections. She shamefully confessed the horrible accusation she had made, and how injured he had been by it.
"Lizzy!" Jane gasped, shocked into an uncharacteristic display of censure, "how could you!"
"I no longer know! I have not been myself since he entered Hertfordshire! Or mayhap I have been myself and have only now come to understand how conceited and prejudiced I've been, never seeing what a decent man was before me. I could see nothing redeeming about him, but only because I did not want to see."
"I knew him better than you, for I had the opportunity to establish a closer acquaintance. I knew the pride you accused him of was merely reserve, and I tried to tell you so. Was my judgment not sufficient?" Jane asked.
"I pray you, do not scold me, Jane, for I am sufficiently engaged in that pastime for the both of us! How despicably I have acted!" she cried; "I, who have prided myself on my discernment! I, who preened at my father's praise of my good sense and judgment! Who have often disdained the generous candour of my sister, and gratified my vanity in useless or blameable mistrust! I cannot even protest my humiliation, for none was ever humbled who deserved it more richly! Had I been in love, I could not have been more wretchedly blind! But vanity, not love, has been my folly. Mr. Darcy did sting my pride with a single injudicious insult that first night, and I never forgave him for it. That resentment has led me to wrong a good and decent man. Pleased with the preference of Mr. Wickham, and offended by the neglect of the Mr. Darcy, on the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courted prepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away. Till this moment I never knew myself."
She wept again for a time, and Jane comforted her, sighing, "Oh, Lizzy, dear, dear Lizzy...do not trouble yourself so. You couldn't have known!"
"Do not pardon me, Jane--I deserve no such consideration. Had I only once opened my eyes, I SHOULD have known!"
"Lizzy," Jane said with a touch of impatience, pulling away. "I can either scold you or not, or I can pardon you or not, but you must decide which, for I cannot do both. And for my part, I should much rather think you the best and dearest of sisters who only wished to protect me from pain, and believe your motives to be good, even if your actions weren't."
"How shall I ever make this right?" Elizabeth fretted. "I have dealt Mr. Darcy a blow no man of reasonable pride can ever forgive, and you must admit that though he is not guilty of the things I assumed him to be, he is still a man of pride. I have wronged him grievously, and there is nothing to be done to make amends, for I shall surely never see him again. It is a hopeless case. He now has ever cause in the world to think ill of me, and his good opinion, once lost, is gone forever."