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Chapter Six

In following days, Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam called frequently at the parsonage. Elizabeth could not imagine why Mr. Darcy would willingly seek her company, but she supposed the scarcity of diversions at Rosings must be the primary reason. Evidently her society compared favorably to that of Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh, but that compliment was slight at best.

Colonel Fitzwilliam’s manners were admired by all at Hunsford, and he amiably conversed with Elizabeth and her hosts. Whatever drew Mr. Darcy to accompany him on these visits, however, it was clearly not a desire for conversation. The gentleman spoke rarely and reluctantly. The surest way to close a topic to further discussion was to solicit Mr. Darcy’s opinion of it.

While he preferred to haunt the corner of the sitting room and say little, Mr. Darcy continued to stare at Elizabeth determinedly. By now, she was becoming quite immune to the sensation and had, for the most part, ceased attempting to discern the thoughts behind his stern expression. If Mr. Darcy was resolved to note her every fault, there seemed little Elizabeth could do to dissuade him. Once, during one of Mr. Collins’ grandiloquent turns, her gaze caught his, and the suggestion of a smile flickered across Mr. Darcy’s grave countenance – a glimmer of the gentleman she had begun to know at Netherfield. She excused it, however, as amusement at her cousin’s prattle, or perhaps only absence of mind.

During her ramble in the park one morning, Elizabeth met with Mr. Darcy by chance. He seemed as disconcerted as she by this unfortunate coincidence, and she mentioned her preference for that particular grove so that he might avoid her in the future. How strange, then, that she should meet with him there again the following day! On this occasion, Mr. Darcy did not seem at all surprised to cross paths with her, and he did not make polite greetings and take his leave quickly, but insisted on walking her back to the parsonage.

"Mr. Darcy, I assure you, I am quite capable of finding my own way back to Hunsford."

When he did not answer, Elizabeth was exasperated. The man seemed perfectly content to dance in silence, walk in silence -- perhaps, she imagined, Mr. Darcy suffered from some mysterious affliction that prevented him from moving both his lips and his feet simultaneously. Well, if he would punish her with his presence, she would exact the price of some conversation in return.

"On further reflection, I suppose I ought to express gratitude for your escort. Your cousin’s tale the other day alerts me to the potential dangers of Rosings Park. Who should guess these pleasant meadows and groves to harbor pernicious snakes?"

"My cousin tends to exaggerate in his enthusiasm, Miss Bennet. The creature in question was a rather pitiful excuse for a snake. It would hardly warrant your alarm."

"What became of it, I wonder?"

"The snake?" Mr. Darcy shot her a quizzical expression. "I hardly remember. I daresay I let it escape."

"Once again, sir, your renowned charity shames my own behavior. My own childhood quarries were not so fortunate."

"Did you catch snakes, then?" Mr. Darcy’s tone was all astonishment, and Elizabeth delighted in this opportunity to further scandalize his notions of strict propriety.

"Oh, no! Never snakes. Only frogs and toads, you see. I once stowed away a frog in the drawer of my father’s desk, but – as I intimated just now – he was not so fortunate as your snake, for he did not survive the experience."

Mr. Darcy looked askance at her, and Elizabeth continued blithely. "I see you are reluctant, sir, to inquire as to the particulars of my poor frog’s demise, but I shall enlighten you just the same. When my dear father opened the drawer, the creature made an impressive leap for freedom. It was simple bad luck that he landed in a steaming cup of tea."

At this, her companion stifled a strange sort of chortling cough. Elizabeth wondered if Mr. Darcy’s affliction also affected his capacity for real laughter. Would he even recognize the sound if it escaped him?

"Tragic, to be sure," he said, once his composure was intact. "But I expect your father did not thrash you for it."

"No, indeed. I was, however, made to copy out a lengthy passage of Milton. ‘Satan there they found, squat like a toad, close at the ear of Eve…’ and so forth."

"I should have preferred that punishment, myself."

"Then I know the perfect passage," she said. "The serpent, ‘suttlest beast of all the field.’ If you care to attempt it, a copy resides in Mr. Collins’ library."

"I will politely decline," he replied in a light tone that Elizabeth might have mistaken for teasing, had she not known better. "For your sake, I hope Mr. Collins’ library is better supplied than Mr. Bingley’s."

"It is. Though predictably, its contents tend toward sermons and other moralistic fare."

They lapsed into silence for a few moments, and the pause in their discourse gave Elizabeth the opportunity to marvel at its very existence. To think, she and Mr. Darcy had sustained a civil conversation for a duration of some minutes! Furthermore, the gentleman seemed inclined to continue it of his own volition.

"Mr. Collins seems very fortunate in his choice of a wife."

Perhaps the pleasant exchange would end here, she considered. Elizabeth knew the proper reply would be some benign comment on the prudence of the match and the couple’s mutual felicity, but such would not reflect her honest opinion. No, she decided, she would not attempt to purchase Mr. Darcy’s approval through mindless agreement in the manner of Miss Bingley. If he wished to walk with her, and furthermore converse with her, he ought to be aware that her true feelings would not be repressed.

"I cannot deny that is a beneficial match for both, but I am inclined to place all the good fortune on Mr. Collins’ side. Charlotte is a dear friend, and I should judge any man fortunate to marry her. I cannot count any woman as fortunate, however, when she is led to accept a gentleman not on the basis of affection or respect, but solely for her own security. I know such arrangements are common enough, but I would wish better for my friend."

Elizabeth thought Mr. Darcy’s lack of response signaled that she had once again offended his sensibilities with her forthrightness. When she ventured a glance in his direction, however, his countenance appeared merely pensive.

"Although, now that I have seen her settled at Hunsford," she continued, "I am pleased to discover that Charlotte seems perfectly happy. However tepid their affection for one another, she and Mr. Collins seem united in deepest passion for her ladyship’s patronage. When two share a devotion to some greater purpose, I suppose their individual eccentricities fade into insignificance."

"In any event, I expect your friend is happy to be settled so near her family. There are but fifty miles of good road between here and Meryton; it is little more than a half-day’s journey."

"Near her family?" Elizabeth laughed. It amused her that such a wealthy gentleman of the world as Mr. Darcy should possess his own particular sort of naiveté. "Fifty miles may be a short distance to those of means, perhaps, but Mr. and Mrs. Collins’ income is not so ample as to permit frequent visits. I am convinced my friend would not consider herself near her family by any definition."

"Surely, for one who has never ventured beyond her own neighborhood, anything more than a few miles might seem a great distance. But you, Miss Bennet, have had the benefit of travel. Would you always wish to be so near Longbourn?"

His question was one Elizabeth had pondered herself, and she wished she could reward his perception with a more decided answer. Before her trips to the Peak District and now Kent, she would have been content to always remain in Hertfordshire. Watching Charlotte depart after her wedding, however, Elizabeth had felt an unexpected swell of envy. She was not jealous of her friend’s husband or situation, of course, but she felt a queer resentment that Charlotte’s life was in motion while her own stood still.

"Yours is not an easy question to answer, Mr. Darcy. I am very fond of my home, to be sure. But sometimes it seems that affection improves with separation. When I traveled with my aunt and uncle to the Peak District last summer, we stopped at Dovedale – Certainly, you are familiar with its beauty?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, as we followed the windings of the river, each bend in the path afforded a uniquely charming prospect. However, I regretted that we were always prevented, by the narrow and tortuous nature of the valley, from appreciating the whole. Only by climbing the bluffs nearby could we admire the stunning landscape in its totality. I have since concluded that distance inspires a deeper admiration in some cases, with people as well as nature. Only this morning, I found myself missing the chatter of blackbirds outside my window at Longbourn, though weeks ago I cursed their daybreak discord. When I leave Kent, I expect I shall embrace my family and friends in Hertfordshire all the more eagerly for having been parted from them."

Here they reached a point in the lane where, by turning and traversing the park, they might take the most direct route toward the parsonage. Mr. Darcy did not veer from the path, however, but kept walking forward. Whether he was merely distracted or deliberately prolonging their conversation, Elizabeth dared not guess, but she was of no mind to change course, herself.

"Of course, I have only been absent from my home for a few weeks. It must be quite different for a gentleman like yourself, who travels freely from London to Hertfordshire to Kent and so forth. You must be rarely in residence at your own estate."

"Indeed, far less than I would like," he said. "It has been several months since I have stopped there more than a few days, and then only to attend to estate business. I imagine it is a greater burden on my sister. Her illness and recovery have kept her in London for the better part of a year, and I know she is eager to return to Pemberley. I would wish her to become comfortable in town, however, for soon she will be introduced to society and spend the full season there."

"Is she to come out this year, then?"

"No. The next, perhaps. She is but sixteen."

"That is rather young, for full presentation to society."

"Your youngest sisters are of an age with my own, and they are out."

Elizabeth laughed. "I believe you argue my own point, Mr. Darcy. Our situation is quite different, of course – being five sisters close in age and moving as we do in limited society. Though I would never own to it in Lady Catherine’s hearing, Kitty and Lydia’s public conduct often causes me to question the wisdom of their early introduction. But certainly, you need have no similar concerns about Miss Darcy’s comportment. She is reported by all to be so accomplished and genteel."

"Too much so, I fear. Her temperament has always tended toward reserve, and the hardships of the past year seem to have increased her inclination toward solitude. I must fault my own indulgence in this matter, for I have been unwilling to press her into varied company. I share guardianship of my sister with Colonel Fitzwilliam, and I will rely upon his more sociable nature to ease her introduction. As for her accomplishment, I suppose you refer to Miss Bingley’s admiration of her skill at the pianoforte. It is true that my sister plays very well, but Miss Bingley could have little knowledge of it. Georgiana is exceedingly reluctant to admit any outside our family to the privilege of hearing her play."

Elizabeth was amazed that Mr. Darcy would confide in her such private thoughts and concerns. It seemed this simple stroll through the park had taken them further than either intended. She worried that at any moment he would remember himself and find cause to reject her anew for her impertinent interference. She could not bear to look at him, for fear of meeting a reproachful glare. No amount of witty retorts could mask her pain on this occasion, should he renew his censure.

"It is not only Miss Bingley’s report that has formed my impression, I assure you. Your very gracious housekeeper acquainted me with Miss Darcy’s affinity for music some months ago. ‘She plays and sings all day long’ – those were her words."

"Mrs. Reynolds is an exceptionally devoted servant of Pemberley."

"She is exceptionally devoted to you, quite clearly!" Elizabeth recalled the housekeeper’s glowing description of her master. At the time, her adulation seemed almost too much to believe, but by now Elizabeth had seen every word of her praise proved true in Mr. Darcy’s behavior.

Their progress along the lane had slowed to a ponderous pace, and she stole a quick glance up at him to find his face still clouded with concern. Elizabeth could not comprehend her startlingly strong admiration of this man, which, if it continued to grow at such an alarming rate, would soon eclipse even Mrs. Reynolds’ steadfast devotion. Neither could she explain her desire to earn his approval, but if his regard for her amounted to a small fraction of the esteem in which she held him, she felt she would be satisfied. His friendship and good opinion were fast becoming requirements of her happiness, it seemed. But even these essentials were at present overshadowed by the need to ease his distress, as much as it lay within her power to do so.

"If I may be so bold, Mr. Darcy, I believe you concern yourself too much on your sister’s account. She is still quite young and has suffered much – her reserve is understandable, and your patience with her commendable." From his description, Elizabeth imagined Miss Darcy to be much like Jane -- possessed of such sweet, inoffensive goodness that it might be mistaken for complacency. Jane should have benefited from a more sensitive guardian -- one who did not force her into gentlemen’s notice or parade her about.

"I have observed," she continued slowly, "that great depth of feeling is often belied by a placid demeanor. There are some individuals so pure of spirit that their emotions cannot be alloyed with the cheaper element of public display. It is a virtue, not a failing. Perhaps it is to Miss Darcy’s credit, then, that she does not perform to strangers."

"Miss Bennet …" Mr. Darcy slowed to a halt, and Elizabeth felt her pulse stop likewise. It took all the strength of will she could muster simply to meet his countenance, but the look that awaited her there was one of such kindness and warmth, she felt she might never lack for courage again.

"There is a path, just there – through the wood. It will lead us back toward the parsonage, but the ground is rather uneven. Perhaps you had better take my arm."

Elizabeth accepted both his arm and his overture in the friendly spirit she knew them to be offered. She knew she ought to be contented with this small truce and the easy amiability in which they now proceeded along the path. His friendship was more than she had dared expect and perhaps nothing greater than what she had earned. It was, however, far less than she desired.

Darcy commended himself on his restraint. It was no small triumph of sense over sentiment that he had offered Miss Elizabeth Bennet only his arm, when the force of passion would have had him adding his heart and hand into the bargain.

His eyes went to where her gloved hand lay lightly on his sleeve. The weight of her touch was barely perceptible against his arm, but he felt its heavy consequence in the core of his being. He could not recall conversing so freely and naturally with any other lady of his acquaintance – in truth, with any other person. It was all too easy to imagine walking on with her thus forever.

But these were ridiculous notions, he chided himself. She was only here at Rosings – with him – at her manipulative mother’s behest. Miss Bennet had made it only too obvious that she held him in no special regard, and had she not just stated plainly that she would not wish a loveless match upon a friend? Clearly, nothing less than truest affection would persuade her to marriage, herself. Her integrity was both admirable and agonizing.

Even if she favored him, Darcy admonished himself, it was absurd to entertain thoughts of an alliance with such a family. Fine eyes and lively spirit notwithstanding, her low connections, lack of fortune, and indecorous relations ought to provide sufficient inducement to banish all matrimonial nonsense from his mind. And so they might - but what powerful persuasion should dislodge her from his heart?

The following morning Elizabeth wandered in the grove for some time, hoping to meet with Mr. Darcy again. At length a gentleman did appear, but it was Colonel Fitzwilliam who joined her and not his cousin.

If she could not talk with Mr. Darcy, however, it seemed she could not help but talk about him, and Colonel Fitzwilliam was only too happy to bolster her positive impressions with his own humorous anecdotes. Elizabeth was not surprised to hear the colonel describe his cousin as a most loyal friend.

"To be certain," she agreed. "He takes great care of Mr. Bingley, for one."

"Ah, yes. Mr. Bingley. I believe my cousin has only recently rescued that gentleman from a most imprudent association."

"Indeed?"

Elizabeth supposed that Colonel Fitzwilliam referred to some financial dealing or a matter of estate business. It was easy to imagine Mr. Darcy giving his subtle guidance to Mr. Bingley on such matters, much as she had witnessed when the poacher was apprehended at Netherfield.

While she had become accustomed to hearing reports that praised his generosity, she was not yet inured to their gratifying effect. She therefore enjoined the colonel to further explain the particulars of Mr. Bingley’s most recent scrape. To her complete dismay, the details of the matter were not at all what she had surmised.

Posted on Thursday, 20 July 2006

Chapter Seven

That evening, desperate to avoid another invitation to Rosings, Elizabeth pleaded a headache. She could not bear the prospect of facing Mr. Darcy – not after her conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam that afternoon. Mr. Collins took no pains to hide his displeasure with Elizabeth’s ill-timed indisposition; for her if her ladyship desired cards, the tables would now be uneven. At length, however, Charlotte’s gentle prodding and the imminent prospect of a tardy arrival persuaded him to leave her behind.

At last alone with her thoughts, Elizabeth brought out all of Jane’s letters from London and set herself to examining each one closely. Aside from the portions that detailed Miss Bingley’s cold treatment, there was no complaint or expression of actual suffering within their pages. There was, however, a decided want of Jane’s usual cheerful manner, and the more Elizabeth read, the more she was convinced that her sister had been wounded deeply indeed. Jane had dared to love and dared to hope, and the happiness she and Mr. Bingley deserved had been cruelly denied them by two interfering individuals. Miss Bingley’s conduct Elizabeth had long despised, but only today had she learned of another’s complicity in Jane’s maltreatment. In seeking to tout his cousin’s capacity for loyal friendship, Colonel Fitzwilliam had unwittingly implicated him in the infliction of Jane’s suffering. Elizabeth was left to contend with a bitter realization: the source of her dearest sister’s pain was none other than Mr. Darcy.

Mr. Darcy -- the man she had held in high esteem even before making his acquaintance, and toward whom she had harbored the beginnings of a tender affection. While her family and neighbors had marked him as proud and haughty, Elizabeth had foolishly believed herself in possession of an intimate knowledge of his character. Blinded by her own feelings, she had excused his every proud mannerism and given him the benefit of every doubt.

Mr. Darcy’s desire to distance himself from the Bennet family could scarcely be condemned, she had reasoned, given their continual displays of impropriety in his presence. Although his disdain for her family pained her, Elizabeth had been heretofore disinclined to fault him for it. That is, until this afternoon, when Colonel Fitzwilliam revealed to her Mr. Darcy’s efforts to separate Jane and Mr. Bingley, and worse – his shameful boasting of the misery he had been able to inflict upon them!

Lydia and Kitty’s silly displays notwithstanding, surely anyone, no matter how casually acquainted, could observe that dear, sweet Jane represented all that was proper and good in the Bennet family. And Mr. Bingley – if Elizabeth had ever met a more affable and unassuming gentleman, she could not remember him. How could Mr. Darcy, knowing the goodness of these two souls, inflict upon them this most acute suffering?

Elizabeth tried to believe that Colonel Fitzwilliam might have been mistaken. Perhaps Mr. Darcy’s reservations about her family merely encouraged Mr. Bingley to accept a course of action he had already been inclined to follow. But no, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s account must be true. What motive would he have to exaggerate his cousin’s satisfaction at such a “triumph,” as he called it? If Mr. Darcy believed himself to be acting in the best of intentions for his friend, why should his cousin report that he “congratulated himself” at that same friend’s agony?

Elizabeth was faced with the conclusion that her estimation of Mr. Darcy had been conceived in error, bred in continued misunderstanding, and colored by her own imprudent emotions. What a fool she had been! Her grip on Jane’s letters tightened until it threatened to tear the paper on which they were written. In her current state, nothing would have done so well as a brisk walk through the park to quell her anger, but, given the late hour and her feigned illness, she would have to content herself with a good cry in the safety of her chamber. It would be the last evening she humbled herself so for Mr. Darcy’s sake. Once her emotions were purged, she told herself, she would resolve to forget that gentleman immediately.

The very moment she had decided to retire to her chamber and welcome the tears that were already stinging her eyes, the doorbell gave her a start. She imagined it might be Colonel Fitzwilliam come to call; she had been unable to completely mask her distress with him earlier, and he had expressed concern for her well-being. Elizabeth quickly stood up, smoothing her dress with her hands and biting her lip mightily to stem her tears. It would not do to let him see her so upset and thus be confronted with inconvenient questions.

To Elizabeth’s utter amazement, it was not Colonel Fitzwilliam who entered the room, but Mr. Darcy! He immediately inquired after her health, and having received Elizabeth’s curt assurance that she was indeed well, began to pace about the room. She watched him, surprised at this uncharacteristic behavior, but could not bring herself to break the silence. Whatever he has come here to say, she thought, I dare not attempt to guess. Clearly, I have been blind, and he is as much a stranger to me now as he was the evening we were introduced at Meryton.

After a silence of a few minutes, Mr. Darcy seemed to come to a decision. He ceased his agitated pacing and approached her with an earnest and intense look that rendered Elizabeth quite breathless.

“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

Elizabeth’s astonishment was beyond expression. She found herself incapable of thought, much less speech. Her silence was evidently taken as encouragement, and Mr. Darcy began an avowal of all that he felt, and had long felt for her.

Mr. Darcy loves me! It cannot be true! Elizabeth’s heart leapt at the knowledge, and she immediately realized the impossibility of her earlier resolution to banish him from her thoughts. As much as her mind bade her remember dear Jane’s misery, her blood betrayed her completely. It suffused through all her limbs with rapidity, and she felt a warmth unlike any sensation she had ever experienced. As he made his declarations of love, an ardent expression transformed Mr. Darcy’s normally composed features. It was all Elizabeth could do to keep herself from throwing herself into his arms and ceasing his seemingly endless converse with her lips.

The blood thundering in Elizabeth’s ears began to slow, however, and she became once again sensible of the meaning of her suitor’s addresses. To her revulsion, she realized that even as he plied her with words of love, he was not more eloquent on the subject of tenderness than of pride.

“You must realize that my attachment to you goes against every expectation of my relations and peers and, I must add, against my own better judgment. It was clear from our earliest acquaintance that your family sought to elevate their position by bringing about our union. Despite my desire to avoid such base scheming, and your own obvious indifference, it was not a matter of weeks before my admiration for you began to cloud my judgment. This admiration soon deepened into a passionate regard despite my every intention to the contrary. Your charms, however unwillingly bestowed, have now irrevocably ensnared my heart. I beg you to relieve my suffering and consent to be my wife.”

Elizabeth’s elation at Mr. Darcy’s first blunt declaration of love could not have been more fleeting. Indeed, as she listened to the remainder of his suit, her blush of passion soon deepened to a color of acute embarrassment, and as he finally finished, her face burned with indignation. How dare he insinuate that she had courted his attentions through the scheming of her family? That she had sought to ensnare him with her charms? And this was his opinion of her!

She could not deny that the circumstances surrounding their earliest interactions lent themselves easily to this interpretation, but she had thought it many months since he had looked on her with such suspicion. To learn not only that he persisted in such a view, but to hear it voiced so decidedly and disdainfully; to be proved so wrong in her assessment of him twice in the space of a single day – it was insupportable!

“In cases such as this,” she ventured in halting tones, willing her voice to remain calm, “I believe the established mode is to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed. If I could feel gratitude, I would now thank you. But I cannot, Mr. Darcy. As much as I welcome your good opinion, I have never sought any such advances. I am sorry to occasion you pain. I can only hope that, now that you have unburdened yourself of such clearly distasteful sentiments, your unclouded judgment may assist you in overcoming them.”

Now it was Mr. Darcy’s turn to express astonishment. Elizabeth watched him struggle at length to master his emotions. Truly, he appeared quite pale, and for a moment she felt concerned for his health. Foolish girl, she chided herself. He has insulted you and your family in every way possible, and you still cannot help but concern yourself with his well-being?

At last, he spoke. “Is this all the answer I am to receive? May I ask why, with so little attempt at civility, I am thus rejected? But it is of little consequence.” The bitterness in his voice and thinly veiled anger it betrayed spurred Elizabeth to action. Unwise as it might be, she could not help but take full advantage of this opening in which to vent her own accusations against him.

“You may ask, sir, for I believe it to be of great consequence. But I might ask you why you came here to tell me that you loved me against your will, against your judgment, and even against your character? That you came in surrender to this long-planned scheme between my inferior relations and myself to ensnare you? Surely this is an excuse for incivility, if I was uncivil.”

Mr. Darcy looked as if he might speak, but Elizabeth would not give him the opportunity. If she relinquished the floor now, she might never gather the nerve to speak further.

“Mr. Darcy, until today I believed that we had forged a friendship of sorts, despite our tendency to spar and disagree. I foolishly believed myself to discern a goodness and decency beneath your proud manner, and – even more absurdly, it seems – I hoped that you had formed a similarly favorable opinion of my own disposition. You must believe me, Mr. Darcy, when I say I had not the slightest idea of the admiration you expressed tonight. I believed myself only the recipient of some measure of hard-won respect on your part. I felt fortunate enough to call you friend, with no hopes of a deeper attachment.

“I now realize how utterly I have deceived myself. If the tender feelings you expressed earlier had been in the smallest way motivated by a true understanding of my own character, you could not possibly believe me capable of employing art or scheme to catch a husband, to – how did you phrase it – ‘elevate my position?’ Admittedly, my mother’s preoccupation with securing her daughters’ futures is often improperly displayed, but neither the desires nor designs of my mother have ever ruled my conduct, else you should have greeted me in this house as ‘Mrs. Collins’ this evening.”

At this admission, Mr. Darcy’s eyes grew wide, but he kept silent and sank into a nearby armchair. It was now Elizabeth’s turn to pace the room.

“But you mistake me, Mr. Darcy, if I give the impression that the manner of your addresses was the cause for my refusal. The offense caused by your accusations has only served to spare me any hesitation I might have felt in wounding your feelings, had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner. For as much as you have misunderstood my own character, Mr. Darcy, I have just this afternoon learned to what extent my own estimation of yours was so ill-judged. I have far better reason to refuse you, you know I have.”

Anger flared across Mr. Darcy’s countenance. “You speak of Mr. Wickham, I presume. I know you take an eager interest in that gentleman’s affairs.” He fair spat the words, as though the very name of Wickham tasted bad upon his lips.

“Mr. Wickham?” Elizabeth wondered aloud, confused by this sudden turn of conversation. “What of him? Surely you do not believe me to have been taken in by his pretty manners and sly insinuations. From the moment he began assaulting your character to me in such an inappropriate context, I suspected that something was amiss in his account of your relationship. I tried to communicate as much when we danced at Netherfield, to provide an opportunity for you to relate your own account. But I could see that the topic pained you, and I did not press further.”

Mr. Darcy appeared at a loss. “Is this true? You never gave credit to any of Wickham’s deceits?”

“Unfortunately, I am not possessed of the knowledge that would allow me to discern his deceits from his follies, but you may believe that I gave little credit to any of Mr. Wickham’s smooth converse.” Elizabeth hugged her arms around herself. The fire had begun to die down, and the room seemed to be growing colder by the moment.

“But, if not Wickham – to what can you refer, when you speak of an offense that would render my addresses so disgusting to you?” Mr. Darcy’s tone was that of complete bewilderment, but Elizabeth could not believe him to be insensible of his most grievous offense.

“I assure you, sir, even the most tender and passionate of avowals could never have convinced me to accept the man who has ruined, perhaps forever, the happiness of a most beloved sister!”

Elizabeth squared her shoulders and confronted him directly. “Do you deny it, sir?” she asked. “Can you possibly convince me that you did not unjustly separate two people wholly in love, namely my sister and Mr. Bingley?” As she asked, she realized that she hoped he might convince her of just that. But her hopes were to be dashed once again.

“I do not deny it. I made every effort to separate Mr. Bingley from your sister, and I rejoice in my success. You have said that you did not wish a loveless marriage for your friend. Should I desire less for my own? Towards him I have been kinder than towards myself.”

“What can you know of my sister’s feelings? Your understanding of my own has been completely flawed, even on the basis of a far more intimate acquaintance.” Elizabeth seethed with anger at his presumption and officious interference. “Please, sir, amuse me with more of your characterizations of the females among your acquaintance. After this evening, I should not be surprised to hear you call Miss Bingley an angel; or Mrs. Hurst, a wit. In the future, you would do well to adopt a more forgiving attitude towards ladies like Jane, whose emotions match their manners for delicacy. Your own sister may thank you. ”

Elizabeth recognized the mask of pride that had once again captured Mr. Darcy’s countenance. The set of his jaw, the impenetrable glare in his dark eyes … She knew the expression well. Insufferable man!

Mr. Darcy rose from his chair and pulled himself up to his full, imposing height.

“Forgive me for taking up so much of your time, Miss Bennet. I believe I understand your sentiments completely, and now I have only to be ashamed of what my own have been.” He started to leave, but stopped and turned to address her once more. “Am I to understand that I now share the distinction of being refused by Miss Elizabeth Bennet with Mr. Collins? Did I comprehend you correctly, that he also made you an offer of marriage?”

“He did, sir. The morning following the ball at Netherfield.”

“And you rejected him?”

“The answer to that question is quite evident, I believe.”

A strange expression crossed Mr. Darcy’s face as he received this information. Elizabeth thought she could detect a struggle within him as he decided what to make of this admission. Then his face darkened, and she knew that once again he was inclined to believe the worst of her.

“No doubt you refused him in the hopes of holding out for better.” He was daring her to contradict him, and Elizabeth could not back down from the challenge.

“Yes, indeed I did, sir. I refused Mr. Collins because I had hopes of something infinitely better. Not a fortune of 10,000 a year, or a grand estate in Derbyshire, Mr. Darcy, but the hope of mutual esteem and love.” She attempted to maintain a dispassionate tone, but a slight catch in her voice betrayed her disappointment.

A glimmer of emotion escaped Mr. Darcy’s control at that moment, and he grasped Elizabeth’s hand in his. She gasped sharply at this impulsive gesture and looked up at him with every intent to reproach, but the warm regard in his eyes threatened to dissolve her anger entirely.

“Miss Bennet,” he began gently. “My feelings may have been ill-expressed, but I assure you they are sincere. My heart is yours –completely and irretrievably. Such force of affection will not be denied; it compels me to offer you a share of my life, my home, and all my worldly possessions. If but one of these inducements would persuade you to accept me, I tell myself I should be satisfied.” He stepped toward her boldly, his voice distilled to a whisper resonant with yearning. “But Elizabeth, dare I ask – is it possible that you do love me?”

He lifted her hand to his lips, placing upon her palm a kiss of such tenderness and ardor as Elizabeth had never dreamed to be in his disposition. She stood transfixed by the sensations that burned on her palm and coursed throughout her body, and she allowed her hand to remain in his as he pressed it to his chest.

“I once foolishly entertained such a notion.” She could not tear her eyes from the sight of his hand covering hers, and she swallowed self-consciously before continuing in a whisper. “Despite your belief to the contrary, sir, I have never been dishonest with you. Much as I might wish otherwise, I find myself incapable of deceiving you now. I am ashamed to own to it, Mr. Darcy, but I had scarcely known you a month when I felt you were the only man I could ever marry.”

“Elizabeth,” he sighed, encircling her waist with his free arm and gathering her close to him. She could feel his welcome warmth, and it took everything in her power to resist melting into it. He offered her devotion, protection, tenderness, security – everything within his power to grant, save the one thing she desired most – his respect.

With no small amount of effort, she retreated, pulling her hand from his grasp. “The use of a lady’s Christian name, sir, is generally reserved for those of her intimate acquaintance. I am sorry to say that this day has revealed to me that we know each other not at all. I fear that we are little more than strangers. Your understanding of my character has been so wholly mistaken, and those hopes I am embarrassed to say I once harbored have been cruelly destroyed by this new intimation of your selfish disdain for the feelings of others.” She could not bear to meet his eyes again. With as much calm and dignity as she could muster, she turned away slightly and spoke in a firm voice. “I must beg you, sir, to leave me now.”

She did not hear him leave, but she felt the room go cold in his absence and shivered.

Chapter Eight

Elizabeth wandered in the park longer than usual the following morning. She had barely slept the night before, and the long hours spent revisiting and revising her encounter with Mr. Darcy had left her feelings in ever-increasing turmoil.

She wondered at those with the stomach for high-stakes gambling. In less than an hour, she had glimpsed her greatest conceivable happiness and then seen it snatched away, and this brush with fortune’s cruel pendulum left her aching and hollow. She wandered numbly through the groves and meadows, not knowing where she tended, each step a task sufficient to her available strength.

How was she to understand the events of the previous evening? Mr. Darcy loved her. Mr. Darcy disdained her. He praised her beauty and intelligence in one breath, and with the next accused her of artful scheming. Mr. Darcy had offered his hand in marriage, and even humbled himself to the level of begging her to accept. Yet he despised himself for doing so and took every opportunity to articulate his reluctance.

If Elizabeth dissected Mr. Darcy’s statements to her, they formed two distinct halves of an incongruous whole. Was it possible to both love and loathe the same person, at the same time? It seemed it must be so, unless she could completely dismiss one set or the other of Mr. Darcy’s declarations. And, upon intense reflection, this odd juxtaposition of emotions was a rather accurate summary of her own feelings toward him. A few days ago, she could not have laid truthful claim to either sentiment. She esteemed Mr. Darcy; she held him in an increasingly tender regard – but she had not permitted the notion of love to enter her consciousness. Likewise, while his treatment of her had not always been just or kind, she had never found a motive to despise him.

Now, however, it was impossible to feel anything other than revulsion for the man who had so meanly judged her sister and so callously interfered in her happiness. If she detested him for his insulting and arrogant appraisal of her and her family, no one could lay blame. Yet within her, these intense emotions mingled with passions of an altogether different nature – her soul’s stirring at his ardent declarations of love and the desire ignited within her by his tender kiss. She felt the ember of that brief caress smoldering still upon her palm, and she closed her fingers over it in a vain attempt to preserve its warmth.

It seemed a hopeless endeavor, to impose any rational order on her feelings. Furthermore, her success or failure in the effort was of little consequence. Upon returning to the parsonage, Elizabeth learned that Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam had called in her absence to take their leave. They were to quit Rosings early the next morning. In all likelihood, she would never meet with either gentleman again.

Their departure was announced as an accomplished fact by none other than Lady Catherine de Bourgh, when she called at the parsonage the following day. The week that stretched before Elizabeth until she, too, would leave Kent seemed interminable. Resolve as she might to forget Mr. Darcy, the act of doing so proved beyond the power of even her determined will. Every hour of the day, some memory of their last encounter would drift unbidden into her consciousness, and she would hear his voice in her mind as clearly as if he stood before her. These snippets of recollection made her pulse quicken or her blood run cold, by turns. I ardently admire and love you …. Despite my desire to avoid such base scheming… I made every effort to separate Mr. Bingley from your sister, and I rejoice in my success … Such force of affection will not be denied… Elizabeth…!

With few diversions to occupy her thoughts and no dear Jane to serve as confidante, Elizabeth relived these moments as a kind of secret and relentless torture. The fact that many of her remaining hours at Hunsford were necessarily passed in the very room where Mr. Darcy had made those ill-fated addresses only increased her distress. She found her gaze following the path of his agitated pacing when he had first entered, lighting on the armchair from which he had fielded her accusations, and inevitably coming to rest on the corner of the mantelpiece near which he had drawn her into his embrace.

She counted the hours until she would be reunited with Jane and at last be able to share this burden with her most beloved sister.

The morning before Elizabeth and Maria Lucas were scheduled to depart Hunsford, the business of packing and leave-taking finally providing some much-needed distraction, she received a most remarkable letter.

My dear Lizzy,

I scarcely know what to write, or whether I ought to write at all. If you even receive this letter before you leave Kent, I fear that by the time you arrive in London, intervening events may have proved me a fool once more. But for the present, my joy cannot be contained, and I must share such news with you, Lizzy, my dearest sister and friend.

Yesterday, two gentlemen came to call here at Gracechurch Street. Your astonishment will no doubt rival my own when you read their names – Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy! I can imagine your surprise as you read this, dear Lizzy, but take pity on your poor sister, who was forced to greet them but a few moments after receiving such a shock! If not for the calm and gracious hospitality of our aunt, I surely would have been lost, for I could not even bring myself to look in their direction for some moments after they entered the parlor.

Oh, Lizzy – imagine my distress! For the better part of three months here in town, I have attempted to put Mr. Bingley out of my thoughts. I had all but convinced myself that any feelings I once had for him were now completely forgotten; that they were never anything other than girlish imaginings that should strike me as absurd, if ever we crossed paths again. There was no indication that he and Mr. Darcy intended anything by this call other than an overdue gesture of courtesy, and so for the first several minutes of our awkward conversation I struggled mightily against any sensations of affection, or worse, hope.

When at length I dared to meet Mr. Bingley’s gaze, it seemed to reflect my own discomfiture. Imagine Mr. Bingley – ever the essence of amiability – so halting in his speech that his reticent friend Mr. Darcy was forced to carry the burden of conversation! Again, I bless the presence of our dear aunt, for the two spoke quite easily for some time about the close proximity of their childhood homes in Derbyshire.

We did manage eventually, Mr. Bingley and I, some polite discourse. I would recount our entire conversation for you faithfully, Lizzy, but in truth I can scarce recall a word that was spoken, save one most astonishing piece of information. For Mr. Bingley insists that he was completely unaware of my presence in town until Mr. Darcy informed him of it, just two days ago! He apologized profusely and stated that, had he not been ignorant of my being in London, nothing could have prevented him from calling on me at the earliest opportunity. I know that Miss Bingley’s deceit in this matter will not shock you, Lizzy, but I must own that I am still incredulous as to the depth of duplicity Mr. Bingley’s intimation implies. Even now, I would prefer to believe it all a great misunderstanding of some sort – for who can admit rancor in the face of such joy?

Before he took his leave, Mr. Bingley asked if he might call again today – indeed, we expect him presently – and he extended an invitation to me, as well as Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, to dine at his townhouse tomorrow! All my efforts to avoid vain hopes were dissolved by his kindness and sincere manner. You may chide me for my weakness in the end, but I cannot deny that I await Mr. Bingley’s call today with most imprudent anticipation.

When you greet me here in some days’ time, Lizzy, you will find your sister in either the greatest of ecstasies or the depths of despair – and in either case I shall be desperate to see you and talk with you at last.

Your loving sister,
Jane

By the date on Jane’s letter and her description of events, the gentlemen had paid their call to Gracechurch Street the day after Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam had quit Rosings. And by this calculation, Mr. Darcy must have gone the very evening of his arrival in town to inform Mr. Bingley of Jane’s presence in Cheapside. Whatever Mr. Darcy’s motivation in reuniting the couple he had so mercilessly separated, he had brooked no delay in doing so.

But what was his motivation? Did he believe Elizabeth when she championed the sincerity of Jane’s attachment and seek to make amends for his error? If so, he could only be compelled by a sense of duty to his friend. It was too much to credit that he hoped to improve Elizabeth’s opinion of him through this act. Surely, Mr. Darcy would not stoop to renew his addresses, having been so discourteously rebuffed. As often as his words that evening returned to haunt her, her own cutting retorts were never far behind.

Perhaps, Elizabeth considered, Mr. Darcy simply wished to mollify his own feelings by proving his original estimation of the Bennets as scheming and inferior. He may have expected that this personal encounter with their unsuitably low connections might convince both gentlemen of the Bennet family’s patent unworthiness. If such were his strategy, his efforts would be thwarted; for despite being in trade, the Gardiners’ gracious manners were always above reproach, and Jane would never oblige Mr. Darcy’s suspicions by displaying either self-promotion or incivility.

Whatever Mr. Darcy’s motives, Elizabeth hoped that Mr. Bingley would not be so easily persuaded on this occasion to follow anything but the dictates of his own happiness. Jane’s letter seemed to indicate he was as much in love with her as ever, but several days had passed since those first impressions had been penned to paper. Elizabeth keenly anticipated her arrival in Cheapside, knowing one glance at Jane’s face would put an end to all speculation.

She felt an immeasurable relief, therefore, when upon descending from the carriage in Gracechurch Street she immediately encountered Jane’s radiant smile. The two sisters embraced eagerly, exchanging knowing looks that hinted at the hours of intimate revelations to be shared. Elizabeth dearly loved her aunt and uncle, but on this occasion she rushed through the pleasantries of their reunion, excusing herself as soon as possible to rest and refresh herself upstairs. Jane, of course, was only too willing to accompany her, and poor Maria Lucas was left to begin her luncheon with near strangers.

“Well, then..?” Elizabeth prompted as soon as they were safely behind closed doors.

“Oh, Lizzy! I have so much to tell you, I hardly know where to begin. I am so glad to have you here at last to share my joy. I feel I shall crack for holding in so much happiness.”

Elizabeth laughed gently. “My dear Jane, if your happiness is a secret from anyone, I should be exceedingly surprised. Such joy is plainly writ across your face as to make me despair of ever feeling one-tenth the emotion.”

“To be sure, our aunt and uncle are aware of my attachment to Mr. Bingley – for such is the source of my happiness, as you must have guessed already – but the full extent is unknown to even them. I fear I shall burst with my happy secret if I keep it from you a moment longer. Lizzy – you will not believe it, but we are engaged!”

“Engaged! So soon?” Elizabeth’s astonishment was quickly overwhelmed by her sister’s infectious joy, and she clasped Jane’s hands warmly. “But of course, I believe it – Mr. Bingley was a fool not to have proposed to you months ago!”

“Oh, Lizzy – you must not speak of him so! He is to be your brother now. Oh – but it is the strictest confidence. We agreed not to tell anyone until he has spoken to Papa. I believe I shall be forgiven, however, for sharing my joy with you.”

“Of course you shall. And I shall be the soul of discretion.”

“I hope you will also forgive me then, Lizzy, for not returning to Longbourn today. Mr. Bingley – Charles – has business to keep him in town another week, after which he will return to Netherfield and seek an audience with Papa. He asked me to consider extending my stay here in Cheapside for some days so we need not be separated during that time. After long months of deprivation, it seems absurd that a week more should signify – but Lizzy, I admit I am as loath to part from him as he is from me.” Jane blushed, and Elizabeth squeezed her sister’s hands in encouragement.

“Our aunt and uncle have agreed to the extension of the visit and thankfully pressed for few details, despite their obvious curiosity. Aunt Gardiner has already written to Mama asking permission for us both to come home in a week’s time. Will you not remain in town with me? Charles has invited us to the theater on Wednesday.”

Elizabeth considered her sister’s plea. Under any other circumstances, a week in London and an evening at the theater would have enticed her from any set plans. The prospect of meeting with Mr. Darcy during that week’s stay, however, was a pain that would outweigh any pleasure. Once again, he had interfered in the course of Jane and Mr. Bingley’s relationship – this time with happier consequences – but it did not necessarily follow that his interference was kindly meant; nor was it certain that he approved of the results. Whether Mr. Darcy wished her family good or ill, however, Elizabeth could not imagine greeting him with any semblance of equanimity when her own feelings remained so conflicted.

“It is tempting,” she said at last, “but I confess I am eager to see Longbourn again. And what would become of Maria? I cannot allow her to travel on to Meryton alone – Lady Lucas would never forgive me.”

The sisters had abandoned their hosts for as long as good manners would allow. Elizabeth exacted Jane’s promise to preserve every detail of the week past, as well as the days to come, and faithfully tell all when they were reunited at Longbourn.

As the carriage departed for Hertfordshire, Elizabeth realized that she, too, would be forced to keep her silence for another agonizing week. First Charlotte, now Jane – Elizabeth was fast forfeiting all her closest confidantes to the institution of marriage. As sincerely happy as she was for her sister, Elizabeth lamented that even when Jane returned to her, it would be for a time briefly borrowed against her future life as Mrs. Bingley. Eventually, the distance between them would be far greater than the three miles from Longbourn to Netherfield implied.

When they reached Lucas Lodge, Elizabeth did not expect her own family’s carriage to be waiting there. Her parents would have received her aunt’s letter by now and likely assumed Elizabeth had remained behind in London. The afternoon was fine, and after a day spent inside a cramped, dusty carriage, the prospect of a brisk walk held great appeal. She paid her respects to the Lucas family and declared her intent to walk on to Longbourn. Hill would be sent to collect her things presently.

What relief she felt, treading the familiar path to Longbourn! Elizabeth tugged off her bonnet and gloves to revel in the fresh, spring breeze. She greeted each gnarled tree and listing fencepost as an old friend, and her humor improved with each homeward step. Surely, the clarity of thought that had eluded her ever since Mr. Darcy’s proposal would return to her here in Hertfordshire.

Elizabeth passed unnoticed through the gate of Longbourn. No one expected her; the house was quiet. She had no desire to disturb the tableau of domestic tranquility by making a formal entrance. She decided instead to traverse the gardens and enter by the kitchen, as she would return from any ordinary stroll.

Very little was blooming in Longbourn’s small park when Elizabeth had last seen it. Now the trees were in full leaf, and tender shoots of herbs and flowers twined sunward, only hinting at the tangled thicket of greenery and blossoms they would produce by summer’s peak. Her eyes were downcast as she turned the corner of the hedge, and she came to an abrupt halt at the sight of a remarkably fine pair of boots on the path before her. Unless her father or Hill had traded their dusty, broken-in footgear for the work of London’s finest cobblers, there could be no doubt as to their owner. Elizabeth looked up in disbelief at the gentleman standing before her on the garden path.

“Mr. Darcy!”

“Miss Bennet.” He bowed solemnly, and Elizabeth curtsied. Their glances met briefly, and just as quickly diverted to study the flowers, the path, a nearby bench. Neither spoke for some moments. Elizabeth bit her lip as though chiding it for its stupidity, and she felt certain her cheeks must rival the rhododendrons’ crimson hue.

“Forgive me for the intrusion,” he said at length. “I thought you were in London. That is, your father gave me leave to understand you and Miss Bennet would remain there another week.”

“No. I mean, yes, my sister did extend her stay in town, but I decided to return as scheduled. My father - you came to call on my father?”

Now it was Mr. Darcy’s face that colored with embarrassment. “I am passing by Netherfield as a favor to Mr. Bingley, to deliver some instructions to his staff. He plans to take up residence there again presently.”

Elizabeth could only nod mutely.

“While nearby, I decided to call at Longbourn to pay my respects to Mr. Bennet. I did not properly take my leave of the neighborhood last November, and left many such debts of courtesy. I shall continue on to Pemberley tomorrow. My sister is already en route with her companion.”

“I see. Miss Darcy – she is well, I hope?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Silence claimed them once more. Elizabeth looked down at the bonnet and gloves dangling from her hands uselessly. Why had she been so careless as to remove them? She could not attempt to put them on now, that would only call more attention to their absence. She impulsively thrust them behind her back, as if by so doing she might deny their existence entirely. But now she had nothing to hide her dusty, road-wrinkled skirts.

At last, Mr. Darcy seemed to take pity on her distress. “I must be going, then. Good day, Miss Bennet.”

“Good day, Mr. Darcy.” She curtsied deeply and dared not look up again until she heard his footsteps fading into the distance. Then, bonnet ribbons trailing behind her and gloves let fall in the path, she hastened into the house.

“Papa! Papa!” She rushed directly to her father’s library.

“Why, Lizzy – what a surprise, child! This makes two very unexpected arrivals in one day, but I must say yours is the pleasanter surprise by far. We thought you would remain in London with Jane.”

“Mr. Darcy…” Elizabeth could scarcely catch her breath. She swallowed hard and struggled to regain some semblance of composure. “Papa – what did Mr. Darcy have to say?”

“Oh, little enough and even less of interest. You remember his reserved manner, Lizzy – it would not seem that it has altered much since November last. What he lacks in sociability, he may be credited in consistency, I suppose. I wonder that he stopped to call at all. Passed him on the road, did you?”

“Yes.” The fatigue of her day’s journey, a week spent in emotional turmoil, and the entirety of a month’s absence from home suddenly overwhelmed Elizabeth, and she sank into a nearby chair and stared absently at her father’s bookshelves.

“Mr. Darcy did share one piece of information that may interest you, Elizabeth. Although I do not know how your sisters or mother may receive the news, it seems that Mr. Bingley will soon return to Netherfield.”

Chapter Nine

If answers to Elizabeth’s questions were to be found within Longbourn’s borders, she certainly should have encountered them the following morning. She walked out at first light, having once again slept fitfully, and wandered long through the familiar meadows and woodlands.

She remained at a loss to interpret Mr. Darcy’s intentions in reuniting Mr. Bingley and Jane, but more perplexing by far was his astonishing call at Longbourn yesterday. Teasing, teasing man! What did he mean by paying such a visit? Certainly, he had not expected to encounter her there, and indeed he had seemed as disconcerted by their chance meeting as she.

She allowed herself to consider for the first time that Mr. Darcy might intend to renew his addresses to her. If this was the case, then once again he seemed determined to eschew any traditionally accepted means of courtship. Perhaps he meant to ingratiate himself with her family and allow them to persuade her where he could not.

Even as these thoughts entered her mind, Elizabeth was wont to decry them as impossibilities. Mr. Darcy had made his disdain for all matrimonial scheming perfectly clear some days ago, and, as Mr. Bennet had so innocuously noted yesterday, the gentleman’s character was nothing if not constant. Her influence on him could not be so great as that!

Supposing such a transformation were within her power to effect, and Mr. Darcy did renew his suit through such measures -- Elizabeth did not know whether she would embrace or despise him for it. His unwavering character was not the sole source of her affection, but it was the origin of her esteem. Pemberley itself had acquainted her with his basic decency many months past. But if Mr. Darcy could alter this integrity at will, to justify interference in a friend’s affairs or to suit his own amorous objectives, any respect or love built upon that foundation must necessarily collapse.

She had turned into the lane that would lead her back to Longbourn, when a lone rider on a dark mount approached from an adjacent path, causing her some alarm. She turned to retreat into the cover of woods, but she heard her name pronounced distinctly, in an unmistakable voice. Mr. Darcy did not dismount, but approached her from the imposing height of horseback. He extended a gloved hand and proffered her a letter, and she accepted it instinctively.

“I have been waiting in the lane for some time in hopes of meeting you,” he said. “Will you do me the honor of reading that letter?”

She nodded mutely, studying the sealed paper in her hand, and looked up to encounter his intense gaze a mere instant before he turned his horse and rode off in the direction of Meryton.

Elizabeth watched his figure retreat into the distance, and then she broke the letter’s seal with fumbling fingers to discover two pages closely written in Mr. Darcy’s elegant hand.

Be not alarmed, Miss Bennet, upon receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any renewal of unwelcome sentiments or undue demands on your forbearance. I am cognizant that my behavior of the past week – reuniting my friend with your sister and making an unannounced call on your father – must bear a strong resemblance to the type of artful cunning I once injudiciously ascribed to your character. It is my hope to assure you in these pages that by these actions I intend no imposition of my will upon your own.

I will not deny that your refusal of my addresses at Hunsford, and the words in which you articulated your denial, caused me no small degree of pain. I have come to accept, however, that your reproofs were no more than my due. You accused me of two offenses that evening, and while I must own my culpability in each case, I have since taken measures to remedy them. I do so not with hopes of influencing your emotions, but out of concern for my close friend’s happiness and an admittedly selfish desire to assuage my own regret.

My first offense against you was my part in separating Mr. Bingley from your sister. As I told you a week ago, I believed my actions to be in his own best interest. I have seen my friend fall in and out of love many times, and though his quiet suffering for some months has since been a testament to the strength of his emotions, at the time he gave no indication that his attachment to your sister was deeper than any of his previous infatuations. For reasons I shall explain later in these pages, I likewise believed that your sister harbored no real feelings for him, and I did not wish to see my friend trapped in a marriage without affection. The best motives, of course, do not excuse my stooping to employ deceit, and for this I offer no justification, but only sincere apology.

My second offense, while equally grievous to the first, I fear cannot be expunged by even the most heartfelt of apologies. You accused me, quite justly, of possessing an incomplete understanding of your own character, even as I claimed to hold you in a most passionate regard. If my feelings were motivated by a true knowledge of your innermost spirit, you argued, I could not possibly think you capable of employing arts in pursuit of a husband.

In my own defense on both charges, I first must explain that my impressions, however wrong they may have been, were not formed on the basis of your own behavior, but rather from my observations of your family, most particularly your mother. In truth, I believed you to be wholly indifferent to me and a most unwilling participant in any designs on my fortune.

Mrs. Bennet’s plans for your sister and Mr. Bingley were no secret from anyone in Hertfordshire, it seemed. On the evening of the Netherfield Ball, however, I chanced to overhear your mother speaking to you as your party awaited the carriages. Believe me, madam, when I state that I am not in the habit of intentional eavesdropping, but rather your mother’s voice reached my hearing. The content of her comments to you revealed her expectations that both you and Miss Bennet would soon be engaged. Miss Bennet’s consistently placid demeanor toward my friend, combined with the persuading Mrs. Bennet deemed you to require on the subject of marriage, convinced me that neither you nor your sister desired the expected proposals. I now know, of course, that in your case Mrs. Bennet referred to Mr. Collins – but you can easily imagine me in possession of such vanity as to presume myself to be her second target.

You might rightly inquire, then, why I would make such addresses to you when I believed you held me in no special regard. To this, I can offer no defense but a selfish surrender to the utmost force of passion. In my ardor and arrogance, I sought to conquer your will by the strength of my own. If my declarations of affection were insufficient to persuade you, I assumed the pecuniary advantages of the match would overcome any remaining reluctance. Such presumption was beneath me and insulting to you, and I dare not ask your forgiveness for such behavior. I will never forgive it of myself.

Having admitted my guilt in both of these cases, and accepted your just reproaches as my due, my thoughts and energy were immediately consumed by a desire to resolve both matters, such as it remained within my power do to so.

The first of my offenses is the one more easily remedied. When our conversation revealed to me the extent of my misunderstanding with regard to your sister’s feelings, I soon regretted my interference in Mr. Bingley’s affairs. I would like to claim that some altruistic concern for his happiness was my greatest motivation, but I fear that my eagerness to redeem my actions was spurred more by the depths of my own suffering. If I could do nothing to relieve my own misery, at least I might occasion an improvement in my friend’s similar plight.

I therefore returned to London at my earliest opportunity and wasted no time in acquainting Mr. Bingley with my duplicitous actions and vain interference. This most unpleasant conversation was made slightly easier, however, by the pleasure I was able to give him in relating that, contrary to all my earlier suppositions, Miss Bennet appeared to return his affections. I could not promise him that her feelings remained unaltered these five months, but I could offer him reason to hope. The remainder of the resolution I would, for once, leave completely to his own discretion. I believe my friend has since acquitted himself quite admirably, to the great happiness of both parties.

Now to address the second of my transgressions, the more painful to my own heart of the two, and the one less readily mended. When you dismissed me from the parsonage that evening, you told me we were little more than strangers to one another, and that my impressions of your disposition were wholly mistaken. Although I hope the contents of this letter have convinced you that I did not hold you in such low esteem as you imagined then, I cannot deny that I was guilty of your accusation in spirit, if not in particulars. For in this you were undoubtedly correct – had I taken the time and effort to become thoroughly acquainted with you and not allowed my perception to be clouded by prejudice, I would have done greater credit to us both. My shame at having neglected, on so many occasions, to more fully inform my opinion of your character and improve our mutual understanding is profound, and only surpassed by regret at having acted so thoughtlessly as to destroy all future opportunities for the same.

This regret, then, was my true motivation for visiting Longbourn yesterday. Upon my return to London, plans were quickly set in motion for me and my sister to return to Pemberley – a homecoming long overdue for us both. When Mr. Bingley expressed his intention to alert the staff at Netherfield to prepare for his imminent arrival, I offered my services as courier, although the duty could have been performed by a servant just as readily and my own travels were necessarily delayed. The prospect of being so near your home, and in some small way nearer to you, compelled me.

I cannot fully describe the sensation of being admitted to Longbourn yesterday, after several months’ absence. The house was smaller than I remembered it from the exterior, yet somehow grander from within. Inside, it was unexpectedly quiet, although not still. The atmosphere in each small chamber was not stagnant, but alive with energy and industry and echoed laughter – as if the walls had breath and life all their own.

When I was admitted to your father’s library (and I must apologize for the rude shock my presence must have caused him), a teacup rested on his desk, and my eyes immediately went to the small, knob-handled drawer that I instinctively knew once housed an ill-fated frog. Standing before the shelves of books and scanning their titles, I could imagine you in the exact same place, searching for a well-loved volume or awaiting the assignment of lines as punishment. In truth, in acquainting myself with the contents of your father’s collection, I felt I could trace the genealogy of your remarkable intellect, and the discovery of our many shared ancestors was bittersweet.

Even after my brief discourse with Mr. Bennet, I found myself loath to quit Longbourn altogether and tarried in the garden for some time. The sound of blackbirds drew my gaze to their nest, and, recalling your expressed fondness for their chatter, I realized that the niche of their chamber was the window to your own. When you happened upon me, I had just been appreciating the aroma of apple blossoms and lavender concentrated in that small garden, and wondering by what extraordinary means their fragrance had followed you the fifty miles to Kent.

It is not my intention to pain or embarrass you by providing this faithful account of my most intimate feelings and actions. However, as you some days ago declared yourself incapable of deceiving me, I seem to have likewise lost the ability to disguise my own emotions from you. I wish only to impart how my estimation of you multiplied during that short hour at Longbourn, and to express my regret for remaining so untouched on previous visits to that place. Have no fear, however, that the liberty I take in expressing such sentiments will ever escape the margins of these pages.

I cannot forget your words to me that evening at the parsonage, when you expressed such utter surprise at my declarations. ‘I felt fortunate enough to call you friend, without hopes of a deeper attachment,’ you said. In the happy event that Mr. Bingley has cause to invite me to Netherfield some months hence (and I imagine you know as well as I that such cause is a near certainty), I would not wish you to be ill at ease, or fear any renewal of undesirable attentions from my quarter. When next we meet, it is I who should feel fortunate to be greeted as a friend, without hopes of a deeper attachment.

I will only add, God bless you.
Fitzwilliam Darcy

Posted on Sunday, 23 July 2006

Chapter Ten

“Oh, Jane – how lovely!” Elizabeth admired the gold and sapphire ring cradled in Jane’s palm and noted with pleasure how both jewel and owner sparkled brilliantly, even in the dim candlelight of her sister’s bedchamber.

“I shall be so relieved when Mr. Bingley has spoken to Papa and I can wear it always,” Jane said, slipping the ring onto her finger. “Carrying it knotted in my handkerchief has caused me such anxiety, Lizzy – you would think I am succumbing to Mama’s nervous condition! I cannot help checking a dozen times an hour to make certain it has not disappeared.”

Elizabeth smiled and squeezed her sister’s bejeweled hand. “You owe me a great debt, Jane, and I have not forgotten it. I must hear all details of this swift courtship, and most especially Mr. Bingley’s proposal!”

“Oh, but where shall I begin?”

“Begin with the day you wrote me the letter, for that is the last proper report I have had of the matter.”

“Yes, my letter. It seems so long ago now – and to think, it has been less than two weeks! Shortly after I finished my letter to you, Charles – ‘Mr. Bingley’ then – called as he had promised. At first, I felt every bit as anxious and hesitant as the day before, but before long we were conversing easily on all manner of topics. In truth, it felt as though we had never been parted.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I daresay you never were – not at heart.”

“The next evening,” Jane continued with a blush, “Mr. Bingley had invited us all to dine at his townhouse. I need not tell you how I dreaded meeting Miss Bingley again, but she greeted us with perfect civility. Mr. and Mrs. Hurst were also in attendance. I cannot say that the evening was passed in perfect amiability, but I was gratified to find the ladies’ demeanor toward me markedly improved when compared to our last meeting.”

A change no doubt effected by their brother, Elizabeth thought, silently praising Mr. Bingley’s success in checking his sisters’ haughty behavior.

“In fact, Lizzy,” Jane giggled, “there was one moment in the evening I believe you would have enjoyed immensely. Upon our arrival, Mr. Bingley offered to give us a tour of his house. I could see Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst exchanging disapproving glances, but Mr. Bingley was undeterred. It is a lovely house, Lizzy. It is large, but not so grand as to be overwhelming, and the rooms are very fashionably appointed throughout.”

“I imagine Miss Bingley would have it no other way.”

“Indeed. We entered one room toward the back -- a breakfast room with large windows overlooking the garden, with lovely flowered wallpaper and more modest furnishings than seen in other parts of the house. Mr. Bingley explained they were pieces brought from his family’s ancestral home in the North. The room was so comfortable and inviting, it reminded me instantly of Longbourn, and I expressed my delight with it rather unrestrainedly. Miss Bingley quickly denounced it as a plain, unpleasant place and declared her intention to remake it into French-styled salon, as soon as her brother would allow her the funds.”

“And what did Mr. Bingley say?”

Jane smiled. “He said, ‘Caroline, my concern is not your tendency to deplete my accounts, but your determination to bankrupt the soul of this home.’ He went on to deem it his favorite room, praising all the same features I had admired, and he declared that no one would be allowed to alter it in the slightest, so long as he remained master of the house. I wish you could have been there to see the look on her face.”

“Like a cat with a saucer of spoilt cream, I imagine.”

“Very like,” Jane laughed. “She said little to me for the remainder of the evening, but I cannot say I missed her conversation. Charles was so polite and attentive, so anxious to please – we could not give him enough assurances as to our enjoyment of the dishes served or our comfort in his home. It was a truly wonderful evening, and I wished it would never end.”

“Yes, yes, but it did,” Elizabeth prompted impatiently. “And then..?”

“Before we left, he asked if he might call again the next day, and so he did. This time, Miss Bingley accompanied him, for motives which must be hers alone to comprehend.”

“Oh, I can comprehend them easily,” Elizabeth said. “If she could not prevent her brother from seeing you, at least she did not intend to let him out of her sight!”

“You are correct, Lizzy, I am certain. Fortunately, Miss Bingley had not counted on the cleverness of our dear Aunt Gardiner! It was a fine morning, and our aunt suggested taking a turn about the park. Mr. Bingley and I agreed so readily, Miss Bingley could not object. No sooner had we left the house than Aunt Gardiner drew Miss Bingley into close confidence, asking her advice on re-decorating her parlor. With our aunt inquiring so persistently into her opinions on fabrics and wallpapers and draperies, Miss Bingley completely failed to notice when Mr. Bingley and I fell behind.” Jane rose from the bed and began to pace the room slowly.

“Mr. Bingley inquired as to how long I would remain in London, and when I told him I planned to return to Hertfordshire with you only two days later, a strange expression crossed his face. He remained silent for some time. When he finally spoke, it was to remark on his own desire to return to Netherfield shortly. I tried to express in friendly terms that the neighborhood had lamented his absence and would certainly rejoice should he decide to return.” Jane ceased her pacing and buried her face in her hands. In the next moment, however, her gleaming eyes and bashful smile peeked out from behind splayed fingers.

“Oh, Lizzy – I hardly know how to describe what happened next! Mr. Bingley suddenly stopped in the path and began to make the most fervent declarations to me -- in the middle of a public park, no less! He told me he loved me, and that he had loved me since we first met last year. He said he could not allow me to return to Longbourn without ascertaining my feelings and knowing whether I might ever be persuaded to accept his hand in marriage. I cannot begin to describe how I felt in that moment – I blushed so deeply my cheeks burned with it, and my hands trembled dreadfully until Charles took them in his own.”

Elizabeth smiled. If Jane only knew how closely she could sympathize with her emotions in that situation!

“I still do not know how I managed the composure to do so, but I found words enough to assure him that my feelings were much the same, and that nothing would make me happier than to be his wife. And, Lizzy – I never spoke truer words, for ever since that moment, I have known myself to be the happiest creature on God’s earth! To think that such happiness almost slipped through our grasp – I cannot comprehend it. How indebted we are to Mr. Darcy! Without his friendship, we might never have been reunited.”

At this mention of Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth could no longer maintain her cheerful expression. Jane noted her change in demeanor and immediately went to her side.

“Lizzy, whatever is the matter?”

“Oh, Jane – I have such a tale to tell you. How I have dearly wished to borrow against your patience and sweet disposition these past weeks! But I fear I cannot unburden my own heart without causing yours some pain.”

“Does what you have to tell me involve Mr. Bingley being secretly engaged to another?”

“No,” Elizabeth said, laughing through her distress.

“Then my heart is perfectly safe,” Jane said. “Whatever you have to tell me, it could not possibly endanger my joy.”

“You know already, of course, that I encountered Mr. Darcy in Kent,” she began slowly. In terms no less animated than those of her sister, but decidedly less ecstatic, Elizabeth recounted the history of their interactions at Rosings. She described his initial cold greeting, the development of their tenuous friendship, and, finally, the astonishing revelations of Colonel Fitzwilliam. In as terms as delicate as truth allowed, she acquainted Jane with the details of Mr. Darcy’s role in convincing Mr. Bingley to leave Hertfordshire and concealing Jane’s presence in town. She watched her sister’s expression carefully. Jane grew pale, but remained composed and silent.

The color returned to Jane’s face as Elizabeth described Mr. Darcy’s proposal, and how the sentiments he avowed were as equally shocking to her as his bluntly expressed censure of their family. She described her confusion upon receiving Jane’s news and her most unexpected meeting with Mr. Darcy at Longbourn. She could not bring herself to read his letter aloud, but she summarized the explanations and apologies offered therein.

“So you see, Jane,” she finished wearily, “you may wish to revise your opinion of Mr. Darcy, now that you know the extent of his interference and deceit.”

“Certainly I shall revise my opinion of him, but in more ways than you imply. How shocking to think that he has been in love with you all this time, Lizzy! And to know that you developed such regard and affection for him, but neither suspected the other’s true feelings until the situation was hopelessly mired in misunderstanding!”

“Thank you, Jane, for such gentle comfort,” Elizabeth sniffed wryly, dabbing at her eyes with Jane’s handkerchief.

“Lizzy, I do not mean to make light of your suffering. It is only that I cannot help but note what close resemblance your unhappy situation bears to my own miserable state a few weeks ago. But recent events have taught me that hope is never in vain, and no situation is beyond repair. Mr. Darcy loves you still – his letter confirms it.”

“It confirms no such thing!” Elizabeth cried. “He explicitly states his wish to be friends and nothing more.”

“He wishes only as much as he dares hope receive. Do you not see, Lizzy, that only respect for your feelings prevents him from fully expressing his true sentiments? With the slightest encouragement from you, I have no doubt that he would renew his addresses.”

“His respect for my feelings … but I hardly understand them, myself! When I learned of his guilt in inflicting such misery upon you, I was consumed with anger. Then I received his letter. In it, he credibly defends the misunderstanding at the root of his interference, and his quick actions to remedy the mistake speak well on his behalf. I cannot deny that reading it has somewhat appeased my resentment. Still, he acted so wrongly and with such arrogant disregard for your feelings -- I do not know that I can ever forgive him!”

“But you must forgive him, Lizzy, for I have done so already.”

“Jane, you are too good! The happiness you have found with Mr. Bingley is truly the just result of your angelic disposition. If only you could teach me how it is done, to forgive so freely and easily, without harboring the slightest trace of rancor – but I know such sweetness can never be learnt.”

“Then put aside sweetness, Lizzy, and let your reason guide your heart. You yourself have stated that Mr. Darcy’s reasons for interfering were credible. That Mama’s behavior should give such an appearance of scheming comes as no surprise. Should we be amazed, then, that her brazen conduct left a stronger impression on Mr. Darcy than our own attempts to maintain propriety? He did not wish to see his friend unhappily matched; for my part, I am glad that Charles has a friend so concerned for his contentment. I have already forgiven Miss Bingley for her part in our separation. She is to be my sister, and we must learn to accept one another. How much easier, then, to forgive Mr. Darcy with his more honorable motives?”

“Miss Bingley is not to be my sister, fortunately, and I therefore feel no obligation to forgive her. At least her duplicitous behavior proceeds logically from her character. Such is not the case with Mr. Darcy, whom by every report and appearance I believed to be a man above such deceitful activity. I am disgusted by Miss Bingley; I am disappointed in Mr. Darcy. His demeanor was often proud, but the manner in which everyone praised him, my own observations of his generosity, and, I must own, his very beautiful grounds at Pemberley – all conspired to create the portrait of an ideal gentleman. Now his actions in this matter have shattered that ideal. Until I understand whether my regard and affections were inspired by the ideal or the man himself, I shall not know how to think of him.”

Jane drew her into a comforting embrace and smoothed her hair. “Do not distress yourself so. The truth lies nowhere but within your heart, Lizzy, and time will reveal it to you.”

Elizabeth pulled away from her sister and attempted a smile. This was a time to celebrate her sister’s happiness, and she did not wish to further burden Jane with her own selfish concerns. “You are surely right. Thank you, Jane.”

“I must warn you, Lizzy,” Jane teased, the blush of love stealing back into her cheeks, “Do not take overlong in discerning that truth. For Mr. Darcy has already agreed to stand up for Charles at the wedding, and Charles has made clear his desire to have the briefest possible engagement!”

Mr. Bingley and party did indeed arrive at Netherfield the following day, and the gentleman wasted no time in calling on Mr. Bennet that very afternoon. All Longbourn held its breath during their brief consultation behind the closed doors of Mr. Bennet’s library. During that quiet half-hour, the house enjoyed its last prolonged silence for some weeks. Soon enough the Bennet family, led by their effusive matriarch, were aflutter with celebration and wedding plans.

The wedding date was set for early June – scarcely more than six weeks hence, and Mrs. Bennet was beset with an attack of nerves at the idea of preparing for such an occasion in so short a time. Elizabeth, too, would have preferred a longer engagement, although for entirely different reasons.

The weeks passed quickly enough in a flurry of shopping and preparations. Kitty and Lydia continued to be besotted with the local regiment, and several of the officers, Denny and Wickham among them, called frequently at Longbourn. Elizabeth had little patience for the nonsensical flirtation that filled the parlor on these occasions and excused herself from such gatherings whenever possible.

The only event that threatened to disturb Longbourn’s reign of euphoria was the announcement that the regiment would be moving camp to Brighton for the summer. Lydia was invited by Mrs. Forster to accompany her there, and was none too pleased that the dreadfully boring occasion of Jane’s wedding prevented her from accepting.

Elizabeth kept herself occupied by assisting with preparations and devising ways to grant Jane and Mr. Bingley brief respites from her mother, but even this busy schedule somehow left untold hours for contemplating Mr. Darcy. She read his letter so often that the paper wore translucent at the creases from repeated folding and unfolding. Before long, she knew it completely by heart. With time and the happy influence of Jane and Mr. Bingley’s obvious bliss, she focused less and less on the letter’s beginning and found herself returning frequently to its closing paragraphs.

It was a comfort and a compliment to know that Mr. Darcy did understand her character better than she had believed, and to understand that he esteemed her not for trivial ‘accomplishments,’ but for the development of her mind and the source of her spirit. If he had made the effort to come to Longbourn, even after her cold refusal, and look upon her home with open eyes and an open mind, perhaps the least she owed him was the same fresh start.

When next we meet, it is I who should feel fortunate to be greeted as a friend, without hopes of a deeper attachment. He asked little enough from her, but the question remained -- was friendship more or less than she wished to extend? She had settled that to greet Mr. Darcy with unbiased civility was her duty. What remained uncertain, however, was her desire.

Slightly less than two weeks before the wedding, Jane and Elizabeth sat with their mother in the parlor, anticipating Mr. Bingley’s usual morning call. Elizabeth searched her mind for a new piece of neighborhood gossip or some matter of the wedding breakfast menu – any topic with which she might distract her mother and thereby afford Jane and Mr. Bingley a few moments’ privacy.

The hour of Mr. Bingley’s habitual arrival came and went, and the sisters began to speculate that some matter of business had detained him. After waiting the better part of an hour, they entertained the idea of taking a turn in the garden. The prospect of enjoying a fine May morning outdoors held increasing appeal, and they were almost decided upon it, when the sound of approaching hoofbeats drew Mrs. Bennet to the window.

“There he is at last! Only there is another gentleman with him. Heavens! It looks just like that tall, proud man that used to be with him. The wealthy one, from Derbyshire.”

“Mr. Darcy,” Jane and Elizabeth answered in unison, exchanging glances of alarm as Mrs. Bennet called frantically for extra tea things. The result was that the gentlemen entered amidst a bustle of harried servants and clattering teacups and never were properly announced.

“Mr. Bingley!” Mrs. Bennet rushed to greet her future son-in-law. “How glad we are to see you at last! We were quite beside ourselves with concern when you did not arrive at your usual hour, you know! I said to my girls, Mr. Bingley is the soul of punctuality, as he is everything gentlemanly, and if he has missed his appointed time to call, then we may be assured that he is either detained by business of the highest importance, or he has been befallen by some dreadful circumstance!” Here she paused and regarded Mr. Darcy, as though uncertain to which category he belonged.

Throughout her mother’s excessive display, Elizabeth had slowly gathered the nerve to turn her gaze toward Mr. Darcy. When at last she was able to glimpse his countenance, she viewed with relief that it was characteristically composed, and what little emotion he displayed resembled amusement rather than offense.

“Of course,” Mrs. Bennet continued, “We know now that you have been welcoming your visitor. Mr. Darcy, any friend of Mr. Bingley’s is always welcome at Longbourn.”

Mr. Darcy nodded politely, and upon lifting his head, he met Elizabeth’s gaze directly. The unspoken question in his eyes carried clearly across the room. Elizabeth inhaled deeply and went quickly to her mother’s side, wearing her best impression of calm composure.

“Indeed, Mr. Darcy,” she said clearly, venturing a brave smile in his direction, “any friend of Mr. Bingley’s is a friend of ours, as well.”

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