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Chapter 5 ~ Ladies in London

Posted on 2008-07-16

Elizabeth had hoped to see Julia Darlington during her brief stay in London on the journey to Hunsford, and was disappointed at Julia's reply to her letter, expressing regret at being unable to attend her on that day. She was therefore pleased when Julia acceded to her further invitation to wait upon her and Jane at Gracechurch Street, where she would spend a day or two upon her return journey.

"She is probably as eager to see us as we are to see her," reflected Jane, "but she will have felt it impossible to visit Gracechurch Street before this time, knowing that she is unable to reciprocate the courtesy. However, as we both depart for Hertfordshire tomorrow, she is now able to visit without that embarrassment."

"I am certain you are right, Jane, but, sometimes I find all these conventions a trifle oppressive and vexing. Do you not?"

Jane looked at Elizabeth with surprise. "I see what you mean, Lizzy; it is indeed sad when social etiquette keeps true friends apart; but generally speaking, it does no good to trouble oneself over matters one is powerless to amend, such as social forms and rules of behaviour. It is a little akin to learning a new dance: one does not question the value of its movements, or why one must execute this or that step -- one simply attempts to become as proficient as possible in its performance."

Elizabeth sighed and nodded. She did not say it, but she clearly saw the influence of James Darlington's freethinking attitudes upon her own. That young man, who provoked such strong and contradictory feelings in her, had been very much in her thoughts of late. Mr Darcy's letter had turned her opinions of both its writer and George Wickham upon their heads, and she could not help but concede that James Darlington had been completely correct in his estimation of them both... while she had been most grievously in error.

All three gentlemen had inhabited her night-time dreams for some weeks; and she could conjecture not their meaning. Each of them, at different times, had taken the part of a villain; and yet on other occasions, the role of a charming, heroic and noble admirer; a lover whose attentions were not in the least unwelcome. Since Mr Darcy's letter, George Wickham's appearances had been solely in the role of a reprobate and rake; and in her waking mind Elizabeth, was now convinced of his black character. But as to the other two gentlemen, she felt nothing but confusion. What does it matter? Why do they trouble my mind? she asked herself repeatedly without finding a satisfactory answer -- or at least one to which she was willing to own.

On the morning that Julia came to wait on Jane and Elizabeth, their Aunt Gardner was out visiting. The three young ladies were very glad to be together in each other's company after so many months, and there was much to be said. Julia was at pains to assure her friends that her situation was not nearly so bad as they feared.

"By a stroke of good fortune, I happened upon an old acquaintance upon first arriving in London. The gentleman was aware of the altered circumstances of my family, and when I made known to him my intention of earning a living as a teacher of music, he assisted me in obtaining an excellent situation instructing his cousin. She is a charming young lady, greatly talented, and a most diligent student. I cannot tell you how delightful it is to be in her company. In order to forward my efforts at finding other pupils, she persuaded her brother to give a small musical soirée at their residence on Grosvenor Square, at which I performed on the pianoforte and violin before several other young ladies and their mothers. In consequence of her great kindness, I am now much occupied in teaching music to a number of young ladies of good family."

"That is wonderful news," said Jane, "I am so happy for you." She wanted to enquire if Julia felt uncomfortable at finding herself in the service of those who previously would have looked upon her as an equal -- at least. But she was too kind to ask the question which was likewise uppermost in her sister Elizabeth's mind.

Julia could guess at their thoughts and attempted to ease their disquiet. "I know you must think it a great embarrassment for me, but it is not so. At the soirée, my pupil, as well as her brother, treated me with such honour and respect, that the guests took their lead from them, and I have been accorded great kindness and consideration in the houses of all my pupils."

"But you cannot have been received as you would previously have been?" conjectured Elizabeth.

"No, of course not," replied Julia, "that would not be possible. Nevertheless, I have been treated far better than I had anticipated, particularly by Georgiana Darcy, my first student."

"Georgiana Darcy?" exclaimed Elizabeth, all amazed.

"Yes, are you acquainted with the young lady?" asked Julia.

"No, I have never met her," replied Elizabeth, and then after a pause added quickly, "but I am somewhat acquainted with her brother. He was a guest last year at a residence in the neighbourhood of Longbourn."

"I have had some acquaintance with Mr Darcy over the years, but I had not the least idea that he, too, was in Hertfordshire, and so close by, at the time my mother and I were enjoying your most generous hospitality. Where, pray tell, was Mr Darcy staying?"

Elizabeth who wanted to avoid the subject of Mr Bingley in front of her sister, now felt called upon to mention him. "With a friend of his, a Mr Bingley, who took the lease on Netherfield Park at Michaelmas. But the entire party had returned to London prior to your arrival at Longbourn."

Nothing of Bingley and Jane had ever been mentioned before Julia, and she was entirely unaware of their thwarted romance. "You must be speaking of Charles Bingley. I met that gentleman at Grosvenor Square; a most charming and amiable young man, although somewhat dispirited and sad, I thought. One suspects that he has suffered in love, or is pining after a lady."

Elizabeth glanced quickly sideways at Jane, and saw how uncomfortable she became at Julia's words. Seeking to turn the conversation in a different direction, she asked Julia if the cousin of Georgiana Darcy, whom she had met with upon her arrival in London, was perchance an officer by the name of Colonel Fitzwilliam. To her utter astonishment, Julia's reaction at hearing his name was even more marked than Jane's had been at the mention of Mr Bingley. Julia blushed deeply and turned her face away, quite unable to respond to Elizabeth, or even to look at her.

"Oh!" exclaimed Elizabeth, warmly. "Is he the gentleman who ...?"

Jane looked at her sister uncomprehendingly, while Julia continued to hide her face. "Lizzy," her sister demanded, "what is this all about, pray tell?"

Elizabeth knew not how to proceed. In attempting to alleviate Jane's discomfort, she had unwittingly caused even greater discomfiture and confusion to Julia. She gave Jane a quick glance, which conveyed her desire that the subject be dropped; but to her surprise, Julia spoke on it herself.

"When did you meet with him?" she asked, with an equal measure of curiosity and embarrassment.

"As you know, I am just now returned from visiting my dear friend Charlotte Collins, who has lately married the rector at Hunsford. The parsonage is adjacent to the great estate of Rosings Park, the residence of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. We were frequently invited to dine at Rosings Park, where Colonel Fitzwilliam and his cousin Mr Darcy were paying a visit to their aunt."

"How did you like him?" asked Julia eagerly, her eyes shining brightly.

Elizabeth had not the least doubt that the ‘he' was Colonel Fitzwilliam, rather than Mr Darcy. Now she understood the look of sadness on the colonel's face when he said to her one day as they were out walking, ‘in matters of greater weight, I may suffer from want of money. Younger sons cannot marry where they like.' In her vanity, she had imagined his heartfelt regret was perhaps on her account, but now she understood that he was thinking of Julia. Colonel Fitzwilliam was her friend's erstwhile lover -- and Lady Catherine was the domineering and avaricious aunt who had demanded an extravagant fortune of Lord Darlington, and thus kept the young lovers apart. It all fell into place now. She recalled Colonel Fitzwilliam saying, ‘A younger son must be inured to self-denial and dependence.' Clearly the dependence was a reference to his aunt.

Elizabeth felt all the awkwardness of her situation. Julia wanted to hear him praised --and Elizabeth could satisfy her friend creditably, and with complete sincerity. But would it be kind to speak as warmly as she felt on the character of the man who must now be forever denied her? Should she disclose her suspicions of how keenly the colonel felt her loss? No, it was like the knowledge she had lately gained concerning Mr Bingley, which revealed his affections for Jane to have been strong and true, and his failure to return to Hertfordshire, entirely on account of the mischief of his friend, Mr Darcy.

Elizabeth chose her words carefully. "I found him to be a well-bred man, with pleasant conversation and delightful manners." Fearing she had spoken too warmly of him, she went on, "I must confess that I was not so well satisfied with his aunt. She is so full of her own self-importance and superiority; and so certain in all her opinions. I found being in her presence something of a trial."

Jane had by now comprehended the roles played by Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lady Catherine de Bourgh in Julia's recent history, and to save her friend the pain of regret, and thoughts of disappointed hopes, she introduced another topic into their conversation. Elizabeth too, was happy to leave Hunsford and Rosings Park behind; for fear that Mr Darcy might again receive mention. She felt herself quite unable to talk without embarrassment on that gentleman, about whom her opinions had recently undergone so material an alteration; and were, as yet, quite unsettled.

The remainder of the visit passed agreeably, and Elizabeth's good humour and enjoyment was only disturbed briefly when the name of James Darlington arose. Julia was aware that Elizabeth had met her beloved younger brother, and was eager to hear her praise him. Although Mr Darcy had largely supplanted James Darlington in her thoughts over recent weeks, when they did turn to Mr Darlington, the confusion of opinions and conflicting emotions were equal to those aroused by the other gentleman. Elizabeth succeeded in satisfying Julia by talking warmly of her brother's great talent as an artist; and of his wonderfully informed mind; and how much her father appreciated both his conversation and his company.

Julia had entrusted to the Miss Bennets letters for her mother and brother, which they had promised to deliver at the earliest opportunity upon their return to Hertfordshire. Thus, not many days after their return home, the sisters found themselves sitting in Lady Darlington's kitchen, listening to her son's exquisite performance on the violin. It was a lyrical, emotionally-charged piece, and neither of them had ever heard anything so beautiful. Elizabeth felt as if the musician were playing on her very heartstrings. Jane too, could not but help be affected and was quite overcome by the young gentleman, whom she was meeting for the first time.

Jane's heart, however, was quite safe, being entirely fixed upon Charles Bingley; though she would not own it to anyone, not even Elizabeth. "That was the loveliest music I have ever heard, Mr Darlington," she said when he was finished.

"It is a favourite of mine from a little-known Italian composer; although it was intended, I believe, as chamber music -- rather than kitchen music," he said with a smile. "Sadly, I must beg you ladies to excuse me, as I have pressing business to attend to."

His secret project, thought Elizabeth to herself, recalling her conversation with his mother in this very kitchen several months ago. She was extremely curious to learn more about it, but was nevertheless relieved when the gentleman left the room. She remembered their last conversation -- although in truth it was more of the nature of an altercation -- regarding the respective characters of Mr Wickham and Mr Darcy. Elizabeth was not looking forward to conceding just how wrong she had been.

Unluckily for Elizabeth, her father had invited James Darlington to dine with them not many days after her return to Longbourn, and unhappily for her, he came upon her walking alone in the garden on his arrival. "I hope you had a pleasant visit in Kent, Miss Bennet."

"Yes, I did, thank you," she replied uneasily, alarmed at where the conversation might be leading.

"My sister Julia mentions in her letter that you had the pleasure of meeting her former admirer, Colonel Fitzwilliam."

"Indeed, yes, he is a delightful and charming man. The parsonage where my friend Mrs Collins resides is but a short distance from Rosings Park, the home of Mr Collins's patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh; and we were often invited to dine there."

"You have my greatest sympathy," he said bluntly, "she is the most proud, arrogant, self-centred, and interfering of ladies. The very little time I have been in her company has been more than sufficient, I can assure you."

Elizabeth smiled. "I believe, sir, that we have found someone about whom our opinions are in complete accord. I know what difficulty and pain that lady has caused your family, and more particularly your sister, Julia. Although I previously knew of her disappointed marriage hopes, and the part her suitor's aunt had played in the affair, I was not aware at the time of my visit to Kent that Lady Catherine and her nephew were the persons concerned. It was not until my recent meeting with your sister in London, that I became aware of their identities, and even then, Julia did not volunteer the information. I guessed it from her embarrassment when I uttered the nephew's name."

"It is a very sad affair," he replied, shaking his head and sinking for a time into a silent reverie, before looking up at Elizabeth and saying, "Julia mentioned, I think, that Darcy was also at Rosings... that must have made it doubly unpleasant for you, Miss Bennet. Or did you find, perhaps, that he improved upon acquaintance?"

Elizabeth's fears when he first alluded to her visit to Kent that the conversation would inevitably lead to Mr Darcy had been well-founded. He was the very last person whom she wished to discuss with James Darlington. Why? Certainly there was discomfort on account of their previous conversation about Mr Darcy, because James Darlington had been absolutely correct -- and not just about Darcy, but George Wickham also -- while she had been entirely mistaken in the matter.

Yet there was something more; something related to the dreams which came to her at night. Even in her waking hours, both Mr Darcy and Mr Darlington were very often in her thoughts. What completely discomposed her was the suspicion that James Darlington was somehow aware of it all -- just as in the portrait he painted of her he seemed to penetrate to her very soul. How was it possible? Was it mere fancy? She earnestly hoped it was.

Elizabeth decided that the best way to relieve her discomfort was to take advantage of his question to make a complete breast of the matter. "One hates to admit that one has been mistaken in one's opinions, sir, particularly after speaking so strongly on them. Yes indeed, Mr Darcy did improve upon acquaintance, and I most contritely concede that you were almost entirely correct concerning the character of that gentleman, although I still hold Mr Darcy to be proud and somewhat arrogant."

Elizabeth expected him to make fun of her and ridicule her previous words, but he simply nodded graciously and said, "Then do you also admit, that if Darcy is no villain, then Wickham -- who even now, takes every opportunity to put himself forward by blackening Darcy's name -- can likewise be no saint?"

"Indeed I do admit it, sir. While in Kent I received information about Mr Wickham and his dealings with Mr Darcy which has persuaded me that Mr Wickham is nothing more than a charming, plausible, liar; and I am acutely embarrassed to have been so roundly deceived by him."

"I cannot blame you, Miss Bennet; the man is a most accomplished performer, and no doubt his fine looks and flattering ways make it especially difficult for a young lady to see beyond his charming façade. I have the advantage of you there, not to mention a good deal of serious and scientific study of human nature."

Elizabeth was most grateful at this kindness and generosity -- it was quite unexpected. Nevertheless, she felt embarrassed, and was eager to turn the conversation in another direction. "Your mother mentioned -- perhaps she should not have -- that you are much occupied in some endeavour of a literary kind, with the hope of remuneration. May I ask you what it is sir?"

"You are most welcome to ask, Miss Bennet -- it is a wonderful device, I dare say, to move the conversation to a less vexing subject -- but I may be unwilling to satisfy your curiosity in the matter."

Elizabeth blushed, he had done it again -- it was almost as if he could read her thoughts -- which, if true, would be shocking indeed. "But why, sir, must you be so secretive? Perhaps you are ashamed of your endeavours?"

"No, I am not ashamed -- not in the least. But some persons might find them unbefitting a gentleman," he said.

"But sir, in the past, you have shown yourself to be quite unconcerned at the opinions and judgements of others -- what pray tell has led to such a change in outlook?"

"Generally speaking, my outlook is quite unchanged... yet there are those persons in whose eyes I do not wish to be found wanting."

If Elizabeth were in any doubt as to his meaning, the colour which came most handsomely to his cheeks left none whatsoever, and caused her heart to beat suddenly harder. She turned her head away to hide the colour that had come to her own face, and to avoid his entreating eyes. This was more than flattery; it was undeniably an indication of preference. She knew not how to respond, and feared that any reply might tell him more of her feelings than she wished him to know.

The gentleman, who in an unguarded moment, had revealed far more than he had intended, quickly recovered himself. "It cannot be very difficult, Miss Bennet, for a person of your sharpness of mind, to guess the nature of my secret endeavour."

Elizabeth was relieved to be delivered from a most awkward moment, and seriously applied her mind to the question. "Well, sir, piecing together the information at hand: it is a literary endeavour, which you hope will provide a good income... and it is one that some may consider lacking in respectability."

"Correct on all counts, although my enterprise does not necessarily lack respectability, in and of itself. As you noted apropos my painting and gaming: the want of respectability is entirely due to my lack of fortune. Had I no need of the money that such an activity provides, I could carry it on blamelessly."

"You are writing a novel, sir," said Elizabeth smiling. "No other kind of literary work -- if a novel can be so-called -- would earn you very much at all. Now I am curious to know all about it. Is it a romance?"

"My lips are sealed; I will speak not another word on the subject."

"Then I shall have to wait until it is published, and then you shall know my opinion, for I am a great reader; and a critical judge of novels, Mr Darlington."

"You shall not know it is my work, Miss Bennet, for I publish everything, other than my poetry, under a non de plume."

"Have you already had something published other than poetry, sir?"

"I have been an irregular contributor of reviews and other occasional pieces in the Monthly Review for several years -- mostly before the plague of poverty was visited upon me, thus surely you must agree, Miss Bennet, that it was the work of a gentleman -- since I was not then in want of the remuneration. But now I am, and as you have guessed, I am working on a novel. It may not be the pinnacle of literary achievement, but I find it a thoroughly enjoyable pastime; and it is unquestionably the most rewarding in monetary terms."

"Surely that depends upon how well it is received by the public, and the number of copies sold? Or is it simply a matter of how much the publisher is willing to pay for the manuscript?"

"There are various ways of going about getting one's work published. One may simply sell the manuscript, in which case the remuneration is a question of the opinion of the publisher, rather than the reading public. There are arrangements by which the publisher pays the author a lesser sum for the manuscript, but agrees to pay a small royalty on each copy sold. Or, the author may elect to receive nothing for the manuscript -- he may even choose to pay for the printing -- and thereby receive a much larger royalty."

"The latter scheme, I imagine, would only benefit the author if his -- or her -- work were popular," said Elizabeth. "It involves a gamble, but unfortunately you are not in a position to choose it, as it would require a substantial sum of money."

"Yet that is exactly what I have chosen," he replied. Elizabeth looked at him questioningly; so he continued. "In addition to my magnum opus, I have lately begun writing an amusing little tale which is being published in serial form. I am paid weekly for each instalment, which will not only make up for the loss of gambling income with the imminent departure of the militia for Brighton, but should provide enough to cover the cost of printing my novel when it is completed."

"If I may say, you seem rather sure of yourself, Mr Darlington. You mother showed me some of your poetry, and I thought it wonderful -- your sonnets especially. But not every accomplished poet is a Mrs Radcliff."

"Quite so, Miss Bennet. It is a sad reflection, is it not, that a great work such as ‘Ozymandias' will never be as popular as ‘The Mysteries of Udolpho' -- not that I would dare compare myself to the great poet Shelley -- or the talented Mrs Radcliff. Nevertheless, I am encouraged by the reception my serialised story has thus far enjoyed."

"And I suppose you will refuse to divulge the name?"

The gentleman smiled awkwardly and looked away. Elizabeth could see that he had become most uncomfortable, but could not comprehend the reason. Fortunately, for Mr Darlington, at that very moment, Mary came from the house to announce the meal, and all opportunity of continuing the conversation and learning the name of his serialised story was denied her.

Posted on 2008-07-19

Though summer had arrived, Elizabeth was feeling restless, and not a little bored. The regiment had left Meryton, and consequently there were fewer parties, both at home and abroad; and those there were, lacked the variety and liveliness of old. George Wickham was gone at last -- that, at least, was a blessing. With her youngest sister, Lydia, gone to Brighton as the companion of Mrs. Forster, the dinner table and sitting room were far quieter -- although the conversation had become considerably more sensible. James Darlington was presently in London on business, and to perform at a soirée with his sister Julia, denying Elizabeth the opportunity of satisfying her curiosity regarding his serialised story.

With so few distractions, Elizabeth found herself day-dreaming more often than was her habit; and James Darlington seemed to occupy her thoughts in equal measure with Fitzwilliam Darcy. But why, oh why, do I trouble my mind over either gentleman? she demanded crossly of herself. The former was too impoverished -- and obliged to support a mother and sister. He was consequently in no position to consider marriage -- except of course, to a wealthy young lady. The latter gentleman, she had so vehemently refused and unjustly abused, that she was the last woman in world who might expect to receive his addresses. Then why do I think about them so persistently? Is it simply because these gentlemen have each professed their admiration of me (albeit subtly and perhaps unintentionally on the part of Mr Darlington)? Or could it be that I am attracted to them?

Were Elizabeth being honest with herself, the answer to the latter conjecture would most certainly have been yes. But a young lady does not wish to admit a preference for a gentleman -- even to herself -- until she is confident of his heart. James Darlington was such an unusual and enigmatic young man, that despite his sometimes soulful looks and demonstrative words at unguarded moments, Elizabeth could not make up her mind as to his true feelings. Whereas Mr Darcy had been entirely forthright, and readily acknowledged the degree to which his affection for her had overcome every objection: the inferiority of her family, the certain disapprobation of his relatives, the dictates of his will, his reason, and his character. Despite her disdain at his arrogance and pride, Elizabeth could not help but be moved by the strength of such feelings... at least, as they formerly had been, when he paid her his addresses at Hunsford. But now? Surely he must despise her -- if he thought of her at all. So why am I forever cursed by thoughts of him? she asked herself in exasperation.

Try as she might, Elizabeth could not prevent these flights of fancy in which she imagined one or other gentleman as her devoted lover. What made these thoughts particularly tantalising, was her inability to decide which of the two gentlemen, whose characters were so entirely different, she preferred.

On a fine and sunny morning, Elizabeth decided to visit Lady Darlington, in part to get away from home, as her mother was in one of her nervous humours. Jane felt obliged to keep company with their suffering mother, so Elizabeth set out alone. She was not at all in a good temper, having recently read something which had caused her great distress. As she turned into the lane where lay the cottage, Elizabeth was astonished to find James Darlington seated upon his three legged stool, engrossed in a painting. It was the very same spot where she had first met him several months prior. He turned his head upon hearing her step and smiled warmly.

Elizabeth immediately spoke. "I hope you are not going to ask me to stand again beneath that tree, sir, for I am in no mood to oblige you."

"I had intended to make no such request, Miss Bennet. As you can see, you are already painted. Your delightful form and features are so indelibly etched upon my mind, that I had not the slightest difficulty painting you entirely from memory. But you seem vexed, Miss Bennet; I earnestly pray that I have done nothing to offend you."

Elizabeth did not choose to answer his question immediately. She moved silently behind him to survey his work. He had indeed painted her beneath the oak tree, and standing in exactly the same pose that she had taken in his previous work.

After a long silence, during which he worked assiduously to alter the colour and style of her dress to match the one she now wore, he spoke, almost apologetically. "The gentleman who purchased the winter landscape was most enthusiastic, and begged me to paint this same landscape in summer, as a kind of companion piece. He expressed a desire that the same young lady should be standing beneath the oak tree. I hope you do not disapprove, Miss Bennet?"

"Of your painting, no, Mr Darlington, I do not disapprove; it is every bit as fine as your earlier painting of this scene. And as to the liberty you have taken, in again including me in the painting, I am but little troubled. It is nothing compared to a far greater liberty you have taken concerning me!" she said crossly.

Her tone of voice was such that James Darlington put down his brush and palette and turned to face the lady, his expression a mixture of confusion and alarm. He looked at her entreatingly, but spoke not a word.

"You seem surprised sir? Perhaps it would help if you were to cast your mind back to a conversation we had some weeks ago at Longbourn, regarding your literary work. You declined at the time to reveal the name of your story which is currently being published in weekly instalments."

"I am very sorry, Miss Bennet, and a little surprised, that my secrecy has so discomposed you," he offered apologetically.

"You said it was a success, sir; so why would you wish to conceal its name from me? Surely you must be happy to have all your acquaintance read it? You may recall my confessing, at this very place, that I was not greatly knowledgeable in art; however, I am an avid reader of the modern novel, including the popular variety published in weekly and monthly instalments, that leave the reader waiting anxiously to learn whether the hero will defeat the villain and claim the hand of the beautiful heroine -- even though one knows, of course, that it must end so. My Aunt Gardiner saves the instalments of such serialised stories for my sisters and myself, and sends them to us regularly. While visiting her in London, I began reading a wonderful new story which is become very popular."

"Oh?" he muttered uneasily. "And may I ask the name of it?"

Elizabeth looked intently at the gentleman, who was avoiding her fiery eyes. Ignoring his question, she sternly demanded, "Pray tell me, sir, from whence come the characters and plots in your writing? Are they the creation of your imagination, or are they perhaps purloined from the people and events you encounter in your daily life?"

"All fictional writing, I believe, is inspired to some extent by the experiences of the writer. Each character is constructed -- in part at least -- from a person or persons he has met, or perhaps read of, or about whom he has received a report. Plots may incorporate real events if the author is lucky enough to lead an interesting life. Of course there will be embellishments and outright invention, as well." The speaker was looking increasingly uncomfortable beneath the intensity of Elizabeth's gaze.

"Have you perhaps come across the sensational new author, Josephine Defoe?" Elizabeth asked accusingly. "She is the author of A Romance in Four Seasons, which is presently being serialised in The Observer. It is the story I began reading in London. A package, with the most recent chapters, arrived from my Aunt Gardiner only yesterday, and naturally I immediately read them; it is such a fascinating and engrossing tale. I am particularly eager to know how it will end. But perhaps you are able to tell me, Mr Darlington?"

"How did you guess?" he asked softly, hanging his head and continuing to avoid Elizabeth's eyes and conceal his reddened face.

"When she first recommended the story to me, my Aunt Gardiner told me I should find it amusing, especially since the heroine, Evelyn, seemed in some ways quite like myself. And the mother of her friend, Agnes, could almost be my own mother, could she not? And the villainous Edward Smythe is clearly modelled on George Wickham!"

"And my brother Edwin also -- he's a bit of a mixture, really. So, how did you like it, if I may be so bold as to ask?"

"I must admit that I liked it very much," conceded Elizabeth grudgingly. "Until yesterday, when I realised that the heroine was an almost exact replica of myself -- and guessed that Josephine Defoe was, in fact, James Darlington! How dare you take my character, sir, without seeking my consent?"

"But did you not like her? Did you not sympathise with her difficulties? Did you not find her entirely delightful and admirable?"

"That is hardly the point, Mr Darlington! Certainly your Evelyn is everything that is charming and beautiful. I particularly recall your description upon her entrance to the ballroom: ‘her eyes sparkled and lighted up the soul of every young man who beheld her.' I remember thinking that I had read those words before, but could not recall exactly where; and supposed that the author had stolen them from some poem or novel."

"I would never do such a thing!" protested the gentleman vehemently.

"But now I realise exactly why those words sounded familiar -- you spoke them to me, as I stood beneath that oak tree there, for your painting! Do you make a habit, sir, of flattering young ladies with extracts from your writing? Or was it the other way around perhaps? Were you testing the effect of the compliment upon me to determine if it would serve you in your story?"

James Darlington could not help but smile, despite the severity of the accusation. "You had it round the right way in your latter surmise, madam -- although I most vehemently deny that I was testing a compliment upon you. I was completely overcome by your beauty, and thoroughly captivated by your sparkling eyes."

Elizabeth shook her head doubtfully. "You are again attempting flattery, sir; this time to extricate yourself -- having been badly caught out!"

"But this is most unjust, Miss Bennet. What I said to you that day was sincere, unstudied, and the honest response of my senses and feelings upon first meeting you. There was neither the intention to flatter, nor to contrive a situation which might afterwards be used in some literary context. Since you are aware that I have based my heroine Evelyn upon yourself, you can hardly find it surprising that when I imagine her, I think of you. And when I think of you, it is always your lovely eyes that first I see. I can assure you, I did not consciously intend to repeat any words that I have spoken to you on any occasion in my writing. They simply came spontaneously to mind as I pictured Evelyn -- because in fact, I was seeing you... and your eyes."

In attempting to justify himself, the gentleman had spoken with an intensity and warmth he would otherwise have restrained; and on which account he was clearly embarrassed. He quickly turned back to his easel and took up his brush and palette. "Please excuse me, Miss Bennet; I must finish my work before my colours dry on me."

Elizabeth, too, was embarrassed. Her questions regarding his feelings were answered by his present embarrassment; by the warmth with which he had just now spoken of her; but most particularly because he admitted to modelling his heroine upon her. It was not difficult to surmise that the author had cast himself in the role of the hero, Jason, who was entirely smitten by Evelyn. But had he, in fact, based Jason upon himself, she wondered. Certainly there were many similarities, but there were also glaring differences. Perhaps their perceptions and judgements were at odds again -- on this occasion concerning his own character, rather than that of Mr Darcy or Mr Wickham. In view of their mutual discomfiture, Elizabeth resolved to carry on quickly to the cottage, but she could not help but ask, "And is the character of your hero, Jason, based upon yourself, sir?"

Without turning from his work, he replied, "In part, yes. But I am not so conceited as to believe that my own character resembles that of the classic hero of a romance."

"And do you wish to be like Jason?"

"No madam, not in the least. In creating a hero, the author strives for something that the general readership will find attractive; and that young ladies, particularly, will find desirable. Jason is designed to quicken the hearts of my female readers; I have not that sort of character, and I have no wish of it."

"Yet your heroine, Evelyn, is very close indeed to my own character. So close in fact, that I must confess to finding the acuteness of your penetration rather disquieting."

"Please, do not be alarmed, Miss Bennet. It is just that in your case -- err, excuse me -- I mean in the case of my heroine, Evelyn, I was not disposed to alter my vision to suit the general approbation; and yet, I felt confident that she would earn it just as you -- I mean she -- was." The gentleman, who had turned about on his stool to face Elizabeth, quickly turned back again, and busied himself with his work.

Elizabeth was also embarrassed, and sought to turn the conversation away from herself. "Did the additions, alterations, and embellishments you made in order to transform your own character, into that of Jason, come from your imagination, or from some other person or persons?"

"Jason is almost an exact amalgam of myself and another gentleman; an acquaintance of mine -- and of yours also, Miss Bennet. Can you not guess the identity of that gentleman?"

The answer hit Elizabeth with a jolt, sending a shiver down her spine. It was obviously Mr Darcy. Jason was depicted as the stately, proud, upright and gentlemanly heir to a great estate. No wonder I like Jason so much, thought Elizabeth, he combines the best qualities of the two gentlemen who exercise such a fascination over my mind.

"I suppose it must be someone like Fitzwilliam Darcy," said Elizabeth lightly, feigning indifference, but in fact feeling acutely embarrassed; and desperate to avoid a discussion on the respective characters of Darcy and James Darlington. That gentleman was far too perceptive for her comfort, and she did not wish to provide him with the opportunity of gaining further insights -- particularly regarding her feelings for either Mr Darcy or himself. "In that case, you did not make your hero arrogant enough!" she added, provocatively.

"Oh, so you still think Darcy arrogant, do you? But perhaps that characteristic of my hero's persona was taken from myself, rather than Darcy?" he said, turning his head and smiling.

Elizabeth turned away from him, and before walking briskly off in the direction of his mother's cottage, she fired a parting shot over her shoulder, "No, I meant you did not make Jason arrogant enough to do justice to the disposition of either Mr Darcy or yourself!"

Elizabeth was hardly surprised that James Darlington did not join his mother and herself in the kitchen; nor, that he was decamped from the lane when she passed by on her way home. As she walked towards Longbourn, she turned over the morning's conversation in her mind. It was clear that the gentleman had been at least as embarrassed as she. He had unintentionally revealed a very strong preference for her; even stronger, perhaps, than hers for him. She smiled to herself and wondered if he was as utterly in love with her as was his Jason was with Evelyn... or as Mr Darcy had professed to be with her, some weeks ago. No young lady could help but feel greatly satisfied in being so deeply desired.

Elizabeth saw James Darlington on only one further occasion before departing with her aunt and uncle into Derbyshire. He had endeavoured to apprehend her alone when he came to dine with them, and seemed most anxious to speak with her. At first, Elizabeth feared that she was about to receive -- and would be reluctantly obliged to refuse -- her third offer of marriage in barely twice as many months. Regardless of what she felt for the gentleman, it would be impossible for her to accept him, at least in his present circumstances. Perhaps if he succeeded in the literary world, and his mother and sister were well provided for and secure, she might then consider his addresses. But that could take many years, and would certainly require more than one or two successful novels. Despite everything she had said on the subject of the un-gentlemanliness of earning one's living in such a way, she knew it would not stop her from accepting him -- if she decided that she loved him, above all others (something of which she was far from certain).

Luckily for Elizabeth she was spared the distress of breaking yet another poor man's heart, for it soon became evident that he was not begging for her hand -- only her forgiveness. "Miss Bennet, before you depart from Hertfordshire, I wish to offer you my sincere apologies for taking your character and using it without your sanction for my heroine, Evelyn. It is something that authors do constantly, and it never occurred to me, until our recent conversation, that you might be displeased. I would never do anything that knowingly caused you pain, Miss Bennet; please believe me!"

Despite her relief that it was not a proposal of marriage, and the certainty that she must refuse him, Elizabeth felt a twinge of disappointment; and wondered not a little at her own conceit. She nevertheless put such thoughts aside and answered him kindly. "I do believe you, sir, and you are most heartily forgiven. And I apologise for bracketing you together with Mr Darcy in arrogance. Despite my revision of that gentleman's character, I still hold him to be proud and arrogant. In your case, however, what may at first seem like arrogance or conceit, is perhaps nothing more than a lack of modesty, which given your prodigious talents, you might find some difficulty in evincing."

"It is exactly so, madam. I detest those social conventions which require one to act dishonestly -- to pretend that one is something that one is not -- be it better or worse than the fact. I believe in the forthright expression of my opinions of people -- my own self included. False modesty is falsehood. And if, on occasion, I have exhibited feelings of great admiration, where social propriety decrees that they be hidden beneath banal courtesies... then I hope you will forgive me. Please understand me, Miss Bennet: I am by nature candid and artless; and if I have sometimes spoken too warmly, too ardently or too longingly, it was done without design, and without hope of..." He blushed and looked at his feet as he struggled to get the better of his emotions. "You well know the situation of my family, Miss Bennet, and the constraints it places upon me. Were I free to follow the dictates of my heart... but once again I have said too much," he added, before turning and walking away.

Elizabeth could not help but be deeply touched by his words, and the hopelessness of his situation. But she was sensible enough to know that it was pointless to lament what might have been -- but was not. Fortunately, her tour into Derbyshire would commence the following day, and there would be distractions aplenty to occupy her mind and save her having to decide how she might have answered him, had he thrown himself at her feet, and had his circumstances been different. It amused her to consider that had his circumstances, in fact, been different, he would never have come into Hertfordshire in first place, and so she should never have known the gentleman or his family. Her thoughts turned once more to the capriciousness of life, and how much of it seemed to depend upon chance. What, she wondered, does chance hold in store for me next?

Posted on 2008-07-22

Chance, it transpired, held a great deal in store for Elizabeth Bennet. It raised her hopes to dizzying heights, wherein she allowed herself to believe that Mr Darcy, against all expectations, despite all his former objections, and notwithstanding the cruel and unjust manner with which she had dismissed his addresses at Hunsford, still admired and loved her. His greatly altered behaviour at Pemberley and Lambton had served to overturn all her former ideas of him as haughty, arrogant, and cold. She told herself that she did not deserve to receive his addresses a second time, and dared not presume it. And yet, there was something in his countenance when he regarded her: a kind of fervour, and a passion, of which she had heretofore not believed him capable, which whispered that she must prepare herself for the renewal of his addresses -- and be ready to give him her answer. She must decide: did she wish to be his wife? Did she care for him enough? Although she had not yet admitted it in her thoughts, her heart murmured, ‘yes'. Her imagination was full of Darcy, and dreams of herself as mistress of Pemberley -- and its master's heart.

Elizabeth could not but feel herself unaccountably blessed by chance. She marvelled at her good fortune: chance had brought her into Derbyshire (when her Aunt and Uncle's original plan had been to tour the Lakes); it had brought Mr Darcy from London unexpectedly, and then conspired to have him arrive at Pemberley at the very moment she was walking in the grounds.

But then, in a single moment, chance cast her down from the most glorious hopes of a fairytale future to the depths of despair. The wretched news of Lydia's elopement shattered every possible hope of happiness. After her return from Derbyshire, Elizabeth often thought over the havoc that chance had played with her life. These were not consoling thoughts, but a mind as active as hers required occupation. With her father still in London, and her mother barely rational, Elizabeth sought the succour of a sympathetic and intelligent companion; and thus set out to visit Lady Darlington.

Fortuitously, James Darlington was in London on the morning of Elizabeth's visit, for she was not yet mistress of the emotions that had been unleashed in Derbyshire, and felt herself unequal to concealing them from that gentleman's penetrating mind. Lady Darlington had heard the news concerning Lydia, which was by this time common knowledge in the neighbourhood. She embraced Elizabeth warmly, and without making light of the situation, told her she must not despair, and that her life was not over, "Not nearly," she added with a comforting smile. "And Lydia's story is not yet over; we, none of us, know how it shall end. But whatever the end may be, it will very soon fade from people's minds -- of that you may be certain. You, Jane, Mary, and Kitty have done nothing wrong, and no fair-minded person will ever think the less of any of you on Lydia's account."

"You are too kind, your ladyship. But regrettably, not everyone has your goodness and compassion; or even wishes to be fair-minded. There are those who will always look for fault in others, who will seize upon a scandal such as this, and gladly blacken the names of my sisters and myself by association." As she spoke, Elizabeth visualised the triumphant, gloating face of Caroline Bingley.

"Such persons cannot be called friends, dear Elizabeth; and those who would listen to their opinions, and concur with them, are not worthy of your concern."

"But, can you not see, your ladyship," responded Elizabeth miserably, "that this affair must materially damage the marriage prospects of my sisters and myself?"

Lady Darlington reached out and took Elizabeth's hand in hers. "No man who truly loved you, my dear, would decide against you on account of what Lydia has done. No young man in love would think of it for two moments."

"Not for himself, perhaps," replied Elizabeth. "But for the honour of his family, he may. And even if he himself were not concerned by it, his nearest relatives well might."

"No, I do not believe it! Just imagine for a moment that my son, James, were such a one -- of course, sadly, as you are well aware, he is no position to be contemplating marriage to anyone. I know he would not give a single thought for Lydia's behaviour if his heart were set upon you. And I would be utterly delighted for him to have such a wife -- as would any mother who truly loved her son." Elizabeth could not help but blush and smile inwardly as Lady Darlington discounted this imaginary romance. For Elizabeth, at least, it was more than merely hypothetical -- and she suspected it likewise was, for the son.

"Oh, Lady Darlington, if only every mother were like you," and every son like yours, she thought to herself, for Lady Darlington was right: her son James would never think the lesser of her on account of Lydia. "But it is not so. There are those, who though their judgement of me might not falter on account of this business; and who would treat me with sympathy and compassion; but yet... on account of family honour and pride, would shrink from..." Elizabeth could not go on. She buried her face in her hands as she struggled to hold back her tears.

"My dear, what is this all about? What has happened?" asked Lady Darlington gently, handing Elizabeth a handkerchief, and when she had dried her eyes, she again took Elizabeth's hand and squeezed it comfortingly.

Elizabeth poured out her heart to Lady Darlington, as she had been unable to do with Jane, for fear of disclosing information about Mr Bingley which might revive hopes and regrets in her sister's heart. Elizabeth revealed everything: Mr Darcy's astonishing proposal of marriage at Hunsford -- and the abominable manner in which she had refused him: her harsh accusations, which, in light of his subsequent letter (she concealed only the details concerning Georgiana) proved entirely baseless and unreasonable. Then she spoke of more recent events in Derbyshire, including her final meeting with Mr Darcy at the inn in Lambton, when she was in a state of agitation and distress, having just read Jane's letters concerning Lydia.

"He must have come expressly to pay you his addresses -- a second time," said Lady Darlington, thoughtfully. "No other explanation serves for his paying a visit at so early an hour. My dear, you have made quite a conquest! I knew his parents. His mother, Anne, and I were friendly at one time; her disposition was far more pleasing than that of her younger sister Catherine, whom I could never abide. His father was a charming gentleman -- and very handsome. There was a season in London -- we were both quite young -- when I began to believe myself in love with him. Ah, but enough of the reminiscences of an old lady! I am but little acquainted with the present Mr Darcy; I know of him more by reputation, and have heard nothing but good reports as to his character. He is considered to be a very handsome gentleman; is it so?"

"Yes, he is handsome; and his character and temperament are excellent, although it took me many months to acknowledge it."

"And to fall in love with him?"

"Yes, yes! Oh, why was I so foolish to reject his addresses? I could have been Mrs Darcy -- before all this business with Lydia had occurred. And quite probably it might never have happened; for Lydia would have remained in Longbourn for my wedding, and never gone to Brighton! Oh why, oh why, was I so stupid and blind? And now it is all too late!"

"My dear, do not give up hope! Mr Darcy must love you a great deal if he was able to overcome all his objections concerning your family -- objections which you say caused him to detach his friend, Mr Bingley, from your sister, Jane. There are few men, who having been so ruthlessly refused, would consider offering themselves a second time. Such an uncommon love does not easily die; it is capable of overcoming every obstacle."

While Elizabeth was thus engaged in taking comfort from Lady Darlington, her son was entering a London bookseller, where, to his great surprise, he spied in a corner, browsing the titles, the very object of their conversation.

"Darcy, old chap," he said as he approached, with hand extended, "what brings you to town at this time of year?"

Darcy looked up from his book and shook the proffered hand. "Darlington, how are you? I have not seen you since Cambridge, I believe."

James Darlington stood silently for some moments, regarding Darcy with his head cocked to one side; his ever-active mind evidently hard at work. Darcy, recalling Darlington's sometimes unwanted perspicacity, began feeling uneasy beneath the younger man's intense gaze, and realising that he had not answered the question, he attempted an offhand reply, "Err... just popped up to take care of a spot of business."

"Really? My sister Julia tells me that Miss Darcy is but lately left London for Derbyshire, together with a large party -- including yourself. Thus naturally, you will understand my surprise upon encountering you here in London... and my wondering at what pressing reason could have precipitated so sudden a return from Pemberley."

Darcy was becoming increasingly uncomfortable and annoyed at Darlington's impertinence, so he replied curtly, "Private business, Darlington." Darlington continued to look at him appraisingly, so Darcy attempted to deflect the conversation from himself by enquiring, "Are you living in London, these days?"

"No, I too, am here on business -- and if I am not very much mistaken, it is very likely the same business as your own."

Darcy was stunned; what could the man be referring to? He recalled Darlington's uncanny knack of disconcerting him, and was becoming quite discomposed. "Look here, Darlington, I was very sorry to hear about your father, and your recent family misfortunes. Your brother Edwin was always an unmitigated bounder; I knew him at Eton; never much liked him, not my cup of tea, really."

"Nor mine," replied Darlington, smiling and nodding in acknowledgement of Darcy's sympathetic sentiments. "But I think I know what -- or, should I say, who -- is your cup of tea, Darcy."

"Damn it, Darlington, why do you always have to be so exasperatingly cryptic, man; forever talking in riddles? I remember you always took delight in it at Cambridge. I must tell you: I find it exceedingly annoying."

"I will tell you what, Darcy: how about you invite me to your club, which I believe is close by, for tea. Then we can talk about your cup of tea, and your business -- which are pretty much the same thing, are they not?"

There was a growing suspicion in Darcy's mind that somehow Darlington had more than just a little inkling of the business which brought him to town. The very last thing he wished was to discuss it in a public place. "All right then," he said, replacing the volume he had been perusing on the shelf, and reticently led the way to his club.

Darcy chose one of the small private dining rooms, and ordered tea. He then demanded, "Now what is this all about, Darlington?"

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet," replied James Darlington, scrutinising Darcy intently, and noting the deep blush that came immediately to that gentleman's face.

"Err... Miss Elizabeth Bennet of... err, Longbourn? What of her?" asked Darcy, his eyes fixed firmly upon the silver creamer; contriving, but failing, to feign disinterest.

"She is both your cup of tea, and, your reason for being in London."

Darcy attempted to keep his face neutral. "I have not the least idea what you are talking about, Darlington; you are making not the slightest sense."

"Very well, then, let us start with a definition, shall we? ‘Cup of tea': a commonplace English expression denoting ‘a person, or object well-suited to one's taste.' Your cup of tea, Darcy, is Miss Elizabeth Bennet; you are in love with the lady!"

Darcy was utterly speechless; his face had turned an alarming shade of red. "But... What?" he spluttered. Finally he hissed through gritted teeth. "Has she spoken to you of..." But he was unable to go on. Fitzwilliam Darcy had never been so embarrassed in his entire life.

All the while, James Darlington was observing him with a bemused, calculating expression on his face; but spoke not a word.

It required considerable effort on Darcy's part to recover his composure. Finally, he said coldly, "I recall at Cambridge, that you often refused to play by the rules of gentlemanly conduct, Darlington; and I see that you have not changed in that regard. Gentlemanly behaviour is something which I, at least, always strive to adhere to; and I shall not dignify your breaches of good manners by responding to such outrageous speculations."

Mr Darlington continued to sip his tea, and chewed thoughtfully on a piece of cake; seemingly not in the least bit contrite or apologetic.

"I take it, then, that you are acquainted with Miss Bennet?" asked Darcy, his curiosity finally getting the better him -- despite having but a moment ago determined not to speak a word on the lady.

"When my mother was obliged to leave Darlington Hall some months ago, she took a cottage in Hertfordshire, not far from Meryton, where I have since joined her. Mr Bennet, who was a lifelong friend of my father, has been exceedingly kind to us all, and frequently extends invitations to dine at Longbourn. I am a great admirer of Miss Bennet, Darcy; she has an exceptionally lively mind, and her conversation is always delightful -- as is her countenance. I could write sonnets about her eyes -- in fact I have: several."

"It sounds, like she might be your cup of tea, then," said Darcy coldly, now regarding Darlington confrontationally.

"Now look here, Darcy, before you start flinging gloves about and challenging me to a duel, you should know that I have not the least design upon Miss Bennet. I am utterly impoverished, and am currently engaged in establishing myself as a novelist; an endeavour which, if I am successful, will, in the not too distant future, allow me to support my mother and sister in reasonable comfort. I do not imagine it will provide sufficiently for me to marry on, for a good many years."

"So your lack of design upon Miss Bennet is entirely due to you lack of fortune?"

"Yes, very likely, I suppose," replied James Darlington, letting out a sad sigh.

"What do you mean by ‘suppose'? Surely you must know your own mind, man?"

"Darcy, my situation is such that marriage is presently an impossibility. I have disciplined myself not to waste time contemplating the unattainable. I have more than enough of the barely attainable to occupy my mind these days."

"I see," said Darcy, with some relief; for James Darlington was the very last man with whom he would wish to compete for Elizabeth Bennet's heart.

"I have never contemplated marriage, Darcy; and I imagined that I never would. I was always far too absorbed in pursuing my studies and research, and other interests, to spare time for such mundane matters as romance and matrimony. Perhaps it was also because I had never met a lady who was capable of capturing my interest -- or my heart -- until I became acquainted with Miss Bennet. But I am no dreamer, Darcy; if my dear father was still alive, and were I not impoverished, it might all have been different, but..."

"Then you believe that Miss Bennet returns your affections? Has she said as much?" asked Darcy, anxiously.

"She has said no such thing, and I have made no attempt to woo her, for the very reasons I have just given you. But in any case, I am convinced that she has a strong preference for another."

"Who?" demanded Darcy, urgently.

James Darlington ignored the question. "Miss Bennet and I have had several fascinating conversations, some of which featured your name, prominently. Unlike myself, the lady strives to observe the conventions of genteel conversation and propriety; so you may rest assured that she has never alluded to anything remotely related to romance regarding yourself, Darcy. Whatever opinions I hold on that head, and might express, are entirely my own conjecture. On one occasion we had a rather animated conversation vis-à-vis the relative merits and qualities of character of yourself, and a gentleman by the name of George Wickham."

Darcy grunted at the name, but said nothing.

"A rather unsavoury character who is greatly in my debt as a result of losses at the gaming table. He possesses prodigious skill at charming and deceiving young ladies -- including Miss Elizabeth Bennet, at one time. She had a very poor opinion of you, Darcy, after your departure from Hertfordshire; and yet, it seemed to me, that she cared a great deal about you -- even if it was only to dislike and disparage you. But when she came back from Kent, all her opinions were changed; and she seemed desperate to hide some great secret -- something concerning yourself, I surmised. I suppose you asked her to marry you, Darcy?" he said, staring hard into Darcy's eyes, who felt himself unable to turn them away, his face, again, betraying him, by turning red.

"I know you pride yourself on your powers of deduction, and unwanted penetration into the thoughts of others, Darlington, but I cannot imagine how you could have come to such a conclusion. What has Miss Bennet told you?" he demanded angrily.

"She has told me nothing, Darcy; and I must admit that I did not suspect a marriage proposal at the time. For while I was aware of Miss Bennet's fascination for you, I had not the slightest information or clue as to your feelings for her -- at least not until I saw you in the bookseller today, when a rather fascinating possibility began to develop in my mind. I watched you very carefully, Darcy, when I first mentioned her name, some minutes ago. Your reaction, and every reaction since, tells me that you have been in love with the lady for some considerable time.

"When I combine that with my close observation of Miss Bennet, I surmise that you paid her your addresses in Kent, and that she refused you -- which is hardly surprising, given what were her opinions of you at the time; most especially her misguided belief in the great wickedness you had visited upon her erstwhile favourite: the angelic George Wickham.

"Though I had no suspicion, at the time, of a marriage proposal, it was clear to me that something happened in Kent to change Miss Bennet's opinions, of both yourself and Wickham. All the lady would say on the subject, was that she had received information about Mr Wickham, and his dealings with you. Beyond that, she did not elaborate."

Darcy, likewise, did not wish to elaborate; most especially with regard to Wickham's attempted elopement with his sister, Georgiana. Desperate to turn the conversation away from these most personal and embarrassing subjects, he demanded, "But how does all this conjecture of yours -- and I admit to none of it -- bear upon my business in town?"

"Nothing more than a simple bit of deduction, really. You have just come from Derbyshire, I believe, where Miss Bennet has been touring with her aunt and uncle. Just before I departed from Hertfordshire I learned that she had returned hastily home, on account of a very sad affair relating to her youngest sister, Miss Lydia Bennet. But you know all about that, do you not?"

There was no escaping Darlington's demanding gaze, Darcy nodded. Darlington smiled with satisfaction. "I thought as much. In fact, I suspected it from the moment I first saw you at the bookseller. You met with Miss Bennet in Derbyshire, and learned of her sister's elopement with Wickham. There is a history of some kind between yourself and Wickham. His side of the story, which was common knowledge in the regiment, was that he was the son of your father's steward, and the favourite of your father, who left him a fine fortune of which you cheated him."

"The first part is true, but not the latter."

"No, of course not, I knew you too well to believe a word of it. And in any case, I had him pegged as a dishonest rogue from the outset, but you probably know more about this charlatan than anyone. You came to London to find him, and force him to marry Miss Lydia Bennet; and so salvage her reputation... and that of her sisters, including Miss Elizabeth Bennet, whom you still hope to persuade to marry you. That, Darcy, is your business in London."

Darcy gave James Darlington an appraising look. He was quite in awe of his mental faculties. "I refuse, point blank, Darlington, to discuss Miss Elizabeth Bennet with you, or to concede any of your wild surmises regarding my feelings and intentions regarding that lady. What I will concede, is that the principal business which brings me to town is to ensure that the marriage between Miss Lydia Bennet and George Wickham takes place. There are reasons other than those you ascribe to me, which induce me to undertake such a task; but it is a private matter, which I have no intention of divulging. Now, if I recall correctly, you said that we have the same business; would you care to elaborate?"

"I came up to London yesterday with exactly the same intention as you, of finding the whereabouts of Wickham and Miss Lydia Bennet, and of persuading him to marry her."

"And have you had any success?"

Darlington shook his head, "No, I have so far been unable to trace them. And you?"

"I have located them and am presently engaged in the exceedingly unpleasant task of haggling over how much I am to bribe the most despicable man of my acquaintance. I must confess that I am not overly optimistic at the present time. He is exceedingly greedy, and entirely unrealistic in his demands. But Darlington, even had you found them, how on earth did you imagine you could persuade Wickham to marry Lydia Bennet? You no longer have money; and if I remember well from Cambridge, you were no swordsman or marksman -- surely you cannot have been thinking of challenging Wickham to a duel?"

Darlington laughed. "Of course not, it would have been entirely pointless. He would not have been coerced into marriage by such a challenge -- indeed, he would gladly have accepted it. Had he survived, he would not have been forced to marry -- and if he had died, he would have been unable to."

"Exactly," replied Darcy. "I came to the same conclusion myself; although I would have taken greater pleasure in fighting the scoundrel. But how then did you believe you might persuade him?"

James Darlington reached into his jacket pocket and removed some folded pages, which he handed to Darcy. "By giving him this to read," he said. "If you would be good enough to pass it on to him, I would be most obliged. You are welcome to read it first, but please do not reveal its source, as I have not the slightest wish of meeting George Wickham with either sword or pistol -- my weapon of choice is the pen."

In the evening following Mr and Mrs Wickham's most welcome departure for Newcastle, Elizabeth was sitting in her room, once again re-reading the letter from her Aunt Gardiner, which revealed the part Mr Darcy had played in bringing about the marriage. Elizabeth could not settle it in her mind. Did he really do it all for her, as her aunt broadly hinted? Had Mr Darcy endured such a distasteful undertaking, of having to prevail upon and bribe a man he abhorred and reviled, for a woman who had spurned and scorned him? It seemed hardly credible. As Elizabeth turned these thoughts over in her mind, her sister, Jane, knocked on her door.

"You remember the sheets of newspaper you passed me, which our Aunt Gardiner enclosed with her letter, Lizzy?"

"Oh yes, I had quite forgotten about it. It was the latest chapter of A Romance in Four Seasons, was it not? How did you like it?"

"I liked it very much," answered Jane. "But there is something in it which so reminds me of recent events amongst us... it is quite uncanny."

Not uncanny at all, thought Elizabeth. James Darlington had begged her not to reveal his nom de plume of Josephine Defoe, so Jane could little guess why parts of his story might seem somehow familiar.

"I won't spoil it by speaking of it," she said, handing Elizabeth the newspaper pages. "After you have read it, we shall talk. And there is something very curious at the end; please be sure to read it, and tell me what you think."

As soon as Jane had left the room, Elizabeth turned eagerly to the story. The villain, Edward Smythe, whom Elizabeth knew to be modelled partly upon George Wickham and partly upon Edwin Darlington, was become much more like Mr Wickham now -- in both character and behaviour. Elizabeth was appalled: James Darlington had him eloping with a naïve young lady, named Susan, in precisely the manner of Wickham and Lydia. All the particulars were identical: he pretended they were bound for Gretna Green to marry; but instead brought her to London where they lived hidden, and in sin; she believing he would very soon marry her, but he, having not the least intention. Like Lydia, Susan was without fortune, and Edward had hopes that with his good looks and charm, he might still be able to woo a wealthy lady, and thus secure himself a life of comfort and ease.

Elizabeth was outraged that James Darlington could have used the tragedy of her poor, foolish sister in such a way. True, no-one reading it, but Elizabeth herself, would know from whence came the particulars of the plot; and in any case, Lydia's circumstances were by now common knowledge throughout the neighbourhood. Yet it showed a heartlessness, and a lack of sensitivity that shocked her. Mr Darlington was certainly aware that she would read it. How did he imagine she might feel at seeing her own sister's terrible misfortune thus exploited?

Elizabeth read on. Finally she reached the end of the chapter, and was surprised to see an addendum from the author:

Dear reader, it is my sad duty to reveal that the story of innocent young Susan's elopement with the despicable rake, Edward Smythe, is not the invention of the author; but rather, a true account of an actual history, which has lately occurred. The true villain is, at the time of publication, hidden in some London lodgings with his deceived young victim. Just like Edward, the scoundrel intends to cast her off, callously abandoning her to sink into a life of degradation while he seeks to make his fortune by wooing any wealthy woman he is able to prevail upon, and deceive.

The true name of this despicable villain is known to the author, who delivers unto him this warning: marry the poor unfortunate girl you have so grievously wronged, or your name will be revealed in these very pages at the end of the final chapter, two weeks hence. Not only will you be publicly shamed, but your name shall be known throughout the land, and never again, will any respectable young lady, of wealth or otherwise, be duped by you.

Posted on 2008-07-25

James Darlington, whom Elizabeth had not seen since going into Derbyshire, was present at the large dinner party her mother gave in Mr Bingley's honour, in the hope of forwarding a marriage proposal from that gentleman to her eldest daughter, Jane. Elizabeth was eager to speak with Mr Darlington; however, with so many dinner guests, she managed only a polite greeting; and when they were seated at the table, he was placed at the opposite end, beside her father. Her mind, however, was far too occupied with Mr Darcy, and her uncertainty regarding that gentleman's feelings and intentions, to spare further thought to James Darlington.

After the dinner, Mr Darlington approached her in the drawing room, and adroitly steered her away from the table where she was serving coffee, and from which Mr Darcy had very recently retreated after a brief and stilted conversation regarding his sister, Georgiana. Elizabeth contrasted Mr Darcy's awkward manner and hasty retreat upon the approach of a young lady, to the ease with which James Darlington engaged her attention. Why is Darcy so severe and reserved with me here, when he was so pleasing in Derbyshire? she asked herself.

Mr Darlington guided her to a quiet corner of the room where he looked at her questioningly, a playful smile upon his handsome face. She guessed he had observed her recent awkward encounter with Mr Darcy, and she was desperate to avoid the subject.

"At least one Miss Bennet would appear to be enjoying the company this evening," he said, looking over to where her sister, Jane, was experiencing a little difficulty pouring the tea, on account of the keen attentions she was receiving from Mr Bingley.

Elizabeth was well aware of his inference: that she, in contrast, was less than satisfied with the behaviour of Mr Darcy. Apart from being greatly desirous of avoiding that subject, Elizabeth most sincerely wished to thank Mr Darlington concerning Lydia. Since his authorship was a secret and they might easily be overheard, she approached the matter obliquely. "Have you, perchance, read A Romance in Four Seasons, Mr Darlington? It has been recently serialised in The Observer," she said, with a satirical smile.

"A gentleman does not generally like to admit to being a reader of romances, but I shall confide in you, Miss Bennet, that I am indeed familiar with the story of which you speak; I found it fascinating. I must own to being quite captivated by the beautiful heroine, Evelyn," he added mischievously.

Elizabeth blushed. "The author deserves our sincere thanks, I believe, for the way in which he... err, excuse me, I mean she, exposed the infamous deeds of that wicked young man and forced him to behave honourably."

James Darlington smiled. "Yes, I was very pleased to read her note at the end of the final chapter, informing her readers of the satisfactory conclusion. You will be surprised, Miss Bennet, to learn that I am personally acquainted with the author, Miss Josephine Defoe, and am in possession of information concerning the affair that is not generally known."

Elizabeth smiled and sought to hold back her laughter. "Indeed, sir?"

"Yes. It appears that the part Miss Defoe played, was but a minor one; and that the principal actor was a gallant gentleman, who went to a great deal of trouble to discover the whereabouts of the young couple. Apparently, he offered a substantial financial inducement to the unknown scoundrel to marry the aggrieved young lady. I understand that this gentleman also passed on a copy of the crucial chapter to the rogue, at Miss Defoe's behest." As he spoke, he turned his head and looked meaningfully across the room towards Mr Darcy.

Elizabeth blushed and said, "He must be the most noble of men."

"I am somewhat acquainted with the gentleman, myself, and have always thought him so -- although I understand that others have sometimes held contrary views. But noble or not, one suspects some personal motive," he said. Elizabeth remained silent as she attempted to avoid his playful gaze. "I wonder... is it possible that this noble gentleman -- whoever he may be -- is perhaps the admirer of a sister of the young lady who was so grievously wronged -- just supposing, for one moment, that she has sisters."

Elizabeth blushed furiously, and looking up, she noticed Mr Darcy staring jealously across the room in their direction. "Excuse me, please, I believe my mother is in need of assistance," she said, moving briskly away from James Darlington.

About a week after Mrs Bennet's dinner, Darcy was sitting at his writing desk at his London residence, when the butler came to announce a Mr Darlington to see him.

"Please show him into the morning room, Thomas, and have tea served," he said as he put away his unfinished letter. Damn it, he thought, I wonder what brings Darlington to Grosvenor Square? He's so damned unconventional, one never knows what to expect of him next.

"Darlington, good to see you. I must tell you that your threat to expose George Wickham had quite an effect; he agreed almost immediately to accept my terms. Now, to what do I owe this pleasure?" he enquired stiffly.

"Actually, I am here in the hope of finding my sister, Julia. I was informed at her lodgings that she was staying here as the guest of Miss Darcy; however, your butler informs me that they are both of them gone into Derbyshire."

"Yes, that is correct. My sister, Georgiana, has become excessively fond of Miss Darlington's company, and invited her to accompany her to Pemberley. I am surprised you did not know of it."

"No doubt she wrote of it to my mother; the letter must have arrived after my departure from Hertfordshire. A pity, I brought a painting to show her," he said, indicating a large portfolio leaning against the hat-stand. "I thought she might like to see it, as it is a portrait of a friend of hers: Miss Elizabeth Bennet," he added casually.

"Oh?" said Darcy with a start.

"I am quite proud of it. In fact, I am convinced that it is the finest thing I have ever painted."

Darcy remained silent. He dearly wished to see Miss Bennet's portrait, but could not bring himself to ask. Just at that moment, the tea things were brought in, and while the tea was being poured, Darlington said casually: "I could show it to you... if you are interested in seeing it."

"If it is not too much trouble," said Darcy, attempting to match the other gentleman's nonchalance, but not quite succeeding.

"It needs framing, of course," said Darlington, removing the painting from the portfolio and placing it on a chair which he positioned directly in front of Mr Darcy.

"My goodness," was all Darcy could say, as he feasted his eyes on the most remarkable likeness of Elizabeth Bennet. His mind went back to a conversation with Miss Caroline Bingley the previous year, in which that young lady had sarcastically quipped: ‘what painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes?' He recalled having replied: ‘It would not be easy.' And yet Darlington had done it, admirably. More than that, he had captured that playful intelligence which Darcy found so beguiling.

Darcy was so enchanted by the painting that he was completely unaware that be had been staring at it for several minutes without speaking. Finally, he managed to take his eyes from it, and looked up at the other gentleman. "You never cease to amaze me Darlington, I had no idea you were so gifted an artist."

"Sadly, my gift is not as great as this work might lead you to believe. This portrait is several notches above my general standard, and owes much to the exceptional beauty and vivacity of its subject. Miss Elizabeth Bennet possesses the power to bring out the very best in an artist -- or any man for that matter. Would you not agree, Darcy?"

Darcy was feeling most uncomfortable. His eyes kept returning to the portrait, which they could hardly avoid, as Darlington had positioned it right before him. Whenever they fell upon it, the painting seemed to come to life in a way which both quickened his pulse and confused his mind. However, he retained enough presence of mind to guess that Darlington was well aware that he would not find his sister at Grosvenor Square, and that his real purpose in coming was in fact to show him the painting, in the hope that he would offer to purchase it.

"I am something of a collector of fine art, Darlington, and would be prepared to pay a handsome sum for such an exceptional work. Name your price."

"As I told Miss Bennet, when I painted her, the portrait is not for sale."

"Was it a solemn promise? Are you obliged not to sell it?"

"No, it was not a promise, Darcy, I am in no way bound by a casual remark; and yet, I wish to keep it."

"You told me once, Darlington, that you had no designs on Miss Elizabeth Bennet; however your attachment to her portrait, when you openly acknowledge your need of money, makes me doubt the veracity of your former denials. To which I might add, the way in which I observed you monopolising Miss Bennet in the drawing room at Longbourn, recently," he added resentfully.

"God, you are a fool, Darcy! You know perfectly well that I have a mother and sister who depend upon me, and will be in no position to contemplate marriage for many years. But you have no such impediment. Why do you wish so desperately to possess this portrait -- when you might possess its subject? I do not understand you, Darcy: you carp at my monopolising the young lady; yet you hardly speak two words to her the whole evening. What is it that you are waiting for?"

Darcy remained silent and downcast for some time before saying in a subdued voice, "She seemed very reserved, I am not confident of her feelings."

"Well Darcy, she refused you once, I believe, so perhaps your reticence is hardly surprising. You will simply have to swallow your pride and dignity, and take the chance of a second refusal. Is she not worth the risk?"

Darcy wondered how on earth he had allowed himself to get into so personal a conversation regarding the most private of matters. He was desperate to terminate it.

"Your friend Charles Bingley has no want of courage. Did you know that he recently made an offer of marriage to Miss Jane Bennet and was accepted?"

"Yes, my aunt was here yesterday, having just come from Hertfordshire, and made mention of it," said Darcy as he rose to his feet to indicate that the interview was over.

Darlington rose also, picking up the portrait, but holding in front of himself in such a way, that Darcy could hardly look at him without regarding it.

"Your aunt? Would that perchance be Lady Catherine de Bourgh?" asked Darlington.

"Yes, of Rosings Park. I have no other aunt. Are you acquainted with her?"

"A very little -- and far more than I would ever wish to be; she has been the cause of a great deal of trouble and unhappiness in my family. Surely you know of it?"

"Indeed I do not; and I do not wish to hear any member of my family maligned and spoken of is so disrespectful a way."

"I can find nothing to respect in an arrogant and interfering old lady, who would seek to prevent her own nephew from marrying the lady he has set his heart upon, and destroying the happiness on them both -- all on account of her own absurd pride!"

"My God, Darlington, how do you know all of this?" demanded Darcy, greatly agitated. "I have not spoken a word to you of my interview yesterday with my aunt... unless Miss Bennet has spoken to you of her recent conversation with Lady Catherine at Longbourn?"

James Darlington laughed heartily, and resumed his seat, with the painting of Elizabeth Bennet placed before him, still facing Darcy, who sank back into his own seat in confusion. "I was not speaking of Miss Bennet and yourself, Darcy. I knew nothing of it until this very moment. I surmise that the interfering old lady has been at it again; this time attempting to keep you and Miss Bennet apart -- which is hardly surprising: Miss Bennet's family would hardly be exalted enough to satisfy Lady Catherine's precious pride. No, I was speaking of another of Lady Catherine's nephews: your cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and my sister Julia. I am certain I can rely on your discretion, Darcy?"

"Certainly you may."

"Your cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, has had a marked preference for my sister, Julia, for a very long time; and she for him. Your aunt, though satisfied with my sister's family -- which indeed precedes her own in the Baronetage -- demanded a preposterous fortune. She appeared to equate its value with the worth of her own family, and more especially, herself. My late father was willing to fix a very generous sum upon my sister; however, it was insufficient to satisfy Lady Catherine."

"How very sad for them both," said Darcy, shaking his head sorrowfully. "I had no idea. Colonel Fitzwilliam has always been most obliging and considerate of our aunt, upon whose largesse he is almost entirely dependent. He would have found great difficulty in disregarding her wishes, particularly in so great a matter."

"Colonel Fitzwilliam was persuaded that his aunt must eventually accept that the fortune my father was prepared to settle upon his daughter was in every way generous. He and my sister, being so entirely certain of the affections of the other, were prepared to wait, believing that Lady Catherine must eventually see reason and give her blessings. But she would not be reasonable, and eventually my father agreed to the outrageous amount she demanded -- the happiness of his daughter being his first object.

"Unfortunately, my dear father passed away unexpectedly before the matter was finalised; and my brother Edwin, who inherited everything, refused to provide a penny. Lady Catherine demanded that your cousin give Julia up -- even though it was entirely within her power to provide for them herself."

"It is a very sad business," said Darcy, shaking his head.

"But unlike your cousin, you, Darcy, are under no such constraint. You are independent and wealthy; you can marry where you choose, regardless of Lady Catherine's absurd decrees. Or do you consider it more important to satisfy the pride and prejudice of that interfering lady, than to choose your own happiness?"

Darcy sat lost in silent reverie; his eyes fixed upon the portrait of Elizabeth Bennet.

After several minutes, James Darlington became impatient and suddenly arose, breaking the spell. "I will tell you what, Darcy: there is a way you might obtain this portrait of Miss Bennet, after all. It just now occurs to me that the persons with the best claim to it are the lady herself and the gentleman whom she chooses to marry. It shall be my gift to them on their wedding day."