I am posting early this week. I will be travelling next week and do not know when I will be able to post again, but it will probably be about two weeks. So, as an added bonus, you get two chapters instead of one. :D
Chapter 33
9 April 1812
Coming onto the landing, Darcy was about to make his way to the breakfast parlour when he was approached by a footman. The man bowed and presented a letter.
“This just arrived moments ago by express, sir. The rider wishes to return with your answer.”
Darcy frowned as he took the post from the servant’s hand. Breaking the seal, he quickly scanned the contents:
Dear Mr. Darcy,
Mr. Endicott, whom I have endeavoured to engage on your behalf, wishes to close the deal on the property you have for sale on the Thames. As you know, this is my third dispatch to you in a fortnight on this matter. If you expect to settle this affair to your advantage, your presence is required in London post haste. Mr. Endicott is most impatient to secure riverfront property and has informed me that if you are not here by Monday noon, he will have to go elsewhere. Please respond and inform me if you wish to proceed with the sale of your property, which, as you are aware, we have been trying to sell for nearly a year. He is offering a goodly sum of five hundred pounds, which I advise you to accept. Please answer at once so that I may know how to proceed.
Sincerely,
David Mann
Darcy released a sigh. “Tell the rider to wait.”
“As you wish, sir.”
Moving to his aunt’s study, Darcy quickly withdrew a sheet of letter paper from the desk drawer and took a quill, hastily penning his response. Once it was sealed, he returned to the waiting footman and handed him the letter along with a coin for the rider.
“Thank you, Foxworthy. That will be all.”
Darcy then turned to make his way to breakfast. He would have to propose quickly and then leave for Town right away. That particular piece of property had come into his possession when his uncle, the judge, had died. He had been trying to sell it for nearly eleven months, and now, after finally finding a buyer, he could not allow the opportunity to pass him by. He must be off to London no later than Saturday morning. However, neither would he let the sudden change in plans affect his good mood. No indeed! Elizabeth and I shall marry as quickly as possible. I shall make those arrangements as well when I am in Town.
Entering the parlour, Darcy wore a rather large smile, which, being highly unusual for him, immediately provoked Lady Catherine’s notice.
“You are in very good spirits this morning, Darcy. What have you to smile about? Oh! Let me see…. It is because you are soon to become officially engaged,” she said, glancing at her daughter who dropped her head and sighed.
Darcy froze mid-step. For the first time in his memory, he must have blushed openly. Clearing his throat, he answered, “Yes, well—”
“There is no need to explain, Nephew. Our visit has been more enjoyable this Easter season than last. It is clear to see that you adore Rosings more and more each time you come. And how could you not! The beauty and splendour of Kent has a way of growing in one’s favour, for there is no estate more splendid than Rosings, unless it is Pemberley, of course.” Lady Catherine smiled and then proceeded to call for more tea.
“Yes, I am sure it is so, but as much as I have enjoyed my visit at Rosings, the time has come when I must depart; for, as you know, Fitzwilliam and I have been here for nearly three weeks, and, well, I received a letter from my solicitor only moments ago. And though my stay at Rosings has been most pleasurable, business calls me away. I must soon be back in London. We will leave Saturday morning.”
“Umm…I am sure you will be returning soon.” Lady Catherine looked up from her meal. “We can talk more then. You are, after all, of marriageable age, and it is time you took a wife. The combination of Rosings with Pemberley will make a splendid fortune for you, one that will elevate you to the pinnacle of our sphere. None will be finer. You will have high society at your disposal.” Her eyes darted to the Colonel who, up until this point, had been sporting a devilish grin.
“And what are you simpering about, Fitzwilliam? It is time you and Wex married, as well. I shall write to my sister Matlock and enquire after it. Surely she has found someone suitable for you and your brother by now. If not, perhaps I should intervene.”
Now it was the Colonel’s turn to flush beet-red as he dropped his head, suddenly more interested in his eggs and toast than teasing his cousin.
Feeling the heat of the moment, Darcy said not a word more as he took his plate to the sideboard and filled it with a goodly portion of food before finding his way to his place at Lady Catherine’s table. …Everything at my disposal and yet trapped in a loveless marriage. No, that is not the way it will be. I will not be leg-shackled. He glanced around the room. No one was speaking a word.
He sighed. …Proposing tonight is going to be difficult enough, but with Lady Catherine’s constant eye upon me, things could prove much more difficult… more difficult, indeed, though it does work in my favour that she is marriage minded. Now to turn her designs onto Fitzwilliam. Darcy smiled to himself and poured a cup of coffee. Yes, things are falling into place quite nicely. I almost feel sorry for what I am about to do to Fitzwilliam…almost—but not quite. He glanced at his cousin and inwardly laughed.
~*~
Cracking the billiard balls Fitzwilliam had just racked, Darcy sent them scattering in four directions, pocketing more solids than stripes.
“Good shot, Cousin,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “Now let’s see if you can clean the table. My luck at billiards seems to match my luck with cards lately.”
Darcy grinned as he pocketed two more balls. “Your problem, Fitzwilliam, is that when it comes to the ladies, you are much practiced, but at sport, you are sorely lacking. As Miss Bennet would say, you need to practice more.”
The Colonel laughed. “Speaking of Miss Bennet, why don’t we call on the Parsonage? It appears to be a lovely day for a walk. Perhaps we might persuade the ladies to join us in an afternoon stroll in the park. I might even allow you the opportunity to practice your skills at conversation. Darcy, you really do need to become more comfortable in the presence of a pretty woman—especially Miss Bennet. You hardly say a word when she is present, though you find plenty to say at other times.”
Darcy shot again, this time badly missing.
“I am comfortable enough,” he said. “I have no need to see her at present. I shall see her at tea along with everyone else. But let’s not talk of pretty women. It is your turn; let’s see if you can improve on your skills. We’ve played four games since our arrival in Kent, and you’ve lost them all. Shall we make it five for five?”
“Hardly,” the Colonel said. Taking his cue stick, he chalked the top and aimed carefully. First one ball and then another went into the designated pocket until the table was clear of all striped balls. The Colonel looked up and grinned. “The eight ball in the corner left pocket.”
After a loud clack, the black ball entered the pocket while the cue ball bounced off the side.
“Well,” Darcy remarked, eyeing the table, “I must say you have improved significantly since we last played. Now to master your skill at cards. Perhaps then you can best Mr. Collins.”
“Ha! Besting Mr. Collins should not prove too difficult once I put my mind to it. I was merely distracted last night.”
“Yes…I imagine you were,” Darcy replied coolly. “Fitzwilliam, has the thought ever occurred to you that Miss Bennet might get the impression that you have an interest in her, which you and I both know can never go anywhere?”
“Darcy, I think we have had this conversation before. I might enjoy her pretty smiles, but I am well aware of my circumstances. However, you, on the other hand, do have the means, and, I might add, everything in your favour to make her an offer. You know perfectly well how I feel on the subject, but let’s not talk of this any longer. Care for another game of billiards? I’ve got several games yet to win in order to even our score,” the Colonel said, racking the balls anew. “We still have time before dinner.”
“Not now,” Darcy replied. “I have personal business to attend to in my chamber. I shall see you at dinner and our guests after that at tea.”
“Very well, then, have it your way. It is a glorious day, and since we are soon to depart for Town, I think I shall take my annual tour of the park.”
Gathering their cue sticks and chalk, the gentlemen placed everything back in its proper place, and each left to his own business. But as the Colonel watched his cousin climb the stairs to his chamber, he shook his head.
“Darcy, you are comfortable enough in every situation except matters of the heart. There you need much practice,” he said privately. Sighing, he shrugged his shoulders. Grabbing his hat and cane, he left for a stroll in the park.
~*~
Colonel Fitzwilliam made his way around the gardens and then out to the far end of the property where the fields met the woods. He had been thinking about his cousin and Miss Bennet all afternoon. He knew Darcy cared for her. He could see the longing in his eyes, and the fact that he was jealous of any attentions he paid to the lady also spoke of a strong attachment.
If the truth were to be told, the Colonel would like nothing more than to declare himself and ask for her hand himself, and he was quite sure she would accept him. But he knew perfectly well he could never do that in good faith, for he feared his father would indeed cut him off, and then what would they live on? A colonel’s salary was not very much.
As he walked on, he spied the object of his thoughts in the distance and began to make his way towards her. She appeared to be reading a letter, but when she looked up and their eyes met, she quickly put it away and smiled.
“I did not know before that you ever walked this way,” she said as they reached one another.
“I have been making my tour of the park,” the Colonel replied, “as I generally do every year, and intended to close it with a call at the Parsonage. Are you going much farther?”
“No, I should have turned in a moment.”
And accordingly she did turn, and they walked towards the Parsonage together.
“Do you certainly leave Kent on Saturday, Colonel? I heard that you might. My cousin informed me. It seems Lady Catherine informed him on his morning visit, and I dare say she is lamenting it already.”
He laughed. “Yes, I am sure she is, and to your other point, yes, that is the plan—if Darcy does not put it off again. But I am at his disposal. He arranges the business just as he pleases.”
“And if not able to please himself in the arrangement, he has at least pleasure in the great power of choice. I do not know anybody who seems more to enjoy the power of doing what he likes than Mr. Darcy.”
“He likes to have his own way very well,” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied. “But so we all do. It is only that he has better means of having it than many others because he is rich, and many others are poor. I speak feelingly. A younger son, you know, must be inured to self-denial and dependence.”
“In my opinion, the younger son of an earl can know very little of either. Now seriously, Colonel, what have you ever known of self-denial and dependence? When have you been prevented by want of money from going wherever you chose or procuring anything you had a fancy for?”
“These are home questions—and perhaps I cannot say that I have experienced many hardships of that nature. But in matters of greater weight, I may suffer from want of money. Younger sons cannot marry where they like.”
“Unless where they like women of fortune, which I think they very often do.”
The Colonel frowned and looked off into the distance. Perhaps Darcy was right, and he had raised her expectations. Well, if she harboured any inclinations that he might make her an offer, it was best to crush that notion now. After some moments, he said, “Our habits of expense make us too dependent, and there are not many in my rank of life who can afford to marry without some attention to money.”
The Colonel glanced in her direction, attempting to read her emotions and garner if his declaration had had an effect on her. She appeared to tense but soon recovered and spoke lively. “And pray, what is the usual price of an earl’s younger son? Unless the elder brother is very sickly, I suppose you would not ask above fifty thousand pounds.”
“Miss Bennet, I…I…” He almost wished he had not come out today. His heart ached at the words they now exchanged.
She looked up at him and smiled. “Do not trouble yourself, Colonel. I was only supposing.”
After their exchange, silence fell between them until she spoke again.
“I imagine your cousin brought you down with him chiefly for the sake of having someone at his disposal. I wonder why he does not marry to secure a lasting convenience of that kind. But, perhaps, his sister does as well for the present, and, as she is under his sole care, he may do what he likes with her.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at her oddly, wondering where this conversation was going.
“No,” he said, “that is an advantage which he must divide with me. I am joined with him in the guardianship of Miss Darcy.”
“Are you indeed? And pray what sort of guardians do you make? Does your charge give you much trouble? Young ladies of her age are sometimes a little difficult to manage, and if she has the true Darcy spirit, she may like to have her own way.”
The Colonel furrowed his brow and looked at her in earnest. What can she know? Has someone spoken to her of Ramsgate?
She must have sensed his worry for she directly replied, “You need not be frightened. I never heard any harm of her, and I dare say she is one of the most tractable creatures in the world. She is a very great favourite with some ladies of my acquaintance, Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley. I think I have heard you say that you know them.”
“I know them a little. Their brother is a pleasant gentlemanlike man—he is a great friend of Darcy’s.”
“Oh, yes!” Elizabeth said drily. “Mr. Darcy is uncommonly kind to Mr. Bingley and takes a prodigious deal of care of him.”
The Colonel tilted his head and studied her carefully. Perhaps he could provide a good word in his cousin’s favour. It was apparent to him his cousin needed all the help he could gather in affairs of the heart. And so with a smile, he said:
“Care of him! Yes, I really believe Darcy does take care of him in those points where he most wants care. From something that he told me in our journey hither, I have reason to think Bingley very much indebted to him. But I ought to beg his pardon, for I have no right to suppose that Bingley was the person meant. It was all conjecture.”
“What is it you mean?”
“It is a circumstance which Darcy could not wish to be generally known, because if it were to get round to the lady’s family, it would be an unpleasant thing.”
“You may depend upon my not mentioning it.”
“And remember that I have not much reason for supposing it to be Bingley. What he told me was merely this: that he congratulated himself on having lately saved a friend from the inconveniences of a most imprudent marriage. Without mentioning names or any other particulars, I only suspected it to be Bingley from believing him the kind of young man to get into a scrape of that sort and from knowing them to have been together the whole of last summer. Darcy does take prodigious good care of those in his circle.”
“Did Mr. Darcy give you reasons for this interference?”
“I understood that there were some very strong objections against the lady.”
“And what arts did he use to separate them?”
“Arts, Miss Bennet? He did not talk to me of his own arts.” Fitzwilliam smiled. “He only told me what I have now told you.”
Elizabeth made no answer, and they walked for some time.
After watching her a little, Fitzwilliam asked, “Miss Bennet, may I enquire as to why you are so thoughtful?”
“I am thinking of what you have been telling me,” she said. “Your cousin’s conduct does not suit my feelings. Why was he to be the judge?”
The Colonel frowned. “You are rather disposed to call his interference officious?”
“I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to decide on the propriety of his friend’s inclination, or why, upon his own judgment alone, he was to determine and direct in what manner his friend was to be happy. But,” she continued, recollecting herself, “as we know none of the particulars, it is not fair to condemn him. It is not to be supposed that there was much affection in the case.”
“That is not an unnatural surmise, but it lessens of the honour of my cousin’s triumph very sadly,” he said in jest. “Miss Bennet, I would not have you think ill of Darcy. He only means to care for those whom he esteems. I am quite certain it is not as you think. Darcy really is a good fellow. I’ve known him to do many good things for people. Why just on this visit he—”
“Yes, of course. I am sure you are right. Colonel, if you please, I feel a headache coming on. I must be back to the Parsonage as soon as possible.”
“Yes, of course, Miss Bennet,” he said, offering his arm.
Abruptly changing the conversation, they talked on indifferent matters until they reached the Parsonage. The Colonel soon departed, not sure how his well laid plans had gone wrong, but he had an odd feeling things were not as he assumed. Surely the young lady in question could not have been known to Miss Bennet…perhaps even her sister? Surely Darcy would not prove to be so imprudent as that.
~*~
After dinner, Darcy sat near the window, patiently waiting for their guests to arrive. He had gone over his well laid plans countless times, rehearsing every detail of his proposal. He wanted to convey the deep struggle that had led him to make his declaration. He had determined that it must be thorough and yet romantic. Those were his plans, and, within a half hour of tea, he intended to act on them.
There was a noise at the front entrance, and he knew they had arrived. He smiled to himself and glanced at the doorway expecting to see her. However, once the party entered the room, Darcy’s heart fell. Elizabeth was not among them. Lady Catherine immediately noticed the absence as well and let her sentiments be known to the Hunsford party.
“Where is Miss Bennet? Is she not with you? This will not be borne. I am highly offended by such a slight.”
Darcy sat up in his seat and uncrossed his legs; worry and anxiety gripped his heart. She had to come. After all he had suffered, she had to come. He listened carefully as the parson explained.
“I do beg your pardon, Lady Catherine. It would seem that my cousin has fallen ill. She came down with a malady shortly after returning from her walk. We left her in her room with a headache, though she did express that she might take tea in our small parlour if she felt better.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam glanced between Darcy and their aunt. “Lady Catherine, I was walking with Miss Bennet earlier today, and she did express to me that she was unwell. Perhaps it is a fleeting ailment and will pass quickly.”
Darcy rose to his feet and went to leave, but a bellowing voice called him back.
“And where are you going, Nephew? Not to see about Miss Bennet, I hope.”
“You must forgive me. I shall return directly,” he said, turning to leave.
A still silence filled the room. Mr. and Mrs. Collins exchange a surprised look as they all watched as Darcy quit the room; she smiled, and he gawked. The Colonel, delighted with his cousin’s boldness, gave a small laugh, careful to cough into his hand when his aunt’s disgruntled gaze turned on him.
~*~
Making his way to the foyer, he quickly grabbed his hat and cane and left for the Parsonage. Sam, who was there in the garden, saw him and quickly fell into step.
“Come along, ol’ boy, we must make haste. Miss Bennet is ill. I must propose today, or I will not have another chance.” He sighed and spoke privately. “I hope it is not serious. If something dreadful should happen to her, I don’t know how I would bear it. She has become very important to me.” He looked down at his hound. “She has become important to the both of us, has she not?”
Quickly making his way up the steps of the Parsonage, he gave three sharp raps, and the door was soon opened. He was promptly led to the parlour where he burst into the room and found Miss Bennet sitting in a chair near the window, looking pale and distressed.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, with great concern, “forgive me, but when I heard you were unwell, I came immediately to enquire after your health. They said you suffer a headache. I hope that you are feeling better and that it is not serious.”
“No, it isn’t. In fact, I believe I am a little better, thank you,” she answered with cold civility. “Won’t you have a seat?”
He released a hard breath, gazing at her with a creased brow, wondering at the coolness of her tone. He sat down for a few moments, and then getting up, walked about the room in a restless manner, wondering how to proceed. All his carefully constructed strategies of a romantic proposal were now torn to bits, and he struggled for the right words. Pacing back and forth, he passed his hand over his face and turned in her direction. After several minutes of strained silence, he came towards her in great agitation. It would do no good to fret. He would make the best of it and tell her of his great battle and what it meant for him to come here and express his love and admiration for her. He took a deep breath, and thus began:
“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.”
She gazed at him in pure astonishment and coloured but remained silent. This he considered sufficient encouragement. She was obviously waiting—no—expecting his proposal. The thought gave him comfort. Taking another deep breath, he continued.
“It has been many months now that I have felt such a high regard for you, but only in the last few weeks have I been able to conquer those obstacles that forbade me from expressing my feelings, which, I assure you, are intense.” He momentarily stopped and gazed at her. Seeing no clear indication of her feelings, he nodded and resumed pacing with his hands linked behind his back, his fingers twisting his signet ring, as he spoke yet again, trying to appear less nervous than he felt.
“I realize,” he said, glancing at her as he walked the floor, “given the inferiority of your low connections, the relative situation of our families, and my place in society, that any alliance between us will be judged reprehensible. My family, and, might I say, even my friends will find it so. Furthermore, as a man of good sense and reason, I cannot help but regard it as such myself. In the eyes of society—especially within the realm of which I belong, it will be considered a degradation. Therefore, in expressing myself thusly, I will be expressly going against the wishes of not only my family and friends, but even my own better judgment. However, it cannot be helped.” He paused and took another deep breath. Looking directly into her wide eyes with the confidence and assured of a positive response, he continued once more.
“Miss Bennet, in all honesty, I must tell you that I have come to feel for you...a most passionate…deeply held, admiration and regard, which, despite all my struggles, has overcome every rational objection of which I can conceive of. Therefore, I beg of you, most fervently, to relieve my suffering and consent to be my wife.”
When he ceased speaking, he gazed at her, looking for some indication that she returned his feelings. Her cheeks flushed, and, after some moments, to his great surprise, she finally spoke in a tone less comforting than he expected.
“In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned. It is natural that obligation should be felt, and if I could feel gratitude, I would now thank you. But I cannot—I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. I am sorry to have occasioned pain to anyone. It has been most unconsciously done, however, and I hope will be of short duration. The feelings which, you tell me, have long prevented the acknowledgment of your regard, can have little difficulty in overcoming it after this explanation.”
Leaning against the mantelpiece with his eyes fixed on her face, he caught her words with no less resentment than was his shock and surprise at her saying them. He could feel his features pale with anger as his mood darkened with wild thoughts reeling through his head. …she’s refusing me? Me? Does she not realize who I am and what it would mean to be my wife? What a great honour I have bestowed upon her?
Struggling for the appearance of composure, and, at length, with a voice of forced calmness, he finally found his tongue.
“And this is all the reply which I am to have the honour of expecting! I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little endeavour at civility, I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance.” He pushed away from the mantelpiece and approached her.
“And I might as well enquire why with so evident a desire of offending and insulting me you chose to tell me that you loved me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character? Was not this some excuse for incivility, if I was uncivil? But I have other provocations. You know I have. Had not my feelings decided against you—had they been indifferent, or had they even been favourable, do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps forever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?”
As she pronounced these words, Darcy stiffened and smirked, but the emotion was short, and he listened without attempting to interrupt her while she continued.
“I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No motive can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted there. You dare not, you cannot deny, that you have been the principal, if not the only means of dividing them from each other—of exposing one to the censure of the world for caprice and instability, and the other to its derision for disappointed hopes, and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind.”
Looking at her with a smile of affected incredulity, he slowly shook his head. He found it difficult to fathom the things she flung at him, and he gave a small humourless laugh to himself. This was the moment he had dreamt of, but never had he imagined it thus. He slowly turned and walked away, leaning against the mantelpiece once more with his back turned to her.
“Can you deny that you have done it?” she repeated, her voice raised in anger.
With assumed tranquillity he turned towards her and began to walk about the room again. Glancing at her, he replied, “I have no wish of denying that I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your sister, or that I rejoice in my success. Towards him I have been kinder than towards myself.”
He could clearly see the disdain she held of noticing his civil reflection, and neither did its meaning escape, nor was it likely to conciliate her. He wondered how he had so badly misjudged her.
“But it is not merely this affair,” she continued, “on which my dislike is founded. Long before it had taken place, my opinion of you was decided. Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received many months ago from Mr. Wickham.”
Upon hearing this fiend’s name, Darcy’s pacing stopped abruptly and a look of pure astonishment overtook him.
“On this subject, what can you have to say? In what imaginary act of friendship can you here defend yourself? Or under what misrepresentation can you here impose upon others?”
“You take an eager interest in that gentleman’s concerns,” Darcy said, in a less tranquil tone, his eyes now burning with fire.
Of all men to be preferred over, George Wickham would be her choice? She is indeed a fool! And I am more than a little insulted.
“Who that knows what his misfortunes have been can help feeling an interest in him?”
“His misfortunes!” Darcy repeated contemptuously, loathing reflected in his deep voice. “Yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed.”
“And of your infliction,” Elizabeth cried with energy. “You have reduced him to his present state of poverty—comparative poverty. You have withheld the advantages which you must know to have been designed for him. You have deprived the best years of his life of that independence which was no less his due than his dessert. You have done all this! And yet you can treat the mention of his misfortune with contempt and ridicule.”
“And this,” Darcy cried, as he walked with quick steps across the room, “is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which you hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully,” he said with great indignation. “Yes…my faults, according to this calculation, are heavy indeed! But perhaps,” he added, stopping in his walk and turning towards her, “these offenses might have been overlooked had not your pride been hurt by my honest confession of the scruples that had long prevented my forming any serious design. These bitter accusations might have been suppressed had I, with greater policy, concealed my struggles and flattered you into the belief of my being impelled by unqualified, unalloyed inclination, by reason, by reflection, by everything. But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence. Nor am I ashamed of the feelings I related. They were natural and just. Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections—to congratulate myself on the hope of relations whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?”
He could clearly see the fury gathering in her eyes and only presumed it matched his own.
“You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy,” she said with a mixture of composure and contempt, “if you suppose that the mode of your declaration affected me in any other way than as it spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.”
He started to reply but then judged it best not to speak in anger and so said nothing as she continued, her arguments stinging his sensibilities.
“You could not have made the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it.”
The words she spoke cut like a knife and pierced his heart as he looked at her with an expression of mingled incredulity and mortification. Never in his life had he been spoken to with such disdain and disrespect.
She went on: “From the very beginning—from the first moment, I may almost say—of my acquaintance with you, your manners impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form the groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike. I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.”
Finally, he had had enough. He walked over to the table where he had laid his hat and cane. Retrieving them, he turned and said:
“You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time…and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness. Good day.”
With these words, he hastily left the room and the next moment opened the front door and quit the house. The tumult of his mind was now painfully great. He quickly descended the steps and left for his trek back to Rosings. Sam, who had been waiting near the walkway, sensed his master’s distress and whimpered while joining him.
Stopping for a moment, Darcy took a deep breath, his body shaking with anger as their exchange rang in his ears. …Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections? To congratulate myself on the hope of relations whose conditions in life is so below my own?”
You are mistaken, Mr Darcy, if you suppose that the mode of your declaration affected me in any other way, than as it spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.
Resentment swelled in his heart and his voice quivered. “I am always a gentleman, Miss Bennet, and someday you will know the truth of it. You do not know the opportunity you have thrown away as, with so little thought to civility, you have dismissed me. Your father’s estate is entailed. I am by far the best offer of marriage you will ever receive. My offer may very likely be the final one you will ever receive.”
He took a few more steps and then stopped again as her words once more sounded in his head. …Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received many months ago from Mr. Wickham.
“Wickham! Well, at least in that I can defend myself. God only knows what lies that libertine has told her!”
Bounding up the steps of Rosings two at a time, his mind still reeling from the accusations so savagely thrown in his face by a wilful woman, he entered the house in no mood for tea or the tedious conversation that he was sure to suffer in Lady Catherine’s court.
Heading for the great staircase, his thoughts were interrupted by his cousin.
“Darcy! Where have you been? Lady Catherine has been asking after you!”
“Not now, Fitzwilliam.”
In great agitation, Darcy moved towards the stairs only to hear his aunt calling for him to present himself to her at once and explain his actions in leaving so abruptly.
“No,” he said, clearly shaken. “Give my regards to Lady Catherine, but I cannot see her at this moment. You will forgive me. I simply cannot see her.”
“Darcy, what has happened to you? Are you unwell?”
“Fitzwilliam, I have not the time or the inclination for this. You will forgive me, but I have a pressing matter of business to attend to. Make my apologies to Lady Catherine.”
Darcy turned and quickly took the stairs. After making his way to his chamber, he entered and shut the door. His man was there, arranging his clothes, preparing for the trip to London on Saturday.
“Winfred, we will be leaving sooner than expected. Make arrangements to leave tomorrow. Get me a bottle of brandy and then leave me to myself.”
“Mr. Darcy—”
“I am not in the mood to explain things. Just do as I say!”
Winfred Cunningham knew better than to speak another word. The last time he had seen this dark mood settle on his master, something dreadful had happened to Miss Georgiana. And, from the looks of Mr. Darcy now, something very bad had happened this time, too. Studying his master closely, he had an ominous feeling of foreboding that in some way this black temper undoubtedly involved Miss Bennet. However, he knew better than to step beyond the bounds of a servant, though, as servant to another master, he would most assuredly pray and place it in the Lord’s hands.
~*~*~*~
Chapter 34
In bitterness of spirit, Darcy ripped his cravat from his neck and stripped down to his breeches and shirttail. Then, sitting in his chair by the fire, holding a brandy in one hand while the other dangled freely from the chair arm, he stared into the flames, once again reliving his and Miss Bennet’s heated exchange. Parsing their conversation line by line with her accusations of Mr. Wickham’s misfortunes still ringing in his ears, his thoughts ran to his sister and how she had suffered at the hands of that black-hearted bastard whom he despised more than he could ever express. Of course, Elizabeth knew none of that. Few did. But the more he thought about it, the more it angered him. That was the most grievous accusation she had made, and he would answer it, as well as the others. What had he to lose at this point? He would tell her the truth—all of it—including that of her family. The fact that she preferred Mr. Wickham, with his smooth tongue and practiced manners, to him had wounded his pride more than any sword put to the heart.
Rising from his chair with great determination, he went over to the writing desk in his sitting room and pulled a sheet of manila letter paper from the letterbox. Dipping his pen in the inkwell, he began to write. He wrote first in anger, then in distress. Several times he started and then stopped, not pleased with the written words. Crumpling the first attempt, he began anew. All through the night he wrote, reading and rewriting, breaking several nibs in the process, until the letter was composed in a more thoughtful, reasoned tone than in the angry bitterness in which he had begun, though he knew that his raw emotion was still reflected therein.
He gave an accurate account of his family’s connection to Mr. Wickham and his family, how George Wickham had been his boyhood friend and how that friendship was betrayed over the years when they had become youths and gone off to school together, as Darcy’s father had seen fit to provide Wickham with a gentleman’s education. He relayed his disgust of Mr. Wickham’s libertine lifestyle and appetite for women and gambling, often cloaked by smiles and well-polished comportments. But of all that Darcy disclosed the most painful intelligence was the near seduction and elopement of his beloved sister, who was but fifteen years of age at the time, which, Darcy believed, was for the purpose of obtaining her fortune of thirty thousand pounds.
His pen moved fluidly over the pages as he recounted all that had transpired at the Netherfield ball—what he had witnessed and his reaction to it. Dipping his pen once more, he penned his final words:
This, madam, is a faithful narrative of every event in which we have been concerned together; and if you do not absolutely reject it as false, you will, I hope, acquit me henceforth of cruelty towards Mr. Wickham. I know not in what manner, under what form of falsehood he has imposed on you; but his success is not perhaps to be wondered at. Ignorant as you previously were of everything concerning either of us, detection could not be in your power, and suspicion certainly not in your inclination.
You may possibly wonder why all this was not told to you last night; but I was not then master enough of myself to know what could or ought to be revealed. For the truth of everything here related, I can appeal more particularly to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who, from our near relationship and constant intimacy, and, still more, as one of the executors of my father's will, has been unavoidably acquainted with every particular of these transactions. If your abhorrence of me should make my assertions valueless, you cannot be prevented by the same cause from confiding in my cousin; and that there may be the possibility of consulting him, I shall endeavour to find some opportunity of putting this letter in your hands in the course of the morning. I will only add, God bless you.
Fitzwilliam A. Darcy
Finally, emotionally spent, he threw down his pen and sealed his letter in the early hours of the morning. Leaning back in his chair, he raked his fingers through his curls and released a hard breath as he swallowed back the pain in his chest. He had poured his heart and soul into this epistle, telling her things he had never spoken to anyone since the day he had found his sister in Ramsgate on the verge of making the worst mistake of her life, which, if she had followed through, would not only have extracted revenge upon himself, but would have also thoroughly ruined her reputation, and consequently, her life, for Mr. Wickham cared for neither.
Getting up from his desk, littered with broken nibs scattered about its surface and rumpled sheets of paper littering the floor, he walked over to the washstand and dipped his hands into the cool water left from the night before. Taking up a handful, he washed the weariness from his tired eyes. A rooster crowed in the distance, and he glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was four o’clock in the morning. He then strolled over to the open window of his chamber and gazed out into the gardens lit by gas lamps. Beyond the hedgerow, he could see Hunsford Parsonage. A solitary bedchamber was still glowing in candlelight. He presumed it to be hers. Was she as distressed as he? He shook his head and walked back to his desk. Extinguishing the one lone candle lighting his room, he left for his bedchamber and went to bed. He would get an hour or two of sleep, and then be in the grove before breakfast, hoping by chance to meet her there and give her his letter. What happened after that, he cared not. Now all he wished was to forget her and his foolish desire to have her for his wife.
~*~
At a quarter of seven, Darcy donned his greatcoat and gloves and left for the groves, where he knew from his early morning rides that Elizabeth could often be found before breakfast. Hoping against hope, he prayed she would follow her usual routine and come to the wooded copse he believed to be her favourite haunt. Pacing back and forth in the part of the grove which edged the park, his mind was full with the events of the previous evening. If it was the last thing he did, he would place this letter in her hand, and then make ready for his return trip to London which would take place immediately. He had been in Kent long enough.
Glancing up from his deep thoughts, he spied her near a large willow oak. She appeared to have seen him and was moving away. He hurried his steps in eagerness.
“Miss Bennet!” he cried out.
Elizabeth turned away and moved towards the gate, but Darcy was determined to see her. Moving quickly, he reached the gate at the same time as she and held out the letter. She bore a contemptuous look, and the meaning behind that look was not lost on him; yet, he summoned his own steeled composure and spoke.
“I have been walking in the grove for some time in the hope of meeting you,” he said with a cool reserve. “Will you do me the honour of reading this letter?”
Darcy gave a slight bow, and then turned and walked away, heading back into the park. He did not know what her reaction was upon his very evident lack of decorum in approaching her as he did; nor did he care. He never looked back. From what little he felt he knew of her character, he was certain she would read his letter if for no other reason than mere curiosity.
Making his way back to Rosings, he was more determined than ever to leave Kent this very day, and the sooner the better. He would pay his regards to Mr. and Mrs. Collins, make his apologies to his aunt for their earlier than expected departure, and then they would leave. He had urgent business he must personally attend to. There was a piece of property to sell and things to do.
“I will conquer this,” he muttered aloud. “I will! I must!”
~*~*~*~
9 April 1812
Coming onto the landing, Darcy was about to make his way to the breakfast parlour when he was approached by a footman. The man bowed and presented a letter.
“This just arrived moments ago by express, sir. The rider wishes to return with your answer.”
Darcy frowned as he took the post from the servant’s hand. Breaking the seal, he quickly scanned the contents:
Dear Mr. Darcy,
Mr. Endicott, whom I have endeavoured to engage on your behalf, wishes to close the deal on the property you have for sale on the Thames. As you know, this is my third dispatch to you in a fortnight on this matter. If you expect to settle this affair to your advantage, your presence is required in London post haste. Mr. Endicott is most impatient to secure riverfront property and has informed me that if you are not here by Monday noon, he will have to go elsewhere. Please respond and inform me if you wish to proceed with the sale of your property, which, as you are aware, we have been trying to sell for nearly a year. He is offering a goodly sum of five hundred pounds, which I advise you to accept. Please answer at once so that I may know how to proceed.
Sincerely,
David Mann
Darcy released a sigh. “Tell the rider to wait.”
“As you wish, sir.”
Moving to his aunt’s study, Darcy quickly withdrew a sheet of letter paper from the desk drawer and took a quill, hastily penning his response. Once it was sealed, he returned to the waiting footman and handed him the letter along with a coin for the rider.
“Thank you, Foxworthy. That will be all.”
Darcy then turned to make his way to breakfast. He would have to propose quickly and then leave for Town right away. That particular piece of property had come into his possession when his uncle, the judge, had died. He had been trying to sell it for nearly eleven months, and now, after finally finding a buyer, he could not allow the opportunity to pass him by. He must be off to London no later than Saturday morning. However, neither would he let the sudden change in plans affect his good mood. No indeed! Elizabeth and I shall marry as quickly as possible. I shall make those arrangements as well when I am in Town.
Entering the parlour, Darcy wore a rather large smile, which, being highly unusual for him, immediately provoked Lady Catherine’s notice.
“You are in very good spirits this morning, Darcy. What have you to smile about? Oh! Let me see…. It is because you are soon to become officially engaged,” she said, glancing at her daughter who dropped her head and sighed.
Darcy froze mid-step. For the first time in his memory, he must have blushed openly. Clearing his throat, he answered, “Yes, well—”
“There is no need to explain, Nephew. Our visit has been more enjoyable this Easter season than last. It is clear to see that you adore Rosings more and more each time you come. And how could you not! The beauty and splendour of Kent has a way of growing in one’s favour, for there is no estate more splendid than Rosings, unless it is Pemberley, of course.” Lady Catherine smiled and then proceeded to call for more tea.
“Yes, I am sure it is so, but as much as I have enjoyed my visit at Rosings, the time has come when I must depart; for, as you know, Fitzwilliam and I have been here for nearly three weeks, and, well, I received a letter from my solicitor only moments ago. And though my stay at Rosings has been most pleasurable, business calls me away. I must soon be back in London. We will leave Saturday morning.”
“Umm…I am sure you will be returning soon.” Lady Catherine looked up from her meal. “We can talk more then. You are, after all, of marriageable age, and it is time you took a wife. The combination of Rosings with Pemberley will make a splendid fortune for you, one that will elevate you to the pinnacle of our sphere. None will be finer. You will have high society at your disposal.” Her eyes darted to the Colonel who, up until this point, had been sporting a devilish grin.
“And what are you simpering about, Fitzwilliam? It is time you and Wex married, as well. I shall write to my sister Matlock and enquire after it. Surely she has found someone suitable for you and your brother by now. If not, perhaps I should intervene.”
Now it was the Colonel’s turn to flush beet-red as he dropped his head, suddenly more interested in his eggs and toast than teasing his cousin.
Feeling the heat of the moment, Darcy said not a word more as he took his plate to the sideboard and filled it with a goodly portion of food before finding his way to his place at Lady Catherine’s table. …Everything at my disposal and yet trapped in a loveless marriage. No, that is not the way it will be. I will not be leg-shackled. He glanced around the room. No one was speaking a word.
He sighed. …Proposing tonight is going to be difficult enough, but with Lady Catherine’s constant eye upon me, things could prove much more difficult… more difficult, indeed, though it does work in my favour that she is marriage minded. Now to turn her designs onto Fitzwilliam. Darcy smiled to himself and poured a cup of coffee. Yes, things are falling into place quite nicely. I almost feel sorry for what I am about to do to Fitzwilliam…almost—but not quite. He glanced at his cousin and inwardly laughed.
Cracking the billiard balls Fitzwilliam had just racked, Darcy sent them scattering in four directions, pocketing more solids than stripes.
“Good shot, Cousin,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “Now let’s see if you can clean the table. My luck at billiards seems to match my luck with cards lately.”
Darcy grinned as he pocketed two more balls. “Your problem, Fitzwilliam, is that when it comes to the ladies, you are much practiced, but at sport, you are sorely lacking. As Miss Bennet would say, you need to practice more.”
The Colonel laughed. “Speaking of Miss Bennet, why don’t we call on the Parsonage? It appears to be a lovely day for a walk. Perhaps we might persuade the ladies to join us in an afternoon stroll in the park. I might even allow you the opportunity to practice your skills at conversation. Darcy, you really do need to become more comfortable in the presence of a pretty woman—especially Miss Bennet. You hardly say a word when she is present, though you find plenty to say at other times.”
Darcy shot again, this time badly missing.
“I am comfortable enough,” he said. “I have no need to see her at present. I shall see her at tea along with everyone else. But let’s not talk of pretty women. It is your turn; let’s see if you can improve on your skills. We’ve played four games since our arrival in Kent, and you’ve lost them all. Shall we make it five for five?”
“Hardly,” the Colonel said. Taking his cue stick, he chalked the top and aimed carefully. First one ball and then another went into the designated pocket until the table was clear of all striped balls. The Colonel looked up and grinned. “The eight ball in the corner left pocket.”
After a loud clack, the black ball entered the pocket while the cue ball bounced off the side.
“Well,” Darcy remarked, eyeing the table, “I must say you have improved significantly since we last played. Now to master your skill at cards. Perhaps then you can best Mr. Collins.”
“Ha! Besting Mr. Collins should not prove too difficult once I put my mind to it. I was merely distracted last night.”
“Yes…I imagine you were,” Darcy replied coolly. “Fitzwilliam, has the thought ever occurred to you that Miss Bennet might get the impression that you have an interest in her, which you and I both know can never go anywhere?”
“Darcy, I think we have had this conversation before. I might enjoy her pretty smiles, but I am well aware of my circumstances. However, you, on the other hand, do have the means, and, I might add, everything in your favour to make her an offer. You know perfectly well how I feel on the subject, but let’s not talk of this any longer. Care for another game of billiards? I’ve got several games yet to win in order to even our score,” the Colonel said, racking the balls anew. “We still have time before dinner.”
“Not now,” Darcy replied. “I have personal business to attend to in my chamber. I shall see you at dinner and our guests after that at tea.”
“Very well, then, have it your way. It is a glorious day, and since we are soon to depart for Town, I think I shall take my annual tour of the park.”
Gathering their cue sticks and chalk, the gentlemen placed everything back in its proper place, and each left to his own business. But as the Colonel watched his cousin climb the stairs to his chamber, he shook his head.
“Darcy, you are comfortable enough in every situation except matters of the heart. There you need much practice,” he said privately. Sighing, he shrugged his shoulders. Grabbing his hat and cane, he left for a stroll in the park.
Colonel Fitzwilliam made his way around the gardens and then out to the far end of the property where the fields met the woods. He had been thinking about his cousin and Miss Bennet all afternoon. He knew Darcy cared for her. He could see the longing in his eyes, and the fact that he was jealous of any attentions he paid to the lady also spoke of a strong attachment.
If the truth were to be told, the Colonel would like nothing more than to declare himself and ask for her hand himself, and he was quite sure she would accept him. But he knew perfectly well he could never do that in good faith, for he feared his father would indeed cut him off, and then what would they live on? A colonel’s salary was not very much.
As he walked on, he spied the object of his thoughts in the distance and began to make his way towards her. She appeared to be reading a letter, but when she looked up and their eyes met, she quickly put it away and smiled.
“I did not know before that you ever walked this way,” she said as they reached one another.
“I have been making my tour of the park,” the Colonel replied, “as I generally do every year, and intended to close it with a call at the Parsonage. Are you going much farther?”
“No, I should have turned in a moment.”
And accordingly she did turn, and they walked towards the Parsonage together.
“Do you certainly leave Kent on Saturday, Colonel? I heard that you might. My cousin informed me. It seems Lady Catherine informed him on his morning visit, and I dare say she is lamenting it already.”
He laughed. “Yes, I am sure she is, and to your other point, yes, that is the plan—if Darcy does not put it off again. But I am at his disposal. He arranges the business just as he pleases.”
“And if not able to please himself in the arrangement, he has at least pleasure in the great power of choice. I do not know anybody who seems more to enjoy the power of doing what he likes than Mr. Darcy.”
“He likes to have his own way very well,” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied. “But so we all do. It is only that he has better means of having it than many others because he is rich, and many others are poor. I speak feelingly. A younger son, you know, must be inured to self-denial and dependence.”
“In my opinion, the younger son of an earl can know very little of either. Now seriously, Colonel, what have you ever known of self-denial and dependence? When have you been prevented by want of money from going wherever you chose or procuring anything you had a fancy for?”
“These are home questions—and perhaps I cannot say that I have experienced many hardships of that nature. But in matters of greater weight, I may suffer from want of money. Younger sons cannot marry where they like.”
“Unless where they like women of fortune, which I think they very often do.”
The Colonel frowned and looked off into the distance. Perhaps Darcy was right, and he had raised her expectations. Well, if she harboured any inclinations that he might make her an offer, it was best to crush that notion now. After some moments, he said, “Our habits of expense make us too dependent, and there are not many in my rank of life who can afford to marry without some attention to money.”
The Colonel glanced in her direction, attempting to read her emotions and garner if his declaration had had an effect on her. She appeared to tense but soon recovered and spoke lively. “And pray, what is the usual price of an earl’s younger son? Unless the elder brother is very sickly, I suppose you would not ask above fifty thousand pounds.”
“Miss Bennet, I…I…” He almost wished he had not come out today. His heart ached at the words they now exchanged.
She looked up at him and smiled. “Do not trouble yourself, Colonel. I was only supposing.”
After their exchange, silence fell between them until she spoke again.
“I imagine your cousin brought you down with him chiefly for the sake of having someone at his disposal. I wonder why he does not marry to secure a lasting convenience of that kind. But, perhaps, his sister does as well for the present, and, as she is under his sole care, he may do what he likes with her.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at her oddly, wondering where this conversation was going.
“No,” he said, “that is an advantage which he must divide with me. I am joined with him in the guardianship of Miss Darcy.”
“Are you indeed? And pray what sort of guardians do you make? Does your charge give you much trouble? Young ladies of her age are sometimes a little difficult to manage, and if she has the true Darcy spirit, she may like to have her own way.”
The Colonel furrowed his brow and looked at her in earnest. What can she know? Has someone spoken to her of Ramsgate?
She must have sensed his worry for she directly replied, “You need not be frightened. I never heard any harm of her, and I dare say she is one of the most tractable creatures in the world. She is a very great favourite with some ladies of my acquaintance, Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley. I think I have heard you say that you know them.”
“I know them a little. Their brother is a pleasant gentlemanlike man—he is a great friend of Darcy’s.”
“Oh, yes!” Elizabeth said drily. “Mr. Darcy is uncommonly kind to Mr. Bingley and takes a prodigious deal of care of him.”
The Colonel tilted his head and studied her carefully. Perhaps he could provide a good word in his cousin’s favour. It was apparent to him his cousin needed all the help he could gather in affairs of the heart. And so with a smile, he said:
“Care of him! Yes, I really believe Darcy does take care of him in those points where he most wants care. From something that he told me in our journey hither, I have reason to think Bingley very much indebted to him. But I ought to beg his pardon, for I have no right to suppose that Bingley was the person meant. It was all conjecture.”
“What is it you mean?”
“It is a circumstance which Darcy could not wish to be generally known, because if it were to get round to the lady’s family, it would be an unpleasant thing.”
“You may depend upon my not mentioning it.”
“And remember that I have not much reason for supposing it to be Bingley. What he told me was merely this: that he congratulated himself on having lately saved a friend from the inconveniences of a most imprudent marriage. Without mentioning names or any other particulars, I only suspected it to be Bingley from believing him the kind of young man to get into a scrape of that sort and from knowing them to have been together the whole of last summer. Darcy does take prodigious good care of those in his circle.”
“Did Mr. Darcy give you reasons for this interference?”
“I understood that there were some very strong objections against the lady.”
“And what arts did he use to separate them?”
“Arts, Miss Bennet? He did not talk to me of his own arts.” Fitzwilliam smiled. “He only told me what I have now told you.”
Elizabeth made no answer, and they walked for some time.
After watching her a little, Fitzwilliam asked, “Miss Bennet, may I enquire as to why you are so thoughtful?”
“I am thinking of what you have been telling me,” she said. “Your cousin’s conduct does not suit my feelings. Why was he to be the judge?”
The Colonel frowned. “You are rather disposed to call his interference officious?”
“I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to decide on the propriety of his friend’s inclination, or why, upon his own judgment alone, he was to determine and direct in what manner his friend was to be happy. But,” she continued, recollecting herself, “as we know none of the particulars, it is not fair to condemn him. It is not to be supposed that there was much affection in the case.”
“That is not an unnatural surmise, but it lessens of the honour of my cousin’s triumph very sadly,” he said in jest. “Miss Bennet, I would not have you think ill of Darcy. He only means to care for those whom he esteems. I am quite certain it is not as you think. Darcy really is a good fellow. I’ve known him to do many good things for people. Why just on this visit he—”
“Yes, of course. I am sure you are right. Colonel, if you please, I feel a headache coming on. I must be back to the Parsonage as soon as possible.”
“Yes, of course, Miss Bennet,” he said, offering his arm.
Abruptly changing the conversation, they talked on indifferent matters until they reached the Parsonage. The Colonel soon departed, not sure how his well laid plans had gone wrong, but he had an odd feeling things were not as he assumed. Surely the young lady in question could not have been known to Miss Bennet…perhaps even her sister? Surely Darcy would not prove to be so imprudent as that.
After dinner, Darcy sat near the window, patiently waiting for their guests to arrive. He had gone over his well laid plans countless times, rehearsing every detail of his proposal. He wanted to convey the deep struggle that had led him to make his declaration. He had determined that it must be thorough and yet romantic. Those were his plans, and, within a half hour of tea, he intended to act on them.
There was a noise at the front entrance, and he knew they had arrived. He smiled to himself and glanced at the doorway expecting to see her. However, once the party entered the room, Darcy’s heart fell. Elizabeth was not among them. Lady Catherine immediately noticed the absence as well and let her sentiments be known to the Hunsford party.
“Where is Miss Bennet? Is she not with you? This will not be borne. I am highly offended by such a slight.”
Darcy sat up in his seat and uncrossed his legs; worry and anxiety gripped his heart. She had to come. After all he had suffered, she had to come. He listened carefully as the parson explained.
“I do beg your pardon, Lady Catherine. It would seem that my cousin has fallen ill. She came down with a malady shortly after returning from her walk. We left her in her room with a headache, though she did express that she might take tea in our small parlour if she felt better.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam glanced between Darcy and their aunt. “Lady Catherine, I was walking with Miss Bennet earlier today, and she did express to me that she was unwell. Perhaps it is a fleeting ailment and will pass quickly.”
Darcy rose to his feet and went to leave, but a bellowing voice called him back.
“And where are you going, Nephew? Not to see about Miss Bennet, I hope.”
“You must forgive me. I shall return directly,” he said, turning to leave.
A still silence filled the room. Mr. and Mrs. Collins exchange a surprised look as they all watched as Darcy quit the room; she smiled, and he gawked. The Colonel, delighted with his cousin’s boldness, gave a small laugh, careful to cough into his hand when his aunt’s disgruntled gaze turned on him.
Making his way to the foyer, he quickly grabbed his hat and cane and left for the Parsonage. Sam, who was there in the garden, saw him and quickly fell into step.
“Come along, ol’ boy, we must make haste. Miss Bennet is ill. I must propose today, or I will not have another chance.” He sighed and spoke privately. “I hope it is not serious. If something dreadful should happen to her, I don’t know how I would bear it. She has become very important to me.” He looked down at his hound. “She has become important to the both of us, has she not?”
Quickly making his way up the steps of the Parsonage, he gave three sharp raps, and the door was soon opened. He was promptly led to the parlour where he burst into the room and found Miss Bennet sitting in a chair near the window, looking pale and distressed.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, with great concern, “forgive me, but when I heard you were unwell, I came immediately to enquire after your health. They said you suffer a headache. I hope that you are feeling better and that it is not serious.”
“No, it isn’t. In fact, I believe I am a little better, thank you,” she answered with cold civility. “Won’t you have a seat?”
He released a hard breath, gazing at her with a creased brow, wondering at the coolness of her tone. He sat down for a few moments, and then getting up, walked about the room in a restless manner, wondering how to proceed. All his carefully constructed strategies of a romantic proposal were now torn to bits, and he struggled for the right words. Pacing back and forth, he passed his hand over his face and turned in her direction. After several minutes of strained silence, he came towards her in great agitation. It would do no good to fret. He would make the best of it and tell her of his great battle and what it meant for him to come here and express his love and admiration for her. He took a deep breath, and thus began:
“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.”
She gazed at him in pure astonishment and coloured but remained silent. This he considered sufficient encouragement. She was obviously waiting—no—expecting his proposal. The thought gave him comfort. Taking another deep breath, he continued.
“It has been many months now that I have felt such a high regard for you, but only in the last few weeks have I been able to conquer those obstacles that forbade me from expressing my feelings, which, I assure you, are intense.” He momentarily stopped and gazed at her. Seeing no clear indication of her feelings, he nodded and resumed pacing with his hands linked behind his back, his fingers twisting his signet ring, as he spoke yet again, trying to appear less nervous than he felt.
“I realize,” he said, glancing at her as he walked the floor, “given the inferiority of your low connections, the relative situation of our families, and my place in society, that any alliance between us will be judged reprehensible. My family, and, might I say, even my friends will find it so. Furthermore, as a man of good sense and reason, I cannot help but regard it as such myself. In the eyes of society—especially within the realm of which I belong, it will be considered a degradation. Therefore, in expressing myself thusly, I will be expressly going against the wishes of not only my family and friends, but even my own better judgment. However, it cannot be helped.” He paused and took another deep breath. Looking directly into her wide eyes with the confidence and assured of a positive response, he continued once more.
“Miss Bennet, in all honesty, I must tell you that I have come to feel for you...a most passionate…deeply held, admiration and regard, which, despite all my struggles, has overcome every rational objection of which I can conceive of. Therefore, I beg of you, most fervently, to relieve my suffering and consent to be my wife.”
When he ceased speaking, he gazed at her, looking for some indication that she returned his feelings. Her cheeks flushed, and, after some moments, to his great surprise, she finally spoke in a tone less comforting than he expected.
“In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned. It is natural that obligation should be felt, and if I could feel gratitude, I would now thank you. But I cannot—I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. I am sorry to have occasioned pain to anyone. It has been most unconsciously done, however, and I hope will be of short duration. The feelings which, you tell me, have long prevented the acknowledgment of your regard, can have little difficulty in overcoming it after this explanation.”
Leaning against the mantelpiece with his eyes fixed on her face, he caught her words with no less resentment than was his shock and surprise at her saying them. He could feel his features pale with anger as his mood darkened with wild thoughts reeling through his head. …she’s refusing me? Me? Does she not realize who I am and what it would mean to be my wife? What a great honour I have bestowed upon her?
Struggling for the appearance of composure, and, at length, with a voice of forced calmness, he finally found his tongue.
“And this is all the reply which I am to have the honour of expecting! I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little endeavour at civility, I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance.” He pushed away from the mantelpiece and approached her.
“And I might as well enquire why with so evident a desire of offending and insulting me you chose to tell me that you loved me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character? Was not this some excuse for incivility, if I was uncivil? But I have other provocations. You know I have. Had not my feelings decided against you—had they been indifferent, or had they even been favourable, do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps forever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?”
As she pronounced these words, Darcy stiffened and smirked, but the emotion was short, and he listened without attempting to interrupt her while she continued.
“I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No motive can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted there. You dare not, you cannot deny, that you have been the principal, if not the only means of dividing them from each other—of exposing one to the censure of the world for caprice and instability, and the other to its derision for disappointed hopes, and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind.”
Looking at her with a smile of affected incredulity, he slowly shook his head. He found it difficult to fathom the things she flung at him, and he gave a small humourless laugh to himself. This was the moment he had dreamt of, but never had he imagined it thus. He slowly turned and walked away, leaning against the mantelpiece once more with his back turned to her.
“Can you deny that you have done it?” she repeated, her voice raised in anger.
With assumed tranquillity he turned towards her and began to walk about the room again. Glancing at her, he replied, “I have no wish of denying that I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your sister, or that I rejoice in my success. Towards him I have been kinder than towards myself.”
He could clearly see the disdain she held of noticing his civil reflection, and neither did its meaning escape, nor was it likely to conciliate her. He wondered how he had so badly misjudged her.
“But it is not merely this affair,” she continued, “on which my dislike is founded. Long before it had taken place, my opinion of you was decided. Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received many months ago from Mr. Wickham.”
Upon hearing this fiend’s name, Darcy’s pacing stopped abruptly and a look of pure astonishment overtook him.
“On this subject, what can you have to say? In what imaginary act of friendship can you here defend yourself? Or under what misrepresentation can you here impose upon others?”
“You take an eager interest in that gentleman’s concerns,” Darcy said, in a less tranquil tone, his eyes now burning with fire.
Of all men to be preferred over, George Wickham would be her choice? She is indeed a fool! And I am more than a little insulted.
“Who that knows what his misfortunes have been can help feeling an interest in him?”
“His misfortunes!” Darcy repeated contemptuously, loathing reflected in his deep voice. “Yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed.”
“And of your infliction,” Elizabeth cried with energy. “You have reduced him to his present state of poverty—comparative poverty. You have withheld the advantages which you must know to have been designed for him. You have deprived the best years of his life of that independence which was no less his due than his dessert. You have done all this! And yet you can treat the mention of his misfortune with contempt and ridicule.”
“And this,” Darcy cried, as he walked with quick steps across the room, “is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which you hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully,” he said with great indignation. “Yes…my faults, according to this calculation, are heavy indeed! But perhaps,” he added, stopping in his walk and turning towards her, “these offenses might have been overlooked had not your pride been hurt by my honest confession of the scruples that had long prevented my forming any serious design. These bitter accusations might have been suppressed had I, with greater policy, concealed my struggles and flattered you into the belief of my being impelled by unqualified, unalloyed inclination, by reason, by reflection, by everything. But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence. Nor am I ashamed of the feelings I related. They were natural and just. Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections—to congratulate myself on the hope of relations whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?”
He could clearly see the fury gathering in her eyes and only presumed it matched his own.
“You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy,” she said with a mixture of composure and contempt, “if you suppose that the mode of your declaration affected me in any other way than as it spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.”
He started to reply but then judged it best not to speak in anger and so said nothing as she continued, her arguments stinging his sensibilities.
“You could not have made the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it.”
The words she spoke cut like a knife and pierced his heart as he looked at her with an expression of mingled incredulity and mortification. Never in his life had he been spoken to with such disdain and disrespect.
She went on: “From the very beginning—from the first moment, I may almost say—of my acquaintance with you, your manners impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form the groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike. I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.”
Finally, he had had enough. He walked over to the table where he had laid his hat and cane. Retrieving them, he turned and said:
“You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time…and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness. Good day.”
With these words, he hastily left the room and the next moment opened the front door and quit the house. The tumult of his mind was now painfully great. He quickly descended the steps and left for his trek back to Rosings. Sam, who had been waiting near the walkway, sensed his master’s distress and whimpered while joining him.
Stopping for a moment, Darcy took a deep breath, his body shaking with anger as their exchange rang in his ears. …Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections? To congratulate myself on the hope of relations whose conditions in life is so below my own?”
You are mistaken, Mr Darcy, if you suppose that the mode of your declaration affected me in any other way, than as it spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.
Resentment swelled in his heart and his voice quivered. “I am always a gentleman, Miss Bennet, and someday you will know the truth of it. You do not know the opportunity you have thrown away as, with so little thought to civility, you have dismissed me. Your father’s estate is entailed. I am by far the best offer of marriage you will ever receive. My offer may very likely be the final one you will ever receive.”
He took a few more steps and then stopped again as her words once more sounded in his head. …Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received many months ago from Mr. Wickham.
“Wickham! Well, at least in that I can defend myself. God only knows what lies that libertine has told her!”
Bounding up the steps of Rosings two at a time, his mind still reeling from the accusations so savagely thrown in his face by a wilful woman, he entered the house in no mood for tea or the tedious conversation that he was sure to suffer in Lady Catherine’s court.
Heading for the great staircase, his thoughts were interrupted by his cousin.
“Darcy! Where have you been? Lady Catherine has been asking after you!”
“Not now, Fitzwilliam.”
In great agitation, Darcy moved towards the stairs only to hear his aunt calling for him to present himself to her at once and explain his actions in leaving so abruptly.
“No,” he said, clearly shaken. “Give my regards to Lady Catherine, but I cannot see her at this moment. You will forgive me. I simply cannot see her.”
“Darcy, what has happened to you? Are you unwell?”
“Fitzwilliam, I have not the time or the inclination for this. You will forgive me, but I have a pressing matter of business to attend to. Make my apologies to Lady Catherine.”
Darcy turned and quickly took the stairs. After making his way to his chamber, he entered and shut the door. His man was there, arranging his clothes, preparing for the trip to London on Saturday.
“Winfred, we will be leaving sooner than expected. Make arrangements to leave tomorrow. Get me a bottle of brandy and then leave me to myself.”
“Mr. Darcy—”
“I am not in the mood to explain things. Just do as I say!”
Winfred Cunningham knew better than to speak another word. The last time he had seen this dark mood settle on his master, something dreadful had happened to Miss Georgiana. And, from the looks of Mr. Darcy now, something very bad had happened this time, too. Studying his master closely, he had an ominous feeling of foreboding that in some way this black temper undoubtedly involved Miss Bennet. However, he knew better than to step beyond the bounds of a servant, though, as servant to another master, he would most assuredly pray and place it in the Lord’s hands.
In bitterness of spirit, Darcy ripped his cravat from his neck and stripped down to his breeches and shirttail. Then, sitting in his chair by the fire, holding a brandy in one hand while the other dangled freely from the chair arm, he stared into the flames, once again reliving his and Miss Bennet’s heated exchange. Parsing their conversation line by line with her accusations of Mr. Wickham’s misfortunes still ringing in his ears, his thoughts ran to his sister and how she had suffered at the hands of that black-hearted bastard whom he despised more than he could ever express. Of course, Elizabeth knew none of that. Few did. But the more he thought about it, the more it angered him. That was the most grievous accusation she had made, and he would answer it, as well as the others. What had he to lose at this point? He would tell her the truth—all of it—including that of her family. The fact that she preferred Mr. Wickham, with his smooth tongue and practiced manners, to him had wounded his pride more than any sword put to the heart.
Rising from his chair with great determination, he went over to the writing desk in his sitting room and pulled a sheet of manila letter paper from the letterbox. Dipping his pen in the inkwell, he began to write. He wrote first in anger, then in distress. Several times he started and then stopped, not pleased with the written words. Crumpling the first attempt, he began anew. All through the night he wrote, reading and rewriting, breaking several nibs in the process, until the letter was composed in a more thoughtful, reasoned tone than in the angry bitterness in which he had begun, though he knew that his raw emotion was still reflected therein.
He gave an accurate account of his family’s connection to Mr. Wickham and his family, how George Wickham had been his boyhood friend and how that friendship was betrayed over the years when they had become youths and gone off to school together, as Darcy’s father had seen fit to provide Wickham with a gentleman’s education. He relayed his disgust of Mr. Wickham’s libertine lifestyle and appetite for women and gambling, often cloaked by smiles and well-polished comportments. But of all that Darcy disclosed the most painful intelligence was the near seduction and elopement of his beloved sister, who was but fifteen years of age at the time, which, Darcy believed, was for the purpose of obtaining her fortune of thirty thousand pounds.
His pen moved fluidly over the pages as he recounted all that had transpired at the Netherfield ball—what he had witnessed and his reaction to it. Dipping his pen once more, he penned his final words:
This, madam, is a faithful narrative of every event in which we have been concerned together; and if you do not absolutely reject it as false, you will, I hope, acquit me henceforth of cruelty towards Mr. Wickham. I know not in what manner, under what form of falsehood he has imposed on you; but his success is not perhaps to be wondered at. Ignorant as you previously were of everything concerning either of us, detection could not be in your power, and suspicion certainly not in your inclination.
You may possibly wonder why all this was not told to you last night; but I was not then master enough of myself to know what could or ought to be revealed. For the truth of everything here related, I can appeal more particularly to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who, from our near relationship and constant intimacy, and, still more, as one of the executors of my father's will, has been unavoidably acquainted with every particular of these transactions. If your abhorrence of me should make my assertions valueless, you cannot be prevented by the same cause from confiding in my cousin; and that there may be the possibility of consulting him, I shall endeavour to find some opportunity of putting this letter in your hands in the course of the morning. I will only add, God bless you.
Fitzwilliam A. Darcy
Finally, emotionally spent, he threw down his pen and sealed his letter in the early hours of the morning. Leaning back in his chair, he raked his fingers through his curls and released a hard breath as he swallowed back the pain in his chest. He had poured his heart and soul into this epistle, telling her things he had never spoken to anyone since the day he had found his sister in Ramsgate on the verge of making the worst mistake of her life, which, if she had followed through, would not only have extracted revenge upon himself, but would have also thoroughly ruined her reputation, and consequently, her life, for Mr. Wickham cared for neither.
Getting up from his desk, littered with broken nibs scattered about its surface and rumpled sheets of paper littering the floor, he walked over to the washstand and dipped his hands into the cool water left from the night before. Taking up a handful, he washed the weariness from his tired eyes. A rooster crowed in the distance, and he glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was four o’clock in the morning. He then strolled over to the open window of his chamber and gazed out into the gardens lit by gas lamps. Beyond the hedgerow, he could see Hunsford Parsonage. A solitary bedchamber was still glowing in candlelight. He presumed it to be hers. Was she as distressed as he? He shook his head and walked back to his desk. Extinguishing the one lone candle lighting his room, he left for his bedchamber and went to bed. He would get an hour or two of sleep, and then be in the grove before breakfast, hoping by chance to meet her there and give her his letter. What happened after that, he cared not. Now all he wished was to forget her and his foolish desire to have her for his wife.
At a quarter of seven, Darcy donned his greatcoat and gloves and left for the groves, where he knew from his early morning rides that Elizabeth could often be found before breakfast. Hoping against hope, he prayed she would follow her usual routine and come to the wooded copse he believed to be her favourite haunt. Pacing back and forth in the part of the grove which edged the park, his mind was full with the events of the previous evening. If it was the last thing he did, he would place this letter in her hand, and then make ready for his return trip to London which would take place immediately. He had been in Kent long enough.
Glancing up from his deep thoughts, he spied her near a large willow oak. She appeared to have seen him and was moving away. He hurried his steps in eagerness.
“Miss Bennet!” he cried out.
Elizabeth turned away and moved towards the gate, but Darcy was determined to see her. Moving quickly, he reached the gate at the same time as she and held out the letter. She bore a contemptuous look, and the meaning behind that look was not lost on him; yet, he summoned his own steeled composure and spoke.
“I have been walking in the grove for some time in the hope of meeting you,” he said with a cool reserve. “Will you do me the honour of reading this letter?”
Darcy gave a slight bow, and then turned and walked away, heading back into the park. He did not know what her reaction was upon his very evident lack of decorum in approaching her as he did; nor did he care. He never looked back. From what little he felt he knew of her character, he was certain she would read his letter if for no other reason than mere curiosity.
Making his way back to Rosings, he was more determined than ever to leave Kent this very day, and the sooner the better. He would pay his regards to Mr. and Mrs. Collins, make his apologies to his aunt for their earlier than expected departure, and then they would leave. He had urgent business he must personally attend to. There was a piece of property to sell and things to do.
“I will conquer this,” he muttered aloud. “I will! I must!”