Part IV
Elizabeth was engaged one day, as she walked, in re-perusing Jane’s last letter, and dwelling on some passages which proved that Jane had not written in spirits, when, instead of being again surprised by Mr. Darcy, she saw on looking up, that Colonel Fitzwilliam was meeting her. Putting away the letter immediately and forcing a smile, she said, “I did not know before that you ever walked this way.”
“I have been making the tour of the Park,” he replied, “as I generally do every year, and intend to close it with a call at the Parsonage. Are you going much further?”
“No, I should have turned in a moment.”
And accordingly she did turn, and they walked towards the Parsonage together.
“Do you certainly leave Kent on Saturday?” said she.
“Yes - if Darcy does not put it off again. But I am at his disposal. He arranges the business just as he pleases.”
“And, if not able to please himself in the arrangement, he has at least great pleasure in the power of choice. I do not know anybody who seems more to enjoy the power of doing what he likes than Mr. Darcy.” As Elizabeth thought further on the Colonel’s words she wondered at the reason for Darcy having delayed his departure. Certainly he had said nothing to her; nor had he seemed to be overly engaged in estate matters since he had walked with her very frequently. Could he have postponed that departure in order to do so? It was unfortunately a question that only one person could answer but it was also one she could not ask. Her attention was reclaimed by Colonel Fitzwilliam.
“He likes to have his own way very well,” he 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, 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 the want of money. Younger sons cannot marry where they like.”
“Unless where they like women of fortune, which I think they very often do.”
“Our habits of expense make us too dependent, and there are not many in my rank of life who can afford to marry without some attention to money.”
“Is this,” thought Elizabeth, “meant for me?” and she coloured at the thought he might feel it necessary to warn her away – an unnecessary tactic since she had formed no attachment to him; but, recovering herself, said in a lively tone, “And pray, what is the usual price of an Earl’s younger son? Unless the elder brother is very sickly, I suppose you would not ask above fifty thousand pounds.”
He answered her in the same style, and the subject dropped. To interrupt a silence which might make him fancy her affected with what had passed, she soon afterwards said, “I imagine your cousin brought you down with him chiefly for the sake of having somebody at his disposal. I wonder he does not marry, to secure a lasting convenience of that kind. But, perhaps his sister does as well for the present, and, as she is under his sole care, he may do what he likes with her.”
“No,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, “that is an advantage which he must divide with me. I am joined with him in the guardianship of Miss Darcy.”
“Are you, indeed? And pray what sort of guardians do you make? Does your charge give you much trouble? Young ladies of her age are sometimes a little difficult to manage, and if she has the true Darcy spirit, she may like to have her own way.”
As she spoke, she observed him looking at her earnestly, and the manner in which he immediately asked her why she supposed Miss Darcy likely to give them any uneasiness, convinced her that she had somehow or other got pretty near the truth. 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 gentleman-like man - he is a great friend of Darcy’s.”
“Oh! yes,” said Elizabeth drily, ”Mr. Darcy is uncommonly kind to Mr. Bingley, and takes a prodigious deal of care of him.”
“Care of him! - Yes, I really believe Darcy does take care of him in those points where he most wants care. From something that he told me 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, of course, would not wish to be generally known, because if it were to get round to the lady’s family, it would be an unpleasant thing.”
“You may depend upon my not mentioning it.”
“And remember that I have not much reason for supposing it to be Bingley. What he told me was merely this; that he congratulated himself on having lately saved a friend from the inconveniences of a most imprudent marriage, but without mentioning names or any other particulars, and I only suspected it to be Bingley from believing him the kind of young man to get into a scrape of that sort, and from knowing them to have been together the whole of last summer.”
“Did Mr. Darcy give you his reasons for this interference?”
“I understood that there were some very strong objections against the lady.”
“And what arts did he use to separate them?”
“He did not talk to me of his own arts,” said Fitzwilliam smiling. “He only told me what I have now told you.”
Elizabeth made no answer, and walked on, her heart swelling with indignation. After watching her a little, Fitzwilliam asked her why she was so thoughtful.
“I am thinking of what you have been telling me,” said she. “Your cousin’s conduct does not suit my feelings. Why was he to be the judge?”
“You are rather disposed to call his interference officious?”
“I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to decide on the propriety of his friend’s inclination, or why, upon his own judgment alone, he was to determine and direct in what manner that 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,” said Fitzwilliam, “but it is lessening the honour of my cousin’s triumph very sadly.”
This was spoken jestingly, but it appeared to her so just a picture of Mr. Darcy that she would not trust herself with an answer; and, therefore, abruptly changing the conversation, talked on indifferent matters till they reached the parsonage. There, shut into her own room as soon as their visitor left them, she could think without interruption of all that she had heard. It was not to be supposed that any other people could be meant than those with whom she was connected. There could not exist in the world two men over whom Mr. Darcy could have such boundless influence. That he had been concerned in the measures taken to separate Mr. Bingley and Jane, she had never doubted; but she had always attributed to Miss Bingley the principal design and arrangement of them. Now it must appear that he had an equal or greater share of the responsibility. That his opinion might well be held in greater esteem by Mr. Bingley than his sisters, she could easily believe and, if so, he was the cause, his pride and caprice were the principal cause, of all that Jane had suffered, and still continued to suffer. He had ruined for a while every hope of happiness for the most affectionate, generous heart in the world; and no one could say how lasting an evil he might have inflicted.
“There were some very strong objections against the lady,” were Colonel Fitzwilliam’s words, and these strong objections probably were, her having one uncle who was a country attorney, and another who was in business in London.
“To Jane herself,” she exclaimed, “there could be no possibility of objection. All loveliness and goodness as she is! Her understanding excellent, her mind improved, and her manners captivating. Neither could anything be urged against my father, who, though with some peculiarities, has abilities which Mr. Darcy himself need not disdain.”
When she thought of her mother, indeed, her confidence gave way a little, but she would not allow that any objections there had material weight with Mr. Darcy, whose pride, she was convinced, would receive a deeper wound from the want of importance in his friend’s connections, than from their want of sense. The more she considered the matter, the greater her agitation until finally she realized that she was letting her emotions, her anger to be precise, spiral out of her control and oversetting all her carefully ordered reasoning. Forcing herself towards calmness, she gradually mastered that anger; and, once able to consider the matter in a less fraught manner, she could see that she was attributing to Mr. Darcy, the worst possible motives. If nothing else, she had come to realize that he was an honourable man. If two gentlemen such as Mr. Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam considered him to be so, then she could not gainsay them. If he had opposed the attachment between her sister and Mr. Bingley, she owed it to herself to find out the truth behind that opposition.
When she considered the matter in light of her previous resolutions, she could not see that there was a reason to change them. She had already come to believe that Mr. Bingley must accept the majority of the responsibility for his decision to remain away from Hertfordshire. His friends and relations could advise but upon him lay the responsibility for his actions. Her distress at the moment was a matter of the heart, not the mind. Her opinion of Mr. Darcy had improved appreciably over the last se’nnight but she also realized that her feelings were too raw, too exposed at the moment for her to contemplate receiving an offer from Mr. Darcy and while she could have wished to avoid his company altogether tonight, being in his company amongst a larger group was her best assurance of avoiding a private interview. Not even Mr. Darcy would attempt a proposal in the company of his aunt nor would she, Elizabeth, agree to a private talk tonight. As a consequence she was determined to attend her cousins to Rosings, where they were engaged to drink tea. Upon their departure, Mrs. Collins, seeing that she was discomposed encouraged her husband and sister to walk ahead of herself and Elizabeth so as to afford her a few private minutes with her friend.
“Is there a problem, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth’s initial reluctance to reveal the cause of her problem did not last beyond the recognition that Charlotte already knew most of the particulars and that the Colonel’s revelation was not totally unexpected. “Colonel Fitzwilliam revealed – without knowing he did so – that Mr. Darcy was the principal cause of separating Mr. Bingley from Jane.”
Charlotte did not seem overly impressed, “I had always believed him involved, to be sure. Mr. Bingley obviously held his opinions in high regard. Should this have any particular significance now? Surely you were not surprised?”
“I believe I held his sisters to the major share of the blame. I do not know if it changes anything but to treat Mr. Darcy with civility tonight will be difficult I fear.”
“I have no fear of your behaviour, Lizzy.” Charlotte smiled, “Perhaps you should tease him a little more tonight. That will surely restore your humour and upset his.”
Elizabeth smiled back, suddenly feeling better and looking forward if such were possible to the evening before her. “I believe I shall, Charlotte! I believe I shall! And I have just the subject to tease him on.” If there was a trace of glee in the tone of her voice, Charlotte pretended she had not heard. She was confident that Elizabeth inherent kindness would not allow her to be malicious.
Their time spent at Rosings went much like previous occasions with Lady Catherine dominating the conversation and requiring that Darcy attend her and her daughter. Colonel Fitzwilliam, as was his usual practice, quickly claimed, a seat beside her and they were soon conversing as easily as ever. To her surprise, Darcy, seeing his aunt fully engaged in lecturing Mrs. Collins about her menus, rose and came to sit in the chair next to Elizabeth who, seeing her opportunity to tease, seized it.
“Shall I play for you, gentlemen?”
Receiving their assent and, before either could offer to do so, she asked Darcy to turn the pages for her; and, turning to Colonel Fitzwilliam, said, “I believe, sir, that you will be able to appreciate the music quite well from your present seat.”
The Colonel, who had made as though to rise, realized that she wished to speak privately to Darcy, immediately relaxed back into his chair, nodding agreement and waved his hand for them to proceed. Elizabeth and Darcy moved to the pianoforte and Elizabeth, selecting a piece with which she was quite familiar, began to play. That Darcy was puzzled by her actions was evident and she resolved to allow him to remain so for several minutes before beginning, taking care to pitch her voice so as not to be audible to anyone else.
“I understand, Mr. Darcy, that you are to be congratulated.”
“I am! For what pray tell?”
“I have been given to understand that you can take pleasure in affording a friend such advice as to spare him an unfortunate attachment. I am happy for your success and I hope your friend is happy with the result. My own efforts do not admit of such a happy conclusion. You see I assured my sister that a young man returned her affections and gave her leave to fall in love with him which she was most pleased to do. Unfortunately, it seems my assurances were in error and she was been left with disappointed hopes and a damaged heart when he left, never to return.
While Elizabeth’s tone was light, she could not altogether help injecting a tartness to her tone and it was with no little satisfaction that she observed the sudden pallor of Darcy’s countenance but his haughty mask descended quickly over his face and they sat in an uncomfortable silence for several moments before he slowly started to turn and look at the Colonel. Elizabeth quickly said, “Do not blame your cousin. He could not have known.”
Darcy returned his gaze to her, turning a page almost by rote. She marvelled that he was following the music closely enough to have done so at the correct interval. Elizabeth continued.
“I would be quite interested in your methods of persuading your friend. Was the young lady deficient in understanding? Or in behaviour? With a small dowry perhaps? Or may it have been a want of connections? What would be those considerations to which one should attach the most importance? I ask only that I might be more successful in the future.”
Darcy looked as though he might wish himself anywhere else but did not refuse her implicit challenge.
“In the case of my friend, the young lady was everything that was proper, did not lack understanding to my knowledge and was quite beautiful.”
“And yet she was unsuitable? There were objections to the lady?”
“I could not detect any sign of affection for my friend and advised him accordingly. He is a kindly man with an affectionate nature and I would not wish him in a marriage where there was an inequality of affections.”
“And you were the judge of her affections?”
“I was. I observed her very carefully at a dance and her manner was open, cheerful and as engaging as ever but without any symptom of peculiar regard. It appeared to me that while she received his attentions with pleasure, she did not invite them by any participation of sentiment.”
Her own temper was aroused but little and while she had no objections to teasing Darcy, she did not want to distress him unduly. Moreover she could remember quite clearly Charlotte’s comments about Jane hiding her feelings from all but her closest confidantes. So she simply replied, “Your concerns have merit, Mr. Darcy. I do hope that you have judged the matter correctly, although it may be that you have not. As one who is known for a reserved character, I would expect that you can readily ascertain such in others. But perhaps not. My sister is one such and I would expect only her closest acquaintances can detect her feelings.”
Darcy looked thoughtful, “Truly? I…that bears thinking on, I admit.”
“I trust Mr. Darcy, that I have not distressed you greatly. While I was, I admit, quite angry at Mr. Bingley’s sisters and yourself for your efforts to separate him from my sister, I have since come to realize that the blame must rest largely with Mr. Bingley himself. His want of resolution is at the heart of the matter. Perhaps he is a most inconstant lover.”
Elizabeth played for a few more minutes when her attention was diverted from the music by Darcy saying, “Are you planning to walk tomorrow morning, Miss Bennet?”
“Indeed, should the weather permit me to do so.”
“Perhaps, if you are agreeable, I could join you on your walk once more?”
Elizabeth played for several minutes without answering before replying, “That would be agreeable, Mr. Darcy. At eight then. ”
Their privacy was interrupted by the approach of Colonel Fitzwilliam who suggested to Darcy that their cousin Anne looked to be in need of his attention. Once Darcy had departed, the Colonel claimed his spot beside Elizabeth saying, “I believed it best to disturb your tete-a-tete since my aunt appeared to be a little concerned about Darcy’s attentions to you.”
Elizabeth smiled and nodded, continuing to play and the Colonel continued, "It appears that I was unknowingly rather improper today during our walk in confessing matters of a private nature. Please accept my apologies for distressing you.”
“I do not hold you accountable for your cousin’s action, Colonel but will accept your apology in the spirit that it was offered.”
“I would hope that my betrayal of my cousin’s confidences has not lowered him in your eyes.”
“You need not fear. He stands as high as he ever did.”
This ambiguous statement appeared to appease the Colonel and Elizabeth continued to play for a further quarter hour until the carriage was called to return them all to the parsonage. When she retired to her room later that evening, Elizabeth had time to reflect on her brief encounter with Darcy that evening. She recalled his words ‘It appeared to me that she received his attentions with pleasure, she did not invite them by any participation of sentiment’. Was this the impediment, his ‘strong objection’. Surely not, could he not see Jane’s affections. But then Elizabeth remembered Charlotte’s comment that Jane’s feelings were not readily or easily seen by those not closely familiar with her – and Darcy certainly was not a close acquaintance. But surely Mr. Bingley was not in doubt. But if one is to believe Mr. Darcy, he apparently was. How was that possible? Since there was no means of addressing that question, she forced herself to read until sleep almost overtook her. Blowing out her candle and laying herself down, it took but a few minutes for sleep to claim her.
Elizabeth woke the next morning surprisingly refreshed. Her sleep had come easy – why she was not sure since the day could prove to be exciting - no, that was not quite the word for which she was searching. Portentous perhaps. Yes that was more apt. Dressing quickly, she thought to walk out and arrive at the grove early to afford herself time to gather her composure. She could not be sure, of course, but it seemed possible that Mr. Darcy would offer to court or, possibly, wed her. The latter still seemed quite unlikely.
Grabbing two scones from the kitchen table and bestowing a brief smile of the cook, who had become quite accustomed to her early morning departures, she slipped out the door as quietly as possible. She really had no fear that Mr. Collins would be awake so early but she had no desire to risk any ill-conceived efforts on his part to curtail or prevent her walk. The day promised to be rather warm for the time of year and she noted with pleasure that the trees and shrubs had assumed their full foliage with that fresh green look that marks springtime. It was her favourite time of the year – everything fresh and clean. It was the time of hopes and hers were growing quite favourably.
As she walked towards the grove her mind replayed those conclusions, and the thoughts that underlay them, which had consumed her attention for the past days. The inescapable conclusion that Darcy held her in considerable esteem was evidenced in his looks which she had once mistakenly assumed as disdainful; by his requests for her to dance; and by his recent manner towards her. If such was the case, her earlier opinion of his dislike - founded on that very first insult - must be cast aside. Whatever the reason for that insult, she could no longer hold it against him since he had so very clearly rendered it meaningless. The most puzzling aspect was the inconstancy of his attentions. If she had, in retrospect, identified his interest as beginning during her stay at Netherfield – and possibly earlier – why had he made no attempt to converse with her or call on her while there? Why had he left and made no effort to see her in the almost half year afterwards? Why, when he arrived at Rosings, had his attentions been so slight for the first week or so and then more consistent? What did such inconstancy say with respect to the constancy of his affections now?
His actions against Wickham were another matter. She was hardly satisfied with his refusal to be involved but was it a matter of disdain for the people of Meryton - of thinking them below his notice and therefore his concern; or was there a more legitimate reason which would not allow him to act. That was something to be discovered although she saw no immediate need to do so. But she would have an answer from him eventually.
His manner throughout his stay in Hertfordshire had not recommended him to her. He gave offence to almost everyone outside his party by his incivility, arrogance and appearance of disdain. That Wickham’s tale was so readily believed attested to the degree of disapprobation he had incurred everywhere. Only Jane and herself, of all of Meryton, had spoke on his behalf and even her support had been mainly because she distrusted Wickham’s account. Nevertheless, as his recent efforts also attested, he could be amiable should he choose to be so. That extracting such behaviour had required a substantial effort on her part was puzzling. He was more reserved, more reticent than anyone she had previously known and yet had shown pleasure in their talks. Both Bingley and the Colonel had affirmed that he was quite different amongst his close acquaintances. Was that because they were of his station in life or because he was simply comfortable in their presence? She simply could not tell which, with any certainty, was the reason; and she was not inclined to risk her future by guessing on such a matter.
Finally, there was the matter of her sister and Mr. Bingley; and there she could only hope that Mr. Darcy had credited her statement of the previous evening. She could not secure her own happiness at the expense of her sister’s but thought that such would be unnecessary in any event. That he had acted to separate them was irrefutable and he had not tried to deny it – which was wise of him. If Darcy had believed Jane to be indifferent, which she could not discount, how much was that opinion biased by his disapproval of her connections and the propriety of her family? His disgust with such impropriety was, once again, quite obvious. Almost every encounter with her mother and younger sisters had earned from him scowls of disapproval. Not that she could truly blame him as the unhappy defects of her family were a subject of heavy chagrin. They were hopeless of remedy. Her father, contented with laughing at them, would never exert himself to restrain the wild giddiness of his youngest daughters; and her mother, with manners so far from right herself, was entirely insensible of the evil. Elizabeth had frequently united with Jane in an endeavour to check the imprudence of Catherine and Lydia; but while they were supported by their mother’s indulgence, what chance could there be of improvement? Catherine, weak-spirited, irritable, and completely under Lydia’s guidance, had been always affronted by their advice; and Lydia, self-willed and careless, would scarcely give them a hearing. They were ignorant, idle, and vain. While there was an officer in Meryton, they would flirt with him; and while Meryton was within a walk of Longbourn, they would be going there forever. As she considered this anew, she realized that her distress and embarrassment had somewhat inured her to their impropriety and she could readily understand how dismaying it would be to one not used to it. That her father let such behaviour tarnish his family’s reputation spoke poorly of him despite his other fine qualities. In this she thought that Mr. Darcy would be someone to respect. His attentiveness to his sister and his responsibilities to managing an estate spoke well of him. She little doubted that he would not tolerate any child of his behaving in the manner of Kitty or Lydia.
As she approached the grove, she was surprised to see Darcy sitting on a bench with a horse tied to a small tree and happily grazing. His smile was warm but, she thought, a little apprehensive.
“I am surprised to see you so early, Mr. Darcy. I quite thought to have a few minutes to enjoy the beauty of the morning before you apprised me of the reason for this meeting.”
Darcy seemed somewhat embarrassed, “My aunt had asked me last night to attend her after breakfast for some reason which she would not vouchsafe to me. I was concerned that she may have suspected a meeting between us and thought to leave before she awoke. I admit to a deception and rode off in the opposite direction in the hopes of allaying such suspicions. I came here by the back roads and trails.”
Elizabeth grew thoughtful and considered the possible reaction of Lady Catherine should Darcy seek to court her. It would most likely not be pleasant given that lady’s oft expressed hopes for a match between her daughter and Mr. Darcy. Her thoughts were brought back to her surroundings when Darcy continued, “I am sorry to deprive you of your expected enjoyment of solitude and would willingly sit with you and share the pleasure if I may.”
Elizabeth nodded in acceptance and, seating herself beside, gave herself over to the prospect before her. She sensed his presence; his tension was palatable and she deliberately forced herself into a calmness that she hoped was communicated to him. Whether it was as a result of her efforts or by his own she knew not but after some few minutes, he began to relax. After a quarter hour of silence broken only by the soft snuffling noises from the horse and the early morning calls of the birds, she felt ready to begin. That he would await her signal, she understood and now felt herself ready to face whatever might arise.
“Mr. Darcy, we meet at your request. I must assume you have some purpose, sir.”
Darcy’s nervousness had immediately returned and he stood, moved off some five yards and began to pace in front of her. His opening words were not overly surprising since she had expected that he would address the issue of her sister and Mr. Bingley at some point this morning. That he chose to do so immediately met with her approval. She wanted to hear his reasons for his actions.
"May I ask of you two things; first that you let me relate my actions without interruption which I fear would distract me from my purpose, and, second, that you accept my apologies in advance if anything I say offends you. I can assure you that such is not my intention – I no longer hold some of those feelings which dictated my actions then but must relate them if my actions are to be understood.”
Receiving Elizabeth’s reluctant acquiescence, he began. “I had not been long in Hertfordshire, before I saw, in common with others, that Bingley preferred your eldest sister to any other young woman in the country but it was not till the evening of the dance at Netherfield that I had any apprehension of his feeling a serious attachment. I had often seen him in love before you see. At that ball, while I had the honour of dancing with you, I was first made acquainted, by Sir William Lucas’s accidental information, that Bingley’s attentions to your sister had given rise to a general expectation of their marriage. Sir William spoke of it as a certain event, of which the time alone could be undecided. From that moment I observed my friend’s behaviour attentively; and I could then perceive that his partiality for Miss Bennet was beyond what I had ever witnessed in him. Your sister I also watched. Her look and manners were open, cheerful, and engaging as ever, but without any symptom of peculiar regard, and I remained convinced from the evening’s scrutiny, that though she received his attentions with pleasure, she did not return them to any appreciable extent. If you have not been mistaken here, I must have been in error. Your superior knowledge of your sister must make the latter probable. If it be so, if I have been misled by such error, to inflict pain on her, your resentment has not been unreasonable. But I shall not scruple to assert that the serenity of your sister’s countenance and air was such as might have given the most acute observer a conviction that, however amiable her temper, her heart was not likely to be easily touched. - That I was desirous of believing her indifferent is certain, - but I will venture to say that my investigations and decisions are not usually influenced by my hopes or fears. I did not believe her to be indifferent because I wished it; I believed it on impartial conviction, as truly as I wished it in reason.”
He cast a glance at Elizabeth as he related the last and, seeing no sign of condemnation, continued, “In respect of the possible marriage, my objection in regard to the situation of your mother’s family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison of that total want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly, betrayed by herself, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father. - Pardon me. - It pains me to offend you. But amidst your concern for the defects of your nearest relations, and your displeasure at this representation of them, let it give you consolation to consider that to have conducted yourselves so as to avoid any share of the like censure is praise no less generally bestowed on you and your eldest sister, than it is honourable to the sense and disposition of both. I will only say further that, from what passed that evening, my opinion of all parties was confirmed, and every inducement heightened, which could have led me before to preserve my friend from what I esteemed a most unhappy connection. I was afraid, you must understand, that your sister would not be allowed by her mother to refuse an offer should it be made. Your mother spoke quite firmly about her expectations in my hearing. I am sure you remember it as well.”
He paused and resolutely refusing to look at her – as though he feared the expression on her face – he continued, ”Bingley left Netherfield for London, on the day following with the design of soon returning. His sisters’ uneasiness had been equally excited with my own; our coincidence of feeling was soon discovered; and, alike sensible that no time was to be lost in detaching their brother, we shortly resolved on joining him directly in London which we did. There I readily undertook to point out to my friend the certain evils of such a choice. I described, and enforced them earnestly. But I do not suppose that this remonstrance would ultimately have prevented the marriage, had it not been seconded by my assurance of your sister’s indifference. He had before believed her to return his affection with sincere, if not with equal, regard. But Bingley has great natural modesty, with a stronger dependence on my judgment than on his own. To convince him, therefore, that he had deceived himself, was no very difficult point. To persuade him against returning into Hertfordshire, when that conviction had been given, was scarcely the work of a moment. It was his modesty not his inconstancy which betrayed him in this instance and for that I must assume responsibility. There is but one part of my conduct in the whole affair, on which I do not reflect with satisfaction; it is that I concealed from him your sister’s being in town. I knew it myself, as it was known to Miss Bingley, but her brother is even yet ignorant of it. I acted so because I believed that his regard for your sister did not appear to me enough extinguished for him to see her without some danger. This concealment, this disguise, I must now consider beneath me. I have no other apology to offer other than I believed myself to be acting in the best interests of my friend. If I have wounded your sister’s feelings, it was unknowingly done; and though the motives which governed me may to you very naturally appear insufficient, I had not, until now, learned to condemn them.”
Elizabeth did not deign to answer at once. He had not revealed anything that she had not already surmised and, if the opinions expressed in regards of her family were painful, were they anything more than she had already acknowledge herself? She could see that he expected a response and, perhaps, expected her to be offended – which she was in truth since no one wished to hear their family disparaged – but confined herself to a simple and quiet question, “Now that you know the true state of my sisters feelings, what do you intend?”
“I have given some thought on this last night. It is not that I doubt your word but I cannot, of my own knowledge, say that your sister’s regard for Bingley is equal to his for her. I can and will advise him that I have reason to believe my observations, my opinion if you will, to have been in error and that he should seek, of his own volition, to determine your sister’s affections.”
Elizabeth nodded slowly and thoughtfully, "That will suffice. I believe if left to themselves they will quickly come to an agreement. I am also glad to hear you absolve your friend of the charge of inconstancy.” She paused for a few moments before saying, “Mr. Darcy, there is one matter that remains between us on which I wish you to explain. That is the matter of Mr. Wickham. You have twice made rather rather cryptic comments about matters which would preclude your taking any action against him. As a result, my sisters and friends might have been at risk and certainly his debts in Meryton could have been reduced had his nature been discovered earlier. At first I was inclined to believe that it was a reflection of your disdain for us – that we were not worthy of your attention. Now I suspect that other reasons may exist. Do I have the right of it, sir?”
The angry look that transfixed Darcy’s face was gone in seconds, replaced by a stern, cold appearance; he straightened his shoulders, sighed and, gradually relaxing, appeared to have come to a decision as if prepared to perform a most distasteful duty.
“Miss Bennet, I do not know for a certainty what story Wickham told to my discredit in Meryton. I can therefore only lay before you my history with him. He is the son of a very estimable man who was my father’s steward for many years and who had the misfortune to marry a spendthrift wife who managed to waste much of her husband’s income. My father, to recognize the contributions of his steward, stood as godfather to his son and, since he lacked the means to do so, undertook to afford Mr. Wickham a gentleman’s education at school and university, and to ensure that he had the means to gain decent employment. To this end, at his death, my father left Mr. Wickham a bequest of one thousand pounds and instructed that, since my father hoped he would take orders, a living was to be his when it became vacant. My father died some five years ago and Mr. Wickham’s father did likewise a few months later. Mr. Wickham received the bequest following my father’s death and about six months later approached me once more to state that he had decided against taking orders and wished to study law instead but that he lacked the funds to do so and requested to be compensated in lieu of the living promised to him. I was more than willing to accede to this request since I knew that he should never be a clergyman – I had observed closely his licentious behaviour, his want of principle at school and university – and, after some negotiation, a sum of three thousand pounds was agreed upon as compensation. Wickham signed a document releasing all claims to the living, received his monies and disappeared – into London I believed although I had no personal knowledge or interest in his activities.
I saw nothing of him for three years until the living became open upon the retirement of the rector and shortly thereafter I received a letter from Wickham stating that the study of law had proven unprofitable - if indeed he had studied at all – and his situation quite dire, of which I had no doubt, and stated his intention to take orders and to be given the living as requested by my father. You can, under the circumstances, not censure me for refusing his request. His anger and distress at this decision were in proportion to his circumstances which were extremely poor. I received several abusive letters and I do not doubt he was equally unkind when speaking of me to others. I heard nothing of him until last summer when he intruded quite painfully once more upon my family. I trust to your secrecy in what I am about to relate.”
At her nod, he continued, “My sister who is some ten years my junior had travelled to Ramsgate accompanied by her companion in whom we – Colonel Fitzwilliam and I – were badly misled. The lady was known to Mr. Wickham and we suspect the whole of the plan to travel to Ramsgate was by her instigation. There Mr. Wickham did go and, over the course of several weeks, persuaded my sister, who had only fond childhood memories of Mr. Wickham, to believe herself in love with him and to agree to an elopement.”
He paused as Elizabeth gasped and then nodded, “Yes, an elopement. She was but fifteen which must be her excuse.” After a pause of several moments, he said, “Fortunately, I had cause to travel to Ramsgate wishing to surprise my sister by a visit and arrived two days before the elopement was to take place. Georgiana revealed all to me and I am sure you can understand my distress. Mrs. Younge, the companion, was released from service and Wickham left Ramsgate that very day. While undoubtedly my sisters dowry was the main reason for his efforts, I also believe he hoped to avenge himself on me.”
“Your sister, she is well?”
“She has taken some time to recover. Her confidence, her assurance has been harmed. She was a shy creature to begin with and has become slightly more so although I have seen signs that she is improving.”
While Elizabeth was still considering what had been revealed, Darcy claimed her attention once more.
“My primary concern or fear at the time and for many months afterwards was that news of this…event did not become generally known since it would most seriously damage her future marriage prospects and the Darcy name. You questioned my motives for concealing Mr. Wickham’s character. That was of the foremost importance. I will also admit that I have, over the past few years, developed a habit of privacy and, in this instance, have believed that my character was the best rebuttal of Mr. Wickham’s slanders. This latter decision I have come to regard as flawed. My concern for privacy has hid my character from most of the world. I have come to regret my lack of action in Hertfordshire but at the time I was unable to see how I could risk exposing Georgiana’s mistake. Your actions and those of your aunt amply prove the fallacy of my decision but again I can only plead an excess of concern for my sister. That is my defence, Miss Bennet. It was not my finest moment and I am most acutely aware that I could have behaved more honourably.”
Elizabeth could only nod slowly, “I am not now inclined to judge you too harshly on the matter, Mr. Darcy. I can agree that it was a mistake but one done to protect someone very dear to you and that I can never censure.”
A silence fell which lasted for several minutes. Elizabeth felt no desire to bring it to an end. Mr. Darcy had sought the interview and upon him rested the responsibility for initiating any discussion. On this matter, he would receive no assistance from her. At last, he was moved to speak, “Miss Bennet, I spent several hours last night attempting to order my thoughts and wishes, to find some elegant words and phrases to express my desires and intentions. I am glad I did so because I fear that if I had not, I would have blurted out that which would have offended you greatly. Those sentiments which I confessed when relating my actions in separating your sister from my friend, I have put aside as they do not bear on my desires. I must speak plainly therefore to ensure that you have no doubt of my meaning, my intentions. But before I speak of these, I have another confession I must make."
Elizabeth at once realized he was going to make her an offer; but what could he possibly have to confess? She made no effort to mask her surprise but did afford him a nod to encourage him to proceed.
He was silent for several minutes, his haughty look, which she was coming to believe, was as much a reflection of his reserve as his pride and arrogance, replaced by one more thoughtful and abstracted.
“I quite tried to forget you, you know. I left Netherfield and, if one reason was to protect my friend, I was equally fleeing you. I did not wish to allow my attraction, my interest to grow. I felt I must put you behind me and that your absence would allow me to forget. It did not. I tried to bury myself in work but I could not but think of you. I tried to distract myself in society, balls, dinners, theatre – but to no avail. Every woman I met was compared to you and found wanting. And then I came to Rosings and there you were also. For a week I tried to deny my interest but could not. I knew I was lost when I visited the parsonage and found you alone. And when I began to join you on your walks, I was lost altogether. I could no longer deny my feelings. It was, I believe, your efforts to converse with me that made me most aware of you and when I began, I believe, to fully appreciate your character. And as I did so, thoughts of our previous meetings - my previous behaviour if you will – could afford me little satisfaction. I began to see my behaviour through your eyes – I compared your civility and kindness under my aunt’s manner and when dealing with Bingley’s sisters who showed little but the coldest civility to you – and often not even that in your absence – and such comparisons were greatly in your favour. I could not view my own behaviour other than with abhorrence.”
He looked at her closely. "I had many hours to reflect - my aunt's company is not all that engaging - and I began to review my behaviour towards you. Your words that first evening at Rosings, I could not forget. 'to my certain knowledge more than one young lady was sitting down in want of a partner'. You heard, did you not, those most ungentlemanly words I spoke to Bingley?" At her assenting nod, he grimaced, "If I had only known. I would have tendered my apologies sooner. I will make no excuses. I was in a most foul mood; Bingley was pressing me greatly and I truly do not enjoy dancing unless I know my partner very well. Nonetheless, such words should never be uttered in such a setting and I am heartedly ashamed to have insulted one who, within a very short time, I had come to believe as one of the handsomest of my acquaintance."
"You are indeed forgiven, Mr. Darcy. I had done so some days previously when I realized that your opinion had changed greatly."
"You are too kind, Miss Bennet."
"No indeed I am not! I may well tease you in the future about it."
Elizabeth suddenly realized that she had inadvertently let slip the possibility of a 'future' with Mr. Darcy and could see that the gentleman had not failed to appreciate the import of her words. He did not, however, allow himself to be diverted as he responded, "As I have stated, I was afforded the opportunity to reflect on my behaviour and have come to realize that yours, throughout our acquaintance in Hertfordshire, was one of some antagonism to me. What I believed to be flirting - if you will - on your part was, in fact, an expression of your dislike and dissatisfaction with my manners, my behaviour. I am correct, am I not?"
Elizabeth was forced to assent and he waved off her attempt to explain, "You were fully justified in your censure. You did not like me and I had, by virtue of my own behaviour, given you little cause to do otherwise. My reflections here have caused me to realize that I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, although not in principle. As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately an only son (and for many years an only child), I was spoiled by my parents, who, though good themselves (my father particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable), allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing, to care for none beyond my own family circle, to think meanly of all the rest of the world, to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own. Such I was from eight to eight-and-twenty; and such I might still be if I had not met you again here.”
“I do not understand. How could I have effected such a change?”
“By your actions with my aunt, you held before me such a mirror as to show me how grievously I had departed from my parent’s teaching. If you can be honest with me about your family, then I cannot be less so with you about my own. My aunt, in my presence, was condescending, rude, presumptuous in the extreme. I spoke to my cousin Anne, who admitted that her mother had been even more uncivil during your previous visits. I have never been blind to my aunt’s faults but, for the first time, was shown the contrast between her behaviour and that of a true lady. I was ashamed that I had not previously attached much importance to the fact, preferring to ignore rather than confront.”
He paused for a few moments and said, “Perhaps if I had not come to…hold such affection for you, I might not have thought much on it. But I knew enough of your character to believe you deserved the greatest of civility and respect. And when I thought of my aunt’s behaviour, I was forced to consider my own. As I contemplated my actions, my behaviour, I came to realize the hypocrisy that they represented. I could not scorn your connections with trade without considering that I had accepted as my closest friend, a man whose roots were steeped in trade. I could not disdain the improprieties of your younger sisters and your mother without weighing in the balance those of my own relations. My aunt’s behaviour was no less improper and I can assure you that she has displayed it in a broader society than you experienced. I believe only her rank has spared her from general censure although I believe she is not generally welcome in London society.”
He paused and facing her directly for the first time since he began to speak, knelt in front of her and took both her hands in his. Elizabeth was too perturbed by all he had related to act and listened as he said, "Miss Bennet, I most ardently admire and love you. I have, over the past months, come to the realization that you are the only woman who can satisfy my expectations for my wife. I admire, am entranced by your beauty, your intelligence and your kindness. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”
Elizabeth could see that his manner even while expressing such tender sentiments bore every sign of uncertainty that his offer would be accepted. That he had every reason to expect her to view his offer with favour, she knew; would not any other young lady of his station accept without any consideration other than the material advantageous that he provided? However from his declaration, she knew that he believed her to want more - or perhaps better - from her husband. His declaration had overset all of her plans and she found herself quite adrift.
”Mr. Darcy, I find myself in a state of considerable indecision.” She glanced up at his face, which she could see an expression of great surprise, and then concentrating her eyes on their hands clasped in her lap and not giving him a chance to respond, continued quickly, “I can see I have surprised you. I can only hope that my explanation will satisfy your…concerns.” Pausing once more to gather her composure – this was proving more difficult than she had expected – before saying, “The problem you see is that I simply do not, at this time, return your affections in equal measure to your own. In truth, I was unsure that you held me in any particular esteem until very lately - as your own reflections had surmised; for many months, I was convinced that you held me in the utmost disapproval and disdain. I, to my shame, reciprocated such feelings and it was only the advice of someone I hold in the greatest esteem that forced me to reconsider my opinion. You can perhaps imagine how mortifying it was to realize that I have so completely misjudged you. That is not to say that my affections had become engaged but simply that much of my dislike was dissipated; but it was not until we met here that I began to see you in a more favourable light.”
Now she paused to look directly at Darcy and forced herself to maintain that gaze despite a desire to inspect her hands once more. He once more seemed the haughty Mr. Darcy of her Hertfordshire acquaintance and her nerve almost failed her until she remembered her resolve to give him a full explanation. It was not done she knew, in situations like this, for proper young ladies to be so bold and direct but she knew of no other way to convince him of her sincerity.
“I will not deny, Mr. Darcy, that I had suspected that you might make such an offer today and have accordingly spent no little time considering my response.” She gave him a brief smile, “I will confess to you, sir, that had you asked me before you left Hertfordshire, my answer would have been decidedly negative. The mode of your declaration has completely overset all my expectations and I find myself very much lost. I am not insensible to the honour of your offer and, if I were convinced that I could make you happy and that you could do the same for me, I would accept it most gladly. The problem, Mr. Darcy, is that I do not know you.”
She shook her head at the look of amazement and disbelief that crossed his face, “Mr. Darcy, how could I come to know you when our acquaintance has, for the most part, consisted of several walks over the past fortnight and a few brief words when you call or when I visit Rosings. I will say that I no longer hold you in extreme dislike and have come to regard you much more favourably and your declaration has done nothing but raise you in my esteem. When I came here today I intended to express my concern that your affections, your love might not long survive our marriage. That disdain you have admitted for my family - and that which you so clearly displayed for all of my neighbours whilst in Hertfordshire - and the contempt in which my connections are held, led me to question whether such affection as you held would long survive my exposure to your society and yours to mine. I have before me, in my own family, an example of a marriage where one partner holds the other in little respect and, in behaviour, displays it to the children of the union. In such a situation I would not be as insensible to such disparagement as my mother. I could not live in such a marriage lacking the respect of my husband. You must forgive my candour, sir. I would not – should not - speak so of my parents and only the need to make my feelings understood have led me to do so.”
After the briefest of pauses, she continued, “However, your declaration has convinced me that my fears may have no merit; and, if you are content to allow my affections to grow – as I believe they will – to match your own, then I would most gladly wish to become your wife.”
At this Elizabeth fell silent. She must await Mr. Darcy’s response. It was not long in coming. The happiness which her reply produced was such as he probably had never felt before; and he expressed himself on the occasion as sensibly and as warmly as a man violently in love can be expected to do. Had Elizabeth been able to encounter his eyes, she might have seen how well the expression of heartfelt delight, diffused over his face, became him; but though she could not look, she could listen; and he told her of feelings which, in proving of what importance she was to him, made his affection every moment more valuable.
Finally, the urge to move, to walk was realized by both and arm-in-arm they walked on without knowing in what direction except that it put Rosings behind them. With the horse trailing placidly behind, they walked and talked more freely than ever before. There was too much to be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects. She soon felt that if she did not, in full measure, return his affection, that it would not blong for such a happy event to occur.
They both fell silent at one point and Elizabeth noted a rather stern cast to his features and enquired of him for the cause. He took a few minutes to reply and she found his words heartening.
“Miss Bennet – Elizabeth – I was but thinking of your concerns that my affections might not survive your introduction to society as my wife. I wish to give you some assurances now; first, you will be accepted by all my relatives – with the exception of Lady Catherine – if not joyfully, at least civilly since they have no choice – I will not tolerate any disrespect to you. I am my own man and they have no control over me. They will honour and accept my choice of wife or we will have nothing to do with them. As for my friends, I have no doubt that you will charm them and that they will accept you willingly. As I said, I will tolerate no disrespect to you. I can only promise you, I will never repine my choice of a wife as I hope you never have cause to repine your decision to accept me.”
Elizabeth, knowing that his honour had been engaged on her behalf, could not doubt the faithfulness of such assurances and found that she had stopped to gaze up at him. Placing a hand on his chest – and astounded at her forwardness – she could only say, “Thank You, Mr. Darcy.”
“”Elizabeth,do you think - when we are alone – that you could call me ‘William’?”
Elizabeth savoured the name to herself before smiling, “I think I would like to do so,….William.”
Before she realized what happened she felt his lips pressing down on hers, his hands encompassing her face as the kiss deepened. She felt her surprise disappear and her pleasure increase and – without any knowledge of doing so found that her own arms had encircled him to bring him closer. It was with a wrench that she was released and her face brought to rest against his chest. His breathing was heavier than she had ever heard and she could feel herself breathing more rapidly as well. His voice was almost a rumble as he spoke, “I will not apologize, Elizabeth. I have wished to kiss you for months. I will apologize for not asking permission first.”
Her breathing still lacking control, she replied, “I am not of a mind to seek any apology for something I enjoyed so thoroughly,…William.”
They separated to allow themselves to regain their composure and, as though of one mind, they found, on examining their watches, that it was time to return. Their conversation as they did so was, due to the imminent departure of Darcy, perforce to deal with several practical problems. The first was to obtain Mr. Bennet’s consent and here Elizabeth had to admit that he, along with most of Meryton, had a poor opinion of Darcy which would make that gentleman’s task more difficult. To this end Elizabeth thought it best to pen a letter to her father explaining her reasons for accepting the marriage offer. Her request that the engagement be kept secret until she returned to Longbourn and could inform her mother herself was harder for Darcy to accept but realizing that Elizabeth would remain in Hunsford for another week and that such news could reach Lady Catherine before she left, compelled him to agree. Any public announcement, including informing his aunt, of the engagement would await Elizabeth’s return.
The matter of the wedding itself, Elizabeth was content to leave in Darcy's hands although she admitted to a preference of a short period as she ruefully stated, “My mother will most assuredly want at least three months to plan the most elaborate and expensive wedding as fitting to a man of your stature. I doubt I could retain my sanity were the period more than half that long.” After much discussion a date of June 1 was agreeable to both although Darcy acknowledged a desire for an even shorter engagement period.
The final matter to be decided was Elizabeth's removal to Hertfordshire and here Darcy was adamant that she would return in his carriage, accompanied by himself and a maid for propriety, which would be sent the day she was to leave. On this he refused to be swayed and Elizabeth was forced to yield despite knowing it would be a most public announcement of their engagement.
They separated before coming in view of the parsonage and she continued inside to make her apologies for being so delinquent as to forget how much time had passed. Her primary concern was to pen a letter to her father and to this purpose retired to her room directly after luncheon.
The two gentlemen from Rosings called later that afternoon to take their leave and Darcy, enquiring of Mrs. Collins and Elizabeth, if they had correspondence which they might wish to have carried to London to be posted, received from Elizabeth her letter to her father and from Charlotte, a request that they stop at the parsonage the next morning as they left, to carry one to her parents. This was agreeable to the gentlemen and on that happy note, took their leave.
Elizabeth was engaged one day, as she walked, in re-perusing Jane’s last letter, and dwelling on some passages which proved that Jane had not written in spirits, when, instead of being again surprised by Mr. Darcy, she saw on looking up, that Colonel Fitzwilliam was meeting her. Putting away the letter immediately and forcing a smile, she said, “I did not know before that you ever walked this way.”
“I have been making the tour of the Park,” he replied, “as I generally do every year, and intend to close it with a call at the Parsonage. Are you going much further?”
“No, I should have turned in a moment.”
And accordingly she did turn, and they walked towards the Parsonage together.
“Do you certainly leave Kent on Saturday?” said she.
“Yes - if Darcy does not put it off again. But I am at his disposal. He arranges the business just as he pleases.”
“And, if not able to please himself in the arrangement, he has at least great pleasure in the power of choice. I do not know anybody who seems more to enjoy the power of doing what he likes than Mr. Darcy.” As Elizabeth thought further on the Colonel’s words she wondered at the reason for Darcy having delayed his departure. Certainly he had said nothing to her; nor had he seemed to be overly engaged in estate matters since he had walked with her very frequently. Could he have postponed that departure in order to do so? It was unfortunately a question that only one person could answer but it was also one she could not ask. Her attention was reclaimed by Colonel Fitzwilliam.
“He likes to have his own way very well,” he 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, 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 the want of money. Younger sons cannot marry where they like.”
“Unless where they like women of fortune, which I think they very often do.”
“Our habits of expense make us too dependent, and there are not many in my rank of life who can afford to marry without some attention to money.”
“Is this,” thought Elizabeth, “meant for me?” and she coloured at the thought he might feel it necessary to warn her away – an unnecessary tactic since she had formed no attachment to him; but, recovering herself, said in a lively tone, “And pray, what is the usual price of an Earl’s younger son? Unless the elder brother is very sickly, I suppose you would not ask above fifty thousand pounds.”
He answered her in the same style, and the subject dropped. To interrupt a silence which might make him fancy her affected with what had passed, she soon afterwards said, “I imagine your cousin brought you down with him chiefly for the sake of having somebody at his disposal. I wonder he does not marry, to secure a lasting convenience of that kind. But, perhaps his sister does as well for the present, and, as she is under his sole care, he may do what he likes with her.”
“No,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, “that is an advantage which he must divide with me. I am joined with him in the guardianship of Miss Darcy.”
“Are you, indeed? And pray what sort of guardians do you make? Does your charge give you much trouble? Young ladies of her age are sometimes a little difficult to manage, and if she has the true Darcy spirit, she may like to have her own way.”
As she spoke, she observed him looking at her earnestly, and the manner in which he immediately asked her why she supposed Miss Darcy likely to give them any uneasiness, convinced her that she had somehow or other got pretty near the truth. 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 gentleman-like man - he is a great friend of Darcy’s.”
“Oh! yes,” said Elizabeth drily, ”Mr. Darcy is uncommonly kind to Mr. Bingley, and takes a prodigious deal of care of him.”
“Care of him! - Yes, I really believe Darcy does take care of him in those points where he most wants care. From something that he told me 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, of course, would not wish to be generally known, because if it were to get round to the lady’s family, it would be an unpleasant thing.”
“You may depend upon my not mentioning it.”
“And remember that I have not much reason for supposing it to be Bingley. What he told me was merely this; that he congratulated himself on having lately saved a friend from the inconveniences of a most imprudent marriage, but without mentioning names or any other particulars, and I only suspected it to be Bingley from believing him the kind of young man to get into a scrape of that sort, and from knowing them to have been together the whole of last summer.”
“Did Mr. Darcy give you his reasons for this interference?”
“I understood that there were some very strong objections against the lady.”
“And what arts did he use to separate them?”
“He did not talk to me of his own arts,” said Fitzwilliam smiling. “He only told me what I have now told you.”
Elizabeth made no answer, and walked on, her heart swelling with indignation. After watching her a little, Fitzwilliam asked her why she was so thoughtful.
“I am thinking of what you have been telling me,” said she. “Your cousin’s conduct does not suit my feelings. Why was he to be the judge?”
“You are rather disposed to call his interference officious?”
“I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to decide on the propriety of his friend’s inclination, or why, upon his own judgment alone, he was to determine and direct in what manner that 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,” said Fitzwilliam, “but it is lessening the honour of my cousin’s triumph very sadly.”
This was spoken jestingly, but it appeared to her so just a picture of Mr. Darcy that she would not trust herself with an answer; and, therefore, abruptly changing the conversation, talked on indifferent matters till they reached the parsonage. There, shut into her own room as soon as their visitor left them, she could think without interruption of all that she had heard. It was not to be supposed that any other people could be meant than those with whom she was connected. There could not exist in the world two men over whom Mr. Darcy could have such boundless influence. That he had been concerned in the measures taken to separate Mr. Bingley and Jane, she had never doubted; but she had always attributed to Miss Bingley the principal design and arrangement of them. Now it must appear that he had an equal or greater share of the responsibility. That his opinion might well be held in greater esteem by Mr. Bingley than his sisters, she could easily believe and, if so, he was the cause, his pride and caprice were the principal cause, of all that Jane had suffered, and still continued to suffer. He had ruined for a while every hope of happiness for the most affectionate, generous heart in the world; and no one could say how lasting an evil he might have inflicted.
“There were some very strong objections against the lady,” were Colonel Fitzwilliam’s words, and these strong objections probably were, her having one uncle who was a country attorney, and another who was in business in London.
“To Jane herself,” she exclaimed, “there could be no possibility of objection. All loveliness and goodness as she is! Her understanding excellent, her mind improved, and her manners captivating. Neither could anything be urged against my father, who, though with some peculiarities, has abilities which Mr. Darcy himself need not disdain.”
When she thought of her mother, indeed, her confidence gave way a little, but she would not allow that any objections there had material weight with Mr. Darcy, whose pride, she was convinced, would receive a deeper wound from the want of importance in his friend’s connections, than from their want of sense. The more she considered the matter, the greater her agitation until finally she realized that she was letting her emotions, her anger to be precise, spiral out of her control and oversetting all her carefully ordered reasoning. Forcing herself towards calmness, she gradually mastered that anger; and, once able to consider the matter in a less fraught manner, she could see that she was attributing to Mr. Darcy, the worst possible motives. If nothing else, she had come to realize that he was an honourable man. If two gentlemen such as Mr. Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam considered him to be so, then she could not gainsay them. If he had opposed the attachment between her sister and Mr. Bingley, she owed it to herself to find out the truth behind that opposition.
When she considered the matter in light of her previous resolutions, she could not see that there was a reason to change them. She had already come to believe that Mr. Bingley must accept the majority of the responsibility for his decision to remain away from Hertfordshire. His friends and relations could advise but upon him lay the responsibility for his actions. Her distress at the moment was a matter of the heart, not the mind. Her opinion of Mr. Darcy had improved appreciably over the last se’nnight but she also realized that her feelings were too raw, too exposed at the moment for her to contemplate receiving an offer from Mr. Darcy and while she could have wished to avoid his company altogether tonight, being in his company amongst a larger group was her best assurance of avoiding a private interview. Not even Mr. Darcy would attempt a proposal in the company of his aunt nor would she, Elizabeth, agree to a private talk tonight. As a consequence she was determined to attend her cousins to Rosings, where they were engaged to drink tea. Upon their departure, Mrs. Collins, seeing that she was discomposed encouraged her husband and sister to walk ahead of herself and Elizabeth so as to afford her a few private minutes with her friend.
“Is there a problem, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth’s initial reluctance to reveal the cause of her problem did not last beyond the recognition that Charlotte already knew most of the particulars and that the Colonel’s revelation was not totally unexpected. “Colonel Fitzwilliam revealed – without knowing he did so – that Mr. Darcy was the principal cause of separating Mr. Bingley from Jane.”
Charlotte did not seem overly impressed, “I had always believed him involved, to be sure. Mr. Bingley obviously held his opinions in high regard. Should this have any particular significance now? Surely you were not surprised?”
“I believe I held his sisters to the major share of the blame. I do not know if it changes anything but to treat Mr. Darcy with civility tonight will be difficult I fear.”
“I have no fear of your behaviour, Lizzy.” Charlotte smiled, “Perhaps you should tease him a little more tonight. That will surely restore your humour and upset his.”
Elizabeth smiled back, suddenly feeling better and looking forward if such were possible to the evening before her. “I believe I shall, Charlotte! I believe I shall! And I have just the subject to tease him on.” If there was a trace of glee in the tone of her voice, Charlotte pretended she had not heard. She was confident that Elizabeth inherent kindness would not allow her to be malicious.
Their time spent at Rosings went much like previous occasions with Lady Catherine dominating the conversation and requiring that Darcy attend her and her daughter. Colonel Fitzwilliam, as was his usual practice, quickly claimed, a seat beside her and they were soon conversing as easily as ever. To her surprise, Darcy, seeing his aunt fully engaged in lecturing Mrs. Collins about her menus, rose and came to sit in the chair next to Elizabeth who, seeing her opportunity to tease, seized it.
“Shall I play for you, gentlemen?”
Receiving their assent and, before either could offer to do so, she asked Darcy to turn the pages for her; and, turning to Colonel Fitzwilliam, said, “I believe, sir, that you will be able to appreciate the music quite well from your present seat.”
The Colonel, who had made as though to rise, realized that she wished to speak privately to Darcy, immediately relaxed back into his chair, nodding agreement and waved his hand for them to proceed. Elizabeth and Darcy moved to the pianoforte and Elizabeth, selecting a piece with which she was quite familiar, began to play. That Darcy was puzzled by her actions was evident and she resolved to allow him to remain so for several minutes before beginning, taking care to pitch her voice so as not to be audible to anyone else.
“I understand, Mr. Darcy, that you are to be congratulated.”
“I am! For what pray tell?”
“I have been given to understand that you can take pleasure in affording a friend such advice as to spare him an unfortunate attachment. I am happy for your success and I hope your friend is happy with the result. My own efforts do not admit of such a happy conclusion. You see I assured my sister that a young man returned her affections and gave her leave to fall in love with him which she was most pleased to do. Unfortunately, it seems my assurances were in error and she was been left with disappointed hopes and a damaged heart when he left, never to return.
While Elizabeth’s tone was light, she could not altogether help injecting a tartness to her tone and it was with no little satisfaction that she observed the sudden pallor of Darcy’s countenance but his haughty mask descended quickly over his face and they sat in an uncomfortable silence for several moments before he slowly started to turn and look at the Colonel. Elizabeth quickly said, “Do not blame your cousin. He could not have known.”
Darcy returned his gaze to her, turning a page almost by rote. She marvelled that he was following the music closely enough to have done so at the correct interval. Elizabeth continued.
“I would be quite interested in your methods of persuading your friend. Was the young lady deficient in understanding? Or in behaviour? With a small dowry perhaps? Or may it have been a want of connections? What would be those considerations to which one should attach the most importance? I ask only that I might be more successful in the future.”
Darcy looked as though he might wish himself anywhere else but did not refuse her implicit challenge.
“In the case of my friend, the young lady was everything that was proper, did not lack understanding to my knowledge and was quite beautiful.”
“And yet she was unsuitable? There were objections to the lady?”
“I could not detect any sign of affection for my friend and advised him accordingly. He is a kindly man with an affectionate nature and I would not wish him in a marriage where there was an inequality of affections.”
“And you were the judge of her affections?”
“I was. I observed her very carefully at a dance and her manner was open, cheerful and as engaging as ever but without any symptom of peculiar regard. It appeared to me that while she received his attentions with pleasure, she did not invite them by any participation of sentiment.”
Her own temper was aroused but little and while she had no objections to teasing Darcy, she did not want to distress him unduly. Moreover she could remember quite clearly Charlotte’s comments about Jane hiding her feelings from all but her closest confidantes. So she simply replied, “Your concerns have merit, Mr. Darcy. I do hope that you have judged the matter correctly, although it may be that you have not. As one who is known for a reserved character, I would expect that you can readily ascertain such in others. But perhaps not. My sister is one such and I would expect only her closest acquaintances can detect her feelings.”
Darcy looked thoughtful, “Truly? I…that bears thinking on, I admit.”
“I trust Mr. Darcy, that I have not distressed you greatly. While I was, I admit, quite angry at Mr. Bingley’s sisters and yourself for your efforts to separate him from my sister, I have since come to realize that the blame must rest largely with Mr. Bingley himself. His want of resolution is at the heart of the matter. Perhaps he is a most inconstant lover.”
Elizabeth played for a few more minutes when her attention was diverted from the music by Darcy saying, “Are you planning to walk tomorrow morning, Miss Bennet?”
“Indeed, should the weather permit me to do so.”
“Perhaps, if you are agreeable, I could join you on your walk once more?”
Elizabeth played for several minutes without answering before replying, “That would be agreeable, Mr. Darcy. At eight then. ”
Their privacy was interrupted by the approach of Colonel Fitzwilliam who suggested to Darcy that their cousin Anne looked to be in need of his attention. Once Darcy had departed, the Colonel claimed his spot beside Elizabeth saying, “I believed it best to disturb your tete-a-tete since my aunt appeared to be a little concerned about Darcy’s attentions to you.”
Elizabeth smiled and nodded, continuing to play and the Colonel continued, "It appears that I was unknowingly rather improper today during our walk in confessing matters of a private nature. Please accept my apologies for distressing you.”
“I do not hold you accountable for your cousin’s action, Colonel but will accept your apology in the spirit that it was offered.”
“I would hope that my betrayal of my cousin’s confidences has not lowered him in your eyes.”
“You need not fear. He stands as high as he ever did.”
This ambiguous statement appeared to appease the Colonel and Elizabeth continued to play for a further quarter hour until the carriage was called to return them all to the parsonage. When she retired to her room later that evening, Elizabeth had time to reflect on her brief encounter with Darcy that evening. She recalled his words ‘It appeared to me that she received his attentions with pleasure, she did not invite them by any participation of sentiment’. Was this the impediment, his ‘strong objection’. Surely not, could he not see Jane’s affections. But then Elizabeth remembered Charlotte’s comment that Jane’s feelings were not readily or easily seen by those not closely familiar with her – and Darcy certainly was not a close acquaintance. But surely Mr. Bingley was not in doubt. But if one is to believe Mr. Darcy, he apparently was. How was that possible? Since there was no means of addressing that question, she forced herself to read until sleep almost overtook her. Blowing out her candle and laying herself down, it took but a few minutes for sleep to claim her.
Elizabeth woke the next morning surprisingly refreshed. Her sleep had come easy – why she was not sure since the day could prove to be exciting - no, that was not quite the word for which she was searching. Portentous perhaps. Yes that was more apt. Dressing quickly, she thought to walk out and arrive at the grove early to afford herself time to gather her composure. She could not be sure, of course, but it seemed possible that Mr. Darcy would offer to court or, possibly, wed her. The latter still seemed quite unlikely.
Grabbing two scones from the kitchen table and bestowing a brief smile of the cook, who had become quite accustomed to her early morning departures, she slipped out the door as quietly as possible. She really had no fear that Mr. Collins would be awake so early but she had no desire to risk any ill-conceived efforts on his part to curtail or prevent her walk. The day promised to be rather warm for the time of year and she noted with pleasure that the trees and shrubs had assumed their full foliage with that fresh green look that marks springtime. It was her favourite time of the year – everything fresh and clean. It was the time of hopes and hers were growing quite favourably.
As she walked towards the grove her mind replayed those conclusions, and the thoughts that underlay them, which had consumed her attention for the past days. The inescapable conclusion that Darcy held her in considerable esteem was evidenced in his looks which she had once mistakenly assumed as disdainful; by his requests for her to dance; and by his recent manner towards her. If such was the case, her earlier opinion of his dislike - founded on that very first insult - must be cast aside. Whatever the reason for that insult, she could no longer hold it against him since he had so very clearly rendered it meaningless. The most puzzling aspect was the inconstancy of his attentions. If she had, in retrospect, identified his interest as beginning during her stay at Netherfield – and possibly earlier – why had he made no attempt to converse with her or call on her while there? Why had he left and made no effort to see her in the almost half year afterwards? Why, when he arrived at Rosings, had his attentions been so slight for the first week or so and then more consistent? What did such inconstancy say with respect to the constancy of his affections now?
His actions against Wickham were another matter. She was hardly satisfied with his refusal to be involved but was it a matter of disdain for the people of Meryton - of thinking them below his notice and therefore his concern; or was there a more legitimate reason which would not allow him to act. That was something to be discovered although she saw no immediate need to do so. But she would have an answer from him eventually.
His manner throughout his stay in Hertfordshire had not recommended him to her. He gave offence to almost everyone outside his party by his incivility, arrogance and appearance of disdain. That Wickham’s tale was so readily believed attested to the degree of disapprobation he had incurred everywhere. Only Jane and herself, of all of Meryton, had spoke on his behalf and even her support had been mainly because she distrusted Wickham’s account. Nevertheless, as his recent efforts also attested, he could be amiable should he choose to be so. That extracting such behaviour had required a substantial effort on her part was puzzling. He was more reserved, more reticent than anyone she had previously known and yet had shown pleasure in their talks. Both Bingley and the Colonel had affirmed that he was quite different amongst his close acquaintances. Was that because they were of his station in life or because he was simply comfortable in their presence? She simply could not tell which, with any certainty, was the reason; and she was not inclined to risk her future by guessing on such a matter.
Finally, there was the matter of her sister and Mr. Bingley; and there she could only hope that Mr. Darcy had credited her statement of the previous evening. She could not secure her own happiness at the expense of her sister’s but thought that such would be unnecessary in any event. That he had acted to separate them was irrefutable and he had not tried to deny it – which was wise of him. If Darcy had believed Jane to be indifferent, which she could not discount, how much was that opinion biased by his disapproval of her connections and the propriety of her family? His disgust with such impropriety was, once again, quite obvious. Almost every encounter with her mother and younger sisters had earned from him scowls of disapproval. Not that she could truly blame him as the unhappy defects of her family were a subject of heavy chagrin. They were hopeless of remedy. Her father, contented with laughing at them, would never exert himself to restrain the wild giddiness of his youngest daughters; and her mother, with manners so far from right herself, was entirely insensible of the evil. Elizabeth had frequently united with Jane in an endeavour to check the imprudence of Catherine and Lydia; but while they were supported by their mother’s indulgence, what chance could there be of improvement? Catherine, weak-spirited, irritable, and completely under Lydia’s guidance, had been always affronted by their advice; and Lydia, self-willed and careless, would scarcely give them a hearing. They were ignorant, idle, and vain. While there was an officer in Meryton, they would flirt with him; and while Meryton was within a walk of Longbourn, they would be going there forever. As she considered this anew, she realized that her distress and embarrassment had somewhat inured her to their impropriety and she could readily understand how dismaying it would be to one not used to it. That her father let such behaviour tarnish his family’s reputation spoke poorly of him despite his other fine qualities. In this she thought that Mr. Darcy would be someone to respect. His attentiveness to his sister and his responsibilities to managing an estate spoke well of him. She little doubted that he would not tolerate any child of his behaving in the manner of Kitty or Lydia.
As she approached the grove, she was surprised to see Darcy sitting on a bench with a horse tied to a small tree and happily grazing. His smile was warm but, she thought, a little apprehensive.
“I am surprised to see you so early, Mr. Darcy. I quite thought to have a few minutes to enjoy the beauty of the morning before you apprised me of the reason for this meeting.”
Darcy seemed somewhat embarrassed, “My aunt had asked me last night to attend her after breakfast for some reason which she would not vouchsafe to me. I was concerned that she may have suspected a meeting between us and thought to leave before she awoke. I admit to a deception and rode off in the opposite direction in the hopes of allaying such suspicions. I came here by the back roads and trails.”
Elizabeth grew thoughtful and considered the possible reaction of Lady Catherine should Darcy seek to court her. It would most likely not be pleasant given that lady’s oft expressed hopes for a match between her daughter and Mr. Darcy. Her thoughts were brought back to her surroundings when Darcy continued, “I am sorry to deprive you of your expected enjoyment of solitude and would willingly sit with you and share the pleasure if I may.”
Elizabeth nodded in acceptance and, seating herself beside, gave herself over to the prospect before her. She sensed his presence; his tension was palatable and she deliberately forced herself into a calmness that she hoped was communicated to him. Whether it was as a result of her efforts or by his own she knew not but after some few minutes, he began to relax. After a quarter hour of silence broken only by the soft snuffling noises from the horse and the early morning calls of the birds, she felt ready to begin. That he would await her signal, she understood and now felt herself ready to face whatever might arise.
“Mr. Darcy, we meet at your request. I must assume you have some purpose, sir.”
Darcy’s nervousness had immediately returned and he stood, moved off some five yards and began to pace in front of her. His opening words were not overly surprising since she had expected that he would address the issue of her sister and Mr. Bingley at some point this morning. That he chose to do so immediately met with her approval. She wanted to hear his reasons for his actions.
"May I ask of you two things; first that you let me relate my actions without interruption which I fear would distract me from my purpose, and, second, that you accept my apologies in advance if anything I say offends you. I can assure you that such is not my intention – I no longer hold some of those feelings which dictated my actions then but must relate them if my actions are to be understood.”
Receiving Elizabeth’s reluctant acquiescence, he began. “I had not been long in Hertfordshire, before I saw, in common with others, that Bingley preferred your eldest sister to any other young woman in the country but it was not till the evening of the dance at Netherfield that I had any apprehension of his feeling a serious attachment. I had often seen him in love before you see. At that ball, while I had the honour of dancing with you, I was first made acquainted, by Sir William Lucas’s accidental information, that Bingley’s attentions to your sister had given rise to a general expectation of their marriage. Sir William spoke of it as a certain event, of which the time alone could be undecided. From that moment I observed my friend’s behaviour attentively; and I could then perceive that his partiality for Miss Bennet was beyond what I had ever witnessed in him. Your sister I also watched. Her look and manners were open, cheerful, and engaging as ever, but without any symptom of peculiar regard, and I remained convinced from the evening’s scrutiny, that though she received his attentions with pleasure, she did not return them to any appreciable extent. If you have not been mistaken here, I must have been in error. Your superior knowledge of your sister must make the latter probable. If it be so, if I have been misled by such error, to inflict pain on her, your resentment has not been unreasonable. But I shall not scruple to assert that the serenity of your sister’s countenance and air was such as might have given the most acute observer a conviction that, however amiable her temper, her heart was not likely to be easily touched. - That I was desirous of believing her indifferent is certain, - but I will venture to say that my investigations and decisions are not usually influenced by my hopes or fears. I did not believe her to be indifferent because I wished it; I believed it on impartial conviction, as truly as I wished it in reason.”
He cast a glance at Elizabeth as he related the last and, seeing no sign of condemnation, continued, “In respect of the possible marriage, my objection in regard to the situation of your mother’s family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison of that total want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly, betrayed by herself, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father. - Pardon me. - It pains me to offend you. But amidst your concern for the defects of your nearest relations, and your displeasure at this representation of them, let it give you consolation to consider that to have conducted yourselves so as to avoid any share of the like censure is praise no less generally bestowed on you and your eldest sister, than it is honourable to the sense and disposition of both. I will only say further that, from what passed that evening, my opinion of all parties was confirmed, and every inducement heightened, which could have led me before to preserve my friend from what I esteemed a most unhappy connection. I was afraid, you must understand, that your sister would not be allowed by her mother to refuse an offer should it be made. Your mother spoke quite firmly about her expectations in my hearing. I am sure you remember it as well.”
He paused and resolutely refusing to look at her – as though he feared the expression on her face – he continued, ”Bingley left Netherfield for London, on the day following with the design of soon returning. His sisters’ uneasiness had been equally excited with my own; our coincidence of feeling was soon discovered; and, alike sensible that no time was to be lost in detaching their brother, we shortly resolved on joining him directly in London which we did. There I readily undertook to point out to my friend the certain evils of such a choice. I described, and enforced them earnestly. But I do not suppose that this remonstrance would ultimately have prevented the marriage, had it not been seconded by my assurance of your sister’s indifference. He had before believed her to return his affection with sincere, if not with equal, regard. But Bingley has great natural modesty, with a stronger dependence on my judgment than on his own. To convince him, therefore, that he had deceived himself, was no very difficult point. To persuade him against returning into Hertfordshire, when that conviction had been given, was scarcely the work of a moment. It was his modesty not his inconstancy which betrayed him in this instance and for that I must assume responsibility. There is but one part of my conduct in the whole affair, on which I do not reflect with satisfaction; it is that I concealed from him your sister’s being in town. I knew it myself, as it was known to Miss Bingley, but her brother is even yet ignorant of it. I acted so because I believed that his regard for your sister did not appear to me enough extinguished for him to see her without some danger. This concealment, this disguise, I must now consider beneath me. I have no other apology to offer other than I believed myself to be acting in the best interests of my friend. If I have wounded your sister’s feelings, it was unknowingly done; and though the motives which governed me may to you very naturally appear insufficient, I had not, until now, learned to condemn them.”
Elizabeth did not deign to answer at once. He had not revealed anything that she had not already surmised and, if the opinions expressed in regards of her family were painful, were they anything more than she had already acknowledge herself? She could see that he expected a response and, perhaps, expected her to be offended – which she was in truth since no one wished to hear their family disparaged – but confined herself to a simple and quiet question, “Now that you know the true state of my sisters feelings, what do you intend?”
“I have given some thought on this last night. It is not that I doubt your word but I cannot, of my own knowledge, say that your sister’s regard for Bingley is equal to his for her. I can and will advise him that I have reason to believe my observations, my opinion if you will, to have been in error and that he should seek, of his own volition, to determine your sister’s affections.”
Elizabeth nodded slowly and thoughtfully, "That will suffice. I believe if left to themselves they will quickly come to an agreement. I am also glad to hear you absolve your friend of the charge of inconstancy.” She paused for a few moments before saying, “Mr. Darcy, there is one matter that remains between us on which I wish you to explain. That is the matter of Mr. Wickham. You have twice made rather rather cryptic comments about matters which would preclude your taking any action against him. As a result, my sisters and friends might have been at risk and certainly his debts in Meryton could have been reduced had his nature been discovered earlier. At first I was inclined to believe that it was a reflection of your disdain for us – that we were not worthy of your attention. Now I suspect that other reasons may exist. Do I have the right of it, sir?”
The angry look that transfixed Darcy’s face was gone in seconds, replaced by a stern, cold appearance; he straightened his shoulders, sighed and, gradually relaxing, appeared to have come to a decision as if prepared to perform a most distasteful duty.
“Miss Bennet, I do not know for a certainty what story Wickham told to my discredit in Meryton. I can therefore only lay before you my history with him. He is the son of a very estimable man who was my father’s steward for many years and who had the misfortune to marry a spendthrift wife who managed to waste much of her husband’s income. My father, to recognize the contributions of his steward, stood as godfather to his son and, since he lacked the means to do so, undertook to afford Mr. Wickham a gentleman’s education at school and university, and to ensure that he had the means to gain decent employment. To this end, at his death, my father left Mr. Wickham a bequest of one thousand pounds and instructed that, since my father hoped he would take orders, a living was to be his when it became vacant. My father died some five years ago and Mr. Wickham’s father did likewise a few months later. Mr. Wickham received the bequest following my father’s death and about six months later approached me once more to state that he had decided against taking orders and wished to study law instead but that he lacked the funds to do so and requested to be compensated in lieu of the living promised to him. I was more than willing to accede to this request since I knew that he should never be a clergyman – I had observed closely his licentious behaviour, his want of principle at school and university – and, after some negotiation, a sum of three thousand pounds was agreed upon as compensation. Wickham signed a document releasing all claims to the living, received his monies and disappeared – into London I believed although I had no personal knowledge or interest in his activities.
I saw nothing of him for three years until the living became open upon the retirement of the rector and shortly thereafter I received a letter from Wickham stating that the study of law had proven unprofitable - if indeed he had studied at all – and his situation quite dire, of which I had no doubt, and stated his intention to take orders and to be given the living as requested by my father. You can, under the circumstances, not censure me for refusing his request. His anger and distress at this decision were in proportion to his circumstances which were extremely poor. I received several abusive letters and I do not doubt he was equally unkind when speaking of me to others. I heard nothing of him until last summer when he intruded quite painfully once more upon my family. I trust to your secrecy in what I am about to relate.”
At her nod, he continued, “My sister who is some ten years my junior had travelled to Ramsgate accompanied by her companion in whom we – Colonel Fitzwilliam and I – were badly misled. The lady was known to Mr. Wickham and we suspect the whole of the plan to travel to Ramsgate was by her instigation. There Mr. Wickham did go and, over the course of several weeks, persuaded my sister, who had only fond childhood memories of Mr. Wickham, to believe herself in love with him and to agree to an elopement.”
He paused as Elizabeth gasped and then nodded, “Yes, an elopement. She was but fifteen which must be her excuse.” After a pause of several moments, he said, “Fortunately, I had cause to travel to Ramsgate wishing to surprise my sister by a visit and arrived two days before the elopement was to take place. Georgiana revealed all to me and I am sure you can understand my distress. Mrs. Younge, the companion, was released from service and Wickham left Ramsgate that very day. While undoubtedly my sisters dowry was the main reason for his efforts, I also believe he hoped to avenge himself on me.”
“Your sister, she is well?”
“She has taken some time to recover. Her confidence, her assurance has been harmed. She was a shy creature to begin with and has become slightly more so although I have seen signs that she is improving.”
While Elizabeth was still considering what had been revealed, Darcy claimed her attention once more.
“My primary concern or fear at the time and for many months afterwards was that news of this…event did not become generally known since it would most seriously damage her future marriage prospects and the Darcy name. You questioned my motives for concealing Mr. Wickham’s character. That was of the foremost importance. I will also admit that I have, over the past few years, developed a habit of privacy and, in this instance, have believed that my character was the best rebuttal of Mr. Wickham’s slanders. This latter decision I have come to regard as flawed. My concern for privacy has hid my character from most of the world. I have come to regret my lack of action in Hertfordshire but at the time I was unable to see how I could risk exposing Georgiana’s mistake. Your actions and those of your aunt amply prove the fallacy of my decision but again I can only plead an excess of concern for my sister. That is my defence, Miss Bennet. It was not my finest moment and I am most acutely aware that I could have behaved more honourably.”
Elizabeth could only nod slowly, “I am not now inclined to judge you too harshly on the matter, Mr. Darcy. I can agree that it was a mistake but one done to protect someone very dear to you and that I can never censure.”
A silence fell which lasted for several minutes. Elizabeth felt no desire to bring it to an end. Mr. Darcy had sought the interview and upon him rested the responsibility for initiating any discussion. On this matter, he would receive no assistance from her. At last, he was moved to speak, “Miss Bennet, I spent several hours last night attempting to order my thoughts and wishes, to find some elegant words and phrases to express my desires and intentions. I am glad I did so because I fear that if I had not, I would have blurted out that which would have offended you greatly. Those sentiments which I confessed when relating my actions in separating your sister from my friend, I have put aside as they do not bear on my desires. I must speak plainly therefore to ensure that you have no doubt of my meaning, my intentions. But before I speak of these, I have another confession I must make."
Elizabeth at once realized he was going to make her an offer; but what could he possibly have to confess? She made no effort to mask her surprise but did afford him a nod to encourage him to proceed.
He was silent for several minutes, his haughty look, which she was coming to believe, was as much a reflection of his reserve as his pride and arrogance, replaced by one more thoughtful and abstracted.
“I quite tried to forget you, you know. I left Netherfield and, if one reason was to protect my friend, I was equally fleeing you. I did not wish to allow my attraction, my interest to grow. I felt I must put you behind me and that your absence would allow me to forget. It did not. I tried to bury myself in work but I could not but think of you. I tried to distract myself in society, balls, dinners, theatre – but to no avail. Every woman I met was compared to you and found wanting. And then I came to Rosings and there you were also. For a week I tried to deny my interest but could not. I knew I was lost when I visited the parsonage and found you alone. And when I began to join you on your walks, I was lost altogether. I could no longer deny my feelings. It was, I believe, your efforts to converse with me that made me most aware of you and when I began, I believe, to fully appreciate your character. And as I did so, thoughts of our previous meetings - my previous behaviour if you will – could afford me little satisfaction. I began to see my behaviour through your eyes – I compared your civility and kindness under my aunt’s manner and when dealing with Bingley’s sisters who showed little but the coldest civility to you – and often not even that in your absence – and such comparisons were greatly in your favour. I could not view my own behaviour other than with abhorrence.”
He looked at her closely. "I had many hours to reflect - my aunt's company is not all that engaging - and I began to review my behaviour towards you. Your words that first evening at Rosings, I could not forget. 'to my certain knowledge more than one young lady was sitting down in want of a partner'. You heard, did you not, those most ungentlemanly words I spoke to Bingley?" At her assenting nod, he grimaced, "If I had only known. I would have tendered my apologies sooner. I will make no excuses. I was in a most foul mood; Bingley was pressing me greatly and I truly do not enjoy dancing unless I know my partner very well. Nonetheless, such words should never be uttered in such a setting and I am heartedly ashamed to have insulted one who, within a very short time, I had come to believe as one of the handsomest of my acquaintance."
"You are indeed forgiven, Mr. Darcy. I had done so some days previously when I realized that your opinion had changed greatly."
"You are too kind, Miss Bennet."
"No indeed I am not! I may well tease you in the future about it."
Elizabeth suddenly realized that she had inadvertently let slip the possibility of a 'future' with Mr. Darcy and could see that the gentleman had not failed to appreciate the import of her words. He did not, however, allow himself to be diverted as he responded, "As I have stated, I was afforded the opportunity to reflect on my behaviour and have come to realize that yours, throughout our acquaintance in Hertfordshire, was one of some antagonism to me. What I believed to be flirting - if you will - on your part was, in fact, an expression of your dislike and dissatisfaction with my manners, my behaviour. I am correct, am I not?"
Elizabeth was forced to assent and he waved off her attempt to explain, "You were fully justified in your censure. You did not like me and I had, by virtue of my own behaviour, given you little cause to do otherwise. My reflections here have caused me to realize that I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, although not in principle. As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately an only son (and for many years an only child), I was spoiled by my parents, who, though good themselves (my father particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable), allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing, to care for none beyond my own family circle, to think meanly of all the rest of the world, to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own. Such I was from eight to eight-and-twenty; and such I might still be if I had not met you again here.”
“I do not understand. How could I have effected such a change?”
“By your actions with my aunt, you held before me such a mirror as to show me how grievously I had departed from my parent’s teaching. If you can be honest with me about your family, then I cannot be less so with you about my own. My aunt, in my presence, was condescending, rude, presumptuous in the extreme. I spoke to my cousin Anne, who admitted that her mother had been even more uncivil during your previous visits. I have never been blind to my aunt’s faults but, for the first time, was shown the contrast between her behaviour and that of a true lady. I was ashamed that I had not previously attached much importance to the fact, preferring to ignore rather than confront.”
He paused for a few moments and said, “Perhaps if I had not come to…hold such affection for you, I might not have thought much on it. But I knew enough of your character to believe you deserved the greatest of civility and respect. And when I thought of my aunt’s behaviour, I was forced to consider my own. As I contemplated my actions, my behaviour, I came to realize the hypocrisy that they represented. I could not scorn your connections with trade without considering that I had accepted as my closest friend, a man whose roots were steeped in trade. I could not disdain the improprieties of your younger sisters and your mother without weighing in the balance those of my own relations. My aunt’s behaviour was no less improper and I can assure you that she has displayed it in a broader society than you experienced. I believe only her rank has spared her from general censure although I believe she is not generally welcome in London society.”
He paused and facing her directly for the first time since he began to speak, knelt in front of her and took both her hands in his. Elizabeth was too perturbed by all he had related to act and listened as he said, "Miss Bennet, I most ardently admire and love you. I have, over the past months, come to the realization that you are the only woman who can satisfy my expectations for my wife. I admire, am entranced by your beauty, your intelligence and your kindness. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”
Elizabeth could see that his manner even while expressing such tender sentiments bore every sign of uncertainty that his offer would be accepted. That he had every reason to expect her to view his offer with favour, she knew; would not any other young lady of his station accept without any consideration other than the material advantageous that he provided? However from his declaration, she knew that he believed her to want more - or perhaps better - from her husband. His declaration had overset all of her plans and she found herself quite adrift.
”Mr. Darcy, I find myself in a state of considerable indecision.” She glanced up at his face, which she could see an expression of great surprise, and then concentrating her eyes on their hands clasped in her lap and not giving him a chance to respond, continued quickly, “I can see I have surprised you. I can only hope that my explanation will satisfy your…concerns.” Pausing once more to gather her composure – this was proving more difficult than she had expected – before saying, “The problem you see is that I simply do not, at this time, return your affections in equal measure to your own. In truth, I was unsure that you held me in any particular esteem until very lately - as your own reflections had surmised; for many months, I was convinced that you held me in the utmost disapproval and disdain. I, to my shame, reciprocated such feelings and it was only the advice of someone I hold in the greatest esteem that forced me to reconsider my opinion. You can perhaps imagine how mortifying it was to realize that I have so completely misjudged you. That is not to say that my affections had become engaged but simply that much of my dislike was dissipated; but it was not until we met here that I began to see you in a more favourable light.”
Now she paused to look directly at Darcy and forced herself to maintain that gaze despite a desire to inspect her hands once more. He once more seemed the haughty Mr. Darcy of her Hertfordshire acquaintance and her nerve almost failed her until she remembered her resolve to give him a full explanation. It was not done she knew, in situations like this, for proper young ladies to be so bold and direct but she knew of no other way to convince him of her sincerity.
“I will not deny, Mr. Darcy, that I had suspected that you might make such an offer today and have accordingly spent no little time considering my response.” She gave him a brief smile, “I will confess to you, sir, that had you asked me before you left Hertfordshire, my answer would have been decidedly negative. The mode of your declaration has completely overset all my expectations and I find myself very much lost. I am not insensible to the honour of your offer and, if I were convinced that I could make you happy and that you could do the same for me, I would accept it most gladly. The problem, Mr. Darcy, is that I do not know you.”
She shook her head at the look of amazement and disbelief that crossed his face, “Mr. Darcy, how could I come to know you when our acquaintance has, for the most part, consisted of several walks over the past fortnight and a few brief words when you call or when I visit Rosings. I will say that I no longer hold you in extreme dislike and have come to regard you much more favourably and your declaration has done nothing but raise you in my esteem. When I came here today I intended to express my concern that your affections, your love might not long survive our marriage. That disdain you have admitted for my family - and that which you so clearly displayed for all of my neighbours whilst in Hertfordshire - and the contempt in which my connections are held, led me to question whether such affection as you held would long survive my exposure to your society and yours to mine. I have before me, in my own family, an example of a marriage where one partner holds the other in little respect and, in behaviour, displays it to the children of the union. In such a situation I would not be as insensible to such disparagement as my mother. I could not live in such a marriage lacking the respect of my husband. You must forgive my candour, sir. I would not – should not - speak so of my parents and only the need to make my feelings understood have led me to do so.”
After the briefest of pauses, she continued, “However, your declaration has convinced me that my fears may have no merit; and, if you are content to allow my affections to grow – as I believe they will – to match your own, then I would most gladly wish to become your wife.”
At this Elizabeth fell silent. She must await Mr. Darcy’s response. It was not long in coming. The happiness which her reply produced was such as he probably had never felt before; and he expressed himself on the occasion as sensibly and as warmly as a man violently in love can be expected to do. Had Elizabeth been able to encounter his eyes, she might have seen how well the expression of heartfelt delight, diffused over his face, became him; but though she could not look, she could listen; and he told her of feelings which, in proving of what importance she was to him, made his affection every moment more valuable.
Finally, the urge to move, to walk was realized by both and arm-in-arm they walked on without knowing in what direction except that it put Rosings behind them. With the horse trailing placidly behind, they walked and talked more freely than ever before. There was too much to be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects. She soon felt that if she did not, in full measure, return his affection, that it would not blong for such a happy event to occur.
They both fell silent at one point and Elizabeth noted a rather stern cast to his features and enquired of him for the cause. He took a few minutes to reply and she found his words heartening.
“Miss Bennet – Elizabeth – I was but thinking of your concerns that my affections might not survive your introduction to society as my wife. I wish to give you some assurances now; first, you will be accepted by all my relatives – with the exception of Lady Catherine – if not joyfully, at least civilly since they have no choice – I will not tolerate any disrespect to you. I am my own man and they have no control over me. They will honour and accept my choice of wife or we will have nothing to do with them. As for my friends, I have no doubt that you will charm them and that they will accept you willingly. As I said, I will tolerate no disrespect to you. I can only promise you, I will never repine my choice of a wife as I hope you never have cause to repine your decision to accept me.”
Elizabeth, knowing that his honour had been engaged on her behalf, could not doubt the faithfulness of such assurances and found that she had stopped to gaze up at him. Placing a hand on his chest – and astounded at her forwardness – she could only say, “Thank You, Mr. Darcy.”
“”Elizabeth,do you think - when we are alone – that you could call me ‘William’?”
Elizabeth savoured the name to herself before smiling, “I think I would like to do so,….William.”
Before she realized what happened she felt his lips pressing down on hers, his hands encompassing her face as the kiss deepened. She felt her surprise disappear and her pleasure increase and – without any knowledge of doing so found that her own arms had encircled him to bring him closer. It was with a wrench that she was released and her face brought to rest against his chest. His breathing was heavier than she had ever heard and she could feel herself breathing more rapidly as well. His voice was almost a rumble as he spoke, “I will not apologize, Elizabeth. I have wished to kiss you for months. I will apologize for not asking permission first.”
Her breathing still lacking control, she replied, “I am not of a mind to seek any apology for something I enjoyed so thoroughly,…William.”
They separated to allow themselves to regain their composure and, as though of one mind, they found, on examining their watches, that it was time to return. Their conversation as they did so was, due to the imminent departure of Darcy, perforce to deal with several practical problems. The first was to obtain Mr. Bennet’s consent and here Elizabeth had to admit that he, along with most of Meryton, had a poor opinion of Darcy which would make that gentleman’s task more difficult. To this end Elizabeth thought it best to pen a letter to her father explaining her reasons for accepting the marriage offer. Her request that the engagement be kept secret until she returned to Longbourn and could inform her mother herself was harder for Darcy to accept but realizing that Elizabeth would remain in Hunsford for another week and that such news could reach Lady Catherine before she left, compelled him to agree. Any public announcement, including informing his aunt, of the engagement would await Elizabeth’s return.
The matter of the wedding itself, Elizabeth was content to leave in Darcy's hands although she admitted to a preference of a short period as she ruefully stated, “My mother will most assuredly want at least three months to plan the most elaborate and expensive wedding as fitting to a man of your stature. I doubt I could retain my sanity were the period more than half that long.” After much discussion a date of June 1 was agreeable to both although Darcy acknowledged a desire for an even shorter engagement period.
The final matter to be decided was Elizabeth's removal to Hertfordshire and here Darcy was adamant that she would return in his carriage, accompanied by himself and a maid for propriety, which would be sent the day she was to leave. On this he refused to be swayed and Elizabeth was forced to yield despite knowing it would be a most public announcement of their engagement.
They separated before coming in view of the parsonage and she continued inside to make her apologies for being so delinquent as to forget how much time had passed. Her primary concern was to pen a letter to her father and to this purpose retired to her room directly after luncheon.
The two gentlemen from Rosings called later that afternoon to take their leave and Darcy, enquiring of Mrs. Collins and Elizabeth, if they had correspondence which they might wish to have carried to London to be posted, received from Elizabeth her letter to her father and from Charlotte, a request that they stop at the parsonage the next morning as they left, to carry one to her parents. This was agreeable to the gentlemen and on that happy note, took their leave.