Section I, Next Section

Chapter 1

Posted on Sunday, 24 April 2005

“Will that be all for tonight, sir?” Jennings asked in his soft voice.

Darcy, lost in the turmoil of his thoughts, turned from the window to find that his valet had completed his preparations for the morrow.

“Yes, Jennings,” replied Darcy absently, “thank you. That will be all, and I wish you good night.”

“Will you be arising as usual tomorrow, sir?” Jennings asked softly.

“Yes. As usual,” Darcy replied, turning back to the window, trying to compose his thoughts yet one more time.

“Then I wish you good night also, sir,” said his valet, and the click of the closing door followed shortly.

Darcy again tried to concentrate. He was coming to the conclusion that it would be nigh impossible to determine how it had come to this point. As recently as yesterday, he had still been firmly of the belief that his emotions were well in hand, that his detachment was still in place, that he was . . . safe. Safe from the bewitchment of Elizabeth Bennet, secure in his position in society, firm in his confidence as the master of his own fate.

And now? Now he knew only that his safety had been an illusion, that he had been well over the edge of the precipice before being fully aware of the danger. At what point had it happened? During his walk with her in Rosings park yesterday? Perhaps. It didn’t matter. He knew only that his present resolve to talk to Elizabeth tomorrow was as firm as his previous resolve had been imaginary.

He snorted. Talk to her? He was going to make an offer of marriage to her, despite the humiliation and strife that would result. He, the Master of Pemberley, and her, the daughter of a country gentleman of small fortune and no connections! But it didn’t matter any more, and he could not determine when that point had been reached.

No matter, he told himself. But he winced as he imagined the fury and disdain of his aunt when she was informed. The thwarting of her long-held ambition of joining himself with his cousin, Anne, of joining Pemberley with Rosings, would not make her temperate. She was well used to having her own way, and he had walked carefully in past visits, as he remained non-committal without overtly contradicting her oft-expressed plans. Indeed, he and Anne had often derived considerable amusement as he had deftly sidestepped her mother’s blunt suggestions. It had seemed harmless fun then, when neither Anne nor he had any wish to marry. In fact, if given her heart’s desire, Anne had told him many times that she would far sooner wish for good health rather than any kind of marriage. But Anne’s never-expressed wishes were meaningless to his aunt; when she was informed of his engagement to Elizabeth, she would be outraged beyond measure.

And while his aunt’s reaction boded to be the most extreme, Darcy was none too sure of the reaction of the rest of his family and friends. His uncle, Lord Matlock, would not be pleased, he well knew, but his reaction was uncertain. He took his position as the head of the family seriously, and he would not look favorably on a match between his nephew, with the Darcy name and fortune, and a girl from the country, with little to bring to the marriage.

His jaw clenched as he thought of Lady Catherine’s reaction as he presented Elizabeth to her as his future wife. “That will not do,” he said aloud, as he pictured Elizabeth’s face crumpling under the onslaught of Lady Catherine’s disdain. Then he snorted again, this time in amusement, as he realized his error. Elizabeth had already demonstrated her ability to stand up to his aunt, never retreating while never quite offering overt offense. Impertinence it might be called, but courage it could also be named, and he cherished that talent as he imagined her at his side while Lady Catherine thundered, one of her lovely eyebrow arched in amusement.

But his eyebrows came together in determination, for the thought of Elizabeth being abused, of his allowing her to be abused, was too painful to consider. “I will not allow any abuse from my relations,” he pledged aloud. “None!”

But now the subject that had gripped his thoughts all evening returned anew. How would he address her? He hoped to have the opportunity the next day, since her ladyship had issued an invitation to Mr. Collins and his guests to take tea at Rosings. Fitzwilliam had urged the invitation, noting it would be the last chance before their departure on Saturday. Darcy could not determine whether his cousin had suspicions of his attachment to Elizabeth, but Fitzwilliam’s own amiable attentions to her had had no small part in the firming of his own resolve. Despite Richard’s oft-expressed intention to pay at least some notice to money when he married, Darcy was decidedly uncomfortable both with Richard’s ease with Elizabeth and her own response. He wished again for that same reaction to him, that he could for once conduct a conversation with Elizabeth without saying something he had not intended and often did not mean. Much as he enjoyed her verbal repartee, it made him more than somewhat uncomfortable that many of their exchanges resulted from statements that he would have never believed could fall from his lips. Unwillingly, his own words at Netherfield echoed in his mind: “But pride -- where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will be always under good regulation.”

“Idiot!” he spat in mortification. Even though he could not fault the sense of the statement, how could he have made such an immodest declaration aloud and in company? He had always disdained such boasting by other men, and he remembered that night at Netherfield as those words tumbled out of his mouth without thought. He cringed inwardly as he also remembered Elizabeth turning away to hide her smile at yet another joust won by her.

But at least it would be done after tomorrow! After tomorrow, he would be able to talk to her of emotions and thoughts that could not be talked of until he declared himself. Fleetingly, he wondered if he should exert more caution, perhaps a simple statement of his attentions and his desire to court her in the usual manner. But his turmoil was such that he rejected that almost before it presented itself to his mind. Her wits were much too quick to require that path; she, of course, must have discerned his regard for her. He would not disappoint her with a tepid request to begin a courtship when his own fervent love asserted, nay required, a clear statement of his intent. And after tomorrow, it would no longer matter; all would be complete.

But his remembrance of his earlier missteps now added to his discontent. Tomorrow was too important to leave to chance. He could not afford to make a hash of such an important step as proposing marriage when he had so oft been unable to manage simple conversation on previous occasions. He imagined himself facing Elizabeth after he had suggested a walk through Rosing’s formal garden after tea. He began to pace in agitation in front of his fireplace. He was facing her after seating her on one of the benches in the garden; he was opening his mouth . . .

In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me . . .

He stopped short and groaned as the words sounded in his mind, imagining them falling from his lips. He could almost see Elizabeth looking up, first in surprise at his usual inability to speak clearly and then looking down as he testified to his inward struggles. Why could he not simply say he loved her beyond measure instead of beginning by saying he did not want to love her? Such explanations were unnecessary and even somewhat insulting, since she was as cognizant of the disparity between their stations as he. Since his attraction to her was clear, she was as aware as he that those distinctions no longer mattered.

He resumed pacing, growing convinced that he would not be able to speak to her. His agitation increased as a sudden vision came to mind – he struggled to speak, he could not, and he turned to flee the garden, leaving Elizabeth behind in growing distress at being abandoned.

He closed his eyes in irritation -- he must do this right!

As he paced, his eyes swept over the writing desk and the small stack of stationery upon it. It inspired a sudden memory of years ago and his eyes returned to the desk as he halted his pacing, trying to remember. Somewhere before he had felt a similar anxiety, he remembered, but the more he struggled, the more it would not come to him.

And then he had it – he remembered that long-past emotion with crystal clarity. It was when he was at Cambridge, when he first attended, and he was finally forced to admit his discomfort among his more easily spoken fellows. He was not exactly deficient in all his interactions with his fellows, at least in those cases when politeness and civility provided a guide to discourse, but when it came to expressing the subject of his lessons, to putting his thoughts into words, especially when trying to do so before fellow students and lecturers, there he had found himself lacking. Now he remembered with mounting excitement as that youth wrestled with his inability and gradually learned to prepare himself before his verbal addresses, marshalling his thoughts by committing them to paper, subjecting them to analysis before delivering them in speech. It had even, in time, enabled him to improve enough to venture into debate, though he had never become truly comfortable.

He lost no time in taking the candle to the desk and seating himself. Selecting a pen and pulling a sheet of stationery in front of him, he opened the inkwell, dipped his pen, and began – Miss Bennet, you must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you . . .

Darcy leaned back, massaging his back to work out the cramps after long hours in intense concentration. His feet, indeed all his lower legs, were quite chilled as the fire was long gone from the fireplace. He regarded the many pages before him with a measure of satisfaction. The scores of corrections to his sentences and even the large number of sentences that he had entirely marked through did not cause him embarrassment; he actually felt relief at being able to properly set down his first thoughts and then subject them to intense inspection. He had spoken them aloud, judging their impact on the only audience that really mattered, Elizabeth, and made his changes ruthlessly. Several pages of completely crumpled stationery littered the top of the desk where entire passages were rejected in favor of copying the one or two worthy sentences to a new sheet. He could not imagine the mortification that would have resulted had he delivered his sentiments to Elizabeth with no preparation. Though it could have no impact on the final result, the embarrassment of presenting himself in such a manner was not to be considered.

Gathering the pages into order, he pulled out a fresh sheet of stationery. The only remaining task was to make a fair copy of the written thoughts and then to burn the offending sheets before trying to get at least some sleep before the dawn . . .

Chapter 2

After Elizabeth returned to the Parsonage after her walk with Colonel Fitzwilliam, she went directly to her room as soon as the Colonel left them. There she could think without interruption of all he had told her, and she soon found her anger rising as the interference of Mr. Darcy between Jane and Bingley became more and more apparent. She had heretofore attributed to Miss Bingley the principal design and arrangement of separating her sister and Bingley, but Colonel Fitzwilliam’s disclosures now pointed to Mr. Darcy as the more deserving conspirator. At the thought of how his pride, caprice, and arrogance had destroyed the chance for happiness of the most affectionate and generous heart in the world, she felt the tears starting in her eyes. Her consideration on the matter brought on a headache, and it grew so much worse towards the evening that she determined not to attend the cousins at Rosings, where they were engaged that evening to drink tea. Charlotte, seeing that she was quite unwell, did not press her to go, and, to the extent possible, prevented her husband from prevailing on her to attend, even though he could not conceal his apprehension of Lady Catherine’s being rather displeased by her staying at home.

When they were gone, Elizabeth, as if intending to exasperate herself as much as possible against Mr. Darcy, chose for her employment the examination of all the letters which Jane had written to her since her being in Kent. They contained no actual complaint, nor was there any revival of past occurrences, or any communication of present suffering. But in all, and in almost every line of each, there was a want of that cheerfulness which had been used to characterize her style, and which, proceeding from the serenity of a mind at ease with itself and kindly disposed towards every one, had been scarcely ever clouded. Elizabeth noticed every sentence conveying the idea of uneasiness, with an attention which it had hardly received on the first perusal. Mr. Darcy's shameful boast of what misery he had been able to inflict gave her a keener sense of her sister's sufferings. It was some consolation to think that his visit to Rosings was to end on the day after the next, and a still greater, that in less than a fortnight she should herself be with Jane again, and enabled to contribute to the recovery of her spirits by all that affection could do.

She could not think of Darcy's leaving Kent without remembering that his cousin was to go with him; but Colonel Fitzwilliam had made it clear that he had no intentions at all, and agreeable as he was, she did not mean to be unhappy about him.

While settling this point, she was suddenly roused by the sound of the door-bell, and her spirits were a little fluttered by the idea of its being Colonel Fitzwilliam himself, who had once before called late in the evening, and might now come to inquire particularly after her. But this idea was soon banished, and her spirits were very differently affected, when, to her utter amazement, she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the room.

Darcy had been surprised, nay he had been shocked, when Elizabeth was not with the Parsonage party when they came to tea that evening. His plans had been made, he had reviewed them in his mind, and he was comfortable with his planned approach to Elizabeth. Now she was not here, and he was thrown into disarray. Had she divined his intention, he wondered, suddenly heartsick at the thought that she had stayed away deliberately to avoid him. She knows that there was but one day before I will be departing Kent, he thought. Can she be really sick? Sudden concern replaced his anxiety, and he shortly made an excuse to leave the room. He saw Fitzwilliam’s eyes raised in concern, and he knew without having to look that her ladyship would not be happy. He heard her voice already raised at his cousin as he exited the room, “Fitzwilliam! Where does my nephew go? Has he forgotten his duty to our guests?”

Any response that the Colonel made was lost as Darcy went up the stairs and strode down the hallway to his room. Opening the door, he surprised Jennings as he was laying out his bedclothes and preparing for the morrow. “Mr. Darcy, sir!” his valet exclaimed in astonishment.

“My hat and coat, Jennings,” Darcy demanded abruptly. Jennings was puzzled at this singular behavior by his ever so predictable employer, but he said nothing as he quickly retrieved his coat and helped Darcy into it. He picked up his whisk to brush off the shoulders as usual, but Darcy was too impatient to wait. He picked up his gloves and hat from the bed, and turned for the door.

“Mr. Darcy, sir!” his valet exclaimed in distress.

Darcy halted and turned. “Yes?” he responded sharply.

Jennings swallowed at the impatient look on Darcy’s face. “Where shall you be if there are inquiries, sir?” he asked hesitantly.

Darcy forced himself to calmness. Jennings could not know his intentions, but he had been with him too long not to recognize his employer’s uncharacteristic behavior. He was naturally concerned that questions might be asked, and he wanted guidance on how to answer.

“If my aunt asks, tell her that I felt unwell and sought fresh air to alleviate my distress.”

“And if anyone else asks, sir?”

“Tell them whatever you please!” Darcy responded with his hand on the door. A moment later his footsteps echoed down the hall, as Jennings remained standing, staring after his departed employer, trying in vain to determine what could have brought about this agitated behavior.

Darcy could remember little of the rapid journey to the Parsonage until he rang the door-bell. The maid who answered the door looked at him in surprise since all were gone to Rosings save one.

“Miss Bennet,” he told the girl, who quickly dropped a quick curtsey before closing the door behind him. His stomach quivered in anticipation as she led him to the parlor. He had already removed his hat on entering, and he now removed his gloves as the maid opened the door and announced him. He breathed deeply, trying to calm himself as he stepped into the room.

Elizabeth looked up, an expression of the utmost surprise on her face, then stood to render a curtsey, and he was instantly lost. He had prepared himself, he knew what to say, he knew how to say it. But suddenly his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth, and he could speak not a word. His admiration for her threatened to choke him, and he chastised himself savagely – Talk, you fool! Say something!

“Miss Bennet,” he finally forced out. “Your friend said you were feeling unwell. I thought . . . I thought to inquire if you were feeling better.”

“I thank you for your inquiry, sir, and I have indeed recovered,” she said in a tone of cold civility, and Darcy’s stomach tried to turn over at the tone of her voice. Why is she so cold? he asked himself. Can she not see why I have come? Does she have no suspicion?

Darcy sat down, but he was still unable to speak as he had prepared. Suddenly, he could not remember any of what he had prepared. This had never happened when he was at Cambridge! There he had prepared himself beforehand, and all went well. But now he was struck as dumb as the veriest dullard!

He got up and walked to the side of the room, to the window, and then back to his seat, his agitation increasing. Elizabeth looked at him silently, saying nothing, just waiting. Abruptly, he remembered the papers in his pocket. As a student, his written preparations placed carefully in a coat pocket had served to give him the confidence to speak, but he had never needed to consult those notes. Their mere presence on his person had been sufficient. Suddenly, he knew what he needed, and he pulled the papers from his coat and unfolded them.

And as he looked on his written words, he felt a wave of calmness sweep through his body. He closed his eyes in relief, and then, wasting no time, he began –

“Miss Bennet.”

Elizabeth looked up in renewed surprise at his words but even more at his tone. He had spoken her name with unaccustomed gentleness, almost as if he was caressing the words. She could not understand . . .

“Miss Bennet,” he continued as gently as before, “you must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

Elizabeth's astonishment was beyond expression. She stared at him in shock and felt a blush mount her cheeks. She could not account for his words and said not a word, which evidently provided sufficient encouragement, for he continued.

“From the earliest moments of our acquaintance,” Darcy said, looking at Elizabeth, who suddenly looked down and was not able to look at anything but her hands in her lap, “I was impressed by your lively spirits, your warm heart, and your ease with all you met. The more I looked, the more I was attracted, especially as these attributes are so lacking in my own person. I was soon bewitched and utterly lost, though I did not realize it at first. I remember when you first came to Netherfield to tend your sister, with your petticoats stained with mud but with your cheeks bright with exertion and your hair windblown and enticing.”

Darcy looked at Elizabeth keenly, as she sat with a blush on her cheeks, unable to meet his gaze. “I must confess I first wondered at and almost hoped that you had come because of me, but I was soon disabused of that base thought as your devotion to your sister showed your true merit. I was so used to being the object of all manner of plot and artifice by almost every unmarried girl and her ambitious mother that I was unprepared for your artless devotion to your sister. Your actions proved me utterly wrong, and not for the last time. But I also was deeply impressed by your wit and your spirit, and I quite enjoyed crossing verbal lances with you at Netherfield and here at Rosings. Even though,” he said wryly, “I was more often forced to retire from the field in defeat than otherwise.”

He consulted his notes again and continued, “I cannot fix on the time or the place when I knew I loved you. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun. But I soon began to see you in every place where I was wont to go. In my carriage, in my house in London, by my side at the theatre, and most especially at my home at Pemberley. When I saw you on your walks, I imagined you on the many pathways at Pemberley. I saw you with my sister, being the sister that she never had, giving her the advice and the example that I was not able to supply. I grew to realize that we could fit together well, that your liveliness might balance my reserved nature and I hoped that my knowledge and experience of the world, garnered over years of managing my own affairs, might work to your benefit.

“I know that I have not been able to speak clearly before now. Indeed, I usually found myself so stricken in your presence that I have said things that I did not intend and did not mean, and I have not been able to say things which I fully meant to say.” He frowned somewhat and reddened slightly, looking again at his papers. “I have never been in love before, never even felt attraction before, and I know I have not presented myself to best effect. As you can see,” and he waved his papers at her, “I was as speechless as ever until I retrieved my prepared notes. A trick I learned at Cambridge, you see, as I struggled in those years to master some little skill at casual discourse, a skill which so many others seem to exhibit with as little effort as breathing.”

Elizabeth looked up at that moment and felt a shock run through her as Mr. Darcy fixed her with that intense gaze of his, which she suddenly realized had never been a gaze of disapproval at all but the exact opposite. “I should have said more,” he continued, “but I can only say that a man who felt less might have done so.”

Darcy took a deep breath as Elizabeth’s gaze fell to her lap again, turned to the last page and continued, “There will be some that will raise objections to our match, that will make reference to the difference in our situations, to your lack of fortune, to your country origins. Some may come from my family,” and Elizabeth, looking up, was surprised by the fierceness of the expression that suddenly came over his face. But he continued, his fierce mien softening, “and some may come from society in general. I cannot say at this time. But these objections are meaningless to me, and I will permit none to abuse you in any way. I am my own master and need neither approval nor advice from my family in choosing whom I marry. I cannot pretend to have never listened to such objections in my heart; I wish I could. But I have since confronted them and rejected them utterly. I cannot conceive of any woman more worthy to be at my side, more intelligent, witty, lively, courageous, and caring, and I know I can never love another as I love you. I beg you, Miss Bennet, to relieve my present distress, and do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage.”

Chapter 3

As he finished, Elizabeth was in a state beyond amazement. She had never imagined receiving a proposal of marriage in such a heartfelt, open, and touching manner from any man, and she was quite unable to explain having received it from a man such as Mr. Darcy. In spite of her deeply rooted dislike, she could not be insensible to the compliment of such a man’s affection, and though her intentions did not vary for an instant, she was sorry for the pain he was to receive. She was tempted by the memory of her anger at the injury done to Jane to respond with that same venom, but she realized that she could not respond to a proposal offered with such civility with any less civility. She could see that he had no doubt of a favorable answer. He spoke of apprehension and anxiety, but his countenance expressed real security. She composed herself, rejecting several openings, before finally speaking.

“I must confess, sir, that I have been most completely surprised at your sentiments.”

“Surprised?” came Darcy’s startled response.

“Indeed, sir, quite surprised.” She looked up and continued, “In cases such as these, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned.”

Darcy, leaning against the mantelpiece, stiffened and felt his calm composure shatter as the meaning of her words sent of thrill of disquiet through his chest. However unequally they may be returned? Dear G-d, what could she mean? She could not refuse me, could she?

“I do indeed feel a profound sense of gratitude at the sincerity and the emotion expressed in your declaration. I never expected to hear so eloquent a statement, and I am indeed complimented by your assurances. I am quite sincerely sorry to have to occasion pain to any one. But, sir,” and she dropped her eyes back to her lap, “I am afraid that I must decline your offer. I do fear that I am not able to match your feelings, and I am convinced that a marriage occasioned by such unequal affections would render both parties unhappy in the extreme.”

Elizabeth could not bear to look up to see the expression on his face. Such a proposal as he had offered showed a depth of feeling that she had never deemed possible, and she feared that the sight of pain on his face might well shake her resolve. But she was determined not to yield in this regard. She could no longer countenance anger and venom in light of his civilities, but she could not waver in the light of her objections.

For his part, Darcy heard the rest of her declaration with a sense of confusion and of bleak despair; indeed, the despair that rocked him was beyond anything he had ever experienced. The clamping sensation on his chest and throat had increased as she spoke until it was difficult for him to draw even a ragged breath. Other emotions followed close behind – disbelief, shock, and then anger. He turned away, trying to find that reserve that had served him for so long, attempting to don that mask of indifference that he had crafted over the years. But he found, to his consternation, that he could not resurrect what he had given up. She refused me, he repeated to himself in incredulous shock, again and yet again. After everything he had told her, everything she meant to him, she refused and dismissed him with hardly an explanation. It was not to be borne!

He opened his mouth in rage but was distracted by the rustling of papers still in his hand. He looked at them, and his rage dissolved into bleak despair. Nowhere in his preparations had he prepared for failure at all, certainly not failure this extreme. He had imagined that he held all the advantages, that when he overcame his scruples and knew himself, that all was finished and done. He struggled to find composure, and several moments passed.

Elizabeth sat in anxious anticipation, glancing up at Mr. Darcy’s rigid figure as he stared out the window in silence. She dreaded what was surely to come – the anger and recriminations that were the natural emotion of such a proud, arrogant man at meeting so cavalier a refusal. She opened her mouth to beg leave to return to her room when he turned back to her. He had evidently regained a part of his composure and was able to continue with a degree of civility at odds with the anguish of his face.

“I beg leave to inquire as to the particulars of your refusal, Miss Bennet,” he offered, his voice as gentle as before but no longer caressing. Oh, no, not even a little caressing. Raw pain was in that voice, pain and suppressed anger and raging emotions held tightly in check. “I referred to my many mistakes in my addresses. If you might enlighten me as to the details behind your sentiments, I would be deeply obliged.”

Elizabeth bit her lip. She did not want to provide specifics which could only add to his distress, but she did not want to deceive either, and she attempted to avoid the issue altogether. “I think it would be best to leave matters where they are, Mr. Darcy,” she said quietly. “I have no wish to raise emotions that could only lead to intemperate displays by both parties. I truly believe it would be better to disengage and go our separate ways.”

He stared at her grimly, his mouth compressed to a thin line by the emotions raging behind his expression. “I do not agree, madam,” he said, attempting to speak softly but with an edge to his voice that he was unable to fully conceal. “I would rather know how I have offended the woman I hoped to share the rest of my life with than to slink off in fear that I might suffer intemperance. I beg you to enlighten me on the reasons for this summary dismissal of my petition!”

Elizabeth looked up, her eyes flashing at the challenge as she stood up to face him. Very well, she had given him the chance to withdraw, and he had rejected it. Let the result be on his head! “Then, sir, if you so wish it, I will tell you,” she said fiercely. “I have provocations, sir, provocations based on the ruined hopes of a most beloved sister! Can you deny you played a part in most arrogantly separating my sister Jane and Mr. Bingley? Can you deny it, sir?”

Darcy stared at Elizabeth in dismay, struggling for words. Is this to be the cause for destroying my hopes? he asked himself. Is the effort I made on behalf of a valued friend the grievance that divides us forever?

Elizabeth refused to drop her gaze as he stared down at her, and he could not help but admire her spirit even as disaster washed over him. She hardly came to his shoulder, he towered over her, and yet she met his eye unflinchingly. At length, he sighed and was the first to avert his eyes.

“Is this what you think of me, then?” he asked in sadness as much as anger. “That I blast the hopes of others due to arrogance? That I disarrange their lives because they are below my station in life?”

“Can you deny it, sir?” asked Elizabeth remorselessly.

“I will not try to deny I played a part in separating your sister from Bingley, but I will deny that I did so out of mean or base motives,” Darcy said at last. He turned toward the window, putting his back to the room. He could not stand the sight of Elizabeth’s beautiful eyes glaring at him in such anger. How can I make her see how it seemed to me? he asked himself in desolation. And do I even want to try? he continued, his anger at being so treated rising again. At last, he decided that he must make the attempt. Surely if he explained himself, she would understand his motivations. And at this time, despite the fact that his hopes had turned to dust in his mouth, or perhaps even because of that fact, he found that he was no longer strangled into incoherence, and he began to speak. “Miss Bennet, when I acted, my actions were based as much on affection and concern for my friend as your anger is raised by your concern for your sister. And until this moment, when you spoke of your sister’s ruined hopes, I believed that I had acted for the best.”

“For the best, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth retorted hotly. “What incredible arrogance! I fail to see how it was your part to interfere in any way! You can have no defense to this, sir!”

“You may not give credence to my what I have to say, Miss Bennet,” responded Darcy with some heat, “but I do have at least an explanation for how I acted. Will you hear me out?”

“I again suggest that you leave, sir. This conversation can have no significance.”

“What if your sister had Bingley’s fortune, and Bingley had nothing, Miss Bennet?” Darcy said angrily. Would she not even listen to him? he wondered before he continued, “Would you not at least feel justified in determining whether Bingley’s feelings for your sister were true and honorable? And how would you do that? Would you just go up to him and say, ‘Sir, do you truly love my sister, or are you simply a fortune hunter?’”

Despite her anger, Elizabeth could not help but accept the justice of this statement, and she bit her lip in frustration. Intolerable man! she thought to herself.

“Will you hear my defense, Miss Bennet?” Darcy asked again, managing to calm his anger.

Elizabeth struggled to calm herself, and at length resumed her seat. “Proceed, sir,” she told him.

Darcy remained facing the window, unable to look any longer at Elizabeth as misery gripped his heart and he groped to contain his anger at being so treated. But he had to at least explain himself, slight though the chances of any reduction in her disapproval might be. “I seek your justice, Miss Bennet, and I ask you to apply that justice to the account I will give. Some parts of it may pain you, and I beg your pardon for any injury to your feelings. But here is the central issue – you charge that I detached Bingley from your sister, and there is some truth in that. But the issue is more complicated. When I was visiting with Bingley in Hertfordshire, I soon saw that he preferred your eldest sister to any other lady that we met there. But I had often before seen him in love, and I did not at first consider his attachment beyond what I had seen before. Then, when I had the honor of dancing with you during the ball at Netherfield, Sir William Lucas unintentionally revealed to me that Bingley’s steady attentions to your sister had led to a general anticipation of their marriage. He spoke of it as a settled fact, with only the timing of the event being yet in doubt.”

He turned from the window now, looking directly at Elizabeth, who met his eyes unflinchingly. “That was the point at which I decided to act on behalf of my friend. I began to observe him, and I quickly determined that his partiality for your sister was beyond what I had ever witnessed. But here is the point at issue, Miss Bennet – I also observed your sister throughout the length of that evening. I noted that her look and manners were as open, friendly, and engaging as every and that she obviously received his attentions with pleasure. But, though I looked most carefully, I could not detect an affection on her part to match that of my friend.”

“Jane’s feelings were as fervent as Mr. Bingley’s, sir, however unable you were to discern them!” Elizabeth burst out. “Simply because she does not display them for the amusement of society does not mean that she does not suffer!”

“I must bow,” Darcy said, with a slight inclination of his head, “to your superior knowledge of your sister and admit I am likely in error, and that your resentment is not entirely unreasonable. But, in my defense, I must tell you that your sister’s countenance and air was so serene that an impartial observer would likely conclude that that her heart was not touched in this affair. While I will admit that I was desirous of believing your sister indifferent, I must state most adamantly that I do not usually allow my hopes or fears to influence my investigations and decisions. I did not believe your sister to be indifferent because I wished to believe it, I believed it because of impartial conviction.”

Darcy paused to collect and organize his thoughts, as well as to attempt to compose himself. The next assertions were going to be difficult, perhaps even disastrous, but he had achieved a certain detachment as he crafted his explanations, even as he felt his heart’s desire melting away. After saying too little to this point, he had now determined to disclose every aspect and consideration, whether it inclined to his benefit or the opposite. He would conceal nothing, he would leave nothing out. “There was another objection to my friend’s attachment to your sister, and that was the lack of connection of your family. But this would be less of a problem for him that it was for myself, and since I considered and rejected it, Bingley could also have done the same. But there was an objection that remained, both for Bingley as for myself, and that was the lack of propriety displayed by a part of your family.”

Darcy winced as Elizabeth’s expression suddenly grew even more furious. What he was about to say was going to make it worse, but it was far too late to stop. “I fear this will only increase your anger, but it must be said. It was the total lack of propriety that your mother and your three younger sisters displayed in almost every public situation that concerned me greatly, for I feared that your mother would influence your sister towards Bingley because of his fortune. I can see that you are angered, and it pains me to offend you, but I said that I would explain myself fully and I will do so. However, I would like to add that the censure just mentioned in no way applied to you and your eldest sister, for you have behaved at all times with the utmost decorum and civility. I will only add that, based on my observations that evening, I determined to preserve my friend from what I had concluded to be a most unhappy connection. He left Netherfield for London on the following day but with the clear intention of soon returning, and I traveled soon after with the determination of changing that intention.”

Darcy glanced at Elizabeth and groaned inwardly as she sat white-lipped in anger. He knew well her fierce devotion to those she loved, and he had just delivered a challenge that could not have been better crafter to inspire her protective instincts.

“I come now to the part in which I acted. Bingley’s sisters were as opposed to the match as myself, although, perhaps, not for all the same reasons, and they joined me in an attempt of detaching him from your sister. When we joined him in London, we lost no time in pressing our point. I endeavored to point out to my friend the evils of such a choice and was able to describe my doubts and argue them earnestly. But, however much my assurances may have affected his determination, I do not believe it would have been sufficient to prevent the marriage had I not, in all earnestness, assured him 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, and it was not unduly difficult to convince him that he had deceived himself. Once that was achieved, it was but the work of a moment to persuade him against returning to Netherfield. Until tonight, I never had reason to blame myself for having made these efforts on behalf of my friend. I may have erred, but it was not done with malice.”

As Darcy now again looked on Elizabeth, he could not determine the effect of his words on her. She was no longer gripped with the same anger as before, but her face equally disclosed no hint of her feelings as she watched him without expression. He was embarrassed, nay mortified, at what he had yet to disclose, but he did not hesitate. His situation could hardly be worse.

“There is one part of my conduct in this affair in which I am truly pained, for it does not flow from an honest mistake. That part is that I aided Miss Bingley in concealing from her brother that your sister was in town. I did not see her, but I knew of it, and Bingley is even yet ignorant of it. It is possible that they could have met without ill consequence, but I judged that his affection for her was not extinguished enough for there to be no danger. So I did what I did and believed it to be for the best at the time.”

His eyes were bleak as he looked on Elizabeth. “And this is the part that I have played in this affair, Miss Bennet. It was certainly not my best moment, but I acted for the most part to protect my friend on the basis of honest conviction, and, though you tell me I erred in my judgment, I did not do so out of any attempt to inflict wanton harm on those involved.”

Darcy was at an end. He felt exhaustion and despair claim him as he tried to determine the impact of his statements on Elizabeth. He was afraid to even allow himself to feel hope, but he was completely unable to discern her present feelings as she sat completely silent and still, her head bowed and her hands motionless in her lap. He believed that her rage had dissolved, but what she might now be feeling was beyond his abilities.

Chapter 4

In truth, Elizabeth could not have been in greater turmoil. She had at times been offended and enraged beyond measure by the arrogance of his statements, but the whole of his disclosure had begun to affect her as it continued. She desperately wanted to retain that high state of indignation that she found so pleasurable, but remembrances of her own had started to affect her composure, and now she struggled to resolve the conflicting aspects of his disclosures, her emotions warring against her own judgment.

Unwillingly, she considered Darcy’s statement that he had been convinced of Jane’s indifference, and she could not help remembering what Charlotte had said, that Jane ought to show her feelings more in order to make them known. She was forced to admit that, though Jane’s feelings might be fervent, there was some justice in his assertion that she did not often display them. But how dare he act so when he could not know her true feelings! she told herself angrily, and then she remembered what Darcy had said when he demanded that she consider the situation if the tables were turned, if Jane was rich and Bingley was not. She could not help but admit the justice of that. I am so confused, she thought in exasperation.

After some minutes of silence, Elizabeth finally responded, her voice flat and emotionless. “I confess, sir, that certain points of your . . . explanation . . . do indeed make me question some my previous opinions.” Now her chin came up sharply as she looked directly back at Darcy. “But I do have considerable trouble lending your explanations sufficient credence when there are other matters that give me cause to question your character.”

“And those matters are?” Darcy said, more sharply than he had intended, for he was struggling to contain his growing anger.

“One of those matters we have touched on before, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said with growing heat, “and that is your offenses against Mr. Wickham. Many months ago, he unfolded your character in his recital of the misfortunes which have been by your infliction. On this subject, what can you have to say?” She could have said more, but she stopped herself, shocked by the sudden look of fury and hatred, which suffused Darcy’s formerly impassive countenance. She watched in horrified fascination as his fists clenched and unclenched, his arms quivering with the obvious convulsion of all his muscles in a frenzy of emotion. He whirled away from her, facing the window again as he obviously struggled to gain control of himself.

Wickham again! he raged to himself. I know not what he has told her, but how could she believe him? How could she have been so deceived . . .

And then he remembered Wickham’s skill at presenting himself, the easy grace of his manners, the way in which he had almost convinced Georgiana to . . .

Enough! he screamed in rage inside his own mind. He was almost tempted to turn and leave the room immediately, and several minutes went by while he debated furiously in his mind. Surely in this matter I can defend myself, he thought. But do I even want to? he argued back. It will do no good, she will not listen, she has been poisoned against me! But the part that still loved Elizabeth cried out, You cannot let Wickham do this, for then his revenge will be complete!

He turned around finally, at least outwardly composed, though the debate still raged in his mind, and he found that Elizabeth had retreated to the other side of the room, and he was dismayed at the definite look of fear on her face. Oh, my G-d, he thought. Elizabeth is afraid of me! That last thought stunned and mortified him, but it was enough settle his mind, and he felt calmness sweep through him again. No matter what happened, he must make her understand about George Wickham.

“Miss Bennet, I am greatly sorry,” he said gently. She looked at him as he spoke, but he could see that she remained ready to flee the room if he moved. “I am sorry that I have frightened you. It was not my intention that you should feel fear yourself, but the events of today have sorely tested my self-control, and I let my rage against George Wickham show. Please forgive me.”

She nodded to him, but whether in granting him forgiveness or acknowledging that he spoke, he could not tell. He sighed. “Madam, I would have wished never to have reason to remember again what I am about to tell you, but the present situation leaves me no choice. It is not only for my own justification but for your own protections that I must inform you of what lies between myself and George Wickham. May I sit?” he asked her, and she jerkily nodded her head.

He pulled out a chair and seated himself. “Well, at least you have not yet fled the room,” he said with dryly.

His attempt at humor, feeble as it was, seemed to break the spell that had held Elizabeth frozen, and she moved over to seat herself. “I considered it, sir,” she said coolly.

“I daresay. My sister has commented that sometimes, and I quote her, ‘your towering presence is quite intimidating.’ I had thought her teasing me, but I see it is true, and I am sorry you took fright.”

Darcy collected his thoughts to his satisfaction and then began, “I do not know what George Wickham has told you about me, Miss Bennet, though I could probably guess, based on what you have said tonight and previously at the Netherfield ball. I believe he probably charged that I have ruined his prosperity and denied him his inheritance?”

“He did, sir.”

“Further, I would imagine that I stand accused of willfully and wantonly throwing off the companion of my youth, the favorite of my father, a young man who had every expectation of profiting by the patronage of my family only to see it cruelly denied. Would that be that a fair summary of what Wickham has laid at my feet?”

Elizabeth did not look at him as she responded coldly, “It would, sir.”

“Do you believe this, Miss Bennet?” he asked quietly.

“I have been given no reason to doubt Mr. Wickham’s word, sir,” she said defensively.

“I see,” he said. “These charges would undeniably be a depravity, Miss Bennet . . . ” He paused and looked at her, “. . . were they true,” he continued quietly.

Elizabeth looked at him fiercely. “Do you deny it, sir?”

“I do indeed, madam. Most strenuously, I do deny it.”

After a few moments, he continued. “In order to refute these charges, I will lay before you the whole of Wickham’s connection with my family. I do not know the particular details of what he has accused me, but I will present everything, and, unlike him, I can provide testament to the truth of what I am about to relate by providing more than one witness of undoubted veracity. One witness you already know and is at hand, and that is my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. If you doubt my veracity, he will be able to provide witness to much of what I am about to relate.”

This last staggered Elizabeth completely. She had believed him unable to defend himself against the detailed charges provided by Mr. Wickham, and he already had shaken that belief by providing immediate authentication from a source that she thought well of and who would moreover be privy to the private affairs of the Darcy family. She suddenly felt completely unsure of what she had only moments before thought was unshakable.

"As you probably know, George Wickham is the son of my father’s steward, a good and loyal man who for many years managed all of the Pemberley estates for my family. His father was so faithful in his duties that he earned the obligation of my father, who not only made George his godson but also supported him at school and later at Cambridge. George’s own father could not have afforded to give him a gentleman’s education, since his own wife kept the family poor by her extravagances. My father was fond of Wickham’s society due to his engaging manners, and he planned to reward that opinion by providing him a living in the church.” He looked at Elizabeth. “Does this correspond with what you have heard, Miss Bennet?”

At her nod, he continued, “I, however, have had quite a different opinion of George Wickham for some years. I was witness to his behavior in a manner that my father was not, since Wickham could not conceal his vicious propensities and his want of principal from me, a young man of nearly the same age. I had too many opportunities to see him in unguarded moments which my father could not have.”

Elizabeth remembered the visage of Mr. Wickham as he had described the offenses against his person with a convincing charm and ease. In contrast, Mr. Darcy showed grimness rather than charm, and intensity rather than ease. The look on his face was the look of a man faced with a unwelcome task that could not be avoided but must nevertheless be performed, and she felt her already uncertain understanding soften even further.

But Darcy was continuing even as she thought. “What I have to relate may cause you pain, since I do not know to what degree Wickham may have engaged your sentiments. But even if you do have some partiality for him, it shall not prevent me from unfolding his real character. It only increases my determination, for you would not be the first young lady whose affections he has toyed with, as you will shortly hear.”

And to this, Elizabeth could not help but remember how Mr. Wickham had engaged her most amiably, even when it had been obvious to her that his intentions had not been serious, due to her lack of fortune. And she also remembered the warning from her aunt. It was with a decided sinking sensation in her stomach that she listened to Mr. Darcy as he continued.

"My father died about five years ago, and he remained attached to Mr. Wickham to the last. In his will, he left a legacy of one thousand pounds to him, and he also particularly recommended that I support Wickham’s advancement in the profession that he chose. He especially desired that the church be that profession, and if Wickham did choose to take orders, he desired that he receive a valuable family living when it became vacant. Wickham’s own father died shortly after that, and within a year he wrote to inform me that he had resolved against taking orders. He mentioned his intention of studying law, and suggested that he receive a more immediate pecuniary reward in lieu of the family living, since his legacy of one thousand pounds would not provide an income to support his study. I wished, rather than believed, him to be sincere, but I was quite prepared to agree to his request, since I knew he should not be a clergyman.

“We soon settled the business, and Wickham received the sum of three thousand pounds in return for resigning all claim to assistance in the church, whether the living became available or not. All connection between us was now broken, since I thought too ill of him to desire his acquaintance. I heard little of him for three years. I believe he lived mainly in town, living a life of idleness and dissipation, since he evidently never intended to study the law. But when the family living became available, Wickham again wrote me asking for the presentation of the living. He wrote that his circumstances were exceedingly bad, which I could well believe, and he now stated that he was resolved to take orders. He seemed to have little doubt that I would present the living, and he reminded me of my father’s desires.

“I trust you can hardly blame me, Miss Bennet, for refusing to comply with this request and for rejecting the subsequent repetitions of it. His resentment was violent in his reproaches to me, and he doubtless was equally abusive of me to others. After that, I had no contact with him and do not know how he lived.”

By this time, Elizabeth’s uncertainty had translated to a feeling of definite nausea. She wanted to flee the room, to take herself to her room to let loose the tears that hovered just behind her eyes. Mr. Wickham did not deceive me as much as I deceived myself, she thought. I let my dislike of Mr. Darcy affect me so that I listened to his slanders. And Colonel Fitzwilliam can attest to this? Surely Mr. Darcy would not offer such if that assurance was not easily at hand. Oh, foolish, foolish girl! She could not remember ever being as mortified in her life as that which afflicted her at this moment.

Darcy sat straight in his chair with his eyes focused far away as he continued his account. “But Wickham was not done with my family, Miss Bennet. Last summer, he again most painfully intruded into my family’s life in a manner which is the most painful I had ever experienced, and his prey this time was the sweetest, the most innocent heart in the land. I speak of my dear sister, Georgiana.”

“Oh, no,” Elizabeth moaned, closing her eyes in pain. She had reason to know that whatever else she had believed of Mr. Darcy, his affection for his sister was apparent and sincere. A single tear ran from her eye down her cheek as she stared in dismay at Mr. Darcy’s frozen visage. If his face had been grim before, it was chiseled in granite now, and his dark eyes flashed with remembered fury.

“Miss Bennet, I must ask your secrecy on this matter, for until this moment, no other mortal knew of these events except the participants and Colonel Fitzwilliam.” Elizabeth managed to nod, for she could not talk, and he continued.

“My sister is very precious to me, for I lost my mother in my youth and now lately my father. She is more than ten years my junior, and I share her guardianship with my cousin Fitzwilliam. Last summer, Georgiana traveled to Ramsgate with a Mrs. Younge, who was in charge of the establishment that had been formed for her in London. We had been quite deceived in the character of Mrs. Younge, who proved to have had a prior acquaintance with George Wickham. The two evidently had conspired, since Mrs. Young allowed Wickham, who had also traveled to Ramsgate, to meet with my sister. Georgiana has a most affectionate heart and could not have been suspicious, since she still retained a strong impression of his kindness to her as a child.”

Darcy’s dark eyes were bleak and flinty. “With the aid of Mrs. Younge, Wickham was able to recommend himself to Georgiana to such an extent that he was able to persuade her that she was in love and to convince her to agree to an elopement.”

Elizabeth could not stand the look of raw pain on Mr. Darcy’s face, regardless of any previous opinion of him, and she attempted to stop him, saying, “Sir, enough! I do not need to know more, I do not doubt the truth of your report!”

Darcy heard her, but the relation of the fullness of his account had complete control of him, and he continued remorselessly, “Georgiana was then but fifteen, Miss Bennet! Fifteen!” He stopped for a moment before continuing, “Her youth, of course, is her excuse, and additionally, she herself disclosed this plan to me when I joined her unexpectedly a few days before the intended elopement. She had almost looked up to me as a father, and she could not face the grief and offense of such an action. She acknowledged the whole to me, and I, of course, acted instantly. I wrote to Wickham, who left the place immediately, and Mrs. Younge was, of course, discharged.”

This last had been too much, and Elizabeth was now openly sobbing, her handkerchief clutched to her mouth as her whole body shook with her sobs.

“Wickham’s chief object,” Darcy said, “was unquestionably my sister's fortune of thirty thousand pounds; but I am convinced that he hoped also to revenge himself on me. Had he succeeded, his revenge would have been complete indeed. The thought of what a marriage to such a man would have done to Georgiana’s tender spirit still makes my blood run cold to this day.”

Darcy’s smile was savage as he reflected, “Not that such an event would have long transpired, Miss Bennet. If you thought my temper was extreme earlier, you have not become aware of that of Colonel Fitzwilliam. He would have called out Wickham immediately, and, if he would not fight, he would have killed him as he stood. It took all my powers of persuasion to dissuade him from that course after Wickham’s plans were thwarted. Had they succeeded, Wickham’s life would have been measured by the length of time it would have taken Fitzwilliam to find him. A man who has faced Bonaparte’s armies on the continent could not be frightened by the likes of George Wickham.”

Darcy reviewed what he had related and was convinced that he was at last almost through. “This is the end of my report, madam. I had not seen Wickham until that day in Meryton, when I saw you on the street with him. My reaction to him you saw, but you could not know the history between us that led me to act as I did. Perhaps I should have made my knowledge of him available at that time, but I did not want to chance any possibility of harm to my sister. Perhaps that is a fault of my nature. It has certainly not played to my advantage with you, Miss Bennet. But I hope that this faithful narrative will at least acquit me of the charge of cruelty towards George Wickham. As testimony to the truthfulness of my narrative, I can appeal to Colonel Fitzwilliam, and I urge you to consult with him on any particulars in which you still have questions. I will charge him to give full and complete disclosure, since I already have your assurance of confidence in this matter.”

Darcy was silent. He was done, exhausted, and he had no idea of what the result of his assurances had been. That he had affected Elizabeth was obvious, because she still sobbed into her hands. But she would not look at him, and he could make no estimate of whether he had improved or harmed himself in her regard. Except that her opinion could have hardly gotten worse, he though morosely.

Elizabeth continued in very agitating reflections for upwards of fifteen minutes while Darcy remained silent and still, sitting motionless in his chair. Her sobbing died away and she tried to pull her thoughts together so she could talk, but she was still struggling to determine what she could say when the sound of Lady Catherine's carriage announced the return of the party from Rosings.

“Please , sir, I beg leave to go to my room,” she said in agitation.

“Miss Bennet . . . ” started Darcy.

“Please do not, sir,” Elizabeth said in desperation. “I cannot speak of this, I must have time to think!”

“Will you walk with me in the morning?” Darcy asked. He could not believe the pleading tone in his voice. He had never uttered such in his life before this moment, and the affront to his pride stung, but after the intensity of the past hours he could not leave it lie. “Can we not talk further then, after you have refreshed your spirit by rest?”

Elizabeth did seek the healing balm of sleep, but the agitation of her mind was such that she feared that sleep would not come early this night. But she could not think further on this at this time, and, in desperation to quit this room, she at length nodded in agreement, though the tears again flowed from her eyes.

At that moment, the door to the parlor opened to admit Mr. Collins, followed by his wife. Both Darcy and Elizabeth jumped to their feet as the door opened, and Mr. Collins’ mouth opened in shock as he beheld the two distressed occupants in the room. Two of the servants were also visible in the hall, peering into the room. Mr. Collins looked from Elizabeth’s distraught face, with the tears still on her cheeks, to Darcy’s grim, stony expression, and he was completely at a loss of what to say. Elizabeth, knowing herself unequal to face any further observations, whether by her cousin or her friend, uttered a low, “Please excuse me,” and hurried away to her room, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Darcy bowed stiffly in acknowledgement to Mr. Collins, still frozen in shock, and to Mrs. Collins, wrapped in concern for her friend. “Mrs. Collins, Mr. Collins, I must beg your pardon. I had not realized how long I had stayed. I must bid you good evening,” and, bowing once more, he departed quickly.

Mr. Collins looked at his wife in complete confusion. He did not know what to say, but he did know what to do. He would ask for Lady Catherine’s advice on the morrow.

Chapter 5

Posted on Sunday, 24 April 2005

Elizabeth cried for a full half-hour, sobbing at the emotions that had been loosed by Darcy’s proposal and its aftermath. She did not try to think, she just loosed the feelings that threatened to strangle her. She finally cried herself out and was sitting up in her bed, her eyes still puffy, when there came a soft knock at the door. When she did not respond, the knock was repeated, and this time the door opened and Charlotte looked inside.

“Lizzy,” she asked, the concern in her voice evident, “are you ill? Is your headache worse? Can I be of help?”

“No, Charlotte,” Elizabeth said dully, “I am not ill, though my headache is not gone. I am just distressed. I will be well after I have a chance to rest.”

Charlotte entered the room, closed the door, and crossed to sit on the bed by Elizabeth. “Lizzy, you’ve been crying. What is the matter? Did you quarrel with Mr. Darcy?”

Elizabeth laughed bitterly. “There was a quarrel, right enough, Charlotte. But it was not quarreling that has made me cry – my own foolishness and stupidity are the source of my tears.”

“Are you sure, Lizzy? My husband is very upset. The servants were quite disturbed when Mr. Collins arrived home. They reported loud voices and crying from the parlor, but none dared to enter to see if anything was wrong. And Lady Catherine was most upset with Mr. Darcy’s sudden departure from Rosings. She would not stop speaking of it, and then we find him here in my parlor with you.”

She paused, looking carefully at her friend before leaning forward and taking her hand. “My husband,” she said in a low voice, “is saying that Mr. Darcy must have made advances to you and reduced you to tears.”

Elizabeth could not stop a sharp, bitter laugh. “My cousin has once again displayed his unerring instinct for reaching the wrong conclusion, Charlotte. Mr. Darcy made no improper advances of any kind. His behavior was most proper.”

“Then what, Lizzy? What could have upset you so?”

Elizabeth saw that she would have no choice but to answer Charlotte’s question. And she could not lie to her oldest and best friend.

“Charlotte, will you promise to keep what I tell you secret? Not even to tell your husband? I know that is much to ask, but I cannot talk of this if I thought it might spread beyond the two of us.”

Charlotte was troubled, but at length she agreed, at least in part because she knew her husband well enough to know that he would be most unlikely to ever question her on this matter. It could thus hardly signify what Lizzy told her, and she readily agreed.

Elizabeth looked down at the bed. “Mr. Darcy came to . . . to make me an offer of marriage.”

Charlotte was startled but pleased, both for her friend and for her belief of his affections. “See, I told you, Lizzy,” she said happily, as she squeezed her friend’s hand.

“You were right, Charlotte,” Elizabeth said wryly, “but not in the way you think. Congratulations are not in order. I do not want to marry Mr. Darcy. I refused him.”

“You did not!” Charlotte exclaimed in horror.

“But I did. Oh, his proposal was really most moving, almost poetic, in fact. It caught me completely by surprise, but my previous opinion was completely against him, both because of his arrogant behavior, because of Jane, and because of his abuse of Wickham. I quite definitely refused him.”

“And that was what made you cry?” asked Charlotte in confusion.

“No, what made me cry was what came after that, after he pressed me to tell the reasons for my refusal, which I was more than happy to provide. I challenged him to defend himself, and I was sure he could not. But I was wrong. He spoke long in his defense. It was hard to listen at first, for my anger was kindled. But I did listen to him, and then . . . then I found that my very clever assignment of blame was based more on my own mistaken prejudice than on real cause. His previous behavior may have been arrogant, but his proposal was most civil. His actions for Bingley were based as much on his love of his friend as my anger was based on my love of my sister. And his supposed abuse of Wickham was a complete deception, in which I unreservedly shared, since the truth is the exact opposite, with Mr. Darcy being the innocent party and Mr. Wickham not only being the source of affront to Mr. Darcy but also going about the country maligning his character!” She laughed harshly. “With myself and my unerring judgment as the most willing accomplice!” she said in bitter self-condemnation.

“I have accused Mr. Darcy of being proud, arrogant, conceited, and disdainful of the feeling of others,” she said in a low voice, “and how much of that may be accurate is unclear to me. But I,” she cried, “I, who have prided myself on my discernment! I, who have valued myself on my abilities! I, who have often disdained the generous candor of my sister and gratified my vanity in useless or blamable distrust!”

A tear ran from Elizabeth’s eye and she brushed it away. “How I am humiliated by this discovery, Charlotte. Had I been in love, I could not have been more wretchedly blind. As Mr. Darcy was so blinded by his love that he did not detect my dislike, so I have been so blinded by my vanity that I could not detect the deceit of Mr. Wickham or the innocence of Mr. Darcy. I allowed his affront and neglect of me, occasioned at the beginning of our acquaintance, to drive my reason away. Until this moment,” she said dully, “I never knew myself.”

Charlotte was distressed greatly by Elizabeth’s words, distressed by everything from her unbelievable refusal of a man of Mr. Darcy’s value to her cruel words to herself. “You are convinced of his innocence of what Mr. Wickham said?” she asked.

Elizabeth nodded. “Yes. I cannot speak of it, for it concerns affairs private to the Darcy family, but he offered a trustworthy witness of his account. Yes, I am convinced of Mr. Darcy’s innocence in this, at least.”

“And what of Jane?” asked Charlotte. “Do you believe him innocent in that affair also?”

“No, not innocent,” said Elizabeth slowly, “but not as guilty as I previously affirmed. Since I have reason to believe his assertions in regard to Wickham, I must give credence to those in regard to Jane. And there, I am forced to agree, he was wrong in some regards but not maliciously wrong. And in some others,” she whispered, “especially concerning my family, I do fear that he is more correct than not. He is arrogant, to be sure, and I do resent the opinions he expressed, but I fear that Jane’s disappointment has been as much the work of her own relations as otherwise.” She began to sob again, declaring, “I have grown so used to the impropriety of my mother and my young sisters that I did not see it until his cruel words showed me how they appeared in another’s eyes.”

At length, Charlotte said softly, “And what of his pride and arrogance, Lizzy?”

Elizabeth wiped her tears away. “On that we did not speak. The tone of his proposal softened the harsh words that might otherwise have come to mind. So you see, I have no reason to change my opinion . . . except that my opinion has been so dreadfully wrong about everything else!”

“I see,” said Charlotte. “So he may not be as arrogant as you thought? Perhaps what you said was arrogance was something else? Or maybe his manner had some pride in it but maybe something else as well?”

“Well . . . perhaps,” Elizabeth granted unwillingly.

“So after his explanation, were you tempted to amend your refusal, Lizzy,” asked Charlotte.

“No, Charlotte,” said Elizabeth. “He did not renew his proposal, so I had no cause to reconsider my refusal. But, in truth, my opinion is not changed, even after everything I have learned. Perhaps it should be, but my emotions remain in turmoil. At heart, I still believe he is the last man in the world I could be prevailed on to marry.”

Charlotte was saddened, because she believed that Elizabeth was allowing her romantic notions to prevent her from a sensible consideration of the matter, but she also knew how strenuous her friend could be in defending her views. So she contented herself with a brief embrace before departing.

Elizabeth was long at thought on all that had passed, and there were more tears shed before she finally fell into an exhausted but troubled sleep.

Chapter 6

Darcy arrived back at Rosings with no clear remembrance of passing through the park, and he was able to reach his room without seeing either his cousins or his aunt. But he had not even had time to ring for Jennings before there came a knock at his door. When he answered it, he found his cousin Fitzwilliam in the hall.

“I heard you come back just now, and I thought you might wish to get thrashed at billiards before retiring,” his cousin said. Darcy was tempted to decline, but he could see that dedicated look that Fitzwilliam assumed when he was determined to accomplish some task, and he suspected that Richard’s task was to quiz his cousin Darcy about his odd behavior this day. But, after a moments thought, Darcy accepted. He would have to talk to Richard at one time or the other, for his cousin was relentless when he was in that mood. In any event, he had a favor to request of Fitzwilliam, in case Elizabeth did inquire regarding Wickham. He knew that Richard might discuss some particulars regarding Wickham if she enquired of him, but he was too loyal and dutiful to make even the slightest comment that might touch on the affair at Ramsgate. Darcy actually thought that it was unlikely that Elizabeth would ask, but he would leave no stone unturned.

When they entered the billiard room, Darcy closed the door behind them. Fitzwilliam didn’t even blink, which seemed to confirm the supposition that his cousin desired privacy for their conversation. Darcy removed his coat and selected his cue while his cousin prepared the table. Then, while Darcy was preparing to break and Fitzwilliam was applying chalk to his cue, his cousin abruptly demanded, “Darcy, do you want to tell me what in blazes is going on with you?”

Darcy broke smartly, and one ball made a corner pocket with a satisfying sound. He stood up to chalk his cue before answering. “What do you mean, Richard? I left the house because I did not feel well and decided to take a walk.”

Darcy made his first shot, a difficult one that landed a ball in the side pocket and left the cue ball perfectly positioned for a shot on the corner.

“Of course you did, Darcy! But this is only the latest incident. You’ve been acting quite the strange one for the past week. First, you put off our departure, when in past years you’ve been as eager as I to escape from Rosings. Then you have hardly had a word to say to me all week, you cannot seem to refrain from quarreling with Miss Bennet whenever she visits, you just keep staring out the window or holding a book in your lap without ever turning a page. Then tonight you disappear when my aunt has guests, leaving me to try to find some reason for your unprecedented breach of manners. Did you know aunt wanted to send the servants out to search for you and drag you back? If I was a wagering man, I would place a month’s pay that you had finally been smitten by one of the stylish ladies in town who have been scheming to become Georgiana’s sister for some years now.”

Darcy could not help smiling. Close, but yet not close. “Little chance of that, Richard,” he murmured as he lined up and took his next shot.

“Then what, Darcy? I’ll not let up, you know. I’ll have a proper answer, or we’ll be here all night.”

Darcy looked at his cousin. “Richard, I need a favor.”

“You will not get so much as a kind word until you tell your dear cousin why he has to allow himself to be battered about the ears by his aunt while you disappear at will.”

Darcy frowned. “I’m serious, Richard. I need your help, but I also need for you to put a muzzle on your curiosity. At least for now.”

Fitzwilliam looked at him in exasperation. “Let me see if I have this straight,” he said sarcastically. “You want me to refrain from asking why you have been wandering around with a dazed look for more than a week, but you also want me to do you a favor at the same time?”

“That about sums it up.”

“And you won’t tell me what is bothering you?”

“I cannot, Richard. At least not right now. Maybe sometime, but not now.”

Fitzwilliam threw up his hands in disgust. “Oh, all right! Why should I expect anything else?”

“Thank you, Richard,” Darcy said in relief.

“Now, what favor do you need?” Fitzwilliam said disgustedly. He had thought to at least disconcert Darcy and affect his game, but it appeared that whatever bothered him did not affect his skill at billiards. Darcy was well on his way to drubbing him mercilessly once again.

Darcy was suddenly tongue-tied. “Your comment about Miss Bennet,” he ventured eventually. “We did have a . . . quarrel.”

Fitzwilliam just raised his eyebrows. Darcy took a breath as he lined up another shot. “In the course of a rather . . . heated . . . discussion, I was forced to reveal to her some of my history with Wickham.”

This truly shocked Fitzwilliam. He well knew Darcy’s near-obsessive urge for privacy, and now . . .

“You don’t mean the part about Georgiana, do you?” he asked finally.

“Yes.”

Fitzwilliam was silent as he watched Darcy put yet another ball in the pocket. Darcy stood up and looked at him. “What I need, Richard, is . . . well, Miss Bennet may seek to confirm the . . . truth . . . of what I told her. What I would like is for you to simply answer her questions, if she asks them. Just tell her what happened.”

Fitzwilliam stared at Darcy, a suspicion growing in his mind.

“You trust her that much, Darcy,” he asked quietly.

Darcy bent over his next shot. “I do,” he said.

Fitzwilliam’s smile gleamed suddenly in his tanned face. “Then of course,” he replied. “If she asks, I’ll answer her fully. That’s no problem, Darcy. No problem at all.”

He watched Darcy prepare for his next shot, then, as his cousin pulled the cue back, he said softly, “Impulsive as always, I see.”

Fitzwilliam chortled to himself, never letting his expression change as Darcy missed the shot. Badly.

“What did you say, Richard,” Darcy said darkly, as he rose from the table.

“Oh, nothing, Darcy,” Fitzwilliam said as he cheerfully moved to take his first shot. Quickly he lined it up. “Previously, there were just the three of us, except for Wickham, long may he rot . . .” His first shot sank a ball in the side pocket.

“And now, suddenly, Miss Bennet will make a fourth . . . ” And he sank this shot in a corner pocket.

“Plus there’s the famous impulsiveness of the Darcys . . . ” Darcy’s face was stony, but his cheeks were flushed as another ball rattled home.

“And of course, there’s little chance of a stylish lady from town bewitching my famously taciturn cousin . . .” The last ball slammed home in a corner pocket, clearing the table.

“So, of course I will be pleased to assuage the displeasure of the lovely Miss Bennet, who, after all, hails from the country. It will be my pleasure, Darcy.” And Fitzwilliam laughed out loud at his cousin’s glowering look of irritation.

“Ah, the famous Darcy Stare of Displeasure. It’s not nearly as good as the Major General’s, mind you, but it’s almost as good as Father’s. Will you rack the balls, cousin?”

After several seconds, Darcy could see that he was not going to dim the spirits of his irrepressible cousin, and his glare faded into a rueful smile while he prepared the table.

“Shall I mention the legend of the impulsive Darcys when I see Miss Bennet?” drawled Fitzwilliam slyly.

“Richard,” Darcy said seriously, “just do what I asked. The situation is not yet one that inclines me to humor.”

“Of course, cousin,” Fitzwilliam said, patting him on the shoulder. “But I laughed in Spain, when we were down to our last ten rounds and then the bayonet, so I daresay I could find a chuckle in your situation.”

“Someday, Richard, someday!” Darcy growled.

“You have said that before, you know,” Fitzwilliam said in delight as he broke the rack. Two balls rattled home in pockets, and Darcy groaned.

Darcy gave a sigh of relief as Jennings made his exit at long last. He settled before the fire, feet outstretched to catch the warmth. The relatively good humor he had earlier shared with his cousin had dissipated, and now the depression closed in. He had held it away since returning from the Parsonage, but now it returned in full force.

She refused me, he thought again. The sense of astonishment still remained. The previous night and the certainty that she would soon be his betrothed seemed an eon away, so distant that not even a hint of that memory still remained.

She thinks me arrogant, he thought. How many times did she use that word? Is that how I really seem to others?

And then when I tried to explain myself, I insulted her family, he remembered in anguish. Was there not a better way to phrase it. Yes, her mother is completely insensitive to any of the normal proprieties of society. But did I have to phrase it, ‘the total lack of propriety that your mother displays?’ And how pitiful the attempt to lessen the sting to say that Elizabeth and Jane are different from their mother! Gaaah!

And the saddest memory of this terrible night, I frightened Elizabeth! he thought in agony, remembering the look of fear on her face. He groaned aloud as her face with that terrible look would not leave his memory. That cursed Wickham! he thought in dismay. Will I ever be free of his evil influence? First my sister and now the woman I love! Out of the whole blasted country, how could he surface in Hertfordshire?

Part of what she had charged in the affair of her sister increasingly disturbed him as he pondered it. The thought of what he had done to separate Bingley was one he could no longer look on in any favorable manner. Elizabeth’s words about her sister’s misery came back to him, and, now he was tasting the bitter feeling of rejection himself. He could not keep from wincing at the thought of how their own unhappiness might be affecting them. Does Jane Bennet feel the same stabbing pain that I feel? From her point of view, Bingley deserted her just when she had every right to expect that he would formally declare himself. If she feels the same as I, how can I pretend that I am not responsible? And what of Bingley? Does he feel the misery I feel for the woman he loves but who, he believes, does not love him? The thought to have inflicted such pain struck at his good opinion of himself, and he quailed under the bitter lash of a ruthless self-examination such as he had never before had to endure.

Arrogance. What could it be but arrogance to have determined to interfere in my friend’s life? Elizabeth is right, he moaned to himself. I believed that I had fashioned that mask of reserve to guard me from the predators of society, but at least part of my treasured ‘mask’ truly is arrogance and disdain!

Darcy put his face in his hands. Can I make amends for what I have done? Will Elizabeth even give me a chance? In fact, will she even see me in the morning?

The uncaring fire that danced merrily in the fireplace had no answers, and Fitzwilliam Darcy had no one in which to confide. He considered talking to his cousin but rejected it. Surely he had already retired; he was usually up before the sun rose, the results of years of military life. He had no one to talk to but himself. He most assuredly did not have the confidence of the one woman in the world to whom he most wished to talk.

Even if Elizabeth will never see me again, he resolved, I cannot bear the thought of Bingley and Jane Bennet being in the same misery as myself. I must try to repair my fault in their behalf, no matter what else comes.

Darcy’s thoughts were no less agitated than those of Elizabeth after he finally retired, and his sleep was no more satisfying.

Continued In Next Section

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