Beginning Section, End Section
CHAPTER 1
Posted on Friday, 7 March 2008
“More than once did Elizabeth in her ramble within the Park, unexpectedly meet Mr. Darcy.—She felt all the perverseness of the mischance that should bring him where no one else was brought; and to prevent its ever happening again, took care to inform him at first that it was a favourite haunt of hers.—How it could occur a second time, therefore, was very odd!—Yet it did, and even a third. It seemed like wilful ill-nature, or a voluntary penance, for on these occasions it was not merely a few formal enquiries and an awkward pause and then away, but he actually thought it necessary to turn back and walk with her. He never said a great deal, nor did she give herself the trouble of talking or of listening much; but it struck her in the course of their third rencontre that he was asking some odd unconnected questions—about her pleasure in being at Hunsford, her love of solitary walks, and her opinion of Mr. and Mrs. Collins's happiness; and that in speaking of Rosings, and her not perfectly understanding the house, he seemed to expect that whenever she came into Kent again she would be staying there too. His words seemed to imply it. Could he have Colonel Fitzwilliam in his thoughts? She supposed, if he meant any thing, he must mean an allusion to what might arise in that quarter. It distressed her a little, and she was quite glad to find herself at the gate in the pales opposite the Parsonage.
She was engaged one day, as she walked, in re-perusing Jane's last letter. . .”
[Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 33]
. . . when Charlotte came running from the direction of the Parsonage.
“Eliza,” she called, “you have an express from home.”
“What can it be,” Elizabeth cried as she unsealed the letter and began to read. “It is my father—he is injured! I must return to Longbourn, Charlotte!”
“Oh, dear, what happened?”
“It was a riding accident. He broke his leg, but Mary writes that he will recover.”
Charlotte let out the breath she had been holding and said, “Thank God! But how will you get home? You can not take the post by yourself.”
“Mr. Hill will be here tonight with our carriage. We will return to Hertfordshire tomorrow morning, and your mother has agreed that Maria is to accompany me. We will pick up Jane in London on the way.”
“Such extravagance!”
“Oh, yes. Papa will not be pleased; but Mama has taken to her bed, so Mary is running the house at the moment and she wants us home.”
They immediately returned to the Parsonage where Elizabeth and Maria began packing for their journey. After a short time Colonel Fitzwilliam called and was admitted to the parlor where the ladies soon assembled.
“I have been making the tour of the Park,” he said, “as I generally do every year, and decided to close it with a call here at the Parsonage. But I seem to be interrupting some important activity.”
Elizabeth then explained the situation at Longbourn.
The colonel seemed highly affected. “I'm very sorry to hear that, Miss Bennet, but I am happy that your father will recover. We will miss your party at Rosings this evening.”
At this, Mr. Collins cried, “But sir, we would not dream of missing Lady Catherine's tea. Indeed not, it is always an honor . . .”
“Mr. Collins,” interrupted his wife, “we cannot possibly go to Rosings this evening. Surely you see that. I am certain that Lady Catherine will understand,” she finished with a look at the colonel.
“Certainly, madame,” the colonel replied, “she will understand completely.” He grinned. “She is excessively attentive to all such things.”
Elizabeth smiled for the first time since reading the express, feeling cheered by Colonel Fitzwilliam's unfailing good humor. She said, “Please apologize to lady Catherine and Miss DeBourgh for us—we will not be able to take proper leave.” As an afterthought, she added, “And to Mr. Darcy, of course.”
“Of course. They will be sorry for you to go, but I am sure they will understand. Darcy and I will be leaving on Saturday ourselves.”
That evening, Lady Catherine's nephews called at the Parsonage to wish Miss Bennet and Miss Lucas a good journey. Elizabeth was surprised at such civility from Mr. Darcy, and attributed it to Colonel Fitzwilliam's influence. She smiled as she imagined the colonel dragging his cousin bodily across the park—certainly Mr. Darcy's expression as he stepped into the parlor indicated he was not at all happy to be there.
After the initial pleasantries, Mr. Darcy took a seat near Elizabeth and amazed her by exerting himself to speak.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said in a surprisingly compassionate tone, “I am sorry you must leave so soon, and under such unfortunate circumstances. Is there anything I can do to help? Is there anything you or your family need?”
Elizabeth was so shocked at such goodness from such a source that she could not at first respond. She simply stared open-mouthed.
“Perhaps,” he continued, “you need assistance with transportation? Or medical care? My physician in town is highly respected and could probably be at Longbourn in a few days if needed.”
“I don't know what to say, sir.” She shook her head lightly and smiled. “Your offer is very kind. We do not need anything at present. But, truly, thank you, Mr. Darcy.”
“Not at all,” he said gently. “But if you discover that you need anything when you arrive at Longbourn, I would consider it a kindness if you would let me know. I will be at Darcy House in town.” He looked down briefly at his hands folded in his lap, and when he looked up again his expression had changed to a scowl. “Excuse me.”
He stood and went to stare out the window. Elizabeth's consternation was great—for a few minutes he had seemed kind, almost sweet—and now he was behaving like, well, like Mr. Darcy.
Colonel Fitzwilliam came to sit in the chair vacated by his cousin, and Elizabeth said to him, “Mr. Darcy seems displeased that you dragged him here, colonel.”
“Dragged? What nonsense, madame.” He chuckled. “Darcy never does anything he does not want to do. In fact, it was he who insisted we visit you this evening.”
“That is very surprising, sir.” She was so surprised, in fact, that she briefly forgot she was speaking of the colonel's cousin—she looked thoughtfully at Mr. Darcy and said almost to herself, “I would not have expected such kindness from him.”
With an offended look, the colonel said, “Then you do not know my cousin very well, Miss Bennet.”
“Forgive me, sir, I meant no disrespect. Of course you are correct. I do not know him very well at all.”
“You certainly do not, madame,” said the colonel in a disapproving tone. “If you did, you would know that he is among the best of men. There is no truer friend than Darcy.”
Elizabeth understood this to be nothing more than the colonel's family bias—she had every confidence in her own ability to delineate character, and had not Mr. Wickham himself confirmed her low opinion of Mr. Darcy? She struggled to contain a smirk at the colonel's chastising her for holding the correct opinion.
To her embarrassment, Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed to detect her struggle. He said indignantly, “You smile at my opinion, madame?”
“Please, sir—as I said, you must forgive me. I am sorry that we disagree on Mr. Darcy's character, but sadly, we do.”
He looked at her in exasperation. “I have known him all his life, Miss Bennet. You have known him a few weeks. Yet you would consider your opinion superior?”
“It is not only my opinion. He is disliked by Hertfordshire society in general, and due to nothing but his own behavior.”
“His behavior? You mean because he wouldn't dance at your assembly? Is Hertfordshire society so shallow?” He gave her a sly look. “Or is it because he refused to dance with one young lady in particular?”
She colored and said, “This is hardly conducive, colonel. We must agree to disagree on the merits of Mr. Darcy.”
Elizabeth was happy when the gentlemen left after a half hour, and she looked forward most keenly to her return home.
CHAPTER 2
“I think our visit went well,” Darcy said to Colonel Fitzwilliam as they walked back to Rosings House that evening. “Miss Bennet seemed very appreciative of my offer to help. I hope she will not hesitate to contact me if her family needs anything.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam frowned. “I would not hold my breath waiting to hear from her if I were you, cousin.”
“What do you mean?”
“I do no believe that you are at the top of Miss Bennet's list of those she would call for help.”
“And why not?”
“She doesn't like you, old man.”
Darcy shook his head with a wide grin. “Very amusing, Richard. Very amusing.”
“I'm not joking Darcy.”
They stopped walking and faced each other on the path. Darcy carefully observed the colonel, trying to detect some sign that it was a jest—it would not have been the first time Colonel Fitzwilliam had satisfied his slightly twisted sense of humor by convincing Darcy of some outrageous notion. But either Richard's acting had improved, or he was now absolutely sincere.
“How did you come to this absurd conclusion?” asked Darcy. “Good God, man, you've seen how she flirts with me. You were sitting right next to her at Lady Catherine's pianoforte on Easter Sunday. It was the same in Hertfordshire—Bingley's sisters noticed it there, I assure you. They mentioned it more than once.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam's eyes narrowed. “Was Bingley with you in Hertfordshire?”
“Didn't I tell you? I was staying at his estate there. Netherfield. It is only three miles from the Bennet estate, and Miss Elizabeth and I were frequently in company.” Darcy smiled at the memory. “In fact, we stayed under the same roof for several days while she nursed her sister who had taken ill visiting Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst.”
“Is that the sister she is so close to? The one who is such a beauty? Uh . . . Jane?”
Darcy nodded.
“Darcy, was Bingley the fellow you told me of on our journey to Kent? The one whom you saved from an imprudent marriage?”
“Yes,” replied Darcy. “And yes, the lady in question was Jane Bennet. Why do you ask?”
“Well, cousin, don't you think that Miss Elizabeth might not appreciate you separating her most beloved sister from Mr. Bingley?”
In truth, it had not crossed Darcy's mind, as at the time he had not expected to see any of the Bennets ever again. He stared at Colonel Fitzwilliam for a moment, then said in some embarrassment, “Perhaps, but she does not know about that, so it would not affect her opinion of me. And you did not answer my question—why do you believe that Miss Elizabeth does not like me?”
“She told me so this evening. We nearly had words over it.”
“What exactly did she say?”
“That she was surprised at your kindness, that it was not like you. To hear her tell it, you somehow managed to offend all of Hertfordshire.” Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed. “That should teach you about not dancing when ladies are without partners, cousin!”
“But that makes no sense! What about her manner? Her flirting?”
“She does seem to flirt with you, but she seems to flirt with me as well. Frankly, I think it is simply her way.”
“Miss Elizabeth is no common flirt, Richard!”
“Steady there, Darcy. I was not impugning your lady's virtue. I only mean that she is young and lively and very witty, and she knows it and likes to show it off. It is how she displays.” He chuckled. “After all, she really doesn't play the instrument very well.”
“I thought her playing lovely,” mumbled Darcy as he scowled at the ground.
“No, she is lovely. Her playing is only adequate. Aunt Catherine is correct, she really should practice more.”
They turned toward Rosings and continued walking. Darcy said nothing as he digested the startling news that the woman he so admired—the woman he had decided to marry!—did not even like him. He had fought his own inclination for so long that it had never occurred to him to question whether she would accept his suit.
He tried to determine what he had done to so offend her and all of Hertfordshire, but nothing came to mind. Then he remembered their discussion at Netherfield—vanity and pride, that was what she had accused him of. He had thought she was teasing, simply trying to get a rise out of him, and she had succeeded handsomely! But what if she had been sincere?
He could remember displaying no signs of excessive vanity at Netherfield. And certainly his pride was entirely proper—was he not a gentleman with excellent connections and a fine, rich estate? Was his family not among the most ancient in the kingdom? Was he not highly sought after as a potential husband and son-in-law? Who was Miss Elizabeth Bennet—penniless, connectionless Miss Elizabeth Bennet—to take him to task for pride!
So much the better if she would not have him, it saved him from making a disastrous mistake. He had almost allowed his passionate feelings for a pair of fine eyes to deflect him from his duty to his family; he had almost placed himself in the same imprudent position from which he had rescued Bingley; he had almost connected himself to a family in which improper behavior was virtually the norm!
Thus he fueled his anger all the way to Rosings House. But his resentment, so implacable in other cases, proved insufficient refuge in this emotional storm. He could not sustain it, not against Elizabeth. He entered his bed chamber with his head held high, closed the door and immediately collapsed onto a chair with his face in his hands.
“Oh God,” he said aloud, “she will not have me.”
In this manner he spent some minutes grieving for what had never truly been, until a servant came to say that Lady Catherine expected him and the colonel in the drawing room. He checked himself in the mirror—the last thing he wanted were questions from his aunt about his appearance—and went downstairs for what promised to be a very difficult evening.
As soon as he and the colonel arrived, Lady Catherine said, “Where have you been, Darcy? Anne and I have been waiting for a half hour.”
Anne nodded slightly as Mrs. Jenkinson put a cushion behind her back on the sofa.
“I beg your pardon, madame. Fitzwilliam and I called at the Parsonage. I'm sure you heard of Mr. Bennet's accident. Miss Bennet and Miss Lucas leave in the morning.”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Collins told me this afternoon. How fortunate that it is not too serious. How do they travel? Not by post, I hope. Two young ladies traveling alone by post—it is most improper.”
“The Bennets' carriage arrives this evening,” Colonel Fitzwilliam answered her. “Their man will take them back to Hertfordshire.”
“Ah, very good. Still, Darcy, you must be more careful. Your paying a call in such a manner on two young ladies might be misconstrued.”
Darcy said nothing.
“Remember,” Lady Catherine continued, “that your behavior affects not only your reputation, but Anne's as well.”
Darcy had known this day was coming, though he had always assumed it would be after he became engaged to some lady other than Anne. He certainly would not have chosen to have such a conversation at this precise moment, while still heartsick and emotionally staggered, but there was no avoiding it. He took a steadying breath and said,
“I am my own master, aunt, a grown man. I fail to comprehend how my behavior would greatly affect Anne or any of my cousins. It is my sister who is most affected, and I am always careful in that regard.”
“You call your attentions to Miss Elizabeth Bennet 'careful'? Oh, yes, I know all about it, nephew. And of course Anne is affected—you and she are intended for each other, she is practically your fiancée. Who could be more affected than Anne?”
“I am not engaged to Anne.”
“Not engaged? Not engaged! You have been engaged since you were in your cradles! Your mother and I arranged it. How can you now say that you are not engaged?”
At that moment it required all his self-discipline for Darcy not to consign his aunt to the Devil. Before he could make a rational response, Lady Catherine cried,
“This is because of that hussy Miss Bennet! You have succumbed to her arts and allurements—oh, yes, Mr. Collins told me of her, of how she led him on and then refused his offer. I see now why she refused him, she was aiming much higher!”
Darcy could say nothing. He hardly believed what he was hearing—she had refused Collins?—but Colonel Fitzwilliam rose to his feet and said, “Aunt, you slander Miss Bennet.”
“I say only the truth, Fitzwilliam. And you stay silent—this is between me and Darcy!”
“Lady Catherine,” the colonel cried red-faced, “I would not suffer such insolence from the Prince of Wales!” He stomped from the room.
The colonel's display of temper served to embarrass both Darcy and Lady Catherine. Each now strove for calm. Darcy said, “This has nothing to do with Miss Bennet.”
“Then you are not courting her?”
“Certainly not. I will probably never see her again.” Darcy looked at his shoes, stunned at the pain he felt with that statement.
Lady Catherine's relief was evident. “Will you promise me, then, never to make her an offer of marriage?”
Oh God, thought Darcy, the woman won't leave it alone! “You will receive no such promise from me. This conversation is at an end, madame.” Ignoring his aunt's cries, he left the drawing room and went to Colonel Fitzwilliam's chamber.
The colonel stood when he entered and said, “I'm sorry, Darcy, but I am fed up with that old bat.”
Darcy actually laughed. “I can sympathize. Pack your trunks, we are leaving at first light. I refuse to stay here another day.”
CHAPTER 3
Elizabeth and Jane, after dropping Maria off at Lucas Lodge, arrived at Longbourn the next evening and quickly discovered three things. First, Mr. Bennet had suffered a sprained ankle, not a broken leg. Second, he was indeed furious with Mary for sending Mr. Hill and the carriage all the way to Hunsford and back when the horses were needed in the farm.
Third—and perhaps most important as far as the ladies of Longbourn were concerned—Mr. Wickham was no longer engaged. Mary King had gone to her uncle at Liverpool, breaking off their understanding.
“Wickham is safe,” said Lydia cheerfully.
“Mary King can not really be blamed,” Elizabeth replied in an effort to be charitable to a girl about whom she found it difficult to say anything good. “It was a very imprudent connection for her as to fortune.”
“She is a great fool for going away, if she liked him.”
“But I hope there is no strong attachment on either side,” said Jane.
“I am sure there is not on his,” Lydia said. “I will answer for it he never cared three straws about her. Who could about such a nasty little freckled thing?”
Though displeased by the coarseness of Lydia's expression, Elizabeth could not help but agree with the sentiment—she had frequently indulged her vanity with the thought that had it not been for the matter of fortune, she would have been Mr. Wickham's first choice. She had parted with him before leaving for Kent on very pleasant terms, and had thought she would always consider him her model of the amiable and the pleasing. She felt a flutter of the heart as she anticipated their renewed acquaintance.
Later that night when Jane and Elizabeth had sequestered themselves in Elizabeth's bedroom, Jane said, “Poor Mary! Papa is so angry.”
Elizabeth grinned. “Perhaps I should have accepted Mr. Darcy's offer of transportation.”
“Mr. Darcy offered to help? How very kind of him.”
“Yes, surprisingly so.”
“It is not surprising that a gentleman would make such an offer, Lizzy. I believe that you do Mr. Darcy an injustice.”
“Oh, now you sound just like his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. We argued yesterday evening about Mr. Darcy's goodness. According to the colonel, Mr. Darcy is some sort of paragon!” She laughed.
“Do you believe Mr. Darcy was insincere in his offer?”
Elizabeth considered this before saying thoughtfully, “No, I believe he was making a genuine offer of aide.”
“But Lizzy, how then can you laugh at it? How can you be so, so . . . ungracious?”
“I did not laugh at his offer when he made it. I thanked him very properly. Though Mr. Darcy hardly deserves our graciousness after his own ungracious behavior.”
“Oh, poor Lizzy,” said Jane with all the sympathy of a kind heart, “was he so very bad in Kent?”
Elizabeth smirked and opened her mouth to begin describing Mr. Darcy's Kentish follies, and then suddenly realized that she could not think of any. She closed her mouth and frowned.
Jane mistook her expressions and cried fearfully, “Heavens, Lizzy, what did he do?”
“Well,” Elizabeth paused. Finally she said decisively, “He was intolerably cruel to Mr. Wickham.”
A look of complete confusion came over Jane. After a moment she said hesitantly, “Again? In Kent?”
“Of course not. I meant before. He denied Mr. Wickham his rightful inheritance.”
“Yes, dear, we all know that. But how did Mr. Darcy behave in Kent?”
“Given his past behavior, Jane, what difference does it make?”
However, later that night as she lay in bed, Elizabeth wondered. Mr. Darcy's behavior in Kent, particularly since Easter-Day, had been, if not outgoing, certainly more engaging than in Hertfordshire. More than once he had actually seemed to seek out her company, and though he never talked much, he was not unpleasant company when she did not think about how much they disliked one another. And his offer of help was quite kind.
Before her arrival in Kent, she had thought she had him figured out, but now she was a little less certain. She knew that in the past he had unquestionably behaved in a cruel and dishonorable way, yet she had witnessed that he was at least capable of civility and kindness. And while Mr. Wickham and all Hertfordshire rightly despised him, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Bingley, even Lady Catherine, seemed to think he hung the moon.
She finally resolved not to think on him any more—after all, she would probably never see the man again, so her opinion of Mr. Darcy hardly signified.
CHAPTER 4
Posted on Monday, 10 March 2008
The next day, several officers paid a call on Longbourn, ostensibly to inquire after Mr. Bennet's health. The real attractions, of course, were the ladies of the house. Mr. Wickham was among the visitors, and as in the past he was the happy man toward whom almost every female eye was turned, and Elizabeth was the happy woman with whom he chose to sit.
His conversation was as engaging as ever, with each worn, threadbare topic—the weather, the roads, everyone's health—rendered interesting by his skill as a speaker. But given Elizabeth's recent sojourn into Kent, she could not help but compare him to the amiable Colonel Fitzwilliam and even to Mr. Darcy. Mr. Wickham was certainly handsomer than either, especially the colonel, and his manner softer and more captivating, but he lacked a well-informed and incisive mind such as each of Lady Catherine's nephews had displayed.
Mr. Wickham, she thought with a touch of melancholy, had no gravitas. Though pleasant as ever, he now seemed a difficult man to take seriously.
The subject turned to her Hunsford visit, and mentioning Colonel Fitzwilliam's and Mr. Darcy's having both spent three weeks at Rosings, she asked him if he were acquainted with the former.
He looked surprised, displeased, alarmed; but with a moment's recollection and a returning smile, replied that he had formerly seen him often; and after observing that he was a very gentlemanlike man, asked her how she had liked him.
His reaction reminded her of his initial reaction to seeing Mr. Darcy in Meryton back in November. She wondered what he could mean by it—surely he could hold no animus toward Colonel Fitzwilliam. She answered him warmly in the colonel's favor and watched carefully for his reaction.
What she detected was an air of assumed indifference, clearly designed to conceal—he was certainly nervous about the colonel! When he mentioned that the colonel's manners are different from Mr. Darcy's, she decided to bait him a little by stretching the truth.
“But I think,” she said, “that Mr. Darcy improves on acquaintance.”
“Indeed!” cried Wickham with a look which did not escape her. “And pray may I ask—?” but checking himself, he added in a gayer tone, “Is it in address that he improves? Has he deigned to add ought of civility to his ordinary style? for I dare not hope,” he continued in a lower and more serious tone, “that he is improved in essentials.”
“Oh, no!” said Elizabeth, wondering more than ever what the man was up to. “In essentials, I believe, he is very much what he ever was.”
While she spoke, Wickham looked as if scarcely knowing whether to rejoice over her words, or to distrust their meaning. He seemed to listen with an apprehensive and anxious attention, while she added a carefully phrased explanation, which was not precisely a lie,
“When I said that he improved on acquaintance, I did not necessarily mean that either his mind or manners were in a state of improvement. Perhaps from knowing him better, I was better able to understand his disposition.”
Wickham's alarm was now apparent in a heightened complexion and agitated look; for a few minutes he was silent; till, shaking off his embarrassment, he turned to her again, and said in the gentlest—and she now realized, most false—of accents,
“You, who so well know my feelings towards Mr. Darcy, will readily comprehend how sincerely I must rejoice that he is wise enough to assume even the appearance of what is right. His pride, in that direction, may be of service, if not to himself, to many others, for it must deter him from such foul misconduct as I have suffered by. I only fear that the sort of cautiousness, to which you, I imagine, have been alluding, is merely adopted on his visits to his aunt, of whose good opinion and judgment he stands much in awe. His fear of her has always operated, I know, when they were together; and a good deal is to be imputed to his wish of forwarding the match with Miss DeBourgh, which I am certain he has very much at heart.”
Elizabeth could not repress a smile at this—she was fairly certain that Mr. Darcy had actually paid more attention to herself than to Miss DeBourgh, so small was his interest in that lady! She answered Mr. Wickham only by a slight inclination of the head as she began to wonder if anything the man said could be trusted. She saw that he wanted to engage her on the old subject of his grievances, and she was now in no humor to indulge him.
The rest of the evening passed with the appearance, on Mr. Wickham's side, of usual cheerfulness, but with no farther attempt to distinguish Elizabeth; and they parted at last with mutual civility.
“Lizzy,” Jane asked her later, “what happened between you and Mr. Wickham?”
“Honestly, Jane, I'm not sure.” Elizabeth laughed sadly. “He was the same as ever, with happy manners and pleasing conversation. But when I mentioned meeting Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy in Kent, he reacted—I don't know—as though he were afraid of something. He behaved so strangely about it that I became rather suspicious of him. I wonder now how much he is to be trusted.”
They were silent for a time. Jane then said, “Lizzy, do you remember what Mr. Bingley told me about Mr. Wickham? He said he was not a respectable young man and that he understood that his inheritance from Mr. Darcy's father was conditional only. Given how little we know of his past, perhaps it is a mistake to take his side so readily against Mr. Darcy.”
“He seemed so sincere when we first met!”
“But no more?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “And even before that, I found myself comparing him to Lady Catherine's nephews, and he seems to lack something. He is never entirely serious about anything, Jane. He does not discuss serious subjects. In all our conversations, he has never discussed his plans for the future—and now I think of it, I don't believe he has any! After all, here he is, nearly thirty years old, and he is just beginning his career in the militia. He is almost the same age as Colonel Fitzwilliam, who is already an accomplished soldier. What has Mr. Wickham been doing all these years?”
Elizabeth was amazed that she had never considered this before. She stared at Jane with her mouth open, then cried, “Oh, I do know his plans for the future—he is nothing but a common fortune hunter! Ha! How happy for Mary King that she escaped the man.”
Jane actually smirked.
Elizabeth colored and said, “Yes, yes, I know what I said before. This will undoubtedly shock you, dear sister,” Elizabeth's smirk now mirrored Jane's, “but I may have been wrong. I should have known that Mr. Bingley could not err!”
Jane blushed becomingly. “Do not tease me about him, Lizzy. I am determined to be myself again, and he will be only a happy memory.”
“I am sorry, Jane, but I must agree with Mama—he treated you very ill. I find it difficult to have a happy thought of Mr. Bingley.”
When Jane only frowned, Elizabeth smiled with a cheerfulness she did not feel, and said, “Then again, compared to Mr. Wickham he is a model of gentlemanly behavior.” Her smile faded as she was struck by the full weight of her previous naiveté. “No wonder Mr. Darcy despises him. He once told me that Mr. Wickham makes friends easily, but has trouble keeping them.”
“So Mr. Darcy tried to warn you of him? That was very kind.”
Elizabeth looked at Jane in horror. “Oh heavens, Jane—you are right! He tried to warn me. He was being kind, while I was being as uncivil as I could in defense of Mr. Wickham. Oh dear!”
“He seems to make a habit of being kind to you, Lizzy. You know, I never thought Mr. Darcy was so bad.” She smiled teasingly. “He seems to have trouble making friends, but no trouble at all keeping them. Mr. Wickham was the only one of his prior acquaintances who did not think well of him—all the Netherfield party placed the highest reliance on his judgment and his honor. He is very clever. He is tall and handsome. He is extremely rich!”
They laughed together for a moment, then Elizabeth took Jane's hand and said, “You know, one evening—Easter, in fact—we were in company at Rosings. I was playing the pianoforte, and Mr. Darcy and I had the oddest conversation. I as much as scolded him for not dancing that first night at the Meryton Assembly.”
“Lizzy, you did not!”
“Oh, I did! I believe I embarrassed him—his cousin was right there, you see. He actually tried to explain it. It seems he is not comfortable with strangers, and,” she said in a near whisper, “he implied that if he had known me he would have liked to have danced with me.”
“But you already knew that, dear,” said Jane. “He danced with you at the Netherfield Ball, did he not?”
Elizabeth had never really considered why he asked her to dance that night. She had been far too angry with him because of Mr. Wickham's absence. She just stared at Jane who laughed and said,
“Maybe Mr. Darcy admires you, Lizzy.”
“You've spoken to Charlotte!”
“Not at all. It just occurred to me—why else would he have asked you, and only you, to dance?” Jane leaned excitedly towards her. “And he always watched you. Oh, and remember when Miss Bingley asked you to take a turn about the room at Netherfield? He said he was admiring your figure—that would certainly explain why he always watched you!” She grinned in triumph.
Jane's speech brought to mind Mr. Darcy's behavior in Kent. His meeting her on her walks, his visits to the Parsonage, his discussing how far away from Longbourn she would like to settle. And again that conversation at the pianoforte and his smile as he complimented her playing. Suddenly Elizabeth remembered a conversation on their last walk, when he implied that she would be staying at Rosings House on future visits to Kent—she had thought he was referring to her possible marriage with the colonel. What if he was thinking of himself? Goosebumps rose on her arms.
No, no, no—it was absurd! Jane and Charlotte could not possibly be correct. Mr. Darcy had easily withstood her beauty the first time he saw her—had she not heard it from his own mouth? It was ridiculous to have any hopes in that direction.
Hopes?! Where did that come from? Certainly he was everything Jane had said, and all of that was much in his favor—the admiration of such a man would be immensely gratifying; but it was her firmest conviction that, the occasional act of kindness notwithstanding, he was also disagreeable and ill-tempered. He was nobody she could ever love, even if she did not dislike him as before. And with his pride, he would never condescend to marry a Bennet, even if he did admire her. She expressed all of this to Jane, and said,
“So your congratulations on my connubial bliss are premature, dear sister. I will not have him, and he will not have me, and these are rather salient points! Still, though, I am ashamed of my behavior towards him. I took Mr. Wickham's side for so long, and for no reason but my own vanity. He singled me out when Mr. Darcy had snubbed me. It felt so good to dislike him! I quite enjoyed it.” She looked down sadly. “Until this moment, I never knew myself.”
CHAPTER 5
The next morning, Mr. Bennet made his way downstairs for the first time since his injury. His wife and daughters made a great fuss over his comfort, which seemed to please him very much, and he went so far as to tell Jane and Elizabeth he was glad they were home before he sought the pleasures of his library.
Not long afterwards while the ladies were still in the dining room, their attention was suddenly drawn by an unfamiliar chaise and four driving up the lawn. They were conjecturing vigorously on whom it might be, when the door was thrown open and to their general astonishment Lady Catherine DeBourgh appeared.
An hour later, Elizabeth was in her bedroom trying to calm her anger—the presumptuousness of her ladyship!—when Jane knocked and entered.
“Lizzy, what is the matter?” Jane sat on the bed and clutched both of Elizabeth's hands.
“Oh, Jane! Lady Catherine is an abominable woman!”
“What did she want?”
“You won't believe it,” Elizabeth said with an angry laugh. “She came to warn me off her nephew!”
“Mr. Darcy?”
“That's the one.” She smiled for the first time since her ladyship left. “After all, he is every young maiden's dream—what else could I desire but to marry him?”
“You may joke, Lizzy, but you could do a lot worse than Mr. Darcy.”
“Jane!”
“What did she say? Where did she get the idea that you were interested in him?”
“There was some talk of me practicing 'arts and allurements' in Kent.” Jane's mouth fell open. Elizabeth smirked. “Perhaps if I read some of the forbidden books in Papa's library I can discover what that means—in case I ever need to do it again!”
“But, but. . . how could she say such things?”
“Oh, it is very easy when one is 'celebrated for sincerity and frankness,' as Lady Catherine claims to be. She could as truthfully have said 'ill-breeding and impertinence.'”
“What did you say, Lizzy?”
“Nothing at first. I was astonished beyond expression. I believe I blushed and stared. What could I say? Eventually she demanded a promise that I never become engaged to Mr. Darcy, which I of course refused to give.”
“Of course,” Jane said with her second smirk of the week.
Elizabeth's eyes rounded. “Stop it, Jane. I have no designs on Mr. Darcy.”
“I'm not the one who said you did—I said he had designs on you!”
“Yes, so did Charlotte. I wonder if that is what started all this,” said Elizabeth. “Maybe her ladyship saw the same thing.”
“You were right not to promise, Lizzy, even if you will not marry him.” She laughed. “That would be burning your bridges!”
Elizabeth looked at her hands still in Jane's. “I can't say that I would not ever marry him, Jane. I just have no designs on him now.”
“Lizzy!”
“Well—he is handsome and rich and clever. And at times he has been kind to me. And—oh!—I am afraid I may have misunderstood him all along.” She cast a worried glance at Jane's loving smile. “What if his initial insult that very first night colored my entire view of him? And then I believed everything Mr. Wickham said of him, for no other reason but that I wanted to.”
Jane gave her a serious look. “Make yourself a promise—if you ever meet Mr. Darcy again, try to get to know him with no prejudices. That is all you can do, Lizzy.”
“Oh, Jane, thank you. You are such a comfort.” She paused. “But I think it very unlikely we will ever see each other again, even if he does admire me. Lady Catherine made some legitimate points about the differences in our stations in life, though I would not give her the satisfaction of agreeing with her. She claimed his family would not recognize me if we married. And she said he would never lower himself to make me an offer in the first place.”
“Why then did she come all this way, Lizzy? I think she was trying to convince herself.”
“I told her, 'He is a gentleman, I am a gentleman's daughter,' but Jane, his grandfather was an earl and his great grandfather was a duke. We have our uncles Phillips and Gardiner, good men but hardly peers. Mr. Darcy is at a different level of society.” She bit her lip and frowned at her bed.
“Let him worry about that.” Jane shook Elizabeth's hands until she looked up at her. “Dear Lizzy, cheer up! A few days ago you were perfectly happy not giving Mr. Darcy a second thought, or at least no kind thoughts. Do not let this worry you. If you never see him again, or if he never offers for you, you are no worse off than you were last week. And you would probably refuse him anyway!”
They laughed together, but Elizabeth's laughter was more than a little forced.
CHAPTER 6
Two days later at Darcy House in London, Charles Bingley and Fitzwilliam Darcy sat with cigars and cognac before a low fire, in the midst of a strident discussion.
“And do you agree with all of Hertfordshire,” cried Darcy, “that I am disagreeable and ill-tempered?”
“Not exactly, no. Upon my honor, Darcy, you are certainly worked up about this.” Bingley thought a moment, and said, “And not all of Hertfordshire thought that of you. Miss Bennet liked you.”
Darcy's heart nearly leapt until he realized that Bingley meant Jane Bennet, not Elizabeth. “That was very good of her, I'm sure.” He cleared his throat. “What of her sisters?”
Bingley's eyes narrowed. “You mean the ones whose behavior is uniformly improper, whose connections are so low, who are so beneath your station? Those sisters?”
“I said nothing about them that was not true.”
“So that means that you have to say it?”
“I did not say it just to say it, or merely to ridicule. I only said what needed to be said at the time. And I did not say it to them.”
“Maybe not to them, but Miss Elizabeth overheard you telling me that she was hot handsome enough to tempt you to dance. Remember that? At the Meryton Assembly? And even if she had not heard you, they all have eyes, Darcy. Your actions speak loudly indeed.”
“Actions?”
“Yes, your behavior. It is always the same. You speak to nobody you do not already know. You will not dance. You stalk about the room as though the company is all beneath you, even if the place is full of viscounts and barons—remember Lady Holcomb's ball last season?” Bingley let out an exasperated sigh. “We've discussed this before. You continually give offense everywhere you go.”
Darcy struggled to come to terms with his friend's words. As Bingley said, they had discussed it before, and Darcy had always taken Bingley's attitude as naive—surely one must discriminate in society, one should not befriend everybody one met, some distance was necessary, particularly with those beneath one's station.
But now he perceived that Miss Elizabeth's view was closer to Bingley's. If Darcy ever hoped to be a man she could admire, if he ever hoped to be able to please a woman worthy of being pleased, he had to change. It was a daunting prospect. He frowned at his glass.
Bingley said more softly, “There is no kinder soul or better man than you, Darcy, and nobody is more reliable. But your behavior among strangers prevents you from making friends, and there is nothing of more value in life than friends. I would not trade one true friend even for Pemberley.”
“I am not like you, Bingley. I can not make small talk with strangers.”
“Have you ever even tried?”
Darcy smiled slightly, remembering a previous conversation. “No, I do not suppose that I have. Perhaps all I need is some practice.”
“Well, yes,” said Bingley cheerfully. “Indeed, some practice. I imagine it is like anything else we do, some have a natural aptitude for it and some do not. But everyone can improve with practice. I may even learn to write legibly some day.”
They laughed and Darcy said, “It would be best not to hope for miracles.”
Bingley gave him a quizzical look. “It is a miracle that you brought this subject up. Why did you?”
Darcy hesitated a moment before answering. “I recently learned that my manners are not what they should be.”
“Is that so? Who told you?”
“No one. It is something that I inferred from events.”
“Events, eh?” Bingley smiled slyly. “You may discover some day, Darcy, that you owe those . . . events . . . a great debt of gratitude.”
Darcy lifted his glass in acknowledgment.
Bingley stood and refilled his own glass. He drank the whole thing in one gulp, then filled it once more and sat, or rather, plopped back in his chair.
“I say, Darcy, why don't you come to Bath next week. Spend a whole month with us. I anticipate a very merry party.”
Darcy made a face.
Bingley shook his head at his friend and said, “You needn't look like that. Society in Bath is perfectly pleasant—though perhaps that is what you dislike about it! Ha! It would be a good opportunity for you to practice, old man. No? Oh, well, don't worry, I shall not press you. Caroline will just have to enjoy the waters alone!”
“After a remark like that about your own sister, I suspect that you have had enough cognac, Bingley.”
“Perhaps so, but it is only you and I here. We can be informal and even a bit drunk if we choose.”
Darcy smiled affectionately. “How was Scarborough?”
“The same. Relations and friends, my father's old business partners. We had a fine time.”
“Meet any pretty girls?”
“Why? Concerned I might have made an offer without your permission?” Darcy's shock must have shown, as Bingley immediately said, “I am sorry, please forgive that remark, Darcy. It was unjust, merely the cognac speaking. I know you did me a great favor last fall. It could not have been a pleasant task.”
Neither spoke for a time. After a few minutes Bingley rose and refilled his empty glass. He returned to his chair and took another large gulp. “Are you absolutely certain that Jane Bennet did not love me?”
Good God, only a drunk would ask such a question! “How could I be, Bingley? I can not read her mind. It was my best judgment at the time. I was very close to certain.”
“You were certain I should not return to Hertfordshire.”
“Yes, and I still think it would have been a mistake. You would have had to make her an offer if you returned. With all the gossip, the general expectation, your honor would have been engaged. Were you ready to propose then? Were you so certain of her regard—which to me seemed so well concealed—that you were willing to suffer her family's terrible behavior for the rest of your life? To introduce Lydia Bennet as your sister?”
“I thought I was certain of her,” Bingley mumbled. His head fell back against his chair and he stared at the ceiling. “Yes, it all makes sense. Your advice was correct.” Suddenly he sat upright. “But what about now?”
“I don't follow you,” Darcy said warily.
“I still have the lease on Netherfield. It has been almost five months since I was there—the gossip should no longer affect me, should it? Well?”
“What are you proposing, Bingley?”
Bingley waved his glass, splashing cognac across the rug. “To return to Netherfield. To my angel!”
Darcy rolled his eyes. “I thought you were expected in Bath next week. I know you are expected at Pemberley in August. Do you intend to cancel all your engagements for the summer?”
Bingley stared at him in drunken consternation. “Why not?”
Darcy grinned and said, “Well, just don't do anything until you sober up.”
“Oh, I will remember this in the morning, my friend. I am returning to Hertfordshire.”
Darcy took a gulp of his own drink. For a minute or two he considered Bingley's plan, and his own longing, never far below the surface, became overpowering. He stared into the fire, took another gulp and said softly, “As a matter of fact, I think I would like to accompany you. I, uh, I am rather looking forward to seeing Miss Elizabeth Bennet myself.”
Darcy emptied his glass and waited for an answer, while slowly realizing that he himself was actually quite drunk. He contemplated his drunkenness for a few moments. He did not drink to excess very often. It was an odd feeling.
Suddenly he remembered what he had just suggested—good God, he could not visit Miss Elizabeth, she detested him! In a panic he glanced at his friend's chair and saw him sitting on the floor, eyes closed, head lolling gently to the side. To the greatly relieved Darcy, that seemed like a marvelous idea. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER 7
Posted on Friday, 14 March 2008
Elizabeth and Jane were in the garden three days later when Mrs. Phillips came bustling through the gate.
“Girls, have you heard the news? Mr. Bingley is returning to Netherfield with a small sporting party, and all the town are talking of it. I must speak to your mother.” And with a sly look at Jane, she hurried into the house.
Seeing Jane color, Elizabeth reached for her hand.
“Do not worry about me, Lizzy,” said Jane. “I am only concerned because I know there will be talk, and I dread it. At least if it is truly a sporting party there should be no ladies and we will not be much in company.”
Elizabeth had no desire to distress her sister by vain speculations, yet she could not help but wonder if Mr. Bingley may have another motive in returning to his estate. She hoped for Jane's sake that he had not truly forgotten her, but if he only meant to toy with her again, better that he were as far away from Hertfordshire as his horse could carry him.
Over the next few days—as her mother demanded her father visit Mr. Bingley again, and her father declared he would go on no more fool's errands—Elizabeth had leisure to speculate on not only Mr. Bingley's motives, but also on who would compose his party. Would Mr. Darcy accompany him? She had no idea what to feel about that possibility, and could only hope to do as Jane suggested—if she saw him again, she would forget her prejudices, forget what she thought she knew of him, and treat him in that sense as a new acquaintance.
She wondered if his aunt had made the same demand of him as she had made of Elizabeth—would he acquiesce? Her spirits tingled with the thought that, no, Mr. Darcy would not give in to such a demand. Then she cast it aside—it was vain to think such things, it could only injure her in the end. She had to wait and see how he behaved.
At last she began to laugh at herself, that she was in such a state over Mr. Darcy who, for all she knew, did not care a fig whether she lived or died. She had turned ridiculous.
But would he come?
With the assistance of servants, Mrs. Bennet learned of Mr. Bingley's arrival during the last week of April, but for three days they had no other word of him. Then, early one afternoon, Kitty called from the front window.
“It is Mr. Bingley, he is riding up the lawn.”
Mrs Bennet hurried over for a look. “So it is,” she cried excitedly, “and there is a man riding with him.”
Before she could stop herself, Elizabeth asked, “Is it Mr. Darcy?”
“Oh, gracious no!” said her mother. “Thank heaven, too, for I hate the very sight of him, all proud and disagreeable. No, this gentleman looks, well, more normal I should say.”
Elizabeth felt it like a physical blow, and became angry with herself for feeling it so. How many men had she danced with? How many had given her dozens of compliments, scores of smiles, laughed over her witticisms, and not needed to be coaxed to utter more than five words in her presence? Why was she not hurt that one of them was not with Mr. Bingley? Why did it have to be Mr. Darcy who always seemed to affect her emotions, one way or the other?
He had not come, and she resolved to forget all about Mr. Darcy. She fixed in place her most radiant smile for whoever had accompanied the master of Netherfield.
“Mr. Bingley and Mr. Sprewell,” announced Mrs. Hill, and said gentlemen entered the Longbourn drawing room and bowed to the assembled ladies.
Mr. Bingley appeared as he ever had, and only a moment's observation showed that he still admired Jane. Now though he had an air of uncertainty, and cast only tentative glances her way while she remained silent and stared at her work.
Mr. Sprewell was Mr. Bingley's cousin, and his looks reminded Elizabeth of her mathematical instruction on the subject of probabilities, for he was indeed very normal. Yet despite his commonplace appearance—and the subtly-revealed factor of his less than robust finances—he maintained a level of hauteur that would have made Lady Catherine DeBourgh blush.
Elizabeth was astounded that a young man with so little to recommend himself could take on such airs. It was all she could do not to laugh whenever he spoke in his affected manner. Her humor deserted her, however, when it became apparent that she was the chief object of his visit. While Mrs. Bennet interrogated Bingley on his departure last November and requested his presence for dinner, Mr. Sprewell spoke to Elizabeth.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he drawled, chin pointed at the rafters, “I have heard much of you.”
Elizabeth almost mentioned how ironic it was that she had never heard of him at all, but bit her tongue just in time. She inclined her head silently.
“I believe you have met my cousins Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley.”
“I have had the pleasure.”
“They are very accomplished ladies.” He said this suggestively, as though she was now to list all her accomplishments. She merely nodded. “I understand you play,” he persisted.
“Yes, but not very well. I have never had the patience to practice much.”
He frowned and his chin dropped a fraction of an inch. “Uh, do you draw?”
“Not at all.”
“I see that you sew.”
“Yes, but mostly just plain work. I have no talent for decoration.”
He fell silent—Elizabeth's interview for the position of Mrs. Sprewell was apparently not a success. She reflected that perhaps it was the nature of the world that everyone had an absurd cousin—she had Mr. Collins, Mr. Bingley had Mr. Sprewell—she smiled and wondered if she was Mr. Collins's . . . and she realized that she was going to laugh.
She put her hand to her mouth and let out a soft snort that she flattered herself was almost ladylike. Mr. Sprewell's eyes widened. He stood and bowed, and went to sit next to Kitty, whose alarm at this development brought forth from Elizabeth another snort, just a little louder than the first.
Mrs. Bennet gave Elizabeth a dirty look.
Everyone in the room heard the third snort.
“Excuse me,” coughed Elizabeth as she fled to her bedroom. She shut the door behind her, lay on the bed and laughed out loud, shoulders shaking, tears rolling down her cheeks. Eventually her laughter subsided; but her tears continued to fall, and soon she was overcome by gentle, choking sobs—he had not come.
Over the following days, Mr. Bingley was a regular visitor, and it became apparent to all that the match which had been so anticipated in November would now come to fruition. Elizabeth was overjoyed for her sister, who deserved every happiness. Though Mr. Sprewell continued in residence at Netherfield, Elizabeth suspected that he was now simply sponging off his cousin while helping to maintain the fiction of a sporting party, as he was only ever seen lounging about Mr. Bingley's drawing room or eating Mr. Bingley's food as superciliously as possible.
One day as Elizabeth accompanied the courting couple on a walk in Longbourn's gardens, Jane asked after Mr. Darcy's health.
“Darcy was quite well when I last saw him,” Bingley said, “though perhaps not in the best spirits.”
“You should have asked him to visit Hertfordshire with you,” suggested Jane, who was refusing to meet Elizabeth's eye. “He seemed in good spirits last year at Netherfield.”
Bingley frowned and said, “I did ask him to accompany me here, but he declined.” At this Elizabeth felt the familiar pain, but it was replaced by shock when Bingley continued, “I believe he feared that he might not be welcomed by my neighbors.”
“Not welcomed,” cried Jane.
“I probably should not say anything, it is really betraying a confidence.” He paused with a pained look, then said in a guilty rush, “But we had a distressing conversation a few days before I came here—he said that he had come to realize that his manners were not what they should be. We discussed how he always offends people where ever he goes, how he is uncomfortable with strangers and never dances and doesn't make new friends easily.” He laughed sadly. “He suggested that he needs practice.”
Elizabeth gasped and looked at the ground.
“Oh, the poor man,” said Jane. “You must tell him he is most welcome in Hertfordshire. Indeed he is, is he not Lizzy?”
Elizabeth kept her eyes down and said softly, “Yes, most welcome.”
“Thank you, ladies, you are very kind, but I can't do that, can I? Darcy is too clever—he would know that I related our conversation to you, which I really should be ashamed of. Anyway, he is presently engaged in Derbyshire with his uncle Lord Matlock.” Then he grinned boyishly at Jane. “With any luck though, perhaps I will soon be able to give him an invitation he can not refuse.”
CHAPTER 8
Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam strode through Lord Matlock's crowded ball room, nodding and greeting acquaintances.
“Mr. Darcy,” said a smiling, beautiful young lady in a feathered headdress.
“Lady Cynthia,” answered Darcy with a nod. He did not stop walking.
“Mr. Darcy,” called another, even more beautiful but without the feathers.
“Miss Delonge.” Darcy continued forward.
As they reached the far wall, a male falsetto whispered, “Mr. Darcy!”
“Shut up, Richard.”
“Oh, God, Darcy, how they throw themselves at you.” The colonel chuckled. “Why don't you simply enjoy it, man? They are all quite lovely.”
“There is nothing wrong with my behavior,” Darcy said defensively. “I am being civil to everyone, and I have lost count of how many times I've danced tonight. All it does is encourage them.”
“You say it like you've been spreading manure. What is wrong with dancing with beautiful, wealthy young ladies?”
“Dance with them yourself if you think it is so wonderful.”
“I have been, but that is all they want me for—dancing!” Colonel Fitzwilliam smirked .
Darcy finally smiled. “And that is all they'll get from me. This is so degrading! It is like a livestock auction. Which breeding mare should I choose, do you think?” He groaned. “Why did I let your father talk me into this?”
“Because my father is almost as stubborn as you, and you know as well as he does that you need a wife.” Darcy just glared at his shoes. Colonel Fitzwilliam took him by the elbow and propelled him toward a door. “Come, man, let's escape to the card room. You do need a break.”
At the breakfast table next morning, Lord Matlock greeted his nephew with a slap on the back. “Enjoy yourself last night, Darcy?” At Darcy's scowl, his lordship grinned and bellowed, “Well at least you put forth an effort. I saw you dancing and talking with several very suitable young ladies. Well done. Just keep that up and I am sure that nature will take its course.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed. “Whether from nature or a fairy Godmother, Darcy needs all the help he can get, Father.”
As they ate, a servant brought Darcy an express. With a surprised look, he opened it at the table and began anxiously to read. Slowly a rueful smile came over him, and Colonel Fitzwilliam said,
“Is it good news, Darcy?”
“Very good news. My friend Bingley is engaged to be married.”
The colonel smiled. “To Miss Elizabeth Bennet's sister?”
Darcy nodded as he continued to read, squinting at Bingley's sometimes indecipherable script. “The wedding is in four weeks, June 29.” Then he frowned.
“What is the matter?”
“He has asked me to stand up with him.”
“That is splendid, cousin. You know, I have half a mind to go with you and meet the lovely Miss Elizabeth's bevy of sisters—she has four of them, Father. What do you say, Darcy? Would Bingley mind?”
Darcy tossed the letter aside and said casually, “I doubt I will attend, Richard.”
“Nonsense. You can not pass on such an invitation from such a friend as Bingley!”
Darcy addressed himself silently to his plate as the colonel stared at him in amazement. His lordship loudly cleared his throat and said,
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet? Is that the young lady you were in company with in Kent? The lively one?”
“I was not aware that you knew of her.” Darcy threw an accusing scowl at the colonel.
“Don't look at Richard like that, Darcy. He did not tell me anything of her. You have your Aunt Catherine to thank for that.”
“What?”
“My sister came to see me last month, told me you had had an awful row at Rosings.” Darcy looked at his plate. “Well, is it true?”
“Yes it is. I told her I would not marry Anne.”
“So she said. That was the impetus for that farcical mating ritual last night, if you must know. Catherine claimed that you refused to marry Anne because of this other young lady, this Elizabeth Bennet. Well, I knew that was nonsense—you would not attach yourself to some unknown, unconnected young lady. You and Anne are simply not suited, and I've known for years that you would not marry her merely to satisfy the wishes of your Fitzwilliam relations.”
Lord Matlock began to butter a piece of toast. “So imagine my surprise when my sister told me that you refused her demand never to marry this Bennet girl.”
“It is not my aunt's business whom I marry, Uncle, any more than it is yours.”
“You are quite correct, of course.” He took a bite of toast. “Apparently you and Miss Bennet see eye-to-eye on that subject.” Darcy's mouth fell open. His uncle smirked and continued, “Yes, it seems that when Catherine went to her father's estate—Long something or other—and made a similar demand of her, she refused to promise never to marry you.”
Darcy leapt to his feet. “She went to Longbourn?!”
“Sit down, nephew. Remember yourself. Is that what it's called—Longbourn? Yes, she went there last month, as I said, and received no satisfaction from your young lady, who all but kicked her off the property.”
Darcy looked at Colonel Fitzwilliam, whose grin seemed to stretch from wall to wall. “Did you know about this?”
The colonel shook his head.
His lordship sighed heavily. “It is not a great match, but it would not be as bad as marrying your sister's companion or your mistress.”
“I don't have a mistress!”
“Oh, get off your high horse, Darcy! My point is that many have done worse, and frankly it was painful to watch you endure that ball last night. Why not marry her?”
“She may not have me, uncle. Richard can tell you what she said about me in Kent. And she's already turned down at least one very eligible marriage offer.”
“Well then woo her! And since you can't do it from here, you need to go to that little Bingley fellow's wedding.”
Darcy retrieved the letter and read it again more carefully. “He writes that my Hertfordshire friends look forward to renewing my acquaintance. He is going to give a ball.”
“Then you must go, Darcy,” said the still grinning colonel. “You know how Miss Elizabeth gets when she has to sit out dances for want of suitable partners.”