by C. P. Odom
Darcy smiled, pleased to see that Georgiana had indeed gotten on with Jane Bennet as well as it had appeared. “It is of no significance, dearest. I quite approve, but soon you shall be choosing your own friends, whether I approve or not.”
The reference to her coming out into society caused her to worry rather than to celebrate, and she passed the rest of the ride home in silence while Darcy and Bingley conversed.
Chapter 10
Wednesday, April 15, 1812
When the maid brought the mail on Wednesday afternoon, Elizabeth felt a small thrill of excitement when she saw that it included a letter from Jane. She thought that it might contain good news, but not even her most optimistic feelings could have prepared her for the contents:
Dearest Lizzy,
I have the most wonderful news! Dear sister, Mr. Bingley has called today most unexpectedly and did not wait even a half-hour before he professed his love for me and asked me to marry him! Is it not too unbelievable?”
Elizabeth intently read Jane’s detailed and excited description of events, with her sister quick to excuse and forgive all of Mr. Bingley’s faults and missteps. She smiled often as she pictured the scene in her mind, and the only thing tempering her happiness at the news was the predictable ending of the letter:
I must admit that I was puzzled by what Mr. Bingley said about Mr. Darcy, but Charles confirmed that his information did indeed come from Mr. Darcy and that you were the source of that knowledge. Though I am certainly grateful, you must write and tell me how you ever could have told this to someone you had previously disliked so!
But that puzzle can be solved in time. I am so full of joy at the thought of how happy my mother and the rest of my family will be, but most especially am I overjoyed by knowing how this news will be received by you, my dearest sister. You cannot know how much your love and care have meant to me these many months. But now I must close and write to my mother. I am, as I always will be,
Your most loving sister,
Jane
Elizabeth was unaware that she had sprung to her feet and exclaimed aloud at the most happy news in Jane’s letter until Charlotte was at last able to attract her attention.
“Lizzy, what is it?” Charlotte asked. “I know it is not bad news, for you look as if you are about to burst out laughing, but you must not keep us in suspense!”
“Oh, Charlotte,” Elizabeth said gaily, leaning over and embracing her friend. “It is the most wonderful news! Jane writes that she is engaged to Mr. Bingley!”
Both Charlotte and her sister were thrilled by the news and demanded all the details. Elizabeth consulted the letter to tell them what she could, but she did not mention what Bingley had said of Darcy, and Charlotte was left to wonder if what she had learned earlier from her friend was related to this blissful news.
* * * * *
Thursday, April 16, 1812
Elizabeth received another letter from Jane on the following day, just after she had returned from a very long walk. The tension in the Parsonage house was worse than ever, with Maria lamenting that there had been no invitations to Rosings, though she was at a loss to explain why. Both Charlotte and Elizabeth were well aware of the reason they were being shunned by Lady Catherine, and Elizabeth was relieved to avoid the company of that formidable woman. Her cousin also shunned her, and she would have ended her visit early except that her uncle had already arranged to send a servant and a coach to meet them on Saturday. But hearing from Jane so soon after the previous happy letter cheered her immensely, and she excused herself to read it in her room. It began with the expected news that Bingley had obtained their father’s consent; then it moved to more surprising news:
When Mr. Bingley arrived, he brought Mr. Darcy and his sister with him. Mr. Darcy was very gracious in congratulating me on my engagement, and I am still wondering how you came to talk of me to him. Do not think that you will be able to use your cleverness to keep from telling me, Lizzy! You are being very sly about something, for you hardly mentioned him in your letters, yet you had taken him into your confidence. I will know everything, sister, and you shall not sleep until I do!
Elizabeth eagerly read Jane’s long description of the visit with both interest and amusement until she came to the joyous conclusion:
I am happy that you will be joining me in less than a week; we have so much to talk of. Is it possible that, only three days ago, I was so downhearted and unhappy? So much has happened in so little time! Hurry home, Lizzy! Until then, I am,
Your most loving and curious sister,
Jane
Elizabeth smiled at the renewed image of Jane’s happy state and at her jesting — but still serious — threat to know the truth about Mr. Darcy. And she was surprised, nay astonished, to hear that he had gone to Gracechurch Street and had evidently enjoyed himself when there. Previously, she would have thought that his pride would have prevented either, and she could not but wonder if this moderation in his manners was due to her. The thought was certainly gratifying, but she could not forget the arrogance behind his distant and haughty behaviour in Hertfordshire. It remained a barrier between them, though perhaps it was not the impassable obstacle that she once believed, and she was in good humour as she reread the letter. This time, Jane’s description of Miss Darcy provided a renewed sense of astonishment. It did seem that every single thing Mr. Wickham had related concerning the Darcy family was the most arrant falsehood. She could recall his words perfectly — It gives me pain to speak ill of a Darcy. But she is too much like her brother — very, very proud — and she was again most heartily ashamed of having allowed herself to be so misled.
I shall have to start completely over with Mr. Darcy, she thought, for I can be sure of nothing. His manners are distant and coldly polite except when he is with his own circle, and I have judged that to be from excessive pride. But if his sister is so shy, could he also be? She shook her head at such puzzling thoughts and turned again to her letter, this time concentrating on Jane’s happiness.
* * * * *
That night in her room, Elizabeth read both of Jane’s letters again, and when she considered all that had happened in the last week, her mind was in such a whirl that she knew she would be unable to sleep. She had tried the previous night to write a reply to Jane, but after two attempts at explaining how she had come to provide Mr. Darcy with such private information, she had given up. Her own opinions of that most infuriating man were in such a confused state that she could not even begin to acquaint Jane with the details of what had occurred until she first resolved some of the more contradictory areas herself.
Previously, when she considered all that had happened, she had settled it in her mind by thinking: If he does what he promised — to reveal his interference with Bingley — then perhaps I might be able to think more on his other assurances. That decision prevented her from moving on to consider other pieces of the puzzle that was Fitzwilliam Darcy. But now he had not only done as he had promised, but the most fortunate result had come to pass with stunning swiftness, and she no longer had an excuse. She must consider the vexing dilemma of Mr. Darcy and face those problems that had proven so difficult to address previously.
Her primary problems, as she saw them, were twofold. Firstly, what would she do when Mr. Darcy called on her in London? She had no doubt he would call now that he had accomplished his mission with Bingley with such stunning success. Such a man never would have suffered the mortification he had undertaken only to fail to follow through on his intention.
Her second problem was more troubling — could she bring herself to marry him if the worst happened and scandal threatened to utterly ruin her family and herself? The thought of her name being openly rumoured as the mistress of any man was enough to make her ill, yet she had avoided thinking of it too long already; she must consider the vexing dilemma facing her.
But was the threat of scandal really as serious as Mr. Darcy had indicated? Could he be in error or exaggerating? Elizabeth pulled out his
letter again — though she was near to knowing it by heart — and upon re-reading, had to reluctantly agree with his assessment. First was the fact that she now believed him to be an honest and honourable man. Second — his experience in the world was significantly greater than her own, giving his opinion weight. And third — Colonel Fitzwilliam believed it too.
And I do know how seriously a lady’s reputation can be tarnished by the mere perception of improper behaviour, she thought. It is intolerable that I might be ensnarled when I have done nothing wrong!
Well, to be fair, neither had Mr. Darcy, but it was so unfair that the overwhelming damage would be to her reputation. And the reputation of all my family. Even Jane. That last was a sobering realization, especially considering the happy news just received. What cruelty that Jane’s happiness might be marred, or even shattered, by these unfair slanders! She was again roused to anger against Mr. Darcy, blaming him for the unpleasantness that threatened, only to be almost immediately forced by her own conscience to question the fairness of that thought. Had he not written of the disparity of the repercussions himself? Furthermore, he was adamant that his offer of marriage was not affected by any threat of scandal, though that consideration only served to irritate her more. His preferred solution allowed him to achieve what he had been unable to obtain otherwise: the marriage she had so forcefully rejected!
But then she remembered that her refusal had been based partly on an entirely mistaken belief in the probity of Mr. Wickham and the wickedness of Mr. Darcy. Something had gone much awry with those two young men who shared so much in common and should have turned out similarly; one appeared to have all the goodness while the other had only the appearance of it! She was beginning to wonder just how important amiability was in the assessment of a man’s character, a question she never would have asked herself one short week earlier!
But who was this most perplexing man? Elizabeth paced about her room. Untangling the confusion in her own mind looked as if it might take even longer than she had feared, especially when her disloyal memory kept playing those haunting words, ‘You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’ The predictable shiver she experienced at the memory only increased her agitation as she tried to concentrate.
* * * * *
It took a considerable time and was well past midnight before Elizabeth finally finished her pacing and thinking. She had wrestled long, attempting to find a balance between her emotions and her reason, between the recommendations of others and her own wounded pride and vanity. As she sat in bed, resting her head on her knees, she found it hard to believe that, after a long evening of intense thought, she had arrived at the conclusions she had.
At the beginning of the evening, she had been firmly of the opinion that, while she might be forced to accept Mr. Darcy in order to preserve her sister’s happiness, she would have much preferred to completely reject his offer. So it came as some surprise, as the evening progressed and she considered every fault of this most baffling and complex man, that she found her reservations dwindling as the cold light of reason dispelled each obstacle she could name.
“He is altogether too cold and aloof,” she declared at first, thinking he might be the same as a husband.
But when she examined whether she really thought he would be a cold and distant husband, she concluded that, despite her previously firm opinion, she could no longer believe it. His expressions of love and respect, both in his original proposal and afterwards, had been altogether convincing, and it was unlikely that the man could be at the same time both affectionate and unfeeling. She was forced to reluctantly discard her first objection.
“But what about children?”
Elizabeth dearly looked forward to having a family, and she briefly worried that Mr. Darcy would not be desirous of the same. Then she considered the manner in which he had cared for his sister and the assurances he had made in his letter. ‘Our children,’ he had phrased it. Despite her irritation with him for his presumption, that was not the expression of a man who did not want a family, and that argument was also reluctantly abandoned.
One after the other, all her objections were evaluated and rejected. She had even considered the intimacies of the marriage bed, but while she did not know enough to form a firm opinion, she at length concluded it could not be too repulsive. Mr. Darcy was certainly handsome enough in a physical sense, tall and fit with attractive features, dark, curly hair, and those dark, expressive eyes. He would certainly not be a husband similar to Mr. Hurst, attentive to his plate and his port but largely indifferent to his wife. It was no surprise that couple had no children!
No, she now knew those intense looks that he had so often directed at her did not indicate disdain and disapproval but rather admiration and regard. They were also — she had only tonight come to realize with a thrill both alarming and pleasant — indicative of something more: desire — the physical desire a man feels for a woman. The very idea brought sudden warmth to her cheeks as she pondered the idea that a man, who evidently was subject to a considerable measure of passion, so much that he was struck inarticulate in her presence, might bring that same passion to the marriage bed. Even with her negligible experience, she could not believe it a fault for a husband to feel such for a wife, though she was certain her mother would not agree.
In any event, the mistress of Pemberley would have her own chambers and surely would not be called on to submit to her husband every night. Elizabeth remembered the sly comments she had overheard her mother and her friends make in low voices, that headache was so very useful as a defence against an overly passionate husband. She did not believe that she could ever resort to such subterfuge herself, at least not against a husband such as Mr. Darcy. That thought also made her cheeks flame, especially when she remembered the tender, caressing tones of his proposal, and the prospect of his addressing her in those same tones in the privacy of her bedchamber spread the blush from her cheeks over her whole face and down her neck.
In the end, her objections diminished to a single question, and that was whether she could ever feel true affection and love for such a man. Despite her declaration that she did not know him, Elizabeth admitted that she had by now formed a goodly measure of respect for his character and capabilities. Even if she was not so sure of his manner, her belief in Mr. Darcy’s total lack of amiability must be in error since Bingley had attested to his ease and cordiality within his own circle. So, despite her misgivings, Elizabeth could only conclude that, surprising as it was, there were reasons to hope for a degree of felicity in a marriage with Mr. Darcy.
“But I do not love him!” she protested aloud, knowing that she did not feel the same ardent love Mr. Darcy professed to her — the love that made him willing to risk the censure of his friends, family, and society in order to marry her.
But what did she mean when she spoke of love? As she examined the idea more deeply, she realized that a woman’s definition of love — at least a woman such as herself, already fortunate enough to be a gentleman’s daughter — likely varied substantially from that of a man, especially one like Mr. Darcy. What she truly feared was marriage to a husband who would not treat her with the consideration and enduring respect necessary to ensure a contented home life and the security that she, as a mother and wife, would need in order to bear and nurture children. She was well aware that, to most of society, social advancement, wealth, and security were the greatest considerations when contemplating marriage, not the impractical sentiments that were written of in romantic novels. While she disagreed with such cold-blooded calculation as the sole basis for entering a marriage, she could not completely disregard such considerations. Certainly, she had not thought before of the security her children would enjoy with Mr. Darcy as a father, but the advantages could not be ignored, not when added to all else that she had considered that night.
After long hours of pacing and arguing aloud, she found herself arriving at the same conclusion as had her friend Charlotte, though for n
ot always the same reasons: From any rational point of view, it made no sense to refuse a proposal of marriage from Fitzwilliam Darcy!
The shock of these reasoned conclusions was profound, and Elizabeth was dazed as she sat in bed. Her feelings had not changed materially. She still did not know him — not truly — not like Jane knew Bingley, certainly. No, she and Mr. Darcy were certainly not similar in their character or temperament, but she was forced to admit that they were well suited in the manner of intellect and capabilities. The fact that she could now contemplate a future as Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy with perfect equanimity was most astonishing! She was well aware that the arguments in Darcy’s favour were all matters of logic and rationality and that she did not feel the same for him that he did for her. But her debate that evening had, for the first time, kindled a kind regard toward him and his admitted goal of a formal courtship, and she now found herself looking forward to renewing their acquaintance. Indeed, the prospect no longer aroused any opposition but rather engendered a surprising feeling of cheerful anticipation.
He had shown himself to be more than worthy of her respect, and the dreaded possibility of being trapped in a loveless marriage did not appear to threaten since she believed in the sincerity of his affections. If they did marry, it appeared that at least she would be loved. In this regard, he surely had more to lose than she since she could give no absolute guarantee that she could learn to love him. Surely he must understand that. Nevertheless, he had been mistaken with regard to her feelings before, so she must be sure that he did understand. She would speak with him, to affirm that he was not deceived as to her feelings before matters proceeded further. But, if the future turned out as it now appeared that it might, she felt comfortable that she could be a good wife to him with every possibility of contentment and happiness for herself and the children she hoped to bear.