by Janet Aylmer
“You are unkind,” said Georgiana, smiling at Darcy, “for I am sure that the baby’s mother would be very distressed if I did not take an interest. And in any case, I can be useful in helping to keep the elder little boy occupied. Otherwise, that task might fall to cousin Fitzwilliam!”
Fitzwilliam did not seem too worried by this possibility, but Darcy was amused by the exchange, and reflected that, at least amongst people she knew well, his sister was becoming much more confident about taking her part in conversation. To date, her shyness had perhaps appeared to some who did not know her well as indifference, or pride.
That rapidly brought him to the thought that the same could be said about himself, and to the conversation he had in the drawing room at Rosings with Miss Bennet and Fitzwilliam.
What had he said then—
“We neither of us perform to strangers.”
That certainly applied to himself; but to her?
His mind wandered on to Miss Bennet’s rejection of his suit, and her words then.
“I might as well enquire why with so evident a design of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character? Was not this some excuse for incivility, if I was uncivil?”
That had been a hard thrust for a man to accept who had always prided himself on his propriety of address.
“You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that the mode of your declaration affected me in any other way, than as it spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner.”
“From the very beginning, from the first moment I may almost say, of my acquaintance with you, your manners impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others ...I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.”
“You could not have made me the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it.”
Oh, what painful recollections these were.
“Darcy! You are not listening to a word I am saying!” cried his cousin.
Darcy came to with a start.
“I beg your pardon,” he replied. “What did you want me to do?”
Fitzwilliam looked at him quizzically before repeating,
“Georgiana would enjoy a drive in the park tomorrow before luncheon, now that she has a choice of escort. Which of us is to go with her in the curricle?”
“You should go, for I shall have other opportunities to talk to her another day, when you must be elsewhere,” said Darcy.
After this, he was aware during the meal that Fitzwilliam was observing him closely, and he endeavoured to make pleasant conversation to both his companions. They were, after all, the people in the world most dear to him.
Or, at least, had been until he had met a lady with very fine eyes and a lively manner who...
Darcy took a grip on himself again, and succeeded in concentrating his attention on Georgiana and Fitzwilliam for the rest of the day.
* * *
On the following morning, when his sister and their cousin had gone for their drive in the park, Darcy went into the library.
Sitting down at his desk, he closed his eyes. A conversation at Netherfield came to his mind, with Miss Elizabeth Bennet present. What had Bingley said?
“I declare—I do not know a more aweful object than Darcy, on particular occasions and in particular places; at his own house especially, and of a Sunday evening when he has nothing to do.”
He had not cared for the remarks then, and had been glad that Miss Bennet had not laughed at him.
But now, except for the time of day, they seemed all too accurate. It appeared that in company he was likely to betray his preoccupation with recent events to those who knew him well and, when alone, he was condemned to relive those same events, moment by moment.
What had he said to Miss Elizabeth in the drawing room at Netherfield?
“My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost is lost for ever.”
But what of hers?
This was a wretched state of affairs. Darcy was not used to reviewing his own conduct critically, and certainly not with any possibility of taking a different view of himself from before.
His thoughts wandered to what the effect of his letter might have been. Even if Elizabeth Bennet was no longer deceived about the character of Mr. Wickham, even if she accepted his opinion of the unsuitability of her connections, of the conduct of her mother, had the manner of his address been so offensive? He wished that he could know what she was thinking, where she was at that moment, anything that might make him feel more at ease with himself.
She was to be in Kent for one more week, he knew, and then was to join her sister Jane in town for a few days before they travelled home to Hertfordshire.
But that knowledge could avail him nothing. He must learn not to care where or how she was.
19
These and many other unhappy thoughts continued to trouble Darcy over the days and weeks that followed.
His anxiety to justify what he had said to Elizabeth Bennet, to maintain to himself the correctness of his approach, did not long survive. He soon began to examine and re-examine every part of what he had said, every manner of expression he had used, on that fateful evening in Kent.
There seemed to be no escape from his uneasiness and confusion, which troubled him at every time of day, and wherever he was.
Avoiding as he often did the social round in town, and unable to visit Bingley’s house in the country, Darcy was tempted many times to leave for Pemberley and the peace of Derbyshire.
But Georgiana was busy with her music masters in London, and he had not the heart to deprive her of his company without any real excuse, until she went to visit his cousin’s family in Essex. It was some comfort to be with his sister, who was so dear to him. In any case, it seemed very doubtful whether he would gain any more peace of mind by leaving town.
On several occasions, when he was lost in thought, he caught Georgiana looking at him carefully, but she said nothing. Finally, one evening when they were alone, his sister asked him hesitantly, “Is there anything particular troubling you at the moment? I should so like to be of use if there is. You are always thinking of me, and I should like to help you in return.”
She coloured as she spoke, as though he might reprimand her, or speak in rebuff.
Darcy was not sure for a moment how best to reply.
For many years an only child, he had been accustomed to being without a confidant where the affairs of the heart were concerned. Until now, Georgiana had always been very much his younger sister, someone for him to protect rather than to share his problems with.
“I am not sure how to answer you,” he said slowly. “It is a matter of...affection, about someone to whom I would have given no attention previously. Although I do not find our aunt Lady Catherine easy company, I have always shared her view that it is of primary importance to marry well, to seek an alliance with someone of our own consequence. Do you not agree?”
He was surprised to see that she looked very shaken.
Then she said, “Are you referring to Mr. Wickham? To what happened last year, before I had the benefit of your advice?”
“No, no, of course not,” he said quickly, anxious to reassure her.
“You were sadly misled, and in any case you had, to begin with, no one, no mother, no one, to turn to.”
His sister looked very relieved. Darcy went on, finding himself more comfortable than he had expected in being able to speak to someone about his agony of mind.
“No, I will be honest with you, I am thinking of my own situation. Georgiana, you do understand how important social position and family matters are to me?”
“Too much reliance on that does not often seem to lead to happiness,” Georgiana said
, reflectively. “I would hope that you would marry someone you find congenial. You do not often seem to find people you admire in town, nor when you went to Hertfordshire, from what you said to me before. Is that not so? And even those people whom you seem to prefer can be very,” she paused, “sharp, like Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst.”
Darcy looked at her in surprise, for his sister had not ventured this opinion to him previously with such clarity.
It was perhaps because he had begun to share her view about Bingley’s sisters, after their comments on Miss Elizabeth Bennet in Hertfordshire, that he decided to tell her something of the truth.
“Perhaps you can help me, for I am very troubled in my mind. Whilst I was at Rosings with cousin Fitzwilliam, I met again a lady, a Miss Elizabeth Bennet, whose family come from Hertfordshire, near the house that Charles Bingley took on lease last Michaelmas.
“I realised then that I . . . liked her very much better than many people I have met. Miss Bennet is one of the few people I could rely on to...to keep a secret of mine. But her family are not superior, particularly her mother, her mother’s family and her younger sisters.
“I met her again because she was visiting her close friend Charlotte Lucas, who has married the rector at Hunsford.” Darcy stopped, for he could not bring himself to go as far as saying that he himself had then proposed marriage.
Then he went on, “I spoke to her more ...plainly... than I now think that I should have done, about the importance of connections and social position in marriage. And there were other things on which we disagreed.”
“I know that you would like her. She is not only lovely, and amiable, but she is also lively, accomplished in singing and dancing, and plays the piano-forte with pleasure. In truth, I like her very well indeed.”
“But how important are her connections, and how can I commend myself to her, in the unlikely event that we should ever meet again?”
The way in which he spoke, with more feeling than she had ever heard him, confirmed to Georgiana that her brother must have said many things that he now regretted.
Georgiana replied slowly, “I am not at all experienced in the ways of the world, as you are. But it seems to me that people are of good breeding if they behave in a genteel manner, are thoughtful and considerate, and not because of who they are, or because they are always proud of how much money or consequence they possess.”
She went on, “I know that you and I are well provided for, so surely we do not have to seek a fortune as cousin Fitzwilliam says that he must. I know that he may be jesting, at least a little, but you have this house, and Pemberley, and a great estate, and...”
Her courage then began to fail Georgiana, and her voice trailed away, as she began to think that she had said too much.
Her brother had turned and was deep in thought for some minutes.
Then he looked back at her and said, “I believe that you are right. Manners are important, but only if they are genuine. How I wish that I had talked with you before, for I may have said and done things that I may never be able to change, and shall always regret.”
Georgiana paused for a moment in case he said anything further.
When he did not, she said softly, “You can not be sure of that. Perhaps the best guide is to treat people, everyone you meet, with the politeness and consideration with which you would wish them to treat you?”
He looked at her in surprise, for this was indeed a novel thought for him.
He could not stop himself saying “Everyone?”
She did not reply, but looked at him steadily.
Darcy then said, “I understand you, but I fear that it may be too late. I do wish that you had been able to meet her.”
And with that, he left the room, leaving his sister to wonder what she could do to ease his evident distress.
The subject was not discussed between them any further, but Darcy tried no longer to justify to himself the manner in which he had spoken to Miss Bennet in Kent.
What at the time had seemed to be his proper concern at the inferiority of her connections, the degradation which an alliance with her family would bring, his satisfaction that the concerns he had expressed were natural and just, now seemed hollow, a convenience, to conceal his own insecurity, and feelings of inadequacy in company.
His confidence in the reasons that had led him to separate Bingley from her sister likewise came to diminish, to be an echo of his desire not to measure people by their real worth, to take comfort in social position rather than in genuine character and goodness.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s words to him on that afternoon at Hunsford came back so often to torture him.
“ . . . your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain for the feelings of others . . .”
It was a measure of how much Darcy’s view of himself had altered that he now questioned how he would have felt if she had used similar sentiments in speaking to him?
Darcy began to realise that, even if everything he had said to Miss Bennet had been well founded, the way he had expressed himself must have alienated her.
He feared now that his letter, which at the time he had thought had been composed calmly and in order to rectify her errors of knowledge, could only have increased the unfortunate effect of his words. He had thought that he had been rational and measured. Now his recollection was of his dreadful bitterness of spirit at rejection, when he had been so certain of success, of his desire then to demonstrate his superior position in society, and use her family circumstances and connections to denigrate her further.
Thus Darcy tortured himself over many days.
Worst of all was the knowledge that Wickham’s regiment was still stationed at Meryton. Elizabeth Bennet was likely to have every chance to be subject to his insidious charms and persuasions.
Although, in more rational moments, Darcy doubted whether his childhood companion would ever consider marriage to someone who could bring with her as little fortune as Elizabeth Bennet, that gave him no ease compared to the daily opportunities he imagined Wickham having to touch her heart and reinforce the feelings of, at the very least, compassion that she clearly felt for him. He could only hope that she gave some recognition to the intelligence about “that gentleman” as he had set out in his letter.
Georgiana, he knew, found him uncommunicative and distracted and, for her sake, he endeavoured to appear more cheerful than he felt.
When he was with his sister, he succeeded in putting Elizabeth Bennet out of his mind for much of the time. But elsewhere, and particularly through the long sleepless nights, she was never far from his thoughts.
He often had in his mind what Miss Bennet had said to Fitzwilliam at Rosings,
“Shall we ask your cousin... shall we ask him why a man of sense and education, and who has lived in the world, is ill qualified to recommend himself to strangers?”
And he recalled Fitzwilliam’s reply,
“It is because he will not give himself the trouble.”
How much he would give now to have the opportunity to take all the trouble in the world, if it would gain him the affections of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
20
In due time, his sister travelled with Fitzwilliam to see their cousin, the Earl’s elder son, and his young family in Essex, leaving Darcy in town to await the arrival of Bingley and his sisters. One afternoon soon after, when Darcy was just re-turned from visiting his attorney, an unexpected visitor called, carrying a message from Lady Catherine. It was Mrs. Collins, who explained that she was in town to execute some commissions for herself and for his aunt.
She told him that Lady Catherine had recently travelled to Bath in the hope of bringing some improvement in the health of her daughter by taking the waters at the Cross Bath. His aunt had written to Mrs. Collins to say that their arrival to stay off Laura Place had, as was only right and proper, been included prominently in the list of new visitors for that week in the Bath Chronicle. Anne’s condition would not permit them to attend a gath
ering in the Assembly Rooms, but they had been to a concert in the Pump Room. They had walked in the Sydney Gardens, where they had seen the canal recently built as part of the link between the rivers Kennet and Avon, and they hoped to be able to make an excursion in their carriage into the country round about the city.
Rather than take her daughter home thereafter, his aunt was planning to visit town for a few days before travelling on to Rosings, and had asked Mrs. Collins to tell her nephew of her intention. Darcy was surprised to learn of this, as Lady Catherine usually considered that the polluting air and exposure to too much society in London were injurious to Anne’s health. He recollected suddenly his aunt’s comments just before he had left Rosings, and asked his visitor whether she knew of any reason why his cousin would be making such a rare visit to town.
Mrs. Collins, looking rather embarrassed, said something had been mentioned, only in passing of course, about the possibility of a marriage for Anne. He did not reply directly, but changed the subject, to talk for a time of the commissions that she had to carry out in town.
He dared not ask after the one person he wished to hear of by name directly, but said “Do you have good news of your friends in Meryton?”
Mrs. Collins acknowledged that she had.
“Mr. Collins is not with you?” he tried next.
“No, Sir, his duties would not permit that. However, before she left for Bath, Lady Catherine had most graciously said that, since I agreed to carry this letter for you, I might use the second chaise as far as the turnpike.”
Darcy said that he was glad of that, as some recompense for her trouble.
Hoping to prompt her to some recollection of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, he went on to recall the last time they had met in Hertfordshire, at her father’s house, and then at the ball at Netherfield. Happily for him, this had the desired effect.