The Confession of Fitzwilliam Darcy

by Mary Street

  ‘Insufferable,’ I agreed. ‘That is one family I am not disposed to cultivate.’

  ‘Well, I feel sorry for Jane Bennet. It is very sad she should be encumbered by such unfortunate relations.’

  Having disposed of the Bennets, the sisters then went on to acquaint me with the opinions they had formed of the Lucases.

  ‘Sir William Lucas received his knighthood at St James’s Court,’ said Miss Bingley. With a tremor of indignation, she added, ‘He told me all about it. I am persuaded it is his favourite subject of conversation.’

  ‘Let us hope it is not his only subject of conversation.’

  ‘I rather think it is.’

  We spent the rest of the evening in this manner, regarding the assembled company with no enthusiasm.

  Bingley danced with the ladies; Miss Elizabeth Bennet danced with other gentlemen.

  Eventually, the musicians began to put away their instruments. ‘At last!’ sighed Miss Bingley, echoing my own sentiments.

  Bingley had found pleasure in the evening. He was quite put out to discover the event was drawing to a close, dismayed to discover the next assembly was not for another four weeks.

  He went on to assure himself of great success with all the ladies of Hertfordshire by impetuously declaring an intention of giving a ball at Netherfield.

  Caroline Bingley raised her eyes heavenward and invited me, with a look, to share her exasperation.

  I might have done so, had not my attention been caught by one pair of eyes: eyes which were looking at me; eyes which held an expression of expectancy: eyes which were gleefully anticipating my displeasure.

  And I knew, with a vague feeling of uneasiness, there was, after all, nothing deficient about Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

  Two

  ALTHOUGH I HAD been obliged to revise one of my opinions regarding Miss Elizabeth Bennet, this did not incline me to favour that lady with greater admiration. When she came with the other Bennets to pay a morning visit, I studied her closely, determined to discover any flaws which I had overlooked at the Meryton assembly.

  She had very little beauty to recommend her, and I said as much to Bingley. I insisted her features were not at all handsome, her figure lacked symmetry, her manners were by no means those of the fashionable world.

  ‘Well, I think she is uncommonly pretty,’ said Bingley defiantly. ‘And from what I have seen of her so far, I would say she is most friendly and agreeable. She is not the equal of her sister, of course, but that lady is without parallel. No angel in Heaven could be more beautiful or amiable than Miss Jane Bennet.’

  I believe my friend would have quarrelled with me had I not been willing to allow that the eldest Miss Bennet was very pretty: he came near to it when I said she smiled too much.

  ‘You should try smiling, yourself,’ he said with a sudden flash of spirit. ‘Do you never tire of being displeased, Darcy? Upon my soul, I believe you take pleasure in finding fault and looking at the world with disdain.’

  I was taken aback, for even a hint of temper in Bingley was most unusual: as a rule, he is the most amiable of men. ‘Am I so disagreeable?’ I asked.

  ‘Sometimes you are.’ Then he grinned. ‘You know you are.’

  ‘Have you determined what is to be done about it?’

  ‘There is nothing to be done about it,’ he said seriously. ‘You are too clever. You will descend to the level of ordinary mortals only by falling violently in love and making yourself ridiculous.’

  ‘Heaven forbid!’

  ‘In your case, Heaven may,’ replied Bingley, ‘though I confess I have not entirely given up hope.’

  I regarded him searchingly, wondering if he hoped I would succumb to his sister’s charms: it could not have escaped his notice that the lady was favouring me with her attentions.

  I was not deceived: her design was matrimony, but I knew her affection for me had been greatly assisted by her admiration of Pemberley and by her ambition to increase her wealth and consequence.

  For Bingley’s sake I was patient with her, though I was careful to give her no encouragement. She was pretty, she could be good company, but there was something calculating about her which repelled any desire for greater intimacy.

  It was not a subject I could discuss with her brother. I only said, ‘Why should falling in love make me ridiculous? I have often seen you fall in love in a perfectly charming way.’

  ‘You and I are not alike, my friend.’

  We were not, but I was proof against flattery and since he was disposed to court the ladies and admire their charms, I would have supposed him to be more susceptible than myself.

  I was cooler with the ladies, for my situation attracted the attention of designing females. There were many ladies who looked upon me as a matrimonial prize.

  There were times when this was irksome, but I would not be moved by flattery: I had long since determined my own happiness could best be served by applying some rational consideration to my choice of a wife, and I had knowledge of my own requirements which had, so far, steered me away from unsuitable attachments.

  I could afford to be indifferent to fortune, although it went without saying she must have impeccable connections. I knew I could be attracted by beauty; I also knew that beauty alone would not sway me: she must have robust good health. This was an important consideration, for I needed to secure a future generation and, moreover, I had no wish to be burdened with a sickly wife.

  But most important of all, any lady who aspired to become Mrs Darcy must have superior intellect, strength of character, and a disposition which was pleasing to me.

  Even though my expectations were high, I did not despair of finding such a lady.

  Meanwhile, I managed my estates and enjoyed all the usual sporting and social engagements of a gentleman. There were ladies who entertained hopes of influencing my feelings, but not because I had given them cause.

  That evening, Bingley’s sisters were discussing Miss Jane Bennet. They said again she was a sweet girl and expressed an intention of forming a better acquaintance with her.

  ‘Miss Eliza Bennet also seems tolerable,’ added Miss Bingley. ‘I would not object to knowing more of that lady, what say you, Louisa?’

  Mrs Hurst agreed. ‘She is a great favourite with her sister, which must surely be a point in her favour.’

  ‘Cultivating the acquaintance of any Bennet will involve us with the less desirable members of the family,’ I said.

  Mrs Hurst pointed out that we could hardly escape the acquaintance. ‘Silly as Mrs Bennet is, she is also determined. She will impose on us, however discouraging we are. By showing our preferences, we may have less to do with the others.’

  The ladies agreed they would pay a visit to Longbourn in two days’ time. Bingley declared that he would accompany them.

  I made no such declaration, but in the event, I also went. The uneasy feelings I had about Miss Elizabeth Bennet were, I now perceived, insufficient to convince Bingley and his sisters that the lady had nothing to recommend her. I must produce some good solid reasoning in support of my arguments. Clearly, then, it was necessary to observe her very closely and subject her to a most critical appraisal.

  With this in mind, I went to Longbourn. We were shown into the morning room and I was piqued to discover that I would not, that day, observe any fault in Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She was not there.

  Miss Jane Bennet was there, as was Mrs Bennet and two of the younger girls. All the Bingleys were welcomed with warm effusion from Mrs Bennet: my own reception was civil, but cooler. I displayed my indifference and sat down with the others.

  Bingley’s sisters were at their most charming, complimenting Mrs Bennet on the room, the furnishings and the delightful gardens outside. They mentioned plans for alterations at Netherfield, declaring the place had been sadly neglected. Bingley smiled at Jane Bennet: Jane Bennet smiled at everyone.

  Since my own design had been defeated, I left conversation to the others. I soon learned Miss Eliza
beth had taken herself out for a walk. Miss Elizabeth often went out walking in the countryside.

  I was surprised she was allowed to roam about alone, but said nothing. Caroline Bingley remarked on the matter. Mrs Bennet, with many silly asides, hastened to assure Miss Bingley she could not be quite easy about it herself. Mr Bennet, however, always overruled her. Lizzy was Mr Bennet’s favourite. For him, she could do no wrong.

  ‘My sister,’ said Jane Bennet mildly, ‘has a deep love of the countryside and her high spirits need the relief of fresh air and exercise.’

  Before we left, Bingley called upon his sisters to join him in extending an invitation to the Bennets to dine with us at Netherfield.

  Later, the two ladies proposed that we should invite other neighbours to make up a large party. Bingley readily agreed to this and the Lucases, the Gouldings and the Longs were engaged to dine with us on the same evening.

  ‘We must have them sometime,’ said Mrs Hurst, when her brother was not present, ‘so we might as well have them all at once. Besides, Caroline and I are agreed we could not endure a whole evening with none but the Bennets. Jane Bennet is a sweet girl, and Miss Eliza is acceptable, but the family…!’

  That dinner party was the occasion of my first meeting with Mr Bennet, a shrewd, scholarly-looking man who appeared to be in his mid-fifties. I realized at once that he and his wife were strangely mis-matched, and I wondered what had possessed him to choose such a foolish woman. I had to suppose she had once been pretty and he had been beguiled by her looks. He would not be the only man to make such a mistake.

  It was not until after dinner, when the ladies had withdrawn from the table, that he paid any particular attention to me. Then he regarded me with amused, limpid eyes and said, ‘You are from Derbyshire, sir, as I understand?’

  I saw the thin lips twitch as I acknowledged the fact. ‘The finest county in England, if my sister-in-law is to be believed,’ he went on. ‘She grew up in the village of Lambton, which is in the north of the county, if I am not mistaken?’

  ‘That is so, sir. Lambton is but five miles from Pemberley.’ I was sure he did not need to be told Pemberley was mine.

  ‘Well, well. Perhaps the world is not so large as we are pleased to think.’ There was a faintly satirical note in his voice and I wondered if he meant to discover whether I had some acquaintance in common with his sister-in-law.

  Perhaps something warned him not to try. Instead, he asked me about the petrifying wells, about which he had heard something. ‘I must confess myself sceptical,’ he said. ‘I cannot really believe objects can be turned to stone, simply by placing them in the water.’

  ‘The explanation is perfectly simple,’ I told him. ‘There are mineral deposits in the water which are left behind on any object placed under the spring. In time, a crust is formed. Anything so covered has an appearance of being turned to stone.’

  ‘Ah, now I understand. You have a very succinct way of explaining matters, Mr Darcy.’

  ‘I have that reputation, sir.’

  The subject had caught Bingley’s interest. ‘This is incredible, Darcy,’ he said. ‘Never until this moment have I heard of petrifying wells, for all the times I have been in Derbyshire. Such curiosities! Why have you never spoken of them, why have you never shown them to us?’

  ‘I had no thought of it,’ I confessed. ‘But since you are interested, we may visit the one in Matlock when next we go into the county.’

  The rest of that dinner party was unremarkable, for my design of observing the faults of Miss Elizabeth Bennet was frustrated by the lady contriving to remain elusive. At dinner, she had been seated some distance from me, where I could neither see nor hear her. Later, when we gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing-room, my attention was claimed by Miss Bingley. Miss Jane Bennet was with that lady, but her sister was across the room, conversing with Miss Charlotte Lucas. After coffee, the card tables were brought out. Miss Elizabeth Bennet not only chose a table on the far side of the room from myself, but also seated herself where others obstructed my view of her.

  That evening, I discerned nothing to support my arguments against Elizabeth Bennet and I could only repeat my assertions that she was certainly no beauty.

  In spite of my assertions, the pleasing manners of the two eldest Bennet girls had grown on the goodwill of Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst.

  I was all astonishment when, dining at Longbourn a few days later, I realized that Bingley’s sisters were making little progress in their overtures towards the second Miss Bennet. Miss Jane Bennet seemed pleased with their attention. Miss Elizabeth Bennet treated them with every civility but, when manners allowed her a choice of society, she showed a preference for her friend, Charlotte Lucas.

  At Longbourn that evening, I discovered Mrs Bennet had a sister. Mrs Philips was a vulgar, talkative woman and the only pleasing thing about her was that she made no attempt to converse with me. She lived in Meryton and from there she had brought news which attracted the lively attention of her youngest nieces.

  ‘A whole regiment of soldiers!’ Miss Lydia Bennet could not contain her delight upon learning that a certain troop of the militia were to take up winter quarters in Meryton. ‘Now we shall see some fun!’

  Miss Catherine Bennet shared her sister’s sentiments. Then I heard the lofty voice of Miss Mary Bennet. ‘Such matters, I am afraid, have little interest for me. I much prefer a book!’

  The two younger girls stared at their sister in amazement and behind me I heard a faint gurgle of laughter. I turned, and accidentally met a pair of eyes that were brimming over with merriment.

  I looked away, startled by the discovery that Bingley had been right. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was indeed uncommonly pretty: in fact, the huge dark eyes with their intelligent expression gave her a quality which went beyond mere beauty.

  I made certain, that evening, of positioning myself where I could observe her: my first glances discovered a flawless complexion and a healthy sheen upon the dark hair. Later, I was forced to acknowledge that, even though she lacked the elegant proportions of her sister Jane, her figure was light and pleasing.

  My attention was drawn to her playful spirits when I heard her own comment on the expected arrival of the regiment. ‘Indeed, I shall be most disappointed have I not had my heart broken by Christmas.’

  ‘Oh, Lizzy!’ Jane’s answering chuckle brought to mind the first time I had heard it, at the Meryton assembly. The remark which I had then found offensive was, in fact, no more than a light-hearted pleasantry, not meant to be taken seriously.

  I felt a pang of regret at having refused to dance with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

  On the way back to Netherfield, Bingley’s sisters were scathing in their derision of Mrs Philips, Mrs Bennet and the younger girls. ‘Upon my soul,’ said Mrs Hurst, ‘should the officers of the regiment know what awaits them, I believe they would prefer to be fighting the French!’

  Eventually, Bingley contrived to turn the conversation to the sweet girl, for whom the ladies had nothing but admiration.

  I said nothing. My mind was agreeably taken up with a girl who, I suspected, was not so sweet, but who showed promise of something more interesting. I was now wishful of knowing her better.

  I saw her next at a party given by Sir William Lucas. By this time, the militia had arrived in Meryton and one might have been excused for thinking they had taken up their quarters in the Lucas drawing-room, that evening. Certainly there was a liberal splash of scarlet among the more sober colours of the non-military gentlemen.

  Our host and hostess were talking to the colonel of the regiment, a man named Forster, and when we went across to pay our compliments, we were introduced. Also in the group were Miss Charlotte Lucas, Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Miss Jane Bennet. Some minutes were spent whilst the others had the kind of meaningless conversation which seems necessary between strangers. I looked at Elizabeth Bennet.

  Sir William and Lady Lucas moved away to greet some new arrivals, Bingley and his
sisters moved away with the sweet girl. Elizabeth glanced at me, a glint of laughter in her eyes and, as she turned to Colonel Forster, she said, ‘I hope, sir, you will allow your officers to attend our Meryton assemblies. They will be greatly appreciated, I assure you. We young ladies love to dance, is that not so, Charlotte? Yet lately, there has been a most regrettable shortage of partners.’

  I did not need to see the faint trace of alarm on Miss Lucas’s face to know that Miss Elizabeth Bennet was taking a playful rap at me.

  Colonel Forster suspected nothing. He responded with heavy gallantry. ‘If that is so, ma’am, I shall insist they attend.’

  Laughter gurgled in her throat. ‘Thank you, you are very good. And perhaps when you are settled here, you might even give a ball yourself, sir?’

  ‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure, ma’am, I assure you.’

  Miss Elizabeth Bennet allowed herself another laughing glance at me. I could only stand, speechless, in admiration.

  The ladies excused themselves, leaving me to discuss the affairs of the nation with Colonel Forster. And I, well aware it would be unwise to show my interest in Elizabeth too openly, allowed an hour to pass before I approached her again.

  She had spoken to many but now she was back with Miss Lucas. On observing my approach, the girls spoke to each other briefly, then Elizabeth, eyes sparkling, turned to me. ‘Do you not think, Mr Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?’

  ‘With great energy.’ We were not to forget the subject of balls, I surmised. Miss Bennet intended to enjoy several chuckles at Mr Darcy’s expense. ‘It is a subject which always makes a lady energetic.’

  ‘You are severe on us.’

  Miss Lucas seemed to feel I needed rescuing from Elizabeth’s pleasantry. She nodded to me and said, ‘It will be her turn soon to be teased. I am going to open the instrument, Eliza, and you know what follows.’