Chapter 6
“A headache, did you say?” asked Darcy.
“Yes,” nodded Charlotte, a little confused, since she had oftentimes repeated the reason for her friend’s absence through the course of the evening; and yet somehow, Mr. Darcy did not look convinced.
Setting down the empty cup of tea, he kneaded his strained brows for a minute before glancing up to examine the faces of those seated around him, once again; as if wishing for it would cause her to magically appear in their midst. And when that futile exercise grew tiring, he looked aside, his fingers beginning to fidget with the cuff of his shirt.
The alterations in his thoughts and manner were not an easy occurrence to discern. Or perhaps, his mind could discern it but he chose not to give it a name, for he always considered himself to be a man of reasonable sensibilities, above and beyond such sentiments. However, Darcy could no longer refute the fact that in the past weeks his peace had steadily deteriorated, as had his sanity .
The incessant dilemmas at night that stole his sleep, the frantic entries in the journal, the awkward spells of silence during their gatherings at the cottage , the constant excuses so he could be at the park at a specific hour, the disjointed questions during their walks together - it was all so very unlike him. But try as he might, he could not stop himself from engaging in these frivolous activities, so long as it gave him an opportunity to be around her, which seemed to be the only remedy for this persistent turmoil within.
And now that she wasn’t here when he hoped she would be, it was most definitely the worst form of unrest he ever endured. There was little appetite in him for food, the tea tasted marginally better than water and he had lesser patience than usual to endure the empty conversations of those around him. As luck would have it, Darcy had not realised it for what it was when the sight of her fine eyes had struck him strongly, in Longbourn; nor had he paid heed to his gnawing discomfort at the growing familiarity between his cousin and Miss Bennet. Had he recognised it then, he would have saved himself endless hours of agony. But he did so today, following her unexpected absence; and he thus perceived the only lasting cure for such unrest was to make Elizabeth Bennet his permanent companion and wife.
Wherefore, to end the agony within his chest once and for all, he would propose to her and do so without delay. Could there then be a better opportunity to avail than the one presenting itself now, when she was alone in the cottage where they could speak without interruption and he could freely express his emotions?
“Yes. Now,” he decided, all of a sudden - a decision that was only strengthened following his aunt’s unsolicited arrival by his side thereafter.
“I apologise, ma’am , but I think I must excuse myself from company now,” Darcy rose from his chair before Lady Catherine would embark on one of her characteristic speeches. “I am not feeling too well and I hope to step out for some air to see if it would help.”
Withdrawing from the gathering with a quick nod, he then approached his room and grabbed from his bag the personal journal that held proof of his sincere love for Miss Bennet. Stepping outdoors, he paced in the direction of the lanes that led to the cottage, his heart beating against his ribcage harder and faster than it ever had.
Miss Bennet would be shocked at first, he presumed, for he was not certain if she harboured any tenderness towards him. That said, he had no doubt that a woman as wise as she would soon see the great advantage of wealth and rank that a proposal from a man of his standing would bring her family. Her parents would surely see no reason for objection and it should not take long for Miss Bennet to make up her mind either, he surmised. “Certainly not more than an hour.”
If it all went to plan, he could possibly make her his intended the very next day, and announce his plans for a wedding before he was to leave Kent.
Of course, it was not going to be a proposition without its fair share of troubles, and there would be scandal in his society when the news came out. Above all, Lady Catherine was going to be most displeased when she learnt of it since she had never stopped nurturing dreams of seeing her rich nephew wedded to her own daughter.
But he would have to disappoint her now, for a marriage with Elizabeth Bennet was one thing Mr. Darcy knew he truly wanted.
***
All alone at the cottage house now, Elizabeth, hurriedly plucked out each and every letter that Jane had sent her since her arrival at Kent, eager to read its lines again as if to find further reason to despise the actions of Mr. Darcy and all else concerned. Grievances there were none, nor was there a hint of longingness or of attempts to unburden her torment with a sister. However, the sentiments were pale, the passages affected with a shadow of gloom; and there was no sunny optimism, no hopefulness in any word or phrase - a deeper truth she had not realised in any of her earlier reads. The very essence of cheerfulness that used to so naturally be the temperament of Jane Bennet had been trampled upon with cruelty, like the petals of an innocent flower come under the boots of a man. And to think that Mr. Darcy had found it in him to laud himself over such cruelty, considering the despair inflicted upon her sister as a victory of sorts!
Exhausted, Elizabeth eventually tucked the letters back into the drawer and returned to the little solace that the comfort of a bed and pillow would afford her. For a while, the only relief she could muster was that Mr. Darcy would be leaving Rosings in a day’s time. A slightly greater relief came in the subsequent recollection that she would see Jane again in less than two weeks, allowing her to be a true sister by helping her disposition improve.
True, it would also mean Colonel Fitzwilliam would leave in a day’s time, the lack of his lively presence coming as a loss to Rosings, and Elizabeth knew she would always look back at their days spent together with a degree of fondness. But it could be nothing beyond fondness as the Colonel seemed to hint, and she would not sadden herself about it.
“A day’s time…”
Despite all of it, there was something apart from anger born in her following that lengthy examination of the letters. It was a compulsive nagging feeling that led her to believe with conviction, as the empty minutes passed, that she must confront Mr. Darcy once before he left and she was to never see him again - to ask him what might have caused him to misjudge Jane so and spread lies. One would think it foolish that she wished to confront at all, as the repercussions of such a confrontation could leave her more troubled than she was now. But for whatever reason she did. And with those troubling thoughts for company, alongside a persistent headache, her eyelids finally drew down to a shut.
***
Three hurried knocks later, it was a servant who opened the door, letting him know that Miss Bennet had fallen suddenly unwell, was resting, and had asked not to be disturbed until the morrow.
“Asked not to be disturbed until tomorrow?” mulled Darcy by the doorway, before dragging his heavy feet backward , coming face to face with the reality that in an abrupt second all of his plans had shattered into pieces as numerous as those in a broken mirror. In a day’s time he was meant to leave Rosings, a departure that meant he would know not when or how he might again see her in person. A marriage proposal was a matter of great importance that could not be done through letters. It left him wondering if there was a higher meaning to all of this.
However, he had no option just then but to leave the doorstep a dejected man, and in no state of mind to return to Rosings yet, Darcy turned around and followed wherever it was that his legs led him.
A short ramble later he found himself in the park at their favourite haunt. Approaching the park bench, he took a seat on it, ruminating upon the events of the evening and how gravely it was affecting him. When leaving for the cottage he was very determined and hopeful of seeking love. But somehow, being unable to see her had both taken away that sense of romantic hope and possibly brought unto him a little clarity that had gone astray too.
In his propensity to seek an alliance with her, he had earlier brushed aside the scandal in society t
hat the tidings would generate. It was now, as he sat and deliberated with a clearer mind, that he saw how far-reaching the effects of such a scandal might be. How it would affect his standing in society, how it would affect the rest of his household, and above all - how it might affect future prospects for his sister. He imagined the shocked expressions on the faces of his aunt, his cousin and then Miss Bennet herself, in reaction to the news.
“Perhaps,” he concluded at length, “it is not meant to be.”
Perhaps, he was being reckless, succumbing to the whims of youth like many a man. Or maybe, it was his pride to blame, becoming desirous of what it could not own or have.
Sometime later, he removed his journal and started writing, describing his views upon the last of its pages. And when he read what he wrote, it sent a shudder up his spine, for it felt as if it were an end, a conclusion to a very important chapter in his life.
“Since there is not a single soul in the world whom I could trust with my torment, I must share it with the paper. And I will conquer this turmoil, I will burn everything – this journal, my wishes and my desires. Her memory.”
The ensuing morning, the grief in his heart had not abated - not that he expected it to. But by carrying a stubborn burden heavier than the heaviest stone on his chest, Darcy hoped a brisk ride, out in the open, might at least lighten it for a while.
Hopping onto the saddle of his horse, he looked up at the sun, his eyes crinkling as its first orange rays touched them. With a tug at the reins, he trotted off.
***
It was a new morning for her too and thankfully, after the night’s sleep, her headache from the previous evening had diminished. And so had some of her anger it seemed. Thence, her will to confront him emboldened once again by the reminder that it might be the only chance she ever got to do so, Elizabeth dressed in her walk attire and made her way out, towards the park where she had met him oftentimes lately. She hoped he would be there this morn too; for the seclusion of the place would give them an opportunity to exchange words without restriction.
Unfortunately though, on reaching the park, she was to discover that Mr. Darcy was nowhere to be seen. With mixed emotions, she gradually traipsed up to the park bench beside the oak tree, the spot where he frequently sat. She was startled to chance upon a thick, brown leather-bound book lying by the bushes beneath.
“Mr. Darcy’s journal?” she gasped, wondering how he might have forgotten it there. Her eyes glimpsed around, almost expecting to see his figure come strolling from the other end. But many such minutes later, Elizabeth heard or saw no one. Prompted by propriety, placed the journal on the bench so he might find it there if he came seeking it.
However, as she began walking off, her feet were soon slowed by her wavering resolve in the face of temptation.
“What if it were to rain?” she conjured up a petty excuse, so she would be justified in taking a book that belonged to another.
Deliberating with her sensibilities for a moment or two, Elizabeth eventually retraced her steps and picked the lone journal up. With the book tucked in her hold, she resumed her journey onwards, realising with time how strange its leather felt against her palms. Somehow, it did not take long for temptation to strike again, luring her to open its leaves and take a peek at its contents, its pages calling out to her as if it were a fruit forbidden.
Alarmed at first, she promptly brushed the notion away, “It would not be a noble thing to do!”
However, such civilities were soon refuted by the question of why she chose to be noble towards someone who had been so ignoble in the treatment of her family and her sister.
Besides, what if she were to get her answers from its pages, truer answers than he might give her in person - about his sentiments behind his scheming intervention, about his opinions of her sister.
Giving in to curiosity finally, she opened it and gathering together all threads of courage, she prepared to read his words . But, how many ever threads of courage she might have gathered, it would not have prepared her spirits for what she was about to read.
There was little mention of his good friend, hardly any mention of her sister at all; and for whatever reason, plenty of references to her. “My name?” she repeatedly doubted, checking its cover twice; but even as she did so, her conscience was aware that the coincidences were far too plenty for it to be anything other than the personal journal belonging to Mr. Darcy.
Bewildered, she flipped thirty pages back, her eyes landing at an entry from a month ago.
“The solitary struggles of my heart continue. How much longer will I have to suffer in stifling silence, I am unaware. But, there shall come a time when my feelings cannot be ignored, and that will be the day I shall let Miss Bennet know how ardently I admire and love her.”
In such clear and distinct lines, it spoke about his emotions for her that the simplest of minds would not mistake its intent. Yet Elizabeth could not bring herself to believe what she read, the alarm too great to bear.
“Love? Love? Could not be,” she shivered, the fingers that were holding the page beginning to tremble. Attributing the entry to the perverse play of nature, she opened another page, and then another. While the words were different, the sentiments expressed were the same, and so were the names; going so far as to reveal that he had intended to propose to her. But the most perplexing of its contents lay in his latest entry.
“Since there is not a single soul in the world whom I could trust with my torment, I must share it with the paper. And I will conquer this turmoil, I will burn everything – this journal, my wishes and my desires. Her memory.”
“Oh dear God!” She nearly dropped the book. While she had been hoping to get some insight into his thoughts, she had ended up with a long glimpse of his deepest feelings instead. And she, Elizabeth Bennet, was at the centre of them all!
A haze came over her head and heart, fogged by her flutters from knowing she was the object of a prideful man’s affection, by her inherent hostility towards him and by plain shock. It made her uncertain if she was meant to laugh or cry.
But before she could give in to either of those reactions, the sounds of horse hooves from a distant end of the grove jolted her out of her daze. “Mr. Darcy?” she exclaimed under her breath. With no time to waste, she hastened to replace the book by the bushes from where she had picked it up and swiftly made her way to the tall rows of trees, lurking in the concealment of their shade to observe what would happen.
In less than a few hoof-beats, the steed was brought to a halt by the rockery.
Elizabeth watched as he got off his horse headed right for the park bench. A short and hurried search was all it took for him to find what he had come looking for. Picking the journal up, Mr. Darcy glanced around to make sure he was alone, and then departed on his steed, kicking it into a fast gallop.
Chapter 7
Elizabeth stared at the contents of her plate that were nothing beyond a haze to her distracted attentions.
“I will conquer this turmoil, my wishes and my desires. Her memory.”
Her fingers continued tracing patterns on an empty corner of her plate, the gentle screeches of the fork against ceramic barely reaching her ears. “But, how?” She always fancied herself as the owner of a pair of keen eyes and a very curious mind. It, therefore, continued to be a source of great surprise to her that she had been so blind to the sentiments of a man, with whom she had had the misfortune of several meetings, and so imperceptive about the intentions lying beneath his stubborn conceit.
Her thoughts came to a brief halt, as she recalled his proclamations made at Netherfield.
“My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost, is lost forever.”
The tip of her fork sharply stopped at a spot, as she suffered a pang of mild vexation. If he was the sort of man too proud to change his opinions, what caused him to change his opinion of her? “And from when?”
She picked a stray pea and popped it between her lips, munc
hing on it with little interest.
At the first ball, he refused to be impressed by her appearance, and would not so much as bother himself to approach her for a dance. Words exchanged between them thereon, had not been of the most agreeable kind either.
Elizabeth reflected back to their few odd encounters at Netherfield Park .
“Well yes,” she might have occasionally caught herself becoming the unwitting object of his long gazes. After all, one would not deny that their personalities shared some likeness - both of them adamant and aloof in their own rights. “Perhaps, that spurred a fleeting interest in him?” she subsequently surmised, while her fork toyed with another solitary pea. However, it was hardly indicative of a love that ran as deeply within the trenches of his heart as the pages of his journal made it out to be.
“Was it here? At Rosings, then?”
But, how might her speech or manners have differed at Rosings, from what it had been at Netherfield, to bring upon him such a drastic change? Other than supposedly playing the role of a poised audience to his odd questions during their many walks at the grove.
“Wait a moment,” her eyelids widened, just as she was to pick up another pea.
“Hereafter, whenever you come down to Kent, and you stay at the Rosings mansion, would you be inclined to continue this routine?”
“So, that was what it was!” That seemingly disjointed query was not in regard to her acquaintance with Colonel Fitzwilliam but in regard to her acquaintance with himself! “In fact,” she abruptly realised, “it was what all those incidental meetings at the grove were about, were they not?”
For The Sake Of Her Happiness Page 5