As she rose from the breakfast table, Colonel Fitzwilliam invited her to take a turn about the gardens with him. She hesitated for a moment, recalling both Darcy’s reaction to her spending time with him, and what the colonel must be thinking of her after witnessing Darcy’s behaviour the previous day. She reminded herself that she would have to face him sooner or later, and that Darcy had no right to dictate with whom she interacted, and agreed to join him.
The late spring flowers were in their full glory, and she was about to make a comment about them when her companion said, “So, Miss Bennet, why is it that you are refusing to marry my cousin?”
She coloured, taken quite by surprise by this indelicate and unexpected question, but finally mustered the composure to say, “Why, I am sure if he has told you that much, he would not have failed to mention my reasons.”
“True, but reports at second hand do tend to be distorted,” he replied affably, as if this were quite an everyday subject of conversation.
Elizabeth fervently wished she knew the content of his discourse with Darcy. “My reasons do not reflect ill on him in any way, and that, I believe, is all that truly matters.”
“Well, his version is that you are concerned a marriage between you would harm his reputation.”
She had to smile at his obvious intention to ignore her efforts to avoid the subject; it rather reminded her of Darcy. “I suppose you are going to tell me it would do nothing of the sort,” she said with some amusement. “I must warn you that I will not believe it.”
He shook his head. “In fact, I do not disagree with you.”
This response shocked Elizabeth, not that he should believe it, but that he would admit such a thing to her face. She rapidly revised the estimation she had made that he was trying to persuade her on his cousin’s behalf. She found it surprisingly painful to think that Colonel Fitzwilliam, as a representative of Darcy’s family, as well as a man who had formerly admired her, thought her unsuitable.
He continued reflectively, “I do wonder, however, how relevant it may be. While his sense of honour is very important to Darcy, what others think of him is less so. In some ways he has always been something of a misfit in the ton—he will not practice those little deceits polite society expects of us all. Were it not for his fortune easing his way, I doubt he would have had much social success in Town, and—to speak quite frankly—I doubt it would have troubled him greatly.”
Elizabeth, feeling now quite confused, raised an eyebrow to cover her discomfort. “I assume there is a point to this history?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam shrugged lightly. “Just that I do not imagine he would be particularly troubled if it did affect his social status. On the other hand, he seems very much troubled by the prospect of you continuing to refuse him.”
She could keep her silence no longer. “At the moment he is, but he is also a man accustomed to having matters arranged as he pleases, and is not used to being denied,” she said, surprising herself with her frankness. “Once he has what he wants, it may lose some of its appeal, and the cost might seem more unacceptable.”
He seemed to consider this for a few minutes as Elizabeth waited in some anxiety. Finally he said, “He has the means for having his own way, and when means are not enough, he has some skill in persuading people to give him his way in any case. But I have never seen him use his power for ill. As for whether he might change his mind later—well, I am somewhat surprised you would think it, but I forget that you would not have had the opportunity yet to know him all that well.”
The shifts in the conversation were definitely becoming disturbing. She decided to retreat, and said politely, “I have no doubt you are right.”
He cocked an eyebrow in her direction. “And I should mind my own affairs?”
Elizabeth sweetly denied saying anything of the sort, to which he replied, “I will not press you further, then, except to say that his affections run quite deep. I think you can trust him to know his own mind.”
This comment was to stay with Elizabeth for some time. Seeing Darcy so discouraged the previous day had brought home to her the depth of his distress with the situation, and it had troubled her deeply. She realized that she had in fact not trusted him to know his own mind, believing instead that much of his desire for her was because she was unattainable. It was hard to believe he could love her for herself when her own opinion of her worth and discernment had fallen so low. She had assumed he would eventually lose interest in her, and she was embarrassed to realize she had shown so little faith in the man she loved. She had once again deceived herself as well—she had been telling herself she was refusing him for his benefit, whereas in truth she was at least as afraid of the consequences for herself. She had been ruled by her fear that, as her father had, he might withdraw his affection for his wife out of regret for an ill-made marriage.
Before this, she had never allowed a man to make her unhappy. She had wanted Mr. Covington’s good opinion, but losing it would not have devastated her; the same could not be said for Darcy. She had discovered already more than a taste of the pain he could bring her. It seemed as if her life had become progressively harder ever since his first proposal of marriage, which had so shaken her idea of herself and her faith in her own perceptions. Then she had no sooner found her way to being content with her future as Mrs. Covington than he appeared again, only to cause her to fall in love with him, and as a result to throw away her entire future as well as her good reputation. Now he was back again, tormenting her with hope which she could not bring herself to trust.
Why had he ever returned to Hertfordshire? If he had never come back, she would have been married by now, with a respectable position in society and a husband of whom she was fond. Even if Mr. Covington had never provoked the passion or the excitement which Darcy could so easily do in her, would she have been so unhappy? She would never have known what she was missing, and she would also not have known the pain and hopelessness of the last year. Might not ignorance have been better than this? She felt a sudden surge of anger for his cavalier disruption of her entire life. He had as much as admitted that he had never expected her to break her engagement; why, then, had he come at all to charm her?
Perhaps what Colonel Fitzwilliam said was true, and she did not trust his affection as much as she should. But it had cost her so much already; how was she to have faith that it would do anything but make her as unhappy in the future? He had far too much power over her; it made her want to flee from him despite how much she longed for his company. But were her fears adequate justification for the distress they were both now experiencing? Was she still merely looking for excuses to avoid taking the risk of marriage?
She knew that most of her acquaintance, had they known of the situation, would ask why she should care if his reputation was hurt. They would point out that he had injured hers already, even if the cause and effect were not obvious. Why should she not take advantage of the relief from her present situation that marriage to him would bring, allowing her to be mistress of her own home, never to worry about money or her future again? Why should she care what it would mean for him, when he was begging her to marry him? But she would not, could not, think it; he was too dear to her.
An image of Darcy’s discouraged face the previous afternoon came before her, and suddenly the fire of her anger sputtered and went out. She knew he had paid as great a price for their love as she, perhaps not as visibly, but real nonetheless. He would never have hurt her deliberately; at worst he was guilty of a thoughtless disregard of the potential consequences of his actions. And she did care about what their marriage would mean for his future, cared more than she wished to admit, because she wanted him to be happy. She knew how much she had come to need his love, and how hard it would be for her to be without him now.
She was so overcome by the pain of these realizations that she sat and cried for half an hour, for all she had suffered and for the ways in which she had yet
again failed to understand herself. Her agitating reflections continued until it was time for dinner, and she was required to make herself equal to facing him once again. At least, she thought to herself, now I know what I must do.
***
Darcy’s ride took him directly to Longbourn, where Mr. Bennet was enjoying a quiet morning in his library when Darcy was announced. It surprised him, but not unpleasantly. “Mr. Darcy!” he said with a smile. “Do come in.”
After pleasantries had been exchanged, Darcy went directly to business. “There is something I would ask of you, sir,” he said. He was not overly worried about the outcome; he knew Mr. Bennet thought well of him, but he was not yet accustomed to making his feelings for Elizabeth known, and this bore its own anxiety.
“Anything in my power, Darcy. You know you have only to ask,” said a curious Mr. Bennet. He could not imagine what he could do for Darcy—the man did not want for anything. In truth, it would relieve his mind to have any way to repay the younger man for his generosity, so he settled himself to listen.
“It is my desire to marry your daughter,” said Darcy with due seriousness, “and in that I will need your assistance.”
Mr. Bennet took a moment to digest this shocking bit of intelligence. In the first moment’s confusion, he wondered which of his daughters Darcy meant, but neither Mary nor Kitty could interest such a man, so it must be Lizzy. But Lizzy had always professed such a powerful dislike of the man—though as he thought about it, he had not heard anything of the sort from her in some time. For quite some time, in fact—and suddenly certain of Darcy’s past actions began to make a good deal more sense to him. Of course, those had taken place while Lizzy was still engaged to Covington, but now she was no longer, and was in fact living under the same roof as Darcy… Mr. Bennet decided he would prefer to follow that particular train of thought no further.
“If it is my consent you are seeking, you have it, of course,” he said genially.
Darcy cleared his throat. “Thank you, sir. It is not quite that simple, however; she has not agreed to be my wife. She has, to be quite truthful, refused me.”
Mr. Bennet raised his eyebrows. This certainly put him in a spot given what he owed to Darcy, but there was no doubt in his mind as to what he would do. He was surprised, and not pleasantly, that Darcy would even consider it. “I will speak to her on your behalf, if you wish, but if your question is whether I will require her to marry you against her will, my answer must be no. Lizzy is not one to be compelled, not if you value your peace of mind.”
“I would not take her against her will,” said Darcy instantly, to Mr. Bennet’s relief. “No, what I would ask of you is something more… subtle. I would like you to tell her that you are aware of my intentions, and have given me permission to court her.”
Mr. Bennet was growing exceedingly puzzled. “That is little enough to ask, though I fail to see what it would accomplish.”
Darcy paused, not quite knowing how to explain something he did not himself fully understand. “I find myself in an unusual situation,” he began slowly. “Your daughter admits she holds me in a tender regard, and that she would like to be my wife, but she will not accept me because she feels it will somehow harm my reputation irreparably if I marry her. She feels that her broken engagement and the status of Mrs. Wickham make her an unsuitable wife for me.”
“How very like Lizzy,” her father mused. “She can be quite stubborn when she sets her mind to it.”
“So I have discovered,” said Darcy feelingly.
Mr. Bennet was beginning to see a certain humour in the situation, that one of the most sought after young men in England should be reduced to this state. With a spark of deviltry, he said, “Are you certain you would not prefer a wife of an easier temperament?”
“I will marry your daughter, or I will not marry,” said Darcy with finality.
“Are you certain she cares for you? Perhaps she is trying to let you down gently.”
Darcy was beginning to regret this interview. “You may ask her yourself, if you like, but she has shown me her regard quite unmistakably,” he said, a bit shortly.
Mr. Bennet, well acquainted with Darcy’s usual dry sense of humour, was intrigued to discover that on this subject he apparently had none. Innocently he asked, “How has she demonstrated this to you?”
Realizing he had placed himself in a delicate position, Darcy was anxiously attempting to find a safe response to this question when he recognized a look in Mr. Bennet’s eye that he knew quite well in Elizabeth. He said distinctly, “I thought you did not want to have to force her to marry me.”
Mr. Bennet’s mouth twisted with amusement. If any other young man had said such a thing to him, he would likely have been infuriated, but he in fact placed a good deal of reliance in Darcy’s judgement and trustworthiness. He had also long suspected that, given Lizzy’s passionate nature, she might well go beyond the boundaries of propriety once she finally met a man she could like and respect. And in truth, he had been worried about Lizzy’s present low spirits for some time, and the more he considered it, the more likely he thought it that Darcy might be the answer, both in terms of challenging her and in offering her an escape from her present situation. “True—and Lizzy is perfectly capable of exacting her own revenge if coerced. So, what do you plan to do about this, then, Mr. Darcy?”
“Well,” said Darcy slowly, “as I said, she is concerned that my reputation will be damaged if I marry her, and will not listen to my arguments on the subject. I propose therefore to remove the stumbling block itself, by making it known as publicly as possible that I intend to marry her. Inasmuch as the intention is as damning as the act in this case, it will demonstrate that she has overestimated society’s censure.”
Mr. Bennet studied him carefully. “What if she proves to be correct, and your good name is damaged?”
To his surprise, Darcy smiled broadly. “That is the beauty of it—if my reputation is sullied, why, then, the damage is done already, and she has no excuse not to marry me.”
“You are a very devious young man,” said Mr. Bennet with a new respect. “I would not want to be caught between you and Lizzy in a disagreement!”
“You may already have done so,” said Darcy bluntly. “Your daughter is not going to be happy with me about this.”
Mr. Bennet found this prospect highly amusing. “No, I would imagine not,” he said with a laugh. “Are you certain you wish to pursue this plan?”
“Have you a better one?”
“No, no, Mr. Darcy, not at all!” replied Mr. Bennet energetically. “What is your next step?”
Darcy shrugged. “I will begin mentioning my intentions in conversation, and wait for the news to spread, I suppose.”
“Ah,” said Mr. Bennet. “In that I might be of some assistance.” He excused himself, and returned a few moments later with his wife, who looked quite ill at ease at being introduced into such a conference.
Mr. Bennet addressed her. “I find myself in quite a dilemma, Mrs. Bennet, based on some information Mr. Darcy has given me this morning regarding Lizzy.”
“Lizzy!” cried her mother. “What has that wicked girl done now? Oh, Mr. Bennet, I knew we should have sent her back to London straight away.”
“It seems she is set on vexing you, my dear. Did you not tell me that Lizzy would never marry?”
“Of course not! Who would have such a girl? So disobedient! So sly!”
Mr. Bennet shook his head gravely. “Therein lies my dilemma, Mrs. Bennet. You say Lizzy shall not marry, but now Mr. Darcy comes asking for my consent to marry her. Now, were it not for your dislike of the idea, I would be inclined to grant his request, as he seems a responsible enough fellow. But it seems I must displease one of you. What do you say, Mrs. Bennet—shall I send Mr. Darcy on his way, and tell him our minds are made up that Lizzy must not marry?”
The effect
of this communication was most extraordinary, for on first hearing it, Mrs. Bennet sat quite still, and unable to utter a syllable.
When she made no reply, Mr. Bennet continued, “Of course, having heard the opinion of Lizzy that even her own mother holds, perhaps Mr. Darcy has changed his mind. Mr. Darcy, are you certain you still want to marry such a wicked, disobedient, and sly girl?”
Darcy, finding the spectacle of Mr. Bennet in action to be quite entertaining in its own way, allowed that he thought he would take his chances with Miss Bennet.
His seriousness was sufficient to break into Mrs. Bennet’s daze. “Oh! Mr. Darcy, I never meant those things! Lizzy is the sweetest girl! Good gracious! Mr. Bennet, you delight in vexing me! Of course Lizzy will marry Mr. Darcy. Oh, Lord! My poor nerves!”
“Excellent; we are all in agreement then,” said Mr. Bennet, “all except perhaps the lady. It seems Lizzy has been somewhat remiss about accepting Mr. Darcy’s proposal, no doubt because she fears displeasing you.”
“Oh, how you go on, Mr. Bennet! Mr. Darcy, I promise you, Lizzy will not give you any trouble—I will speak to her myself!”
“Thank you,” said Darcy, who only wished it were so easy. “Perhaps tomorrow, or the next day—I would like to give her some time to think it over.”
“Tomorrow—yes, tomorrow, you must come to dinner tomorrow, with Lizzy, and Mr. and Mrs. Bingley, and your family as well!”
Once Darcy had accepted this invitation, Mr. Bennet thanked Mrs. Bennet for sharing her opinion, and suggested she might have matters which needed her attention elsewhere. A moment later, they heard her calling, “Hill! Hill! I will go to Meryton to tell the good, good news to my sister Phillips. And after I come back, I will call on Mrs. Long and Lady Lucas. Oh, Lord!”
“There, Mr. Darcy,” said Mr. Bennet with satisfaction. “All of Meryton will know by nightfall.”
“Very efficient,” commented Darcy. He added ruefully. “Now all that remains is for me to tell Elizabeth.”
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