He was silent for a moment at that. “How much time do you require?”
She bit her lip. “You are to depart the morning after next, are you not?”
“Yes, but that may be postponed. I had not thought to leave Kent without an understanding between us.”
Elizabeth blushed a little. “If I may be permitted to ask, how long it has been that you have been intending to address me?”
He regarded her with an enigmatic expression. “I have been in contemplation of it since Easter Sunday when you took tea at Rosings.”
“That was not very long ago, sir.”
“Yes, but my feelings are of much longer duration, as I have already told you. When I saw you again that night, I knew I could no longer deny the nature of my desires. I . . . ,” he sighed. “I cannot say exactly when I determined to offer for you. The decision came upon me gradually, I believe, and every hour in your company made it more firm. I have been waiting since yesterday for an opportunity to speak to you.”
As uncomfortable as this conversation was, Elizabeth also found it fascinating. She had been so mistaken in her understanding of his thoughts and motives! He seemed resigned to answering any question she asked, so she ventured a little further. “What was your plan, upon my acceptance?”
“I had hoped to call on you when you reached London, then to accompany you to Hertfordshire to seek your father’s blessing. I would like—” he paused and looked at her directly, “I would like to be married soon.”
She colored under his gaze. “And Mr. Bingley?”
His brows drew together. “Mr. Bingley?”
“Netherfield is shut up, Mr. Darcy.” She looked at him archly. “Where shall you live, without your friend?”
He relaxed and smiled a little. “I daresay he would allow me the use of the house if I desired it. If not, I will find other accommodations.”
“I would not rate the quality of Meryton inns too highly, sir. I am sure you are accustomed to far better.”
He seemed a little confused as to the purpose of this line of questioning. “I am not concerned about that.”
“But you may be after a week of inferior meals and poorly aired sheets.”
“Madam, this is hardly the point,” he said a bit impatiently. “I will not be able to go to Hertfordshire until you give me your acceptance.” He paused, and said in a more restrained voice, “How long do you believe you will need to consider?”
Now it was her turn to sigh. “I do not honestly know. But if you wish to seek me in the grove tomorrow morning, I believe I will have a better understanding of my sentiments then.”
He bowed his acquiescence, then, with a softened expression, came across the room to her. She stood up, and he took her hand. “I am sorry I made my feelings so little known to you. You must understand that until I had determined to my own complete satisfaction what my intentions were, I did not want to behave in such a way—that is, I did not wish to give rise to expectations which—” He bit his lip.
“I understand,” she replied. “And you,” her voice took on a faintly satirical edge, “are too well acquainted with the difference in our stations to doubt why I did not presume you to be forming an attachment just because you chose to walk with me on occasion.”
He looked at her for a moment, then pressed the hand he still held. “I hope to leave you in no doubt of my attachment in the future.” She blushed anew, and he stepped back with a sigh. “Until the morning then, Miss Bennet. I bid you a good evening.”
Elizabeth sat up late that night. She was highly keyed up and still felt so strangely dispassionate. She did not love him, but neither did she feel her past determined dislike. She could not forget the things she had against him, but they no longer seemed so terrible. Bad manners might be improved. His original insult of her could certainly be forgiven him now, though she deplored his having said such a thing about any woman within her hearing. Far more serious were the claims that Mr. Wickham made—that Darcy had deprived him of his rightful living in the church out of jealousy and spite—but for the first time Elizabeth was able to look at it without prejudice, and for the first time she acknowledged that she might not know the full truth of what happened those years ago. Wickham had been believable, but time and emotion could have colored his account. As Mr. Darcy’s wife, furthermore, she would be in a position to possibly right whatever wrong had been done. She certainly would be in a position to help Jane, her dearest sister whom Darcy had separated from the man she loved. It was all very well, she decided in a very Charlotte-like burst of common sense, to rail against him for what he had done, but it would do Jane far more good to use her unexpected influence to change his mind. After all, he could hardly continue to object to his own sister-in-law as a suitable choice for his friend.
And he was a clever man, and a sensible one. He was rich enough to help her entire family, and he was in love with her. It was a lot. Elizabeth had never had a man in love with her before, and it was difficult not to think of the power she evidently had over him. What would it be like . . . to have such influence over the happiness of a man like that?
Mr. Darcy also sat up late that night. It was not the first time. Just the night before, he had paced his room, wild with passion and wracked with misgivings. He was determined—he had made up his mind—but pride would not be silent. It whispered that he was embarrassing himself, embarrassing his family, embarrassing his connections.
His humiliation this night was of a different sort, a more intimate, personal humiliation. But Darcy was too just a man not to accede to the fairness of her position. And he had never really believed that she was as violently in love with him as he was with her—had he?
The next morning was fresh and cool. Elizabeth had not gone far on her way before she found him waiting for her. He bowed quickly, and they fell into step together.
They walked a little in silence until Mr. Darcy burst out, “Miss Bennet, I cannot stand this suspense! Please tell me if you have reached a conclusion.”
“Mr. Darcy, I have not,” she replied. “However, I believe my thoughts are rather more ordered than they were last night. Please do not be offended, but I have many things I must say and questions I must ask before I can make a decision. Though you have made me a flattering offer, I am constitutionally incapable of deciding the rest of my life without thorough consideration.”
“I would not respect you as I do, Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy slowly, “if you did not have a lively mind and independent spirit. I had not intended, last night, to catch you so completely by surprise. I do not like the delay, but I cannot say I blame you for it.”
“Thank you. I am afraid I must begin with that which must pain you, but it would be unjust for me to be less frank than you have been, and it should be said at once.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sir, I think it only right to tell you that I cannot, at this time, return your affections. If you wish to withdraw your offer in light of this information, then I would understand completely and not hold it against you.”
There was no immediate answer to this statement. Stealing a look up at him, Elizabeth saw Mr. Darcy staring straight up ahead, a muscle in his jaw working. She quailed slightly.
It was hardly surprising information to Darcy by now, but still it hurt to hear her say it so plainly. She had not even attached any words regarding the warmth of her regard or respect. Still, he knew his answer. “I do not wish it, Miss Bennet,” he said quietly.
Seeing that he was not inclined to say anything more at present, she gathered her courage in both hands and forged ahead. “I must tell you,” she began haltingly, a deep blush staining her cheek, “that I and my sister have always said that we would never marry without both respect and affection. I have seen what a marriage without either looks like, Mr. Darcy, and I do not wish for one like it—which is why I must ask you to examine the nature of your own feelings for me.”
Darcy halted abruptly, turning towards her. “Do you dou
bt my affections?” he demanded. “Do you believe I spoke lightly of love? I assure you I did not!”
Elizabeth took a steadying breath, unable to look at his face. “I do not doubt their warmth, sir. What I doubt—what I question,” she began to walk slowly on, “is their durability.”
“You question my faithfulness?” She could hear from his voice that he was insulted.
“No-o.” She faced him. “I question whether your regard will ultimately survive the disapproval of the world, and the degradation,” she could not keep all the bitterness out of her voice, “of my family connections.” This was unexpected. Darcy stood still, watching her warily. “I am sure, Mr. Darcy, that everything you said last night regarding my unsuitability to be your wife is true, and perhaps even natural on your part, but the language that you used—the warmth of your expressions—if you feel so strongly now, sir, when you are in the first flush of passion, how will you feel once that passion fades—once you have me as your own and my charms are no longer as fresh as they once were—and once the evils you fear come upon you because of me? I could not bear to be married to a man who resented and regretted me.”
Darcy was absolutely confounded. She stood before him, trim and tense, her chin lifted proudly even while she flushed at her own admissions. He felt the rebuke of her words uncomfortably; not that she had rebuked him directly, but the very fact of how sensible a question it was appalled him. She turned to continue up the path, and he hurried to catch her. They paced in further silence for a time.
“Your question is a reasonable one,” he said at last, “as much as it pains me to admit it. I am sorry that my words to you yesterday should have given rise to doubts concerning the permanence of my affections. I did not consider how they might be received. I hope you know, though, that my reservations all concerned your situation, not your character or person. If I thought you inferior, I would not have offered for you.”
“I thank you, sir, but unfortunately I cannot be divorced from my situation.”
“Of that I am all too aware. There are two things I would say in reply. First, you misspoke when you described me as in the first flush of passion. I believe I left that behind me some time ago. If I had acted then, you would have done well to caution me, but I was as doubtful as you as to whether my feelings would survive the disadvantages of the match. It was my inability to relinquish any of the tender sentiments I held for you that eventually began to convince me of their permanence. When I found you here in Kent, I could not resist seeing you again to test whether I had simply embellished your charms in my mind, but I found quite the opposite. You held me more in your thrall than ever. I will admit that I avoided you then because I was not yet ready to confess myself lost. As I explained last night, it was after seeing you in my aunt’s house that I decided I could no longer deny what I felt. What I have long felt and continue to feel. I do not expect it to change over time.”
They were walking down the path side by side now; he looked straight forward with an earnest expression, his hands clasped behind his back. He continued, “My second point is that you should be glad that I considered the evils of your situation so seriously. It would be naïve of me to suppose that no ill could result to me or my family from connecting them with yours.” Lizzy winced. He saw and softened his tone. “I only wish to convey that I am prepared. I know what I have chosen. I do not think it possible that I could resent you for any consequence of our marriage because I have already taken into account every possible consequence. If I had fooled myself into thinking it would all be easy, then you would have cause for worry. But I have done nothing if not anticipate the difficulties and determine that you are worth enduring them.”
Elizabeth did not know whether to be infuriated or touched. “You honor me, Mr. Darcy,” she said slowly, ironically, “but did you not yourself admit that you proposed out of passion, not reason? That your better judgment argued against it? I have known people who married out of passion, and it was not enough to make them happy. And did you not once label your own disposition resentful?”
“Miss Bennet.” He halted their progress again, taking her hand. “Do you really believe that I would be no better than that? That I would place the blame for my error on you—if indeed error it proves? But I am not so inconstant as you think me. My affections are not so variable. You are the only woman I have ever loved and the only one I believe I ever shall.” His gaze grew dark. “Why do you demand so much more from me than you are able yourself to give? I have said I am willing to accept you even without your love, but you would question my feelings repeatedly?”
He was looking his fiercest and proudest now, but Elizabeth refused to be cowed. “You sought me, sir!” she flashed at him. “I have told you that you may withdraw your offer at any time.” He dropped her hand as if burned. “If we were to marry, I would be almost entirely in your power. That is the lot of women.” She looked away. “To be controlled and subjected, to rely on their fathers or husbands for every comfort, every kindness, every freedom. I have every reason to question you.”
“But I don’t wish to control or subject you,” he protested, rather forcibly. “Do you think I would wish for a woman who was easily subjugated—or that I would ever voluntarily do anything to damage that spirit in you that so attracts me? Upon my word, Elizabeth, if I disliked my wife I would still attempt to treat her kindly, and I tell you again that I love you!”
Despite herself, Elizabeth softened at his earnestness. “It is not your feelings that concern me. I do not worry if I have your love but if I have your respect.”
“Yes!” he said emphatically.
“Then we will leave the matter alone,” she conceded, judging it best to depart the topic before passions rose higher. Already his eyes were gleaming with an uncomfortable light. “But I urge you to be sure this is really what you desire, for it seemed to me yesterday that you were not yet easy in your mind.”
Darcy’s only response was to frown at her and stalk away to a tree, where he leaned his shoulders on the trunk and crossed his arms. “You are obliged to be satisfied. I have given my word, and that must be enough. Now I have a question for you.” He eyed her broodingly.
“Sir?”
“You have essentially told me this morning that you wish to marry for love and also that you do not love me. Why then are you considering marrying me?”
She wondered if he wanted her to admit that she was motivated by mercenary concerns, and what it would mean to him if she did. “I’m not certain,” she answered honestly. “If I had known you were to propose, I would have attempted to . . . oh, dissuade you, I suppose. But somehow when you spoke, I found myself unable to do it. Perhaps I am merely learning prudence,” her mouth twisted in a half-smile, “or perhaps it is because you love me. A day ago I could not imagine having this conversation with you, Mr. Darcy.” She raised her eyes. “You say you have loved me for months, but for me it is all very sudden.” He did not know what to say to that. “Truly, I do not think I know or understand you at all.”
“Do you doubt my character?” he asked. “You need not!”
It would have been the perfect opportunity to ask him about Wickham, but somehow Elizabeth could not bring herself to do it. Perhaps she did not feel prepared to hear his answer, whatever it might be. So she simply shook her head. “I must ask you another question.”
He sighed. “Very well.”
“If I marry you, what relationship will I have with my family?”
He frowned. “We will live primarily at Pemberley—I have long wished to spend more of my year there—but I would have no objections to your visiting Longbourn on occasion. I would never wish for you to do less than your duty to them.” Or more, she silently added. Then he smiled unexpectedly. “Where money is not lacking, distance is no evil. Did you not say so yourself?”
“Oh!” Elizabeth’s eyes widened as the memory of that particular conversation came back. “Did you—were you thinking of me, then?”
“Of
course.” He seemed surprised at the question.
She blushed. “I was not.”
“No? Yet you blushed then, too.”
“I did?” She was beginning to feel foolish.
“Indeed. We disagreed on the relative nearness of Kent to Hertfordshire, I questioned you about your own opinions, and you blushed and said that a woman could indeed be settled too close to her family. How was I to take so significant a consciousness?”
“I did not blush by design, sir,” she protested. “Do you always have such an excellent memory for conversations, Mr. Darcy?”
“I remember every conversation we have ever had,” he said deliberately.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened again, but, in an attempt to cast off the heaviness of the morning’s exchange, she lifted her chin, arched an eyebrow, and said playfully, “You had best be cautious in how you use my words against me, sir, for I, too, have an excellent memory and may return fire with some quotations of my own.”
This return to her usual manner was, unknown to her, greeted by Darcy with considerable relief. He smiled and retorted, “I’m not afraid of you.”
That made her laugh, a most welcome sound, and with an arch look she continued on her walk, forcing him once again to follow her. Unwilling to let this lighter line of conversation go, he urged her on by saying, “I would like to hear which of my words you think to use against me.”
“Oh, no, Mr. Darcy, I am determined to act in self-defense only.”
“I do not believe you have any such ammunition. I cannot recall any comment I have made to you which I would now regret.”
“Yet you recall some of mine which I may wish unsaid?”
“On the contrary, your speeches must be as charming the second time as they were the first. I have often had occasion to recall comments of yours, and always with pleasure. I seek to use your words only to benefit my cause, not to injure yours.”
Unequal Affections: A Pride and Prejudice Retelling Page 2