“Oh, yes, certainly. Put them on the desk over there, and I will look over them when I have a chance.” He nodded toward the desk and returned to his book.
Slowly, Darcy stood and walked over to the desk, placing the papers carefully right in the center. He was really angry now, but puzzled too, and he could not very well storm out on Elizabeth’s father. He studied the older man burying himself so pointedly and, touched by a sudden chord of understanding, approached him again. “Mr. Bennet,” he began, “I want you to know that I truly love your daughter. I will never mistreat her, or neglect her, and will provide for her every need.”
Mr. Bennet winked fiercely a few times, his jaw working. Darcy, his impatience rising, turned to the door. “Mr. Darcy.”
He paused and looked back.
“I hope you may prove worthy of her,” said Mr. Bennet softly.
Darcy returned his gaze proudly. “So do I, sir,” he replied evenly but without undue humility. He moved toward the door again.
“Are you leaving, sir?”
Yes, I’m leaving, he thought irritably but replied, “I would like to see Elizabeth.”
“Ah well, if you must.” He waved his hand carelessly. “But if you find yourself worn out by silliness or wedding talk, feel free to take your refuge here.”
Darcy narrowed his eyes, thoroughly confused by the strange man’s behavior. It appeared the conversation was over, though, so he went out. In the hallway he met the butler, from whom he discovered the fact that the ladies were in the morning room. Feeling all the awkwardness of this first encounter, he asked to be announced.
When he entered, Elizabeth could not help but contrast his behavior with Mr. Wickham’s earlier that morning. He had none of his warmth, none of his ease or friendliness. He looked haughty and aloof, and though his eyes found her immediately, he did not smile. To make matters worse, Lydia and Kitty burst into giggles at his appearance. His forbidding aspect increased.
“Oh, Mr. Darcy!” cried Mrs. Bennet, rising and going forward most respectfully.
He bowed. “Mrs. Bennet.”
“Such an honor you have done us, sir. Such a delight it is to see you again!” She waited a moment for an answering sentiment but received none. “I could hardly believe it when my Lizzy told me that you were engaged, but here you are! To be sure, there is no accounting for taste. Lizzy!” She gestured impatiently at her second daughter, who rose with flushed cheeks. “See, here she is! Does she not look lovely? Though, of course, she has never been the equal of her sister Jane, but I am sure you must think her quite handsome, to have proposed to her. Lizzy, greet Mr. Darcy!”
Still blushing painfully, she extended her hand. Mr. Darcy took it and bowed briefly over it. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said formally.
“And of course you remember my younger daughters, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia.” He nodded coolly while the girls curtsied reluctantly. “Dear Jane has stepped out at the moment, but of course you saw her just recently.” He indicated faint agreement.
“How was your journey from town, sir?” asked Elizabeth rather desperately.
“Well enough.”
They stood awkwardly for a moment until Mrs. Bennet invited him to have a seat. She very obviously waved him to a place next to Elizabeth, and although he took it, his whole posture was stiff and formal. He did not seem pleased to see her at all.
The next half hour had a nightmarish quality for Elizabeth. Her youngest sisters giggled and spoke rudely to each other behind their hands. Mary looked solemn and made pedantic little speeches at all the wrong moments. And she did not know whom to be more embarrassed about—her mother, for her vacuous and sometimes vulgar attempts at conversation, or her bridegroom-elect, for his unbending refusal to help her in any way. He appeared every inch as disagreeable as she had always thought him. The relaxed and affectionate man she had begun to know in London had disappeared.
She tried, as much as she could, to help the conversation, but her mother was impervious to hints and Darcy, for once, unresponsive to her banter. Her impatience with both of them began to grow, and her composure was sorely tested as Lydia suddenly burst out into a soliloquy on the sadness of the regiment’s leaving Meryton, with tosses of her head and pert looks at Mr. Darcy, as if she were trying deliberately to provoke his disapproval. Her mother had no more sense than to join with her in her sentiments. Elizabeth could feel the tension radiating from Darcy’s body next to her and felt the impulse to take his hand—to soften his demeanor and earn a response from him. She was not bold enough to do it in front of her family, though.
At one point Hill came in to speak to Mrs. Bennet about something; while they conferred, Elizabeth turned to Darcy. “Did you speak to my father?” she asked softly.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He gave me his consent.” His reply was terse.
Then Mrs. Bennet turned back to them. “How many bedrooms does your house at Pemberley have, Mr. Darcy?” she asked.
Elizabeth nearly sighed aloud in exasperation.
Eventually, Jane came back in, and they could have entertained him very well between the two of them if everyone else would only have left them alone, but no one did. Elizabeth was just beginning to think of plans to spirit him out of the room when all at once he stood up and said, “If you will excuse me, I believe I have business elsewhere.” He left the room—and Elizabeth with her cheeks burning.
“Now, what did you say to him to offend him?” demanded her mother immediately.
“Nothing, Mama. He is not offended.”
“Of course he is, child. It was probably your coldness that affected him. Why could you not be more affectionate? Go after him, now! Go after him!” She shooed her toward the door.
“Oh, Mama, he’s just being disagreeable, just as I said he would be,” cried Lydia. “He thinks he’s too good for us!”
“And so he is, child,” replied Mrs. Bennet unexpectedly, proving once and for all that no wealthy future son-in-law of hers could do wrong. “Why, he has ten thousand pounds a year! I do not wonder if Longbourn does not look like much to him, but it’s your behavior to him, Lizzy, that must have upset him so. You had best hurry up and make amends before he changes his mind and tells your father he does not want you after all—and I’m sure no one could blame him if he did!” She practically shoved her second daughter out into the hallway.
Pride and feelings alike smarting, Elizabeth straightened her dress and dutifully went about searching for her errant bridegroom. The butler assured her he had not left; the garden was still drippy and she rather doubted he returned to her father, so her steps turned towards the lesser-used rooms in the back of the house.
To say Darcy was in a bad mood was an understatement. He was in a black mood and feeling deeply chagrined.
He had tried, while in Kent, to forget just how bad Elizabeth’s near relations were and had succeeded pretty well. Any time his early opinion of them rose in his mind, he reminded himself that they would be far away from Pemberley, and after the wedding he would scarcely have to see them. Besides, they were Elizabeth’s family; he loved her, she loved them, surely he could at least tolerate them. Then in London the Gardiners had been so well-bred and sensible, and Elizabeth herself had been so delightful, that he had begun to think expansively that Longbourn would not be so bad; her mother was just a little foolish, her sisters too high-spirited; all would be borne for love, and cheerfully.
Which is why the afternoon had been so shattering for him. They were dreadful. There was no other way to put it, they were entirely dreadful. Her father’s rudeness, her mother’s shallowness, her young sisters’ total lack of manners—it had all been beyond anything any sensible man could be expected to endure, much less embrace. He simply could not believe that he had voluntarily chosen to connect himself with this family. And yet the sheer impossibility of his wishing not to marry Elizabeth, or regretting any promise he had made her, placed him in the midst of an emotional dilemma that he was not,
in his current state, prepared to handle in the least.
When Elizabeth found him in the small back parlor, he was standing by the window, gazing out. He did not turn when she entered, though she was sure that he heard her and knew it was she. For a full minute she stood behind him, waiting for him to turn around; if he had, he would have seen her standing with her hands on her hips, lips folded into a straight line.
When he neither spoke nor moved, she turned around intending to leave; her temper was not much better than his at that point. But before she reached the door, he spoke a single word: “Stay.”
Stay? she thought irritably. No “please,” or “if you will,” just stay? Nevertheless she could not disobey so direct a request. She sat down in a random chair and picked up a piece of discarded needlework. It was, to judge by the stitching, probably Lydia’s, but she attacked it with a vengeance, snipping and pulling and stitching with grim energy.
Darcy, who had refused to look at her or speak to her because he was both afraid of acting in anger and unwilling to be appeased, nevertheless took a certain comfort from her presence in the room. He needed her in some fundamental way he could not explain. It did not occur to him that she might also be angry at him or might be wishing for an apology. He felt magnanimous for not expecting her to apologize to him.
Eventually, though, he did turn, after several long, slow minutes had ticked away on the clock, driven by the urge to be near her. Absorbed in her own annoyance and her stubborn threads, Elizabeth did not register his actions, nor did she realize how uncommonly pretty she looked in her chair, bent over her needlework, a ray of sun shining across her hair and face. Her cheeks were bright, her back straight, and she looked to Darcy like the personification of all that was domestic and desirable. Although she did not see it, his face grew soft and ardent; he took a hasty step towards her, fully intending to take her in his arms, when from the hallway sounded Mrs. Bennet’s voice. “Mr. Bennet!” she called shrilly. “Mr. Bennet!” Immediately the frown returned; Darcy turned his head, biting back a curse.
Elizabeth looked up then, only to see his again thunderous brow. She had a slightly sick feeling in her stomach; why, oh, why had she not listened to that part of her mind that had warned her that nothing but trouble could come from marrying a man who despised her family? She felt their vulgarity, she really did, but could he not show a moment’s grace—could he not make the slightest effort? She hated her family and loved them protectively all at once. She could have throttled Lydia for her foolish, rude prattle and would have performed almost any penance rather than listen to her mother ask Darcy one more question about his wealth, but their impropriety did not excuse his.
As she looked down, Darcy looked at her. He did not want to leave her, but he could not stay here. Not just then. He was not master enough of himself to behave in a way that would do credit to either of them. “I think I had better go.”
Her head jerked up. “My mother is expecting you for dinner.”
He shook his head. “I am sorry, but I cannot. Please—please give your mother my apologies and bid them all good day for me.” Once again he left her alone, and she was too angry to follow him to the door. She heard her mother’s voice in the hall and then his, briefly. A minute later Mrs. Bennet came flying into the room.
“Lizzy! Lizzy! What have you done? Why is Mr. Darcy leaving? He says he’s not staying for dinner, and just as I had told cook to serve the Sunday turkey tonight! Why did you not do as I told you? He hasn’t broken the engagement off, has he?”
“No, Mama,” said Elizabeth wearily. “He was just—tired, that’s all. He wished for a dinner by himself.” She deemed that much, at least, must be true.
“But why should he wish to eat dinner all alone at Netherfield when he could dine here with us? He’ll get far better food here than over there, I can tell you! He came all this way to be near you, but now he’s leaving? He hasn’t tired of you already, has he? Oh, I knew you had no notion of how to entice a man! Here you get such an opportunity as none of us ever imagined would be given you—and I still don’t know why he would choose you instead of my loveliest Jane, though to be sure, that could be awkward, considering he is friends with Mr. Bingley—and instead of being grateful, you’re determined to ruin everything! Have you no sense at all?”
“Apparently not.” Her patience and humor at an end, she tossed the needlework aside, stood, and headed for the door.
“Do you think men like Mr. Darcy grow on trees?” Her mother accompanied her to the foot of the stairs. “It was bad enough when you refused Mr. Collins, though I was willing to admit now that you might have done right, but if you drive Mr. Darcy away, I’ll never forgive you! Perhaps you think you can always expect to receive proposals from such eligible men, but I’ll have you know that you have had more than your share of luck already, and it’s no more chances you’ll be getting if you ruin this one!”
Elizabeth’s hand gripped the rail tightly. “Mama,” she said tightly, as tears started to her eyes, “Mr. Darcy and I are engaged. We have both made promises, and there is nothing anyone can do about it!” She almost ran the rest of the way up, until she reached at last the sanctuary of her room and threw herself on the bed in unhappy tears.
Jane came to her in a little while. “What happened, dearest?” she asked in concern.
“Mama and Lydia happened!” she said bitterly. “They have made him remember why he fled Hertfordshire the first time! He’ll never forgive me for them, Jane, I know he won’t.”
“Lizzy.” She sat down on the bed next to her and smoothed her hair lovingly. “Mr. Darcy knew what they were like when he proposed to you. He understands that you have no control over them. You’ll see, he was not so displeased as he appeared; it’s merely that they made him uncomfortable, perhaps. Lydia’s spirits are very strong, and he is quiet. Only think of Miss Darcy! He is not accustomed to talkative girls; I am sure that is all it was. And he must have been tired after travelling all the way from London, then coming directly to call here.”
There was a moment, and Elizabeth raised her face from the counterpane. “I wish I could think as you do, Jane. You always expect the best, but I am not so optimistic. Mr. Darcy told me in his proposal that he thought our family beneath him, but I let him persuade me that it did not much signify. But now I fear his disdain for them might overcome his love for me after all. And if Mr. Darcy ceases to love me, what can I be to him but a burden and source of regret?”
“He will not cease to love you,” said Jane firmly. “Do you not think we could not all see how deep his attachment to you is, whenever he called on us in London? I am quite sure that if you but smile at him, he will forget any apprehension he has.”
After another moment she gave a watery chuckle. “I must admit my smiles have been known to have a rather marked effect on him.”
“Of course they do. He’s in love with you! He thinks you are the most enchanting woman in the world. How could he be unhappy if you are kind to him?”
Elizabeth thought back to their time in the back parlor. It was true that she had made no particular attempt to appease him—no attempt at all, actually. She had been too cross. Now that Jane had suggested it, she could concede that she might have coaxed him out of his bad humor, perhaps very easily indeed. She rolled onto her back. “You seem to me to be growing wiser by the day, Jane.”
Jane smiled. “I am not wise at all, but I do know that Mr. Darcy loves you too much to let any . . . slight irritation at our family interfere with his happiness.”
“What an unaffectedly Janeian understatement,” she retorted. “I am quite certain he was far more than slightly irritated with all of our family, yourself excepted. How could anyone be irritated with you? I do not think I escaped his censure entirely, but I may set myself tomorrow to charming him out of his bad humor and into a such a state of lover-like distraction that he will not even notice how Lydia and Kitty behave! Do you think I could manage it?”
“Very easily,” he
r sister replied softly. “But you will be good to him, won’t you, Lizzy?”
“Well, of course I will be good to him,” she replied, puzzled. “We are getting married, after all. I may flirt with impunity.”
“Yes, but I mean you will not encourage him to think—not lead him into believing your feelings are—”
“Are what they are not?”
“Of course I am sure that you feel affection for him,” continued Jane earnestly. “I know that you must, and he must see it too, but if he feels himself to be in your power—oh, Lizzy, it is such an anxious thing to have your happiness so dependent on another, without knowing if his is dependent on you as well. You do not feel it, perhaps—how could you?—but I do, and I have seen it sometimes in Mr. Darcy’s eyes, when he looks at you and thinks no one is watching—that, oh, that even though he is the man, and even though he has the wealth and seems as if he is in charge, it is really you, Lizzy, he feels at least that it is so, it is you who have the true power in your relationship.”
Elizabeth, who had listened to all this speech in amazement, laid her head back down and stared at the canopy above her. I have the power, she thought. And of course, she knew that it was true.
Darcy had not yet learned to condemn his actions, nor yet to consider how much distress his own behavior might be causing Elizabeth, but he was sincerely sorry to have left her as he had. He had underestimated the loneliness of an empty Netherfield. His month’s courtship seemed very long from this side of it, and he could hardly imagine their enjoying much increase in felicity while surrounded by those people. But the proprieties must be observed, and for the very great labor of enduring her family for that space of time he would receive as his reward her sparkling self. Although he might wonder when alone at times if any woman could be worth such humiliations, he had only to see her for his heart to answer, positively, yes.
Unequal Affections: A Pride and Prejudice Retelling Page 14