Colonel Fitzwilliam had been smart enough not to ask what had happened to put Darcy in such a black mood. Whatever the man may have suspected, it could be no worse than the truth. Darcy was glad to be left mostly to himself for the duration of their journey.
Upon arriving in town, Darcy went to his study and stayed there for days. He was not home to anyone, nor did he even speak to the servants beyond the most basic of instructions. The simple act of forming words drained him. He tried reading, but could not care about what he read. He tried attending to business, but had no focus. The act of writing was easier than speaking, but not by much and he soon abandoned his letters as well. He hardly even had words for his own thoughts.
Instead he just sat in his study, staring out the window during the day and at the fire in the evening. He learned after his first day back that he needed to go to his bedchamber at a normal hour in the evening or the servants would stay up all night with him. He had no wish to make them suffer along with him, so he carried on the farce of a regular nighttime ritual. He went to his chamber knowing that, despite his overwhelming exhaustion, he would not sleep for hours, if at all.
Despite his fatigue, he had no desire to sleep. Sleep brought dreams, and naturally, he dreamed of Elizabeth. Nothing he dreamed could offer any relief and was certain to only add to his agony. In sleep she lashed out at him for being a selfish, inconsiderate oaf who saw all the world as beneath him, yet he could not deny the truth of her words. She sadly informed him she could never marry him, could never love him, and her pity sliced his heart. Worst was when she smiled and laughed with him, letting him believe that he had succeeded in winning her love, only to wake and lose her all over again.
Darcy sat in his study, he knew not how many days since his return. He stared at the fire as he drank his brandy, attempting to figure out how things could have gone so wrong.
Hubris. Was that not the chief failing of the hero in all good tragedies? He had assumed he only needed to make Elizabeth understand himself in order to win her. Never had he considered she may not want him once she knew him.
When they argued in the field, she said she considered him to be arrogant with a selfish disdain for the feelings of others. He had assumed her words due only to Wickham’s poison spilled in her ears. He had not thought such an opinion could remain once she acknowledged Wickham’s other information to be false, for how could such an opinion have any merit based upon her own observations?
He could not even say she misunderstood him, for he could not deny her accusations about her family. Even Fitzwilliam had pointed out that he had shown disdain for her family. He had used the example in explaining why Elizabeth might think Darcy disapproved of her, yet Darcy had thought nothing about how she might feel about his opinion of her family, or his desire to avoid them.
He had virtually ignored her sister in Kent, despite Mrs. Collins attempts at conversation each time he had visited Hunsford. Elizabeth Bennet was a woman who walked three miles to care for a sick sister. How could he have thought she would simply leave behind the rest of her relations for his convenience?
Darcy finished the brandy in his glass and poured another.
Elizabeth was the fool. Who was she to refuse him? Lady Catherine had been correct, Elizabeth had nothing and risked poverty if she did not marry. He could understand and approve her refusal of Mr. Collins, that man was beneath her in every measure. But why should she refuse Darcy? – not that he had offered for her anyway. Darcy had the sense and intelligence that Mr. Collins lacked. He was a far more attractive man as well, though he never would have considered the issue otherwise. From a practical perspective, Darcy was a man who could more than see to her material needs as well as ensure her family’s security. How could Elizabeth not see the many benefits of a connection with him?
But she did not love him, nor did she think she could, knowing who and what he was.
He sat back down and drank his brandy, staring once again into the fire. He wished he could be angry with her, but his anger always dissolved into self-disgust.
He had always known he was proud, but had been taught that he should be. His position in life, his social connections, his wealth, all these factors demanded that others respect him. And so most had. Even as a child he had received deference. His parents had taught him to think well of himself and respect his family, but had not extended that directive to anyone beneath themselves in power or status. After all, why should he bother himself with a lowly squire when he was the grandson of an earl?
Darcy knew he was a selfish being, but some of his pride was justified. He took prodigious care of his estate and his sister, did he not? He went out of his way to look after those he cared about. Sometimes he went too far, but his intent was always good. He was a just employer and saw that all his servants and tenants were all well treated. Why should he not be proud?
But Elizabeth had not refused him for his pride, or not entirely. She scorned him for his treatment of others.
While he took care of those within his designated sphere, those without he largely ignored. Those people still endured his pride, but saw none of the material benefits, and little, if any, respect shown in return for whatever their own accomplishments might be.
Elizabeth was correct; he was a selfish being who despised the world around him.
Perhaps despised was a strong word. He did not understand those around him and had no idea how to interact with them. Had he desired to engage others, he knew he would not have done well. Just look at the catastrophe that had resulted from his most recent attempt to be more sociable. He had overshot his goal, he could admit, but he should have known better. Absolute failure was not an atypical result of one of his social efforts.
As a young man, others had always sought his company, leaving him no need to learn how to reach out to others, thus he never learned the ability. He had recognized this lack when he went to University and saw how other young men made friends so easily. This skill that others seemed to have mastered in childhood seemed beyond his capability to learn then. He was left with a crowd of hangers-on eager to befriend him for his connections, but no real friends nor any way to reach out to those who could be. He had consoled himself that most others were beneath his notice, thus continuing a cycle of inaction.
He was fortunate that Bingley had reached out to him. Darcy at first had written him off as another social climber, until he saw that Bingley displayed none of the fawning attention Darcy was accustomed to receiving. Bingley expected nothing from Darcy other than his company and the occasional bit of advice, which he could receive appreciatively and without the obsequious gratitude characteristic of so many others.
Darcy came to view Bingley as a younger brother of sorts, and did his best to guide him. He had hoped to learn some of Bingley’s ease in company through their friendship, but Bingley was a better student of Darcy’s lessons than Darcy was of Bingley’s. Darcy continued to fumble along in his attempts, but he knew he was unlikely to ever become the proficient in conversing with strangers that Colonel Fitzwilliam or Bingley were. He simply did not understand others.
Never was his failure to learn from Bingley and his cousin more evident than now. He could go nowhere without giving offense. His single greatest attempt to be more open in company had resulted in a premature declaration of love to a woman who was already distressed and did not much care for him.
He felt the full measure of his incompetence as he sat in a room he had occupied for days, doing nothing but staring at a fire and drinking glass after glass of brandy.
~ ~ ~
Darcy awoke the next morning, still in his chair. The fire had died out during the night, but someone had draped a blanket over him.
Darcy looked to the empty decanter and glass sitting next to him and was sickened by his behavior. He deserved the headache he had.
His brooding time was done. He had tried and lost. Now was the time to move on.
Darcy could not blame Elizabeth. Having done little
more than think on the situation from every conceivable angle over the past week or more, he had come to realize she was correct. He dismissed those beneath his social status as beneath his notice. He had never made any effort to converse or connect with a social inferior, save for Elizabeth. He made few enough attempts to converse and connect with those at a similar status.
He had attempted to cover his unease in company with indifference to those around him. He could not blame Elizabeth for feeling slighted on behalf of her family and acquaintances. He should have made more of an effort for those she cared about, if only for Elizabeth’s sake.
But such an action would not solve the underlying issue. He distrusted most people because he had seen the worst of society in London, be it in matchmaking mothers, ladies willing to compromise themselves into a socially beneficial marriage, or toadying from those who sought him only for his wealth and influence. He had allowed these dregs of humanity to kill any trust he could place in strangers. He had not realized the extent of his distrust until he examined himself, having little else to do in his self-imposed isolation and misery.
Darcy knew most people were decent – civilization could not have progressed this far otherwise. He trusted the people of Pemberley and Derbyshire, whether he knew them or not, simply because they were located near those he did know and trust. Outside that enclave, he had chosen not to engage with those unknown to either himself or those he already trusted.
He would change. Elizabeth may never know it, but he would change. His penance for hurting her, and those around her, as he had would be to become the man she had deserved. He would put aside both his pride and distrust and risk interacting with others.
Darcy could look on the merits of others, regardless of their place in any social hierarchy. He would not treat the ridiculous as reasonable, but that did not mean he needed to hold all in disdain without first separating the wheat from the chaff.
He could be honest and hold to his principles. He would still treat men like Wickham the way he always had. He would not pretend that ignorance was enlightenment or vulgar behavior excusable, but he could make sure that those receiving his contempt actually deserved it. And if he continued to hold ignorance and vulgar behavior in contempt, he could also acknowledge them to be far lesser offenses than malice or deliberate cruelty. Ignorance could be checked and corrected in ways that deliberate offenses could not.
Yes, he had learned some hard lessons, but now was a time for action. Elizabeth had told him that her fingers could not play the pianoforte with the same skill she saw in others, but only for want of practicing. He would practice. Each day he would seek out one unknown individual beneath his social standing to engage in conversation. Most would likely go poorly, but the benefit of practicing with strangers outside his social circle was that he need not continually relive the embarrassment when next he saw them. Each attempt would be a fresh start.
He could learn. Such a skill had never come easy, but he would practice and he would learn. Elizabeth was lost to him, but someday he would recover from his current pain and be ready to move on. He could not yet imagine reaching that point, but logic dictated it would eventually come. Never again would accusations of such indifference to humanity be legitimately lodged against him. Next time he tried to woo a lady, he would not bungle it.
CHAPTER 27
Elizabeth returned to Longbourn two days after her arrival in London. She was largely numb throughout the journey and rejoiced that her arrival home would allow her the opportunity to seek out the sanctuary of her favorite paths again. She had dared not think too long about anything that happened in Kent before she reached the safety of home. Now that she was back, walking the same trails she had since she was a child, she could allow herself to consider all that had happened.
Though she really had nothing to think on. She refused to allow Lady Catherine’s words to prey upon her any longer and she had said all there was to say to Mr. Darcy. She had no regrets.
She had no idea Mr. Darcy held such feelings for her or she would have made more of an effort to distance herself. How could he possibly be in love with her? He never looked at her but to disapprove.
No, disapproval must not have been his feeling at such times. How she could have known he loved her from such expressions as she had witnessed she knew not, but it must be so. Elizabeth thought back upon their many interactions, replaying the exact words in her head. She had been so certain he disliked her and saw nothing but flaws and her lack of truly proper behavior. She had not cared what he thought as he had made no effort to socialize with those in Meryton.
Not true – had he not spoken to her? Had Charlotte not pointed out to her how Mr. Darcy watched her? Yes, he spoke to others when he could not gracefully avoid doing so, but had he sought out a conversation with anyone besides herself? He had not, at least not that she had witnessed.
How had she not seen his interest earlier? His behavior to her had been markedly different than his behavior to anyone else, save those with whom he was already acquainted at Netherfield.
For as much as Elizabeth had sworn to honestly assess those around her and not allow herself to be swayed by prejudice, she had not changed at all. She was still as blind as she had always been.
And now she had hurt a decent man who had attempted to assist her. Had she paid closer attention she could have recognized his interest earlier and prevented the worst of the debacle at Rosings.
She had enjoyed their banter of late and she had felt more her old self, but lively discussion was not enough to produce a happy marriage. Elizabeth knew her mother had been correct – she would be happy if she chose to be happy – but she could not be happy if she must put aside her other needs for the sake of peace in a household.
No, she could not marry Mr. Darcy. He would be a far better selection than Mr. Collins, but she had not rejected Mr. Collins to settle now. She would marry for love or not at all. Mr. Darcy could not love her if he did not understand her enough to realize she would be unhappy. She could not love a man who could not accept all of her, family included. The realization saddened Elizabeth more than she had expected, but it could not be helped.
“Lizzy, I am glad to see you back,” Jane said as her sister entered the house and hung up her bonnet. “You have been out walking more than you have been home since you returned.”
“I have had much to think on.”
“Are you ready to tell me about Kent?”
“I think I am, much as I would prefer to remain silent on the matter.” Their bedchamber would provide the greatest privacy, so Elizabeth steered them in that direction. She paused at the base of the stairs, staring at the spot on the floor. Her heartrate increased, but she refused to allow any memories to intrude right now. She forced herself to walk around the spot and continue up the stairs.
“What happened, Lizzy? You came home early and have been much changed.”
“Oh Jane,” Elizbeth said as they entered their bedchamber and sat on the bed. “I hardly know where to begin.” She began by telling Jane of the changes she had seen in Mary and Mr. Collins.
“I had been humbled before to realize my opinions so susceptible to Mr. Wickham’s flattery and Mr. Darcy’s initial disdain, but I had not thought my perception prejudiced beyond those flaws. To discover I had missed greater depth of character in both Mr. Collins and Mary bothered me greatly.”
“I will agree that such a discovery would be surprising, but Mary did not cause the shadows under your eyes.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath, then settled in to update Jane on all she had learned of Mr. Darcy. She described her mortification in his presence whenever he visited and the way he continued to insist upon speaking with her. Though her face burned, Elizabeth began to walk Jane through her final evening at Rosings.
“Mary said all that to Lady Catherine?” Jane asked in astonishment. “She truly has grown up. I would never have expected such from her, from you certainly, but not from Mary.”
�
�I was not capable of speaking at all. Lady Catherine stormed out of the room, but I could not stay. I left and walked back to the parsonage. Mr. Darcy followed me.”
“I am glad he did not leave you to walk by yourself at that time of night.”
Elizabeth was not quite sure how to continue. “He told me he loved me.”
“He followed you out of the house to tell you that?”
“No, no. He came to escort me back to the parsonage. He apologized for his aunt and tried to calm me. We talked about so many things, including that day with Mr. Wickham. I told him I had thought that Mr. Wickham was falling in love with me and Mr. Darcy became quite agitated. He said he could not have me believe that whatever Mr. Wickham felt could be love, when he loved me and had loved me for some time.”
“Whatever did you say?”
“I begged him to stop. I was afraid the next words he spoke would be a proposal I could not accept.”
“Poor Mr. Darcy. Had you any idea of his feelings?”
“None at all. I know he is a better man than I first believed, but still I believed he thought little of me, especially given my gullibility where Mr. Wickham was concerned. He had behaved differently in Kent, but I assumed I was the only diversion available as he avoided Lady Catherine.”
“Lizzy,” Jane chided.
“Had I any idea of his feelings I would have tried to dissuade him in some way. I did not wish to hurt him, but I felt he must know that I could not marry him.”
“He was wrong to have spoken so at such a time, but did you not consider that you may wish to know him better before making such a bold statement? It seems you still do not understand him.”
Folly and Forgiveness Page 19