by Robin Helm
A conversation that had taken place at Netherfield about Charles’s handwriting resounded in her mind:
Charles had said, “My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express them — by which means my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my correspondents.”
Mr. Darcy replied, “You are proud of your defects in writing, because you consider them as proceeding from a rapidity of thought and carelessness of execution, which if not estimable, you think at least highly interesting. The power of doing anything with quickness is always much prized by the possessor, and often without any attention to the imperfection of the performance. In truth, it can be of no real advantage to yourself or anyone else.”
At the time, she had defended Charles. But now…
“It seems you were correct, sir,” Elizabeth said to Mr. Darcy, “In this case, at least, Mr. Bingley’s defects in writing were to no one’s advantage.”
He blinked. Whether he was surprised that she remembered his words, or confused because he did not remember them himself, she did not know.
The conversation moved on to other subjects. By the time the tea was finished, the gentlemen had thawed, and after Mr. Darcy indicated that he had work to do at Rosings, they began to make their goodbyes.
As Colonel Fitzwilliam took his leave from Charlotte and Maria, Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth were off to one side. He took half a step closer and almost whispered, “Will you walk in the morning?”
His nearness affected her. His deep brown eyes drew her in.
“Yes, if the weather clears.”
“The apple grove?” he asked.
His scent of sandalwood swirled around her. She could barely think.
She nodded.
He smiled, displaying his dimple, shattering any sense that her mind had maintained.
“I look forward to it.”
Heaven help me, so do I.
⸟ﻬ⸞ﻬ⸟
After Richard changed out of his damp clothing, he went directly to Anne’s sitting room.
“There is no doubt, Anne,” he said upon closing the door. “Darcy falls deeper in love with Miss Bennet every day.”
Anne smiled and clapped her hands. “And Miss Bennet?”
He frowned. “I am not as sure about the lady’s feelings for our cousin.”
“That will change when they reach London. Darcy and Miss Bennet are perfect for each other. You will return to Town two weeks before she visits her sister there. He will be desperate for her company by then, and I think she will be feeling his absence. Have you spoken to your batman about our plan?”
He nodded “As a matter of fact, Campbell knows a girl who was hired as a kitchen maid at Bingley’s townhouse. He says she will do almost anything to gain his attention.” Richard wiggled his eyebrows. “It will be a simple task for her to slip the valentine poems Darcy wrote into Miss Bennet’s rooms.”
“Excellent!”
⸟ﻬ⸞ﻬ⸟
~January 19, 1812
“How are your sister and Charles?” Mr. Darcy asked soon after they met.
Elizabeth sported a wide smile. “They are staying in a little cottage Charles’s aunt and uncle prepared for them on their grounds, to give them some privacy, and she has met his family. She says they are all pleasant and agreeable, but there are very few people Jane would dislike. I understand they are having a wonderful time. They will begin their journey south to London a week from tomorrow. Jane is so happy! Charles jotted a note at the end of one of the letters. He thanks me for parting with my angel of a sister, for he could not have asked for a better partner in life.”
Darcy raised his eyebrows.
Disappointment in his reaction set in. “You seem surprised to hear it.”
He said nothing, but his expression had turned to one of brooding.
She halted. He took a step or two more before realizing she had stopped.
“Do you doubt my sister is a good choice of a wife for your friend, sir?”
He stared at her for several moments before answering. “I did not say that, Miss Bennet.”
Mr. Darcy gestured for them to walk on. She took his suggestion, but now she was brooding, too.
He might not have said it, but it was implied by his response to her news. No matter what Charles said about his friend, Elizabeth felt in her bones that he had been against the marriage before it took place. His silence on the subject proved he was not expecting them to be happy together.
Mr. Wickham had warned her. Mr. Darcy was a haughty man who could please where he chose. He had not any warm feelings for her at all. No! For some reason, he had chosen to be friendly towards her, probably out of boredom, but even the slightest mention of her sister brought his arrogance to the forefront once again.
Anger overtook every good feeling she had this morning. She had to get away from this man!
She touched her temple. “I have a sudden headache, sir, and I will not walk any further. I must return to the parsonage to recover.”
She curtsied and turned to leave.
“I will escort you, Miss Bennet.”
She marched away from him, pretending she did not hear him.
He came up next to her. “Miss Bennet?”
She said, “Please, sir. I am not good company at the moment. It is not a far walk from here.”
“I hope you are feeling better and we will see you at Rosings this evening.”
She sped her steps, and he fell behind. She heard hoof beats at a distance but refused to turn around. Had he gone back for his horse and followed her?
Let him follow her all he liked, she did not care.
I will not return to Rosings until you are gone from it.
Chapter Six
Upon returning to the parsonage, Elizabeth’s headache quickly became severe. Charlotte and Maria pitied her, but Mr. Collins responded with a lecture so long and so passionate, that it only made her headache worse. With the silence of an empty house and a special tea that Mr. Gibbs had given to Charlotte, the pain eventually eased. Elizabeth rose from her bed and went to Charlotte’s parlour to review her letters from Jane, but her thoughts kept returning to Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth pulled the list of Mr. Darcy’s offenses out of her pocket.
After a few perusals, she admitted she was angrier at herself than at him. He was as he always had been; it was her perception of him that had changed.
How had she permitted him to pull the wool over her eyes?
An urgent knock sounded on the door, and she could hear Sally answer it. Elizabeth stood. A visitor at this hour? She hoped it was not an emergency with one of Mr. Collins’s parishioners.
Sally stepped through the door to the parlour, followed by Mr. Darcy, hat in hand. Sally closed the door behind her.
“I came to enquire after your health. Are you well, Miss Bennet? Have you found any relief?”
Was he truly concerned about her? “I am doing better, sir. Thank you for asking.”
Concern drained from his features. “I am glad to hear it.”
Elizabeth took a seat and offered him the same, but he waved her off. She watched him pace the room. How strange!
Finally, he came to a stop before her.
“In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. Miss Bennet, please accept my proposal of marriage.”
Elizabeth blinked hard. Good heavens! Mr. Darcy wished to marry her? Marry her?
How had she, who prided herself in possessing the skill of flawlessly observing and predicting the objectives of others — how could she have misjudged his intentions so completely?
Goodness! Why was she almost overcome with elation?
Heat crept up her neck and settled in her cheeks.
Mr. Darcy must have taken her silence as encouragement, for he continued, “The difficulties inherent to the situation have kept me from speaking sooner. There will be many who will oppose our marriage, naming reason
s I have already considered. Among the naysayers will be my own kin. Your being born into a family so much lower than my own, your being an unknown in society, your lack of fortune, and your deficiency of desirable connections all speak against the match. However, since I cannot conquer the strength of my feelings, I offer my hand to you, Miss Bennet. I beg that you accept.”
Beg? She almost laughed. His tone was not one of request or anxiety. It was of confident demand.
A strange sense of disappointment settled over her.
Would that he had not persisted after his first pronouncement of admiration and love!
But instead, he insulted her.
Anger swelled in her breast. What kind of marriage would it be if she were to consent?
She inhaled deeply, hoping to calm her voice enough to speak civilly. “Thank you for the honour of your proposal, Mr. Darcy, but I cannot accept.”
His eyes widened, and his brows rose. Yes, his pride must have convinced him she would leap at the chance to marry him.
Mr. Darcy’s voice was under tight control when he spoke again. “From one in your situation, I cannot fathom a reason you could possibly give for rejecting my proposal."
What about her situation was so terrible?
Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. "I might as well inquire why, with so evident a design of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character? But I have other provocations. You know I have.”
He stood before her, mouth gaping in silent disbelief.
She continued, “Do you think I could be tempted to accept the man who endeavoured to separate my beloved sister from the man she loved? I cannot even imagine the harm you might have caused if Mr. Bingley had yielded to your arguments. According to Caroline Bingley’s letter to Jane, your entire party left Netherfield just one hour after Mr. Bingley himself had headed to London.”
She rose from her chair. “Though the missive was in the lady’s hand, several key paragraphs were worded in such a way that assured me they had been dictated to Miss Bingley, and it was obvious by the style that they belonged to you, sir. All other letters Jane had received from Miss Bingley were very different, indeed.”
He took in a quick breath, confirming her suspicions as truth.
Well, at least she had been right about something concerning this man!
Elizabeth spoke again. “If Mr. Bingley had not already been convinced of Jane’s love for him, if he had not returned after spending only a few days in London, you would have been the means of dividing them from each other forever, involving them both in misery of the acutest kind. Can you deny that you tried to accomplish this?"
Mr. Darcy’s nostrils flared. “I have no wish to deny that I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your sister, nor that every day since, I have regretted my failure to convince him to abandon his suit.”
She took a step closer, her annoyance leaping up several notches. “If you had attended the wedding, you would have seen they are perfectly matched. Instead, you, along with all his nearest relations, snubbed them, denying them your blessing. Is this the action of a friend?”
“I had important business to tend in London that week.”
“And what of the weeks between the ball and the wedding? Could you not have visited your friend, even if only to publicly acknowledge that the selection of his marriage partner was his choice to make, not yours?”
He raised his chin and stared down at her but made no answer. At least he would not deny the rudeness of his cut direct.
She narrowed her eyes. “But it is not merely this matter upon which my refusal is founded. My opinion of you was decided many months ago from hearing Mr. Wickham’s accounts of you. On this subject, what can you have to say? In what imaginary act of friendship can you defend yourself?”
Mr. Darcy straightened his spine. “You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns.”
It nagged at her conscience that Charles had refused to allow Mr. Wickham to be invited to the wedding breakfast, even after Elizabeth’s younger sisters’ incessant appeals. Her father also told her Charles had warned him against the man, but he did not give her father any details about his reasons. Charles knew something about Wickham that the Bennets did not. Perhaps she should simply trust that, but she ignored the irritation and answered, “Who that knows what his misfortunes have been, can help feeling an interest in him?”
“His misfortunes!” Darcy repeated, his lips curled into a slight sneer. “Yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed.”
“And of your infliction, resulting from your ignoring your father’s final wishes,” Elizabeth cried.”
“My father’s wishes!” Darcy walked with quick steps across the room. “You believe this of me? My faults, according to this calculation, are heavy indeed!”
He stopped before her. “But these bitter accusations might have been overlooked had I concealed my struggles and flattered you into the belief of my being overcome by my emotions alone. But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence. The feelings I related were natural and just. Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connexions, to congratulate myself on the hope of relations whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?”
Her family might not be perfect, but whose was?
Elizabeth held her breath for the count of five, and then tried to control her tone to convey composure when she said, “You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy. The manner of your declaration only spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.”
He started but remained silent. He stared at her with an expression of incredulity and mortification.
An uncomfortable sensation burned at the back of her neck.
Darcy’s face paled, then reddened. “You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.”
With these words he bowed and hastily left the house.
What had she done?
No! After what he had done, she had made the right answer.
She had been more cruel, spoken more callously than she had ever done in her entire life. She could see the pain in his eyes, in the way he carried himself as he left.
But he had done the same. She never could have imagined such a coldhearted proposal of marriage.
They were not suited. They were both better off this way.
Elizabeth was breathing so rapidly, she thought she might faint. Her knees refused to hold her upright any longer; she collapsed into the chair behind her. Tears ran down her face, but she let them fall unchecked.
Where was the Mr. Darcy she had come to know during their strolls?
She sobbed as a deep sense of loss overwhelmed her.
⸟ﻬ⸞ﻬ⸟
~January 21, 1812
Unable to sleep most of the night, the next morning, Elizabeth left the parsonage as the sun rose. She had been walking for some time when she raised her eyes from the path and realized she was at the entrance to the trail that led to the pine grove.
Why had her feet brought her here?
It was logical in a way, but also made no sense at all.
Well, she was here. She might as well go in. Mr. Darcy had told her the display would change and become more splendorous.
But what if he arrived while she was here?
No, there was little chance that he would be here at this exact moment, especially since she had left the house very early, and he always went out later.
She turned down the path. At the parting of the trees, she was glad she had come. The meadow was covered with yellow celandine blooms and white snowdrops.
At home, she was used to walking at all times of the year. She had seen these flowers bloom here and there, but never in such magnitude. It was truly lovely.
She spun slowly around so that she could see the entire meadow. When she returned to the original aspect, there he was. Mr. Darcy.
He stood a few yards past the path, his mouth hanging open in shock.
Yes, of course he would be appalled that she had come here, of all places — offended, even. He had told her this was his favourite place on the grounds. Of course, he would come here to find some peace after the callous way she had reacted to his proposal.
She walked towards the trail, hoping he would move away from it as she approached. He did not. He simply watched her, eyes wide as if he were observing an apparition instead of flesh-and-blood.
She paused briefly. “I apologize for intruding, sir.” She walked quickly past him.
“I, uh…”
She stopped but did not turn around.
He said, “I just wanted to stop here for a moment to take a last look before leaving Kent.”
Her instinct was to bolt down the path, away from him, but she restrained herself and took each step at a leisurely pace.
At hearing his boot-falls behind her, her stomach twisted. Would he follow her down the narrow path? Would he walk with her all the way to the parsonage?
It had taken three quarters of an hour at a brisk pace to get here. Why would he wish to spend that amount of time trying to converse with the woman who refused him so brutally only a few hours before? It would be torture.
When they exited onto the wider path, he immediately fell into step next to her.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, apparently unaware that he had fallen back to the way he had addressed her in Hertfordshire. He continued, “I have written out answers to the charges you laid at my door last evening. I beg you would accept this letter.”
His arm stretched towards her, as if he had to force himself to hold it there.
She stopped walking. He continued to offer her the thick letter.
He said, “Since there is quite a walk ahead of us, I would like to take this opportunity to explain to you in person what I could not that night in at Bingley’s ball. There were too many people close enough to overhear what I had to say for me to explain my dealings with Wickham. I confess I almost brought it up several times when we walked out the past few days, but I was enjoying our conversations. This subject is not pleasant. Not in the least.”