You will live long in my memory as the first gentleman of my acquaintance. Did she know he would never forget her as long as he lived? He could not understand what she meant by his trust in her. But then she had known he would not understand her words. How well she understood him!
And his affection was not unrequited! The lover in him longed to hear those words, while the practical gentleman loathed every syllable. His torture was now complete. He had touched her heart, but he would never touch her lips, nor have her hand.
He tucked the letter away in his writing desk and tried to sleep. It was no use. He could not fall asleep until the letter was safely under his pillow, grasped tightly in his fingers.
~
He would not feel guilt. He would not. He stared out the carriage window, watching Hertfordshire fade away, and tried not to think of her.
Miss Bingley attempted to convince him to speak to Charles about Jane Bennet. She knew her brother would listen to Darcy, and Darcy knew Bingley would not listen to his sisters alone. Darcy wanted the best for his friend, but in truth, he did not know the contents of Jane Bennet’s heart. When Bingley asked him, Darcy told the truth. He had not paid close enough attention to Bingley’s interactions with Miss Bennet to know one way or another. If Bingley was truly interested in her, he should return to Netherfield and find out for himself.
Elizabeth Bennet had not taken advantage of Darcy when it would have been easy—and to her material advantage—to do so. She had been a true friend to him. He would be likewise to her. Darcy would not speak against Elizabeth’s beloved sister.
~
Three weeks. It had been three long weeks since Darcy left Hertfordshire for London. Bingley had returned and claimed Miss Bennet’s hand. The letter had been full of blots and incomplete sentences, but his friend’s joy leapt from the page. Darcy immediately wrote his congratulations and wished his friend joy. He did not ask about Miss Elizabeth. He would never move past her if he did not turn his mind elsewhere. It was the only way.
~
Christmas was upon them. He purchased sheet music for Georgiana and a small brooch he thought she would like. There had been a pair of emerald earrings at the jeweler’s that would have looked very well on Miss Elizabeth, but he hardly thought of her when he saw them. The love song his sister played, perfectly pitched for Miss Elizabeth’s high, sweet voice, barely reminded him of her. He had almost forgotten her. She had only crossed his mind four times today, not counting the dream that lingered when he woke and the tiny bout of daydreaming as he sat by the fire.
The real Miss Elizabeth would never stand on a carriage step with a stubborn gleam in her eyes. He would never kiss her hand and flirt so blatantly. And she certainly would not kiss his cheek and drive away before he could respond. He was imagining things. It did not count as thinking of her if the images were not based in reality.
She was almost forgotten, truly.
~
This dream was worse than the others. He had been so happy, so completely content. Waking up alone and cold, the fire burned low and the bed curtains drawn tight, only reinforced to him how very much he had lost—had given up. He forced his mind to empty, but in the end, only holding her letter, which he was in a fair way to knowing by heart, would help him sleep. She cared for him enough to let him go. He would follow her example.
~
Winter was such a dreary season, and it wasn’t even halfway through. He trudged downstairs to the breakfast room, attempting to appear his usual fastidious self and failing miserably. The staff gave him a wide berth, though he was too distracted to notice.
He opened his correspondence at the breakfast table. Anthony had written again of his betrothed. For a vicar, his cousin was bordering on poetic. Anthony Fitzwilliam was a younger son of the Earl of Matlock. He and Darcy had grown up together and had long had a steady friendship. Anthony and his brother Richard, now a colonel in the regulars, had often spent summers with Darcy in their youth. Richard was two years Darcy’s senior, and Darcy was less than a year older than Anthony. The three of them had many happy memories together.
Darcy was happy for Anthony, truly he was, but he tired of hearing of his cousin’s unending joy. Miss Sarah Swanson was the daughter of a local landowner and unknown to Darcy. She came from a respectable family and possessed a dowry of twelve thousand pounds. She was moderately connected—her father was a distant cousin of the Earl of Hardwick and her mother was a first cousin to Lady Nichols, the wife of Sir Henry Nichols, a baronet with extensive property in Suffolk.
The Fitzwilliam family had approved the match. The girl was very pretty and possessed excellent manners, her dowry and connections were good enough, though not as good as they could be, and her father was the wealthiest man for twenty miles in every direction. Darcy secretly thought the Fitzwilliams approved because though Anthony was a man of the cloth, he was known to have a stubborn streak as wide as the channel. If he wanted to marry Miss Swanson, marry her he would. The family would not risk a public rift and would support him with all the appearance of joy in his choice.
Anthony waxed on for two pages on how very lovely Sarah was. How sweet, how kind, how melodious her voice and how soft her skin. Darcy was nauseated by the time he came to the end of it. Had everyone gone mad? Anthony was barely recognizable and Bingley was acting a mooncalf over Miss Bennet, but at least his letters were only marginally legible.
Darcy couldn’t help the bitter huff from escaping his mouth. Anthony had been concerned over the family’s reaction to his betrothed. Ha! At least she had a dowry to speak of. Her father’s estate would be inherited by her brother, not a distant cousin too ridiculous to claim as a relation. She had ties to the nobility—distant, but ties nonetheless. If his Miss Bennet had possessed but one of those things, he would have paid his addresses weeks ago.
What was he thinking? She was not his Miss Bennet. She was not his anything at all.
~
Darcy passed another week in what he could only deem to be the most acute mental distress of his life before deciding to seek assistance. He knew exactly where to turn. As a breed, Darcys had long been known as fair, rational, thinking men. No one embodied that more than his great uncle, the judge.
Darcy was let into his uncle’s house shortly after dinner and quickly invited to sit by the fire with a glass of port and a blanket for his knees. He accepted the port and declined the blanket. His uncle was glad to see him and asked after his health and his sister before fixing his nephew with a shrewd eye and asking what had brought him to see his old uncle in the cold of a January night.
Darcy could not refuse the honest request for information and offer of assistance, and soon the entire story was laid out. He spoke of his time in Hertfordshire, of his unwilling attraction to a country girl that grew stronger each time he saw her. He spoke warmly of her wit, her intelligence, her kindness and forbearance in the face of great provocation.
His uncle nodded knowingly, having met Miss Bingley on more than one occasion.
Darcy held nothing back. His uncle soon knew of Miss Bennet’s letter and his conflicting feelings regarding it. The judge was told of Darcy’s disturbing dreams (though not in great detail) and his concern over returning for Bingley’s wedding and being unable to hide his affection for Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
“So your great question is whether or not you should attend your friend’s wedding?”
“I suppose.”
“You do not sound certain.”
Darcy hesitated and looked around the room, anywhere to avoid his uncle’s astute gaze.
“Do you believe I have done the right thing?” he finally asked, his voice so low it could barely be heard over the logs crackling in the fireplace.
“Let us look at this logically,” stated the judge. He leaned back and crossed his hands over his lap, looking every inch the impartial observer. “Miss Bennet is a gentleman’s daughter, is she not?”
“Yes, she is.”
“Her family
’s estate is one of longstanding?”
“Yes, I believe she said seven generations.”
“That is impressive.”
“Yes,” said Darcy quietly.
“She has no useful connections?”
“None that I am aware of. One maternal uncle is an attorney in Meryton, the other has a business here in Town. I know not of Mr. Bennet’s family other than that he has a distant cousin named Collins who is to inherit his estate.”
“Ah, yes, the entailment. That brings me to my next question. Does she have a dowry?”
“I have heard that she has roughly a thousand pounds, but I know no details.”
The judge nodded. “Interesting, is it not, that were the estate not entailed away from the female line, her elder sister would be set to inherit and the family would be considerably better off? We would likely not be having this conversation.”
Darcy paused to think. If Jane Bennet were in line to inherit Longbourn, would he have hesitated to connect himself to the Bennets?
“The mother, the sisters, they are wholly unsuitable,” added Darcy.
“So is Lady Catherine, but she is family, so you must endure her company.” The judge spoke without emotion, his expression neutral.
Darcy looked at him with some surprise.
“Come now, nephew, surely you see that Lady Catherine is allowed to continue as she does because she has rank and wealth. If you say Mrs. Bennet is a terror, I trust your judgment, but I will be hard pressed to believe she is any worse than Lady Catherine.” He peered at Darcy over his spectacles and Darcy was forced to concede that Mrs. Bennet was not truly any more embarrassing than his own aunt.
“Now, we have established that Miss Bennet brings little to the table in terms of money and connections, which is lamentable, but she is not unsuitable by birth, which is in her favor. Is Pemberley in need of funds? Will you be able to weather the disbursement of Georgiana’s dowry with little trouble?”
“No, the estate is not in need of funds. Georgiana’s dowry will cause no lasting hardship. I could well weather a dowerless bride.”
“Very well, we have established that a lack of dowry is no encumbrance. Are you in need of connections?”
“Not truly. I do not relish spending more time in Town than I already do. I would be happy to spend the majority of the year at Pemberley.”
“A country girl would be more inclined to that idea than a lady of the ton.”
Darcy nodded in acknowledgement.
“What of Georgiana? Would they get on?”
“I believe so. Miss Bennet is kind to her own sisters, even the ones who try her nerves more often than not. I cannot see that she would have any real trouble learning to care for Georgiana. Her liveliness would likely be a good complement to Georgiana’s shyness.”
“Yes, she might help little Georgie come out of her shell,” he said thoughtfully. “Very well. She is suitable by birth, and her lack of dowry and connections are not a problem for you. Her temperament is likely well-suited to the family you have and the life you wish to lead. Is she healthy?”
Darcy flushed. “Yes, she appears to be.”
“With five daughters so close together, her mother must be fecund,” said the judge casually. “That bodes well for you. You require an heir, and Pemberley is not entailed away from the female line. Should she prove like her mother and give you only daughters, it would be no hardship, though you might regret the loss of a son.”
Darcy nodded. “I might, but a son is not guaranteed in any union.”
“Ah, and here we come to the material point. You could marry a well-dowered lady with laudable connections if you so choose. Why do you fixate on Miss Bennet? Have you lost your heart to her? Is that why you bother an old man with your questions?” He said the last with a teasing smile and Darcy returned it.
“I believe I have, Uncle. Would that I could change it.”
“Why should you? Nephew,” he leaned forward and spoke earnestly, “there is no true impediment. She may have some rough edges that need smoothing out, but your Fitzwilliam cousins would surely help you. Margaret has always doted on you and it will be years before her daughters are old enough to launch for a season. She would leap at a project of this size.” He laughed softly at the thought. “You are your own man and may make your own decisions—it cannot be lack of permission that deters you. We have established that her birth is not disgraceful, though her mother and sisters will have to be kept out of the public eye. That should not be so very hard. They rarely travel to London and the younger are too young to reasonably be brought to Town for a season. You do not need money.” He looked at his nephew with probing eyes. “Why do you hesitate?”
“What if I am making a foolish mistake in the heat of passion?” Darcy said quietly.
“Ah, I see. May I say, Nephew, you never do anything in the heat of passion. Would that someone could inspire you to impetuosity!”
Darcy looked up from where he had been studying the carpet to gape at his uncle.
“Fitzwilliam, allow me to tell you something. An honest woman in our sphere of society is a rare and wondrous thing. I do not mean to say that most women are dishonest, but they are taught from the cradle to tell a man what he wishes to hear, to subsume their opinion to his. Many men prefer this, I daresay, but I know you are not one of them. Neither am I. If I want nothing but obedience, I will get a dog.” He huffed and sipped his port.
“From all you have told me, your Miss Bennet does not seem to be cowed by you. She has brought out a spark in you I have not seen since your father was alive. I thank her for that alone. But what truly impresses me about this young lady is that she knew her power over you and did nothing. Nothing! She cared only for your benefit. She could have brought you to heel had she a mind to,” said the judge with a hard look and the shake of one bony finger.
Darcy looked offended and his uncle laughed at him.
“Be honest with yourself, man! You were in the palm of her hand. You still are.” He ignored Darcy’s injured expression and continued speaking. “When she could have had all of Pemberley and a good husband besides, she chose to let you go, with her blessing. She did not spurn you or rail at you for abandoning her.” He leaned back and leveled his nephew with a stern stare. “I have seen enough in court to know that very few people will deny their own comfort and advancement for the sake of another. It is not to be taken lightly.”
Darcy looked into his uncle’s dark eyes, so like his own, and saw the truth of his statement. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, still feeling fraught with indecision and torn between his heart and his duty.
“If you cannot bear the public scrutiny that comes with choosing a dowerless, unknown bride, then perhaps it is you who does not deserve her.”
Darcy stared at his uncle, offended and shocked at his statement. Judge Darcy stared back, utterly unperturbed.
Finally, the judge broke the silence with softly spoken words. “Fitzwilliam, a life heavy with regret is hard to bear. Remember that.”
Darcy said goodnight and made his way home, his mind full. Had they truly come to the logical conclusion that Elizabeth was a good match? She had proved her goodness and loyalty by not seeking to entrap him. She loved the country and would be a good and fair mistress of Pemberley. She was a gentleman’s daughter. Where was the impediment?
~
It took Darcy two days to realize he was an idiot of the first water. Elizabeth had offered to let him go when she thought their alliance impossible and had wished him well in the future. In contrast, he had snuck off like a thief in the night, with no proper leave taking and no recognition of her kindness, no thanks for her selflessness.
Was he a coward? Afraid to face the woman he loved because… he did not know why. His reasons had gone up in smoke and blown away in the wind. His uncle was right. He did not deserve her.
~
Darcy awoke the next morning filled with resolve. This could not continue. He would seek out
Miss Elizabeth and ask to court her properly. His uncle had confirmed what he had long felt to be true. A woman like that did not come along every day. He had always known she was unique—that was what had drawn him to her—but his fear that others would not see it, that his family name would be damaged by others’ opinion of her and her family, and his decision to choose her, had held him back. It was cowardly and he was more than a little disgusted with himself.
Well, no more.
He saw how wrong his thinking had been. Elizabeth would not degrade the family name. She would be its greatest asset. She would be an exemplary mistress, a wonderful mother, and an excellent sister to Georgiana. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that she would be a perfect wife to him—a true wife. A lover and companion.
He felt the full weight of his stupidity for fighting it all this time. What kind of man willingly stayed away from Elizabeth Bennet? Only a fool would do something so senseless.
And Darcy was no fool. Not anymore.
Chapter 16
An Overdue Visit
Darcy sat in the carriage, nervously tapping his foot on the floor. Bingley was content to stare out the window with a ridiculous smile on his face, oblivious to the world around him.
Darcy could not be so glib. His entire future happiness rested on the result of today’s interview. If she refused his request to call on her, he did not know what he would do. Would she refuse to even see him? His heart pounded at the notion. Surely, she was too generous to do such a thing. But if she planned to deny him, would it not be a kindness to refuse to admit him? His mind leapt from one unlikely outcome to another like a rabbit in a field—or Bingley in a ballroom.
Stop it! You are being ridiculous. Elizabeth will not refuse to see you.
He took a deep breath and turned his mind to other things. He had sent his Uncle Darcy a note once he had made the decision to pursue Elizabeth. His uncle had written back immediately.
Ha! I knew you would come to your senses eventually. It might have taken longer on your own, but sooner or later, you would have run into her at some party or ball or some house in the country and been unable to restrain yourself.
The 26th of November, a Pride and Prejudice Comedy of Farcical Proportions Page 14