Anger flared across Darcy’s countenance. “You speak of Mr. Wickham, I presume. I know you take an eager interest in that gentleman’s affairs.” He fair spat the words, as though the very name of Wickham tasted bad upon his lips.
“Mr. Wickham?” Elizabeth wondered aloud, confused by this sudden turn of conversation. “What of him? Surely you do not believe me to have been taken in by his pretty manners and sly insinuations. From the moment he began assaulting your character to me in such an inappropriate context, I suspected that something was amiss in his account of your relationship. I tried to communicate as much when we danced at Netherfield, to provide an opportunity for you to relate your own account. But I could see that the topic pained you, and I did not press further.”
Darcy appeared at a loss. “Is this true? You never gave credit to any of Wickham’s deceits?”
“Unfortunately, I am not possessed of the knowledge that would allow me to discern his deceits from his follies, but you may believe that I gave little credit to any of Mr. Wickham’s smooth converse.” Elizabeth hugged her arms around herself. The fire had begun to die down, and the room seemed to be growing colder by the moment.
“But, if not Wickham—to what can you refer, when you speak of an offense that would render my addresses so disgusting to you?” Mr. Darcy’s tone was that of complete bewilderment, but Elizabeth could not believe him to be insensible of his most grievous offense.
“I assure you, sir, even the most tender and passionate of avowals could never have convinced me to accept the man who has ruined, perhaps forever, the happiness of a most beloved sister!”
Elizabeth squared her shoulders and confronted him directly. “Do you deny it, sir?” she asked. “Can you possibly convince me that you did not unjustly separate two people wholly in love, namely my sister and Mr. Bingley?” As she asked, she realized that she hoped he might convince her of just that. But her hopes were to be dashed once again.
“I do not deny it. I made every effort to separate Mr. Bingley from your sister, and I rejoice in my success. You have said that you did not wish a loveless marriage for your friend. Should I desire less for my own? Towards him I have been kinder than towards myself.”
“What can you know of my sister’s feelings? Your understanding of my own has been completely flawed, even on the basis of a far more intimate acquaintance.” Elizabeth seethed with anger at his presumption and officious interference. “Please, sir, amuse me with more of your characterizations of the females among your acquaintance. After this evening, I should not be surprised to hear you call Miss Bingley an angel; or Mrs. Hurst, a wit. In the future, you would do well to adopt a more forgiving attitude towards ladies like Jane, whose emotions match their manners for delicacy. Your own sister may thank you.”
Elizabeth recognized the mask of pride that had once again captured Darcy’s countenance. The set of his jaw, the impenetrable glare in his dark eyes … She knew the expression well. Insufferable man!
Mr. Darcy rose from his chair and pulled himself up to his full, imposing height.
“Forgive me for taking up so much of your time, Miss Bennet. I believe I understand your sentiments completely, and now I have only to be ashamed of what my own have been.” He started to leave, but stopped and turned to address her once more. “Am I to understand that I now share the distinction of being refused by Miss Elizabeth Bennet with Mr. Collins? Did I comprehend you correctly, that he also made you an offer of marriage?”
“He did, sir. The morning following the ball at Netherfield.”
“And you rejected him?”
“The answer to that question is evident, I believe.”
A strange expression crossed Darcy’s face as he received this information. Elizabeth thought she could detect a struggle within him as he decided what to make of this admission. Then his face darkened, and she knew that once again, he was inclined to think the worst of her.
“No doubt you refused him in the hopes of holding out for better.” He was daring her to contradict him, and Elizabeth could not back down from the challenge.
“Yes, indeed I did, sir. I refused Mr. Collins because I had hopes of something infinitely better. Not a fortune of 10,000 a year, or a grand estate in Derbyshire, Mr. Darcy, but the hope of mutual respect and love.” She attempted to maintain a dispassionate tone, but a slight catch in her voice betrayed her disappointment.
A glimmer of emotion escaped Mr. Darcy’s control at that moment, and he grasped Elizabeth’s hand in his. She gasped sharply at this impulsive gesture and looked up at him with every intent to reproach. The warm regard in his eyes, however, threatened to dissolve her anger entirely.
“Miss Bennet,” he began gently. “My feelings may have been ill-expressed, but I assure you they are sincere. My undying devotion and love are yours forever, so much so that I was willing to marry you even if you cared only for my fortune. But Elizabeth, dare I ask—is it possible that you do love me?” He lifted her hand to his lips, placing upon her palm a kiss of such tenderness and ardor as Elizabeth had never dreamed to be in his disposition. She stood transfixed by the sensations that burned on her palm and coursed throughout her body, and she allowed her hand to remain in his as he pressed it to his chest.
“I once believed myself to share such an emotion.” She could not tear her eyes from the sight of his hand entwined with hers, and she swallowed self-consciously before continuing in a whisper. “Despite your belief to the contrary, sir, I have never been dishonest with you. Much as I might wish otherwise, I find myself incapable of deceiving you now. I am ashamed to own to it, Mr. Darcy, but I had scarcely known you a month when I felt that you were the only man I could ever marry.”
“Elizabeth,” he sighed, wrapping his other arm around her waist and pulling her close to him. She could feel his welcome warmth, and it took everything in her power to resist melting into it. But how could she possibly accept his love without having his respect?
With no small amount of effort, she retreated, pulling her hand from his grasp. “The use of a lady’s Christian name, sir, is generally reserved for those of her intimate acquaintance. I am sorry to say that this day has revealed to me that we know each other not at all. I fear that we are little more than strangers. Your understanding of my character has been so wholly mistaken, and those hopes I am embarrassed to say I once harbored have been cruelly destroyed by this new intimation of your selfish disdain for the feelings of others.” With as much calm and dignity as she could muster, she turned away. “I must beg you, sir, to leave me now.”
She did not hear him leave, but she felt the room go cold in his absence and shivered.
Chapter Eight
Rosings Park
Elizabeth wandered in the park longer than usual the following morning. She had barely slept the night before, and the long hours spent revisiting and revising her encounter with Mr. Darcy had left her feelings in ever-increasing turmoil.
She wondered at those with the stomach for high-stakes gambling. In less than an hour, she had glimpsed her greatest conceivable happiness and then seen it snatched away, and this brush with fortune’s cruel pendulum left her aching and hollow. She wandered numbly through the groves and meadows, not knowing where she tended, each step a task sufficient to her available strength.
How was she to understand the events of the previous evening? Mr. Darcy loved her. Mr. Darcy disdained her. He praised her beauty and intelligence in one breath, and with the next accused her of artful scheming. Mr. Darcy had offered his hand in marriage, and even humbled himself to the level of begging her to accept. Yet he despised himself for doing so and took every opportunity to articulate his reluctance.
If Elizabeth dissected Mr. Darcy’s statements to her, they formed two distinct halves of an incongruous whole. Was it possible to both love and loathe the same person, at the same time? It seemed it must be so, unless she could completely dismiss one set or the other of Mr. Darcy’s declarations. And, upon intense reflection, this odd juxta
position of emotions was a rather accurate summary of her own feelings toward him. A few days ago, she could not have laid truthful claim to either sentiment. She esteemed Mr. Darcy; she held him in an increasingly tender regard—but she had not permitted the notion of love to enter her consciousness. Likewise, while his treatment of her had not always been just or kind, she had never found a motive to despise him.
Now, however, it was impossible to feel anything other than revulsion for the man who had so meanly judged her sister and so callously interfered in her happiness. If she detested him for his insulting and arrogant appraisal of her and her family, no one could lay blame. Yet within her, these intense emotions mingled with passions of an altogether different nature—her soul’s stirring at his ardent declarations of love and the desire ignited within her by his tender kiss. She felt the ember of that brief caress smoldering still upon her palm, and she closed her fingers over it in a vain attempt to preserve its warmth.
It seemed a hopeless endeavor, to impose any rational order on her feelings. Furthermore, her success or failure in the effort was of little consequence. Upon returning to the parsonage, Elizabeth learned that Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam had called in her absence to take their leave. They were to quit Rosings early the next morning. In all likelihood, she would never meet with either gentleman again.
Their departure was announced as an accomplished fact by none other than Lady Catherine de Bourgh, when she called at the parsonage the following day. The week that stretched before Elizabeth until she, too, would leave Kent seemed interminable. Resolve as she might to forget Mr. Darcy, the act of doing so proved beyond the power of even her determined will. Every hour of the day, some memory of their last encounter would drift unbidden into her consciousness, and she would hear his voice in her mind as clearly as if he stood before her. These snippets of recollection made her pulse quicken or her blood run cold, by turns. I ardently admire and love you …. Despite my desire to avoid such base scheming… I made every effort to separate Mr. Bingley from your sister, and I rejoice in my success … My undying devotion and love are yours forever… Elizabeth…!
With few diversions to occupy her thoughts and no dear Jane to serve as confidante, Elizabeth relived these moments as a kind of secret and relentless torture. The fact that many of her remaining hours at Hunsford were necessarily passed in the very room where Mr. Darcy had made those ill-fated addresses only increased her distress. She found her eyes following the path of his agitated pacing when he had first entered, lighting on the armchair from which he had fielded her accusations, and inevitably lingering on the corner of the mantelpiece near which he had drawn her into his embrace.
She counted the hours until she would be reunited with Jane and at last be able to share this burden with her most beloved sister.
The morning before Elizabeth and Maria Lucas were scheduled to depart Hunsford, the business of packing and leave-taking finally providing some much-needed distraction, she received a most remarkable letter.
My dear Lizzy,
I scarcely know what to write, or whether I ought to write at all. If you even receive this letter before you leave Kent, I fear that by the time you arrive in London, intervening events may have proved me a fool once more. But for the present, my joy cannot be contained, and I must share such news with you, Lizzy, my dearest sister and friend.
Yesterday, two gentlemen came to call here at Gracechurch Street. Your astonishment will no doubt rival my own when you read their names—Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy! I can imagine your surprise as you read this, dear Lizzy, but take pity on your poor sister, who was forced to greet them but a few moments after receiving such a shock! If not for the calm and gracious hospitality of our aunt, I surely would have been lost, for I could not even bring myself to look in their direction for some moments after they entered the parlor.
Oh, Lizzy—imagine my distress! For the better part of three months here in town, I have attempted to put Mr. Bingley out of my thoughts. I had all but convinced myself that any feelings I once had for him were now completely forgotten; that they were never anything other than girlish imaginings that should strike me as absurd, if ever we crossed paths again. There was no indication that he and Mr. Darcy intended anything by this call other than an overdue gesture of courtesy, and so for the first several minutes of our awkward conversation I struggled mightily against any sensations of affection, or worse, hope.
When at length I dared to meet Mr. Bingley’s gaze, it seemed to reflect my own discomfiture. Imagine Mr. Bingley—ever the essence of amiability—so halting in his speech that his reticent friend Mr. Darcy was forced to carry the burden of conversation! Again, I bless the presence of our dear aunt, for the two spoke easily for some time about the close proximity of their childhood homes in Derbyshire.
We did manage eventually, Mr. Bingley and I, some polite discourse. I would recount our entire conversation for you faithfully, Lizzy, but in truth I can scarce recall a word that was spoken, save one most astonishing piece of information. For Mr. Bingley insists that he was completely unaware of my presence in town until Mr. Darcy informed him of it, just two days ago! He apologized profusely and stated that, had he not been ignorant of my being in London, nothing could have prevented him from calling on me at the earliest opportunity. I know that Miss Bingley’s deceit in this matter will not shock you, Lizzy, but I must own that I am still incredulous as to the depth of duplicity Mr. Bingley’s intimation implies. Even now, I would prefer to believe it all a great misunderstanding of some sort—for who can admit rancor in the face of such joy?
Before he took his leave, Mr. Bingley asked if he might call again today—indeed, we expect him presently—and he extended an invitation to me, as well as Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, to dine at his townhouse tomorrow! All my efforts to avoid vain hopes were dissolved by his kindness and sincere manner. You may chide me for my weakness in the end, but I cannot deny that I await Mr. Bingley’s call today with most imprudent anticipation.
When you greet me here in some days’ time, Lizzy, you will find your sister in either the greatest of ecstasies or the depths of despair—and in either case I shall be desperate to see you and talk with you at last.
Your loving sister,
Jane
Elizabeth read the letter several times before she could fully comprehend its contents, and as her carriage rattled toward London the following day, she found herself still at a loss to discern its deeper meaning. Beside her, Maria Lucas kept up a steady monologue of the dates, circumstances, and menus of their every invitation to Rosings, leaving Elizabeth free to pass the journey in silent contemplation.
By the date on Jane’s letter and her description of events, the gentlemen had paid their call to Gracechurch Street the day after Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam had quit Rosings. And by this calculation, Mr. Darcy must have gone the very evening of his arrival in town to inform Mr. Bingley of Jane’s presence in Cheapside. Whatever Mr. Darcy’s motivation in reuniting the couple he had so mercilessly separated, he had brooked no delay in doing so.
But what was his motivation? Did he believe Elizabeth when she championed the sincerity of Jane’s attachment and seek to make amends for his error? It was too much to credit that he hoped to improve Elizabeth’s opinion of him through this act. Surely Mr. Darcy would not stoop to renew his addresses, having been rebuffed. As often as his words that evening returned to haunt her, her own cutting retorts were never far behind.
Perhaps, Elizabeth considered, Mr. Darcy simply wished to mollify his own feelings by proving his original estimation of the Bennets as scheming and inferior. He may have expected that this personal encounter with their unsuitably low connections might convince both gentlemen of the Bennet family’s patent unworthiness. If such were his strategy, his efforts would be thwarted; for despite being in trade, the Gardiners’ gracious manners were always above reproach, and Jane would never oblige Mr. Darcy’s suspicions by displaying either self-promotion or incivility.
>
Whatever Mr. Darcy’s motives, Elizabeth hoped that Mr. Bingley would not be so easily persuaded on this occasion to follow anything but the dictates of his own happiness. Jane’s letter seemed to indicate he was as much in love with her as ever, but several days had passed since those first impressions had been penned to paper. Elizabeth keenly anticipated her arrival in Cheapside, knowing one glance at Jane’s face would put an end to all speculation.
She felt an immeasurable relief, therefore, when upon descending from the carriage in Gracechurch Street she immediately encountered Jane’s radiant smile. The two sisters embraced eagerly, exchanging knowing looks that hinted at the hours of intimate revelations to be shared. Elizabeth dearly loved her aunt and uncle, but on this occasion she rushed through the pleasantries of their reunion, excusing herself as soon as possible to rest and refresh herself upstairs. Jane, of course, was only too willing to accompany her, and poor Maria Lucas was left to begin her luncheon with near strangers.
“Well, then..?” Elizabeth prompted as soon as they were safely behind closed doors.
“Oh, Lizzy! I have so much to tell you, I hardly know where to begin. I am so glad to have you here at last to share my joy. I feel I shall crack for holding in so much happiness.”
Elizabeth laughed gently. “My dear Jane, if your happiness is a secret from anyone, I should be exceedingly surprised. Such joy is plainly writ across your face as to make me despair of ever feeling one-tenth the emotion.”
“To be sure, our aunt and uncle are aware of my attachment to Mr. Bingley—for such is the source of my happiness, as you must have guessed already—but the full extent is unknown to even them. I fear I shall burst with my happy secret if I keep it from you a moment longer. Lizzy—you will not believe it, but we are engaged!”
Elizabeth and Darcy- Ardently Yours Page 8