Chapter 7
“It was something of a spectacle, I shall grant you that,” Fitzwilliam admitted as he and Darcy walked towards their club the day after their visit to Gracechurch Street. “Still, I do not see why you had to go silent as you did.”
“Can you not?” Darcy shook his head. “Firstly, I arrived already knowing I must disappoint further her beloved sister, for Bingley has done as Bingley tends to do and transferred his affections to another lady. But then, as though that were not bad enough, having been so harsh about her family—I brought Bedlam with me!”
Fitzwilliam could merely offer a sympathetic wince to that.
“And it is her relations, the very genteel and charming Gardiners—upon whom I have heaped endless scorn—who are required to overlook our offences. There could not have been a more poignant example of my idiocy!”
“Be an idiot then.” Fitzwilliam shrugged. “The way I see it, either you take a chance now?—”
“No, no, no,” Darcy interrupted him. “I have thought on it, and truly, my only hope is this travel to Derbyshire that is planned for the summer. Two months hence! I despise the very idea of it, but it is my best hope.”
They had arrived at the club and entered, handing coats, hats, and walking sticks to the waiting servant.
“His lordship said to meet him at his usual table,” Fitzwilliam said.
Unlike most noblemen, Lord Matlock thought it foppish to jostle for position in the window of his club. He preferred the dark recesses at the back. The pair moved through the long room, passing by table after table, nodding to acquaintances.
When they were about halfway through, Darcy was arrested by a pair of fine eyes in the face of an…older gentleman?
I had not before noticed that father and daughter shared the same eyes, he thought.
“Go on, I will join you in a bit,” he murmured to his cousin, then approached Mr Bennet’s table.
“How do you do, good sir?” he said awkwardly.
“Mr Darcy.” Mr Bennet nodded. He was seated beside Sir Archibald Lawson. Darcy knew the man also and greeted him, after which Sir Archibald rose and gestured to Darcy to take his seat.
“Entertain Bennet for me,” he said. “I need to speak to Lord Elton.”
Mr Bennet frowned slightly, seeming to dislike the idea, but regardless, Darcy sat. If he were ever to win Elizabeth’s hand, he reasoned, having her father’s good opinion would be paramount. As the gentleman made idle conversation, however, Darcy began to wonder if that would be possible. Mr Bennet was, at best, ill at ease; at worst, outright hostile. Had he been such a beast in Hertfordshire to warrant the gentleman’s ire?
Yes, yes you were. You insulted this man’s favoured daughter, and no doubt he has heard much of every ill opinion she ever held of you.
Darcy knew not how to rectify that. Their conversation had languished and Mr Bennet, it seemed, was perfectly content to pretend Darcy was not even there. He had turned his head away, his eyes wandering aimlessly over the rest of the room. With this, Darcy formed a resolution. Candour was in every way against his nature, but candour was required.
“Sir?” When Mr Bennet looked at him, Darcy continued. “It has um, occurred to me of late that I was somewhat ill mannered towards you and your family last autumn.”
“Occurred to you?” Mr Bennet chuckled. “Do you mean when Elizabeth told you?”
Had she confided in her father about his proposal? Darcy swallowed, glancing quickly about the room. Thankfully, it was less occupied than usual. “Yes. I daresay your daughter has told you of the…um, about our meeting in Kent?”
“One meeting in particular in my cousin’s home.”
“It was badly done,” Darcy said. “I assure you I am mortified by my conduct towards her. Miss Elizabeth taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By her, I have been properly humbled.”
“Well,” said Mr Bennet, seeming not to know what to say to that. “I have heard much from my daughter on the manner in which she has misunderstood you, so it seems you have both been, in turns, led to understand each other and yourselves better.”
Encouraged, Darcy nodded. “I cannot disagree. And it is my hope that on further acquaintance, we might?—”
“There will not be any further acquaintance,” Mr Bennet replied shortly. “I understand that Mr Bingley has given up Netherfield Park.”
“You know more than I do, then.”
“I have heard that a family called Bickford will be there by the next quarter day. So you see, Mr Darcy, the intersection of our families has come to its natural end. We will, as ever, wish you well.” He smiled blandly, looking the very opposite of a person who wished another well.
“Save for this summer,” Darcy replied, studying Mr Bennet as he did. He had never before said such things to any father, never wanting to give another man the least hope where a daughter was concerned. Ironic that the very man he hoped to one day call his father-in-law seemed determined to ignore his implications.
“Hmm?”
“This summer when Miss Elizabeth travels to Derbyshire with Mr and Mrs Gardiner.” With a determined smile he added, “It is my dearest wish that they will spend time with us at Pemberley.”
“Elizabeth will not be travelling with her aunt and uncle this summer.”
“I had understood?—”
“I have decided that it is inadvisable that she should go,” Mr Bennet said impatiently.
“How so?” Darcy pressed. He suspected he was being somewhat impudent but found he did not much care.
“It just is.”
The two men sat eyeing one another until Darcy said, “Travel is an excellent thing for a lady, particularly one with a spirit and a curiosity such as your daughter. I cannot think she much likes the idea of missing the opportunity.”
“She gave it up readily enough.”
“That does surprise me.”
“Elizabeth can be very stubborn. She will do much to carry her point.”
Darcy sat back, his mind racing to keep up with what he instinctively knew was important to him. “And what was the point she wished to carry?”
Mr Bennet waved his hand. “It does not signify. A bit of nonsense.”
“It must have been an important point indeed if she gave up the opportunity to travel with beloved relations to carry it.”
“As you may be aware,” Mr Bennet said, enunciating clearly, “when Elizabeth’s character is called into question, she reacts rather violently, even if it means defending an opinion that is not necessarily true.”
“It seems peculiar to me that you of all people should question her character.”
Mr Bennet pointed a finger at him. “I will not have my daughter’s head turned by a pack of dandies in Hyde Park or fine carriages and an earl’s sons calling at Gracechurch Street.”
Darcy considered that a moment. Was Mr Bennet implying that Elizabeth had changed her opinion of him because of the events in London?
“You judge her ill if you suppose that any of those sorts of things would alter any opinion she has of me,” he said at last. “Miss Elizabeth has known my exact income since the very first moment of our acquaintance, and it has persuaded her not a jot for many months.”
A servant came to the table near them, clearing away plates and cups left by the previous gentleman. Mr Bennet watched him as if it were the most fascinating sight in the world. Darcy was perfectly content to wait out the silence.
At last he sighed heavily. “Mr Darcy, I do not mean to insult you or my daughter, whom I love dearly. What I will say is that an alteration in opinion is one thing, but marriage is quite another. Elizabeth looked positively ill when I saw her. She has clearly not slept well, nor does it appear her appetite has been good. This…this business between you has troubled her and left her out of sorts, and therefore, I believe it is not good for her.”
Yes, it has troubled me too, Darcy thought even as his heart leapt at the idea that Elizabeth was, in any small part, feeling regret. His own waistcoats were feeling looser these days, and as for sleep, four or five hours had become a good night’s rest for him.
“All that I asked of her was that she put this nonsense behind her. I said that in order to be allowed to go with her aunt and uncle this summer, she needed to promise me no such silliness would arise again. Specifically, I said that yes, she could go with the Gardiners, but only if she would promise me that any notion of engagement or marriage to you be forsworn.”
Darcy felt his heart begin to pound violently. “Do you mean to say that the condition you imposed upon her was that she be absolutely, positively sworn against me?”
Mr Bennet peered at him closely from over his spectacles. “Understand that I mean no injury to you, sir. My daughter’s head has been turned—by what I cannot say—but it does her ill. Until I can be certain she will be sensible about the world, and her place within it, I must keep her at home.”
The idea of Mr Bennet thinking that Elizabeth was behaving nonsensically was utter rot, but Darcy could not think of it. There was a matter far more interesting to him at hand.
“To be clear, sir, you wanted her to promise that she would absolutely put out of her mind any notion of an engagement with me—ever—else she could not go on holiday with her aunt and uncle? The only way she would be permitted to go was if she promised you that, yes? And what did she say to that?”
Mr Bennet paused, drumming his fingers on the table briefly before admitting, “She said no. She would not promise me that she would not entertain a second offer of marriage from you and said she would rather remain at home than make a vow she had no intention of upholding.”
Darcy arose with such rapidity that his chair nearly toppled. He waved to the servant, demanding his coat and hat be brought at once. “Meet me by the entrance,” he told the boy. “Make haste.”
“Mr Darcy, where do you go?” asked Mr Bennet, half-rising out of his own chair.
With a broad smile, Darcy informed him, “Gracechurch Street.”
“That would certainly be a waste of your time.”
At his side, Darcy’s fists clenched almost involuntarily. “Respectfully, I disagree,” he said as calmly as he could.
Mr Bennet stared upwards a moment and heaved a sigh before saying, “Ah, but it is, for you see, the ladies have gone to Gunter’s. Elizabeth is very fond of the pistachio cream ices.”