Chapter 7
Fitzwilliam Darcy had always taken pride in the power of his self-control.
Even as a child, he was regularly told that he was well-behaved and attentive.
As he grew up, aware of his responsibilities and the expectations attached to his position, he was always cautious with his manners and his actions, keeping his impulses, as rare as they were, under good regulation.
As his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam often teased him, Darcy was not a man driven by fancies.
As much as he trusted his instincts, he always weighed them against reasoning and sound judgment.
Therefore, he had rarely been wrong since he could remember — another reason for pride.
Sadly, those few failures were so significant that they overpowered the many times he had been right.
One of them was the decision to hire Mrs Younge when Georgiana was twelve.
Trusting that disloyal, shallow woman had proved his judgment was faulty and warned him to add extensive prudence in his future decisions.
However, it could have been too late. The cost of that error had been almost unbearable: his sister’s broken heart and shattered peace of mind.
Things could have been much worse if not for Georgiana’s strength and wisdom in revealing the planned elopement the day before it was due to occur.
Three months had passed since then, and Darcy’s guilt and self-reproach had grown even stronger; a hundred years would not be long enough to forgive himself.
Another failure — a long-lasting one — was how he had dealt with George Wickham.
He had long held enough evidence of that man’s defective character and his feigned affection for his father, and yet it had taken him over five years to banish the scoundrel from Pemberley.
His father, George Darcy, had never completely recovered after his mother’s death; for some strange reason, the excellent Mr George Darcy had found comfort in his godson’s company and seemed diverted by the miscreant’s easy, amiable, and amusing manners.
George Wickham was the sort of man who showed on the outside much more than there truly was on the inside.
Darcy had attempted to warn his father several times, but the honourable man known as the best master and landlord always found excuses and explanations for Wickham’s inclination for debauchery.
The truth had been forced upon his father when Wickham had seduced the gardener’s daughter — who was barely fourteen at the time — and left her with child.
Confronted over the situation, Wickham had proclaimed that such things happened all the time and there was nothing he could do.
George Darcy had taken the girl and her son under his protection, providing them with a cottage and financial support for a lifetime, all written into his will.
As a consequence, the previous master of Pemberley had suffered a change of heart towards his godson, and his dying wish for Wickham — one thousand pounds and a living — was altered to a bequest at the discretion of his heir, paving the way for Darcy’s third mistake.
For years, he allowed Wickham to continue his deceptions, to demand and receive more than was rightfully his, until the final betrayal that hurt Georgiana.
As much as he and his sister loved the seaside, they would likely avoid Brighton, where there were so many painful memories of their mother, and Ramsgate, where Georgiana’s future had almost been ruined, for a long time.
Darcy did not blame Wickham as much as he blamed himself.
He should have been more careful; he should have better protected his sister.
Strangely, even shockingly, the recollection of the incident in Brighton that could have cost him his own life was more pleasant than upsetting for Darcy, for it had caused him to encounter the peculiar young woman whose bravery and determination had impressed him, and to make the acquaintance of Dr Gardiner and his wife.
Mrs Gardiner’s prior connection with Lambton, Pemberley, and his family was a fortunate addition to a dangerous situation that had, in the end, turned out to be for the best.
Even at that moment, riding back to Netherfield with Bingley, Darcy could not suppress the smile on his lips, remembering his amazement when a young woman had jumped out from nowhere to help him.
Her struggle — skilful and clumsy at the same time — and her determination to stop his bleeding had been both startling and praiseworthy.
His surprise had made him forget his pain for a moment when he had realised it was the same woman he had caught swimming in the sea in the middle of the night.
How could someone not feel astonishment, amusement, and admiration at the same time?
Of course, he would never wish for his sister to find herself in either of those circumstances. It was highly improper as well as dangerous — but still admirable, in a peculiar way.
For three years, the young woman he later discovered to be Elizabeth Bennet, the daughter of a country gentleman, had lingered in his memory — not as a romantic figure but as a vivid presence.
A young woman courageous enough to defy convention for her enjoyment of swimming; a quick-witted stranger who, with trembling hands and a torn petticoat, had bandaged his wound on a deserted beach.
Even though the injury had not threatened his life, the importance of her compassionate and resourceful actions was not diminished in the slightest.
He had thought of her often ever since; not with longing but with a quiet respect — a curiosity about the spirited girl who had crossed his path in such extraordinary circumstances.
As a man who had often been in the company of young ladies who fought for his attention and was hardly impressed by any of them, Darcy was surprised by his interest in this unknown girl.
In Brighton, he had not looked at her well enough to remember her features or figure clearly.
Still, her image had been a constant in his quieter moments; it was a fleeting memory that enchanted him every time he recalled her fierce insistence that she needed no help in the water, or the way her voice trembled with determination as she pressed fabric against his bleeding shoulder.
At times, he even wondered whether those reflections were real or whether he had enhanced them in his mind, turning her into a character from a novel rather than a woman he might meet again.
Being closely acquainted with the Gardiners, he had specifically requested the favour of being introduced to Miss Elizabeth Bennet when she was next in London, to express his personal gratitude.
However, fate was unfavourable to such a meeting; when she did visit the Gardiners, he was not in town.
And then an extraordinary opportunity arose during Bingley’s search for a property.
He would never have recommended an estate to his friend that was unsuited to his needs and desires, but Netherfield had everything Bingley wished for, and being in such close proximity to Longbourn, which Darcy knew to be the Bennets’ home, weighed heavily in the final decision.
Luckily, Bingley seemed exceedingly happy with the choice, for more reasons than the property’s potential.
“Miss Elizabeth is exceedingly charming, is she not?” Bingley said, bringing Darcy back from his reverie.
“She is.”
“And her eldest sister, Miss Jane Bennet, is so beautiful! The most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I assume she has a sweet temper too. Would you not agree?”
“Miss Bennet is beautiful indeed. I would not dare assume her temper, since I saw her only for a few minutes.”
“You are always so fastidious, Darcy! I could wager with you that I am right.”
“I might be fastidious, if you wish to call it so, but I would say I am merely prudent. I would rather not presume too much without any evidence. I shall not attempt to change your opinion, though.”
“I am so happy I let Netherfield! Now you must teach me how to manage it.”
“That was a promise I shall keep. You only have to decide when we shall begin the lessons.”
“Not immediately. Let us enjoy our time for a little while. I am greatly anticipating this assembly. I hope you will join me.”
“You will no doubt pester me about it, so I should agree upon it immediately and save both of us from further arguments.”
Bingley laughed. “I am always content to find a way to persuade you against your will, Darcy. It is such a rare pleasure that I rejoice in it.”
“You should take pleasure in better things, Bingley,” Darcy concluded, amusing himself.
His agreement to attend the assembly had little to do with Bingley’s powers of persuasion.
He had no intention of dancing with anyone in particular, but he hoped to spend more time with Miss Elizabeth Bennet — and her father, a gentleman whose company he found exceedingly pleasant.
I hope it will be worth the trouble of enduring the scrutiny of strangers and the chatter of a provincial gathering.
As for Miss Elizabeth Bennet, her passing from merely a memory to reality left him with a most pleasant first — or better said, third — impression.
At Longbourn, in the midst of her family, she had been rather withdrawn, seemed uncomfortable — probably due to his presence — and appeared rather shy.
Their later meeting out of doors had revealed a different side of her — much more as he remembered her.
With easy manners, a handsome figure, and uncommonly pretty eyes that brightened when she smiled, Miss Elizabeth was as lovely and lively in person as she was in his recollections.
The only difference was that time had turned her from a girl into an enchanting young woman.
What sort of memories did she have about Brighton?
Especially about the day she had found him bleeding.
She had surely witnessed the attack, but had she seen the face of his assailant?
Had she heard their quarrel? Such questions had troubled him for three years, and he hoped to find answers.
She had not mentioned much about the incident, even to her uncle since Dr Gardiner had asked him several times whether he had discovered the identity of his attacker.
Darcy’s jaw tightened as he recalled the flash of the blade, the searing pain, the heat of blood — all so unexpected.
That was also his fault. He should have been more careful, more cautious.
He had told himself it was an accident, a misunderstanding, but the truth was darker, and revealing it might cause a scandal harmful to his sister and his name.
It was a risk Darcy was unwilling to accept, and he intended to secure Miss Elizabeth’s support.
She would certainly agree since she seemed reluctant to reveal the incident, as well as their prior encounter, to her own family.
As much as the claims that had caused the quarrel and his injury had tormented him ever since, Darcy struggled to dismiss them and refused to even seek evidence to confirm or deny them.
What use was there in stirring up the past if nothing could be done to change it?
What use was there in discovering a truth that might ruin beloved memories?
He hoped for an opportunity to speak to Miss Elizabeth again soon and touch on that delicate subject.
Perhaps during a walk to Oakham Mount — though he doubted it would be a wise choice.
He had spoken of Oakham Mount impulsively, a suggestion born of a selfish desire for conversation.
Yet, the moment the words left his lips, he had questioned their wisdom.
A private discussion might provide him with some answers and put him more at ease, but was it proper for him to be alone with a young woman whom he barely knew and in whom he already had too strong an interest?
“Darcy, is there something wrong? You have hardly spoken two words in the last hour.”
Bingley’s voice startled him again, and he noticed Netherfield had come into view.
“There is nothing wrong. I am sorry if I am not pleasant company. I am a bit preoccupied by some old matters.”
“May I help you?”
“No, but I thank you for offering.”
They entered the house, and Darcy was determined to withdraw to his room for the rest of the day but was abruptly stopped by Miss Caroline Bingley’s appearance.
“Charles, Mr Darcy, where have you been? We have missed you. Everything is so dull in the country that I cannot imagine how I shall bear it for longer than a fortnight. I am grateful that at least you are here, Mr Darcy!”
“We visited some of our neighbours and then took a long ride around the estate. I am sorry if you are weary of the country, Caroline. I would not mind if you returned to London — I certainly am not forcing you to stay here against your will.”
“I may well return when Mr Darcy does. There are so many diversions in London, and I greatly anticipate seeing dear Georgiana. I have not seen her since April.”
Darcy chose not to respond. He had no intention of travelling to London soon and certainly not in the close company of Caroline Bingley.
“May I prepare you a drink? You must be thirsty.”
“We are thirsty, Caroline, but we shall have some brandy. There is nothing to prepare about it. Perhaps you could order some food — we are hungry too.”
“If you do not mind, I would rather stay in my room until dinner,” Darcy said. “I have several long-due letters that must be finished today.”
“As you wish, Darcy. I shall send you up some food and drink,” Bingley replied.
“Do you have pens and paper in your room, Mr Darcy?” Miss Bingley enquired.
“I have. Thank you for being so attentive. I shall see you later,” Darcy said, then hurried up the stairs. His resolution was already made.
Regardless of the wisdom, or lack of it, in the plan, the next morning, he would take a ride along the path where Miss Elizabeth was wont to walk. If they happened to meet again, he would seize the opportunity. If not, he would surrender to fate and wait for another occasion.