Chapter 27 A Dark Night of the Soul
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
A DARK NIGHT OF THE SOUL
Was she correct? Had he come to a point in his life where being proved right was all that he cared about?
The lamp in Darcy’s study burned low, casting shadows that flickered across walls. He sat motionless in his chair, a glass of untouched brandy warming in his palm, his gaze fixed upon nothing.
He had not even, he realised, told Anne directly that he did not plan to marry her.
Of course, neither had he ever said he would, but apparently Anne had expected it.
And for the sake of family, for the sake of regard for a relation, he should at least have spoken to her directly.
It was as if she was so unimportant in the matter, she did not deserve to hear the words from his own lips.
Yes, in all of this, he had thought himself justified.
Had he not spent years enduring his aunt’s presumption—silently?
He had gone along, avoiding the matter, thinking what?
That they would somehow forget about it some day?
That he would announce his bride to them and they would simply shrug and accept it?
That was an injustice even to the future Mrs Darcy who would have received a share of the Fitzwilliam disdain for no fault of her own.
Their responses he had not dignified with any replies of his own. His uncle and his aunt had both sent him several letters in the first twelvemonth. He had not responded and had only read a few lines of one or two of them. The words of his uncle now rose up from those pages:
You have made a fool of your aunt and cast aspersions upon a blameless young woman. Whatever your reasons, Darcy, you have acted without honour.
He had refused to give justice to the writings, but now he realised there might be two truths in all of this matter.
His refusal might have been warranted, but their feelings were as well.
No matter how unreasonable their beliefs had been…
those were still the truths they had laboured under for many years. Anne, particularly.
Darcy set down his glass and rose, moving to the window, gazing down at the streets of Mayfair.
His was a privileged life, but he had extended, perhaps too far, that privilege he was given by birth.
He had thought himself, and his own needs, above others, even others in his own family.
Was it any wonder that Miss L had believed he would do the same to her?
In fact, he probably would have. He could not abide those Bennet ladies. He loathed being in their company. But would he tolerate them if it meant having Miss L as his wife? Nay. Tolerating them would not be enough. He would need to embrace them.
And he could do that for Miss L. She was everything he wanted and needed in his life, and if they came with her, he would gladly love them as his own.
Then came Bingley to his mind and the mistake he had made there.
When he had told Bingley that Miss Bennet did not seem attached to him, Bingley had been embarrassed, no doubt feeling he had made a cake of himself.
But it seemed it was Darcy who had been the fool, roaming about telling everyone how things were when in truth he had no idea at all.
“But what now?” he murmured to the London street below him. “I cannot undo what is done.”
He could only address what damage had been done.
If that meant allowing Lady Catherine to extract her pound of flesh from him—or rather, her five thousand pounds—then he supposed he would have to do that.
With hopes that I might bargain a little.
He would endure whatever censure was his due, both from Lady Catherine and the earl, and seek, if not forgiveness, then at least their understanding.
And with that a letter to Anne. Not an apology for refusing to marry her—he would not insult her with dishonesty—but an acknowledgment of failure to consider her feelings. An offer of friendship, if she would accept it, and assurance of her welcome at Pemberley should she ever wish it.
His pride rebelled at the thought of such humiliation. The tattle would be rampant that he had capitulated to his family’s demands. He would do it for Miss L even if she might not see it, or if it made no difference to her. But he would become a better man, to her credit.
Darcy turned from the window, his jaw set with new resolve. Tomorrow he would begin to change, he hoped, everything.
Darcy sent a note to Anne first thing in the morning, and he was pleased when she replied that she would wait upon him that day.
She came attended by Mrs Jenkinson, as he had requested, and met him in the small courtyard outside of his study.
He had hoped she would have no objection to enjoying the air, and she did not.
“Shall I ring for some tea?” he asked.
“I thank you, but no. I have a great many appointments this afternoon, Darcy, so pray forgive me if I run off shortly.”
“Very well,” he said. “I trust you are not to take a chill out here?”
“Of course not. The day is very fine, is it not?” With a smile, she looked around her. “I do not think I have ever been out here. It is a pleasant little space.”
Anne had a glow about her, he observed, and she seemed almost girlish in her manners. “I have some news,” she said in reply to his compliment on her evident good health. “I am engaged to be married. I believe he is a friend of yours.”
“Jolly Rawlings? I had heard about it.” He offered a smile. “I congratulate you and give you my truest wishes for felicity. When do you mean to make him the happiest of men?”
“The nineteenth of June,” she replied.
“So soon!”
She shrugged. “I am hardly a young woman, Darcy, and I feel I have waited long enough. I find that I am quite…quite…” She giggled. “I find myself quite mad about him, if I do say so.”
“I am exceedingly glad to hear it. He is a fine fellow, and he has had heiresses aplenty dangled in front of his nose since university. I daresay if he proposed then he must be mad for you as well.”
That pleased her. She turned pinkish and smiled down at her hands.
“I owe you an apology,” he said, turning the subject to that of his true interest.
She raised her eyes and tilted her head.
“It was disrespectful of me to allow this…this tale of a presumed engagement to persist for so many years. You and I ought to have talked about it a long, long time ago.”
“Well…yes. Perhaps we ought to have.”
“Then when I did make my intentions known, I did not even afford you the dignity of hearing it yourself. I told my aunt and never did come to you. That was exceedingly wrong of me. I am sorry.” With a tentative smile, he added, “You are your own person. I should never have treated you otherwise.”
“We never would have suited, you know. We are both far too serious.” She returned the smile. “And if I am being honest, I do not much like Derbyshire.”
He inclined his head. “Fair enough. Just know that I do wish you and Jolly every bit of felicity you can manage.”
“Thank you. I believe we shall shift along nicely.” She rose. “Pray do not see me out, Darcy. The sun is too lovely to go inside for even a moment more than one must.”
His duty to Anne discharged, Darcy next decided he would approach Bingley. He ordered his carriage brought round, then thought the better of it and decided to walk. He met Saye as he was exiting his own carriage, evidently having meant to call upon his cousin.
“Too dull by half,” he announced as he stepped out. “There is absolutely nothing of interest to do today, and devil take it, somehow I woke with the dawn!”
“When exactly do you think dawn happens?” Darcy enquired as he began to walk towards Piccadilly. “Because I assure you it is well before the noon hour.”
Saye ignored his jest. “Where are you going?”
“I must go see Bingley and am hoping to catch him in his apartments.”
“Lord yes, Heaven preserve you from having to go to Grosvenor Square even if it is closer.” Saye reached into his pocket and withdrew one of his sweets on a stick. He stuck it in his mouth.
Darcy eyed him. “I do not think I should like to roam about with a stick hanging out of my mouth all the time.”
“Nor should you,” Saye replied agreeably, falling into step beside him. “For if you did, people might wonder if it was connected to the one jammed up your—”
Darcy gave him a little poke on the boot with his walking stick. “May I remind you we are right in the middle of the street!”
Saye rolled his eyes. “In any case, I will leave you, then. I do not have any mind to visit the Albany. All those wretched souls with no home in town to call their own! Heartbreaking.”
“Yes, the orphans selling buttons on the street are nothing to them.” Darcy turned to his cousin. “Will his lordship be about later in the day?”
“I am not his secretary, but I believe he has gone somewhere until tomorrow. Middlesex perhaps?”
“Tomorrow, then.” Darcy nodded. “I have a wish to speak to him and Lady Catherine.”
Saye grimaced. “Not sure if that is a conversation I wish to hear or to avoid. Perhaps one to be eavesdropped upon.”
“I can save you that effort and tell you the substance of it. I mean to apologise,” Darcy informed him.
“To him and to Lady Catherine both. I have already spoken to Anne this morning, but she is happy in love and may be more inclined to forgive me than our elders. Nevertheless, it is right to do, and I will do it no matter what pound of flesh they need to extract from me for it.”
Saye’s brow wrinkled, and he removed his candy from his mouth. “I do not think you were wrong in what you did.”
“No, but I was wrong in the manner in which I did it.” Darcy inclined his head. “They may or may not see it my way, but either way, I mean to put an end to this feud between us all.”
Saye reached out to pat his arm. “You are a better man than I, Darcy, but then again most are. By the by, Miss Bennet has already prevailed upon them to drop the suit.”
Darcy felt his jaw drop. “You cannot be in earnest.”
“I confess I am. I have no idea how on earth she managed it, but my father was rather like putty in her hands, it seemed. He thinks her absolutely charming and earnest.” With a jaunty whistle, he sauntered back to his carriage and climbed in.
Was it true? He supposed he might need to call on his solicitor later and discover it. He would not believe it until he saw it for himself, to be sure. If Miss Elizabeth Bennet could work such a change on the earl…well, perhaps he ought to take her with him to apologise.
A short time later, Darcy presented himself in the receiving hall and soon thereafter was shown to Bingley’s set of rooms. His mind was busy with every step.
How did one confess to such presumption, such interference in the life of one’s dearest friend?
He had rehearsed the words a dozen times in the walk from his house, yet still they seemed inadequate, hollow.
“Darcy!” Bingley was in his shirtsleeves, sitting down to what appeared to be a hearty breakfast. “How do you do? Are you hungry? I was just about to eat.”
“Some coffee would do,” he said with a hesitant smile.
Bingley had his man do the pouring and then looked at Darcy expectantly. “You do not often call on me here?”
Had that been offensive to his friend? Darcy said, “We have mostly met at the club, have we not?”
“Yes, it is not easy to entertain here, to be sure!” Bingley chuckled. “But you must have had some purpose today? You seem as though you have something on your mind.”
“Am I so easily understood?” Darcy laughed weakly. “In fact, I must speak with you regarding Miss Bennet.”
“Has something happened to her?” Bingley asked with a gasp, dropping the forkful of ham he had been about to eat. “Is she well?”
“Perfectly well. Forgive me, I did not mean to imply I had heard ill of her.” Darcy paused, forcing himself to meet his friend’s anxious gaze. “I have done you a grave disservice, Bingley, and since I learnt of my error, I have been eager to come correct my mistake.”
“What do you mean?”
“The day after the Bennet ladies called in Grosvenor Square, when I spoke with you afterwards…” Darcy drew a deep breath. “When I implied that they would use you as a life buoy.”
“Yes?”
“I was vastly mistaken. Miss Bennet does, in fact, love you but has persuaded herself that her attachment must be futile.”
Bingley was perfectly still in a way Darcy had never before seen him. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked steadily, marking each uncomfortable second, while somewhere below, a door closed and footsteps echoed in the corridor.
“Why do you say so?”
“I relied too heavily on my own limited observations and prejudices. I have learnt—through sources I cannot doubt—that Miss Bennet’s feelings for you were sincere. That her reserved manner, which I interpreted as indifference, was merely the product of her natural modesty and restraint.”
“What sources do you mean? Surely not her sisters? I cannot imagine anything they would say would so influence your opinions.”
Darcy debated for a moment, unsure what he should reveal. At length he sighed. “It is a long story and one which might sound a bit fantastical, but if you will grant me the time, I will tell you all.”
By the time he was finished, Bingley had eaten all of his breakfast and had drunk two cups of coffee besides.
“You are in love with a woman whose name you do not know? That is extraordinary!” He threw back his head and laughed.
“If I ever told you such a thing, you would ring a peal over me for half an hour!”
“I know, I know,” said Darcy sheepishly. “Believe me when I say I hardly comprehend it myself. But in any case, I am fairly certain she is the sister of Miss Bennet.”
“Her dearest sister,” Bingley mused. “They are quite different from the others, are they not?”
“One can only hope that the younger two, once they are older, will be a credit to their parents.” Darcy took a last sip of his coffee. “Dare I ask what you mean to do now?”
“Now? Now I will go propose to her.”
Darcy gaped a moment. “Just that easily?”
“Just that easily,” said Bingley with a grin. “Love suffers no delay, or at least no additional delay. Would you like to come along?”
“To come with you to propose?” Darcy laughed. “No, I daresay that is one task a man ought to tend to alone.”
“Very well, but if they ask me to dine with them, I will send for you. I find repeated exposures are the best way to learn to endure.” Bingley winked and rose from his chair as he said so. “Pray do excuse me, Darcy. I must have my man in here to finish dressing me.”