Chapter One #2
But, while Mr. Darcy did not ever seek an excess of passion in his own life, he understood that those of lesser blood and breeding could not command themselves.
Others were not so virtuous as he—they could not resist temptation when it came, and they felt temptation easily.
So long as Fitzwilliam was better than that, so long as Fitzwilliam was like his father in this, and in every other important respect, Mr. Darcy would be satisfied.
The faults of Mr. Bennet were very different from those of Mr. Wickham, and Mr. Darcy judged them more harshly.
While an uncontrollable need to please a woman was foreign to Darcy’s own character, there was something almost admirable in the intensity, fervor, and drive that passion gave to a man. Mr. Darcy could salute such vigor, while rejoicing that this made up no part of his own character.
But laziness?
An unwillingness to put forth effort upon a matter that was his own duty?
Giving one’s wife permission to spend more than she ought, merely because one did not like to argue about the matter?
This flaw was not merely absent in Mr. Darcy’s driven, active, and eager nature; it was also one which he could in no way think well of.
Mr. Bennet’s unwillingness to control his wife did not arise from an excess of passion—even in the first year or two of his marriage, it had been clear to Mr. Darcy that Mr. Bennet already regretted that her beautiful face and person had attached him to a woman who lacked good sense and good education.
This was another sort of failure that Mr. Darcy strictly lectured Fitzwilliam against.
Do not marry one who is beneath you. Do not marry one who you merely like the look of.
Do not marry simply to impress one’s friends.
Do not marry simply for wealth and connections.
When you marry, my dear boy, marry a girl who combines all of the virtues with a respectable position in society, such that your alliance adds to the glory of your name.
If you cannot easily find such a woman, be in no hurry to enter matrimony.
Fitzwilliam, my dear boy, you are a Darcy. Much is expected of you. You will be better than the ordinary sorts.
Mr. Darcy did not expect much of his friends though. He liked them because they were his friends, because he enjoyed their company, and ultimately because he loved them.
It was fortunate that Mr. Darcy’s affection for his friends did not depend upon shows of virtue, for after taking his estate, Mr. Bennet provided an excellent example of how not to act.
Beyond his unwillingness to restrain his wife, Mr. Bennet did not exercise any economy with regards to his own expenditures.
He had lived a restricted and limited life until nearly the age of forty.
Now that he had inherited and married, Mr. Bennet had no intention of denying himself anything that his ample income could afford.
Mr. Bennet collected. He collected books, he collected maps, he collected artifacts from the barrows of the ancient Britons.
He collected a beautiful wife. He collected beautiful daughters.
And he consumed. He consumed the finest port and cigars.
He consumed the best candles and paper. He consumed a full establishment of footmen and servants.
Cautious inquiries on the part of Mr. Darcy revealed that Mr. Bennet set nothing aside for his growing horde of daughters. There already were three at the time that Mr. Darcy inquired from his old friend about his savings. That number would grow to five within the course of another two years.
Mr. Bennet was unwilling to concern himself with the matter: Yes, yes, my estate is entailed.
Yes, my girls will not have so very much if I die before they can marry.
However, really, my wife’s fortune of five thousand split among the pack of them is not so bad.
You know, my father’s allowance to me was rather less than that, and I lived prettily enough for decades upon it.
At this point, Mr. Darcy felt obliged to interrupt Mr. Bennet’s grand oration to point out that, first, the allowance he received from his father was in fact greater than the income that each of three girls would receive from his wife’s fortune, and second, that he had mostly lived with friends and was not therefore forced to bear the cost of either board or respectable lodgings.
This thought stymied Mr. Bennet for a short time, but he continued: In any case, the next child, the one that Mrs. Bennet presently carries, will be a boy. Or if not that child, then another one. Besides, I am a healthy man, and the girls will all marry long before I kick up my boots.
Mr. Darcy suspected that the chief reason that Mr. Bennet did not worry about the matter was that he did not consider it to be his problem. He would be dead when his wife and children were forced to make shift without his income.
Despite this casualness in the matter of their material security, Mr. Bennet was in some ways an affectionate father, especially with his second daughter, a lively black-haired mischief maker.
In little Elizabeth, Mr. Bennet saw the return of a beloved little sister who had died giving birth.
Elizabeth was in fact very much the image of that aunt, who had been a charming and delightful creature whom Mr. Darcy had felt a strong attraction towards when he’d met her in his twentieth year.
However, she had already been engaged, and in any case had been decidedly beneath Mr. Darcy’s expectations.
As already noted, Mr. Darcy never allowed his passions to overcome him to the point that he lost all sense, reason, and good judgement.
He would not make a fool of himself over a girl, and he was happy that Fitzwilliam showed every sign of having the same character—though Mr. Darcy could not yet know how his son’s character would settle when he was full grown.
This uncertainty was the only matter on which Mr. Darcy ever felt substantial anxiety.
It led him to act with great diligence and occasional harshness as he strove to inculcate a proper and disciplined character in the boy.
Mr. Darcy treated his role as godfather as a sacred and serious obligation.
It was his duty to see that his godchildren were raised with proper principles and provided with a situation appropriate to their birth and Mr. Darcy’s consequence.
Thus, he needed to secure a respectable establishment for George Wickham and Jane Bennet.
This would be cheaper if they married each other.
Further, Mr. Darcy liked the idea of keeping them near, to be comforts for him in his old age.
This gentleman had no desire to see his own son in the role of being a ‘comfort for his old age’.
His son ought to spend his time while his father was still alive gaining glory and friends amongst the other sons of great estates in England, while his daughter would marry very well—but perhaps distantly.
Not long after George started to speak, Mr. Darcy determined that he would give the charming young lad, who insisted on loudly saying his prayers in front of everyone, a place in the church.
There were several substantial livings under Mr. Darcy’s control, and he planned to give him the one at Kympton, which would make him George Darcy’s own rector, when the boy reached the proper age.
If he gave a substantial addition to Jane Bennet’s dowry, such a marriage would create an establishment where both parties had every claim to gentility and consequence.
Besides, if they both continued to have such appealing looks into adulthood, they would be a couple well matched in appearance, and they would draw the admiration of all who saw them.
Mr. Darcy was, of course, not a woman. It was not for him to engage in twisty tricks and endless stratagems to see a match made.
No, he was a gentleman.
And he was a man who in most matters—that is, matters that did not involve the education of his only son—was quite willing to accept that other individuals would make their own decisions and pursue their own happiness, or destruction, in their own way.
He could only surround those he cared for with circumstances that encouraged them to do rightly.
For these reasons, Mr. Darcy brought George with him the next time he stayed with Mr. Bennet—it was his habit to stop at Longbourn for a week while either on the road to London for the season, or when returning.
The two children quickly became close friends.
It was as though George understood exactly what Mr. Darcy hoped for him to do without being told—it so often seemed that way with George.
Jane Bennet was six years old, while George was eight, almost nine. It was a close enough age for them to strike up an easy friendship.
During these visits, Fitzwilliam chiefly spent his time eagerly listening and soaking in knowledge as Mr. Bennet and Mr. Darcy discoursed upon many diverse topics.
Or he read books by himself. Always Mr. Bennet insisted on keeping little Lizzy in the room with him.
He doted on the child to a ridiculous extent, and often when she asked ‘why’ he would stop the conversation to explain the matter to her, using different modes of explanation when she asked ‘why’ a second and a third time.
Mr. Darcy approved of this, even though the presence of the little girl disrupted the most serious aspects of their own conversation.
Poor Bennet did not have a son.
It was clear to Mr. Darcy that his friend’s efforts to educate Elizabeth were in the vain hope of filling the aching void in his heart that was impossible to patch without a true heir.
Fitzwilliam rode all the roads around Hertfordshire, climbed all of the hills, and proved himself to be a better shot than any boy his age amongst the young gentry of Meryton.
Mr. Darcy was so terribly proud of Fitzwilliam that sometimes his very soul ached with joy.