Chapter Nineteen
Darcy and Jane watched the carriage trundle away.
Only after the coach had crossed over the ridge of the hill did they return to the drawing room.
Old Mr. Wickham had joined Wickham and Mr. Darcy. The steward was writing notes into his notebook as Mr. Darcy dictated instructions about a small matter of business.
The hand of their old steward was shaking.
There was something in his manner that made Darcy think that he was unlikely to outlive his master by much.
He had already determined to give the old man a pension and lighter duties if he wished to remain in harness, once he was the master.
The understeward was a capable man, and one ready for his promotion.
“Papa,” Darcy said when he’d finished speaking to Mr. Wickham, “I wish to speak with you in private about an important matter.”
The way his father’s face fell oddly hurt. “Again? Must it be again? What blow do you mean to give me now? Has it not already been enough?”
“Do you wish for me to not tell you anything that you will find unpleasant? This is not something which requires any present action. I merely believed that you would wish to know.”
“Does it relate to George? For then I have not the heart to hear it.”
Wickham also watched him intently to see what he had to say; old Mr. Wickham’s expression conveyed apathy about anything related to his son.
“No,” Darcy said. “Nothing about Wickham.”
Mr. Darcy sighed. He did not move for a while. He looked faded. Darcy wished Lizzy hadn’t left. He wanted to cry while she held him.
At last, his father stood. “I’d rather know than ponder.”
He walked slowly. Darcy hurried up next to him and offered his arm to his father.
At first, Papa shook it off with an angry motion. But then, after some consideration, he gave him his arm and let Darcy support him. “It shall not be long,” he said as they made slow way to his study. “Not long at all.”
Darcy knew the truth of his father’s words, and he felt the deep grief in his heart.
“Are you still glad that you must see me like this? Would it not be easier if you did not need to support an old man? There are servants for that.”
“No, no. There are not servants for certain things.”
Papa stopped them in front of the door to his study. “Fitzwilliam, I do like your presence. But that is not important. What matters is…is doing what we can with our time. You need not be here. These were your last months when you could act freely without any duties to the estate.”
“Papa, I have always had duties to the estate.” Darcy opened the door and he helped Papa to his Windsor chair, set on little castor wheels in the style of Jefferson.
“Well, what is it? What shall I hate to hear that has nothing to do with George?”
“I do not know for certain that you shall hate to hear it,” Fitzwilliam replied. “I have entered an engagement of marriage with Miss Bennet.”
“What? You love Jane that much?” Mr. Darcy sighed. “It is foolish. Foolish. You shall realize this. Surely, we can offer her enough to release you from her promise.”
“Elizabeth Bennet,” Darcy replied sharply.
“I understood you the first time—son, marrying the sister of the woman you love, out of some…odd notion that she is a sufficient compensation for the fact that you cannot marry the woman you truly wish to is…Fitzwilliam, I never before saw you act as a blockhead. I cannot prevent you from this foolishness. I am dying, and most of our holdings are entailed, but do not engage in such stupidity. Think about Elizabeth’s wellbeing.
The girl thinks very much of you. She always has hung about you, and pestered you, and you have allowed it.
She might think too much of you. I would not be surprised if she is in love with you.
Miss Elizabeth has always been so contrary that I would not trust her to enter a marriage simply because it was a sensible match.
It would be deeply unkind to her to place her forever in a marriage where she will always know that her husband thinks more highly of her sister. ”
“Is that your chief objection?” Darcy asked with some surprise.
“It is the chief one that may have any influence upon you.”
“Papa. I never have had the slightest interest in Mrs. Wickham. Her style of beauty is not—no, no. You have a way of thinking about matters that I can barely understand, though we share blood, and though you have raised me. You are often mistaken, and there is little point in arguing upon such matters now. I will simply say this: Whether you choose to believe me or not, I have never given marriage to Mrs. Wickham the slightest thought, and though she is exceedingly beautiful, I would never marry a woman simply because I liked the look of her. My proposal to Miss Bennet was prompted by the deepest affection for her, created through our long friendship, my great respect for her virtues and capabilities, and, I will happily confess, because I very much like the look of her. I love her, and I will marry her when she has reached an age where it would not seem to me that she is yet too young.”
Papa sighed. “You are determined to make a fool of yourself for a woman.”
“I intend to be happy.”
“She is blind and scarred.”
Fitzwilliam just looked at his father.
“Yes, yes. Well…” Mr. Darcy shook his head. “I do not know. I hardly know. I have done what I could to raise you, and to raise you well. And…”
“And I have always disappointed you,” Darcy said. “My choice of bride disappoints you further. I only…I do not care. I must be my own man. The only person whose good opinion I shall strive to be worthy of from henceforth is my own…and also Elizabeth’s.”
Papa stared at him. Odd things went over his face.
There was a spasm. Half of a smile. “I love him too. I realized that today. I love George as another son. I always hated how I must be so strict with you. So, I was the opposite with him. I did tell him to be wild at university, so long as he was not so wild that he would bring shame on our name. I said that to him, because I always insisted that you must be perfect.”
“Papa.”
“I blame myself. I do—I wished to know that George and Jane would be happy when I died. This was my gift to myself. Yet they are both unhappy, and I can help neither of them. Though I will do more for George—do not say anything to him while I am alive. But I will give him an annuity of five hundred more pounds a year. I—my fear is that this will not burden your estate for so very long. But I want him to have that carriage. At least until he is so far in debt that his creditors get everything given to him before he sees it.”
“I will never be on friendly terms with him.”
“What did he do to Elizabeth? What really happened?”
“It did not progress beyond a forced kiss,” Darcy replied. “But she will never be alone in a room with him again.”
“Is that why you sent her away?”
“Yes, chiefly for that reason.”
“Do you really mean that,” Papa then said, “that you only shall be motivated by your own view of yourself?”
“Yes.”
“You shall not be too kind to yourself. Promise that you will not accept anything from yourself, without consideration for the famed name of our family.”
“Papa, I will do what I can. But I am made of human clay. I am no more immune from mistakes, and mistakes with serious consequences, than you have been. I shall do my best, and nothing more can be done.”
Papa stared at Darcy. He swallowed. He looked down at this desk, at the papers spread across it.
Jove, were those tears on the sides of Papa’s eyes?
“You really mean that?” Papa asked again.
“Why do you insist on this? But yes. I shall not ask your shade if he approves of what I do as master. I shall ask my conscience, aided by Lizzy’s wisdom if it approves when I make decisions.”
“Then I can tell you this.” Papa looked directly at him.
“Fitzwilliam, you have never disappointed me. Never. Not once. You have always been the son I wanted. I wish you both very happy. I know you both will be very happy. And Elizabeth—I cannot understand for myself why you have been so struck by her. But I have never understood love. Since you are determined choose a woman to make a fool of yourself over, to pick a ridiculously poor match, well, amongst the girls of modest fortune who you may have selected, I know that you have chosen exceedingly well.”