Chapter 2
Darcy watched the exchange with astonishment and disbelief.
Almost from the beginning of their acquaintance, he had come to admire Elizabeth Bennet.
First, he was attracted to her pretty eyes and her handsome figure.
Then, he was charmed by her wit, her love for books, her easy, unaffected manners and soon found himself thinking of her day and night.
He had to admit being more enchanted by her than by any other woman; if not for the inferiority of her connections and the complete lack of manners of her family, he would certainly be in great danger.
He was well aware that, as much as he admired Miss Elizabeth Bennet and the many qualities she might have possessed, she could not be suitable as the future Mrs Darcy.
The notion of the Bennets invading Pemberley or being introduced among his acquaintances, made him cringe.
And Elizabeth’s own lack of experience in dealing with the extended responsibilities attached to the Darcy family made her unsuitable.
Therefore, he felt compelled to protect her shattered hopes and dreams and keep a distance from her.
Her sharp mind, however, certainly allowed her to guess his admiration for her.
He could see she was receiving his attention with pleasure and even returned it.
Or so he had believed until that night when her argument with Wickham revealed that she had disliked him, even despised him, all those weeks.
Such a complete misjudgement of her feelings disturbed him greatly. If he had not heard her saying that she and he disliked each other with such strong conviction, he would have assumed it was another of Wickham’s vicious schemes to upset him.
As had happened since their childhood, Wickham had immediately noticed his preference for Elizabeth. Wickham had a real skill for guessing people’s weaknesses and exploiting them to his benefit. And Elizabeth Bennet was Darcy’s weakness indeed.
The day he met Wickham in Meryton, he was torn between keeping his silence to protect his name or exposing the man’s character and preventing him from taking advantage of others.
He had hoped Wickham would not appear at the ball—but Wickham’s impertinence had no limits.
And then, he noticed his closeness to Elizabeth, their shared amicable conversations, their two dances together—and Elizabeth’s subtle reproaches towards him during their own dance.
Over the following hours, he had struggled to find a way to warn Elizabeth, but then the fates had intervened and she had discovered the truth in the most distressing way.
Her anger against Wickham was justified but it raised new concerns for Darcy: Wickham’s grudge and possible revenge against her.
The man had no scruples and he would do anything to protect his advantages.
With the knife he had found in a drawer, Darcy tried to open the door.
“I could use some more light,” he told Wickham, who was still yelling for help through the window.
It was Elizabeth who approached him with a candle—he could smell her scent even before he laid eyes on her.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“Do not thank me, you are working to the benefit of us all,” she responded in the same low tone.
Suddenly, voices were heard from the other side of the door.
“Who is in there?” they heard Bingley asking with precipitation.
“Bingley, it is me,” Darcy responded calmly. “I am here with Wickham and with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I am trying to unlock the door from the inside.”
“But are any of you harmed? We heard some cries for help,” Bingley continued.
“We are all well, Mr Bingley,” Elizabeth responded. “Except for some wounded pride and fear of the truth,” she added, and Darcy could not conceal his smile.
Despite the painful revelation of her true feelings, he could not avoid admiring her spirit and wit, even in this most difficult situation.
Wickham came closer too and hit the door. “You should try to break the door down, Mr Bingley! Bring some men and break it,” he insisted.
“Breaking a heavy, wooden door would be a task destined for failure,” Darcy said. “Wickham, keep your voice down, you will frighten the entire party. Why on earth are you screaming? You are inside a library, not fighting wolves in the woods!”
Wickham glared at Darcy with enmity for being scolded in front of a woman. Darcy however ignored him and continued his endeavour.
On the other side of the door, the music stopped and anxious voices could be heard.
Finally, after minutes that seemed as long as hours, Darcy’s knife dropped to the floor and the door unlocked. It slowly widened, revealing a large gathering of familiar faces, staring at them in astonishment.
“Lizzy dear, I was so worried!” Jane said. “I did not know where you were!”
“I am sorry for worrying anyone. All is well, only a broken doorknob,” Elizabeth replied.
“Lizzy, whose coat is that?” Lydia cried over Jane’s shoulder. Only then, did she realise she was still wearing Darcy’s coat, while he was wearing only his vest over his shirt.
She blushed with embarrassment, though she had no reason to be so. Still, she offered an explanation. “The window was wide open and it was rather cold in the library.”
“I will send a servant to make up the fire,” Bingley declared, ready to be of help.
“Well, if we have finished yelling and wandering around the house, supper is served,” Miss Bingley said, with a derisive, jeering expression.
The entire party walked to supper together, Mrs Bennet complaining about her nerves and about Elizabeth’s disobedience. Near her, Mr Collins expressed his opinion about proper doorknobs and quoted Lady Catherine on the subject.
Elizabeth, arm in arm with Jane, tried to gather her composure while reflecting on the happenstance. Bingley was close to them and Darcy slightly behind. Wickham rejoined his fellow officers and hurried towards the dinner table, filling their glasses.
If someone had told Elizabeth that within an hour she would have changed her opinion of Mr Wickham, Mr Darcy and herself, she would have dismissed such claims with utter mockery. And still, it had occurred, simply by overhearing one conversation.
Such embarrassment would have been easily avoided if she had used her wisdom, or at least had not ignored the warnings from her sister Jane and even her father.
How a man like Wickham could have all the appearance of goodness, show such amiable manners and handsome features, and yet hide such a duplicitous nature and untrusting character was a mystery, and a lesson she had learned the hard way.
Only hours earlier, she would have easily argued with anyone to his benefit, while condemning Darcy for his pride, vanity and lack of sensibility.
During supper, Elizabeth could not help glancing from Darcy to Wickham.
Both seemed to have returned to their usual selves: Darcy aloof, paying attention to his glass, looking around with apparent disdain; Wickham at the other side of the table, surrounded by his fellow officers, with Colonel Forster’s wife, Lydia, and Kitty sitting close to him and laughing at his jokes.
How different everything suddenly appeared to her and how clearly she saw details to which she had been blind before! She specifically remembered Wickham asking her how well she knew Darcy and only after she openly expressed her ill opinion of him, did he begin relating his defamatory story.
What troubled Elizabeth the most was the brief mention of Miss Darcy being hurt again by Wickham. Mr Darcy’s grave tone still sounded clear in her mind, and it made Wickham’s cold, cynical statement even more disturbing.
She looked at her younger sisters, Lydia and Kitty—enchanted by Wickham’s conversation—and chills ran down her spine. She recalled herself behaving the same way only hours before and for a moment, she met Wickham’s gaze as he glanced towards her.
His impertinent serenity and the smirk on his face—like nothing had happened and they were still friends—angered her and she averted her eyes.
“Lizzy, did you hear Mr Bingley? He asked if you are well,” Jane whispered to her.
She started, then quickly smiled at her sister and then at the gentleman.
“I apologise, sir. I am very well. This white soup is excellent,” she declared.
“It is, indeed!” Mr Collins interjected. “Lady Catherine always insists on having white soup at a good dinner party. And I must say, this ball would surely have her ladyship’s approval. Would you not agree, Mr Darcy?”
Mr Collins was sitting opposite Elizabeth, next to Charlotte Lucas, who seemed to be listening to his conversation with great interest.
Darcy, several seats away from them, responded briefly, his words seconded by a glare.
“I am sure you are more accustomed than I to my aunt’s preferences, Mr Collins. I cannot remember ever discussing white soup with her.”
The mockery, harsh and disdainful, sounded offensive to those who understood it and several looks were exchanged.
As much as Elizabeth loathed her cousin’s silliness, she felt sorry for him. Mr Collins, however, appear oblivious to the insult and replied, “Your assumption honours me, sir! I am doing my best to follow Lady Catherine’s suggestions, as her advice has proven exceedingly valuable every time.”
Darcy appeared dismayed and only nodded. For a moment, Elizabeth’s eyes met his and she could not conceal a disapproving frown. Her regrets at believing Wickham did not compensate for her rightful dislike of his proud and conceited manners.
He seemed to understand the silent censure and his countenance changed briefly.
Elizabeth returned her attention to her sister, and then she heard Darcy saying in a more amicable voice, “I am sure Lady Catherine has a reliable and worthy companion in you, Mr Collins. I will remember to mention it in my next letter to her.”
Utter and deep awe burst out on Mr Collins’s face.
He gazed at Darcy with such veneration that the latter could not hide his amusement.
Elizabeth grew embarrassed again as Mr Collins found it necessary to add, “Mr Darcy, I can honestly declare that this is one of the most extraordinary nights of my life.”
“Well, one could hardly imagine that white soup might have such an effect,” Mr Bennet declared with his usual mockery.
Surprisingly to Elizabeth, her father’s amusement seemed silently shared by Darcy. Then the conversation changed to other subjects until supper ended and the music resumed.
∞∞∞
Darcy bore the rest of the ball stoically. Mr Collins’ insistence brought him to the edge of patience and he responded rudely until he noticed Elizabeth’s scolding glance.
He could see Elizabeth’s annoyance with her cousin’s ridiculousness, but still, offending her relatives in public made her uncomfortable too.
While paying more attention to Elizabeth’s family, he was surprised by some of Mr Bennet’s witty remarks.
The gentleman seemed to possess a sharp mind and an inclination to ridicule silliness that Elizabeth had certainly inherited.
The fact that he was careless in jesting at the expense of his own wife and daughters was unacceptable, surely.
But on closer examination, some of his own relatives’ behaviour was similar.
While bearing the noise around him with a glass of brandy, Darcy pondered again on his estimation of Elizabeth’s feelings.
How could he have been convinced of an admiration that that never existed?
Was he so arrogant, so self-important to assume that any woman would favour him—as Wickham had suggested?
Could he rely on his judgement and wisdom so little?