Chapter 5 #2
Mrs Jenkinson completed a section of what appeared to be a floral pattern and began another.
Once, at a particularly animated moment in the exchange regarding the novel—Elizabeth had maintained that the heroine’s decision in the second volume was the most probable response to her circumstances, and Mr Darcy had countered with what she was beginning to recognise as his preferred rhetorical method, which was to grant her premise and then systematically undermine it—Mrs Jenkinson looked up and offered a vague, agreeable smile to the carriage at large before returning to her work.
“She does seem to be rather profoundly affected by loss of hearing,” Elizabeth observed, in an undertone. “The poor dear.”
“I would sympathise more,” he said, “were I not convinced that her ability to tolerate life with Lady Catherine is wholly dependent on her inability to hear her.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together to avoid laughing outright.
It was, she thought, rather remarkable that Mr Darcy could be so diverting when he chose to be.
Perhaps, she reflected, it was when he was not performing for an audience that expected of him a particular kind of man—and therefore received one.
Everything I ever knew, or believed I knew, of him is wrong.
Somewhere past Sevenoaks, a light spring rain began that misted the windows and brought a chill into the carriage.
Mr Darcy reached forwards and adjusted the window glass beside her against the damp, and Elizabeth found herself thinking that this, too, was rather characteristic of him: the attention to small and necessary things, accomplished without announcement or ceremony.
When he had finished the task, he settled back in his seat and said, with a studied nonchalance, “May I ask you something?”
“Of course,” she said.
“I wonder whether you might consent to be introduced to my sister while you are in town.”
The request surprised her. Had he forgotten the dreadful secret which bound them together? Or was he so certain in his ability to solve the problem that it no longer concerned him? Perhaps he merely thought that the rules of society could not touch him, no matter what happened to Jane.
“You honour me,” she said. “I am sure Miss Darcy is a delightful young lady in every regard.”
“She has long wished to meet you as well. Ever since her brother made the mistake of mentioning you in a letter last autumn, she has been mad to make the acquaintance of the singular creature who had provoked such a slip.”
“A slip?”
“It is not my custom to mention ladies of any variety to my sister,” he admitted.
“She was not even certain that Miss Bingley was at Netherfield until I chanced to mention the ball. To have voluntarily mentioned a young woman in approving terms lit Georgiana’s interest in a way I did not anticipate. ”
“Younger sisters do have a nose for these things,” she said.
“That they do,” he agreed. “I can arrange a meeting—”
“You may do best not to arrange anything as yet.” She offered an apologetic smile and then added, “It would likely be better to not make any plan at all than make a plan which must be cancelled.”
“Why would the plan need to be cancelled?”
To this she replied only with a look. He replied by glancing at Mrs Jenkinson who, it seemed, had fallen into a doze, her hands still positioned on what she had so recently stitched and her head lolling to one side in an uncomfortable-looking manner.
Seeing her thus, Elizabeth murmured, “Jane.”
“All will be well,” said Mr Darcy in a low tone that did not lessen the surety of his words. “I promise you that it will.”
“Even if the best outcome should prevail, there will be talk.”
Mr Darcy nodded slowly at that and then leant forwards and, very boldly, reached for her hands. “I was in love with you when I left Hertfordshire,” he said. “Even in Kent, I battled with myself, wondering whether it would cause a sensation to see me married to someone—”
“So beneath you?” How strange it was that even though they both wore gloves, the warmth of his hands on hers produced a thrilling, pin-prickling feeling. It almost made her want to shiver.
“Someone unknown to the beau monde. Someone unexpected.” He squeezed gently. “And then I thought how tiring it is that we must live our lives in accordance with what people might say or not. Ought not we to be happy?”
“It is hard to be happy amid censure,” she replied.
“That it is, but it is also hard to be happy living your life for the approval of others.” He gave another light squeeze which ended in him circling the backs of her hands with his thumbs.
“A lady’s reputation is far more brittle than a man’s,” she said. “And for a wealthy man in particular. I do not doubt that you are acquainted with the difficulties of being minor gentry.”
“There are difficulties in all positions and places,” he countered. “But yes, I do concede your point. Being a man is far easier, and being a wealthy man is easier still.”
She nodded.
“It is also easier as a woman married to a wealthy man to do as she pleases, and to weather such storms. Elizabeth—” He looked down at their hands.
“—I am well aware you do not love me. In fact, in retrospect I concluded that, before last evening, you might have been angry with me, perhaps disliked me a little.”
“My acquaintance with you, prior to last evening, was formed mostly by prepossession and ignorance.” This time it was she who squeezed gently and was rewarded by a light flushing of his countenance.
There was a bump in the road that caused Mrs Jenkinson to snort and stir and rearrange herself. They both watched her, waiting to see if she would open her eyes, but she did not and soon appeared just as deeply asleep as she had been.
Mr Darcy resumed speaking. “If you agreed to marry me now, I do not fool myself into thinking it is due to anything but desperation and gratitude and yet—” He inhaled very deeply. “—I still want to marry you. Because I do believe that we would be happy together.”
He looked up from her hands then, and she met his gaze squarely, wholly unable to decide what to say.
How could she when since yesterday her entire existence had been thrown into turmoil?
Everything she knew about him, or believed she did, had gone by the wayside.
Everything she knew about Jane and Mr Bingley, and the idea of her own family, had done likewise.
She scarcely knew herself by now, much less what she would wish for her future.
Wife to a great man like Mr Darcy? It was unfathomable.
“Felicity is something I cannot comprehend at present,” she murmured. “It seems impossible to see my way out of this.”
“I understand. I only wished you to know that my feelings, once decided, are not easily swayed. I had already understood what talk might arise from our union. You do not need to fear that a little more will move me.”
With that, he raised her gloved hand to his lips and gently kissed it.
Then Mrs Jenkinson produced another snort, this one shockingly loud, and they leapt apart, even as she startled, dropped her sewing, and looked about her in confusion.
Elizabeth bent to retrieve her sewing, and the moment was left.