Chapter 8 #4
“I am fine; thank you for asking. In fact, I have a bit of news. Mr Darcy was here earlier.”
“Mr Darcy? Why on earth?” Charlotte‘s puzzlement was equalled by her surprise.
“He just called, and we began a rather delicate conversation. I must warn you that it became rather heated. I hope he will not reveal anything to Lady Catherine.” Elizabeth attempted to smile.
“But, Lizzy, what did you discuss? Were you alone? But…he left us suddenly, saying he had some business that required his attention.”
“We spoke about Mr Bingley, Jane, and Mr Wickham. As I said, we argued for some time. I hope it is at an end. It helps that he will leave Rosings very soon and we shall also return home in a few days. Hopefully, I shall not see Mr Darcy again for a long while, if ever.”
“That is truly astonishing,” Charlotte uttered.
“Yes, I was quite shocked by his visit too,” Elizabeth confessed honestly.” But it is ended now. If you do not mind, I would like to sleep as I still have a terrible headache.”
“Very well, rest and get well soon. Lady Catherine wants us for another tea tomorrow afternoon, and you are expected to attend,” her friend said, and Elizabeth laughed nervously.
Tea at Rosings? Would Mr Darcy be there? Or would he leave the next day to avoid seeing her? But what if he does not? How could she face him so soon?
Charlotte’s departure brought the blessed privacy she longed for.
The silence in the room was a counterpoint to the storm inside her.
She returned to bed, fully dressed, and lay down, fearing the next day’s schedule and reflecting constantly on what had passed.
Every review of the events increased her torment and deepened her distress.
That she should receive an offer of marriage from Mr Darcy! That he should have been in love with her for so many months—so much in love as to wish to marry her in spite of all the objections that had made him prevent his friend’s marrying her sister—was almost incredible.
In spite of her deeply rooted dislike, she could not be insensible to the compliment of such a man’s regard.
It was gratifying to have unconsciously inspired so strong an affection.
But his pride, his abominable pride—his shameless avowal of what he had done with respect to Jane and the unfeeling manner in which he had mentioned Mr Wickham, his cruelty towards whom he had not attempted to deny, soon overcame the pity which the consideration of his attachment had for a moment excited.
He had looked dumbfounded by her refusal and pained by her reproaches as though he did not understand her words nor think he deserved them.
He also accused her of being proud and unwise and many other things.
Surely, he only said so in revenge for her accusations.
Perhaps he would have said more if not for Maria’s entrance.
To the end, he insisted he only spoke the truth from his heart.
Could this be real? If his affection were truly genuine and the main reason for inducing him to propose, then her sharpness in calling it a charade must have been as harmful as it was unfair.
The more she thought, the more she wondered about her poor judgement.
What could she have been thinking to doubt his intention?
Why would a man of his situation propose marriage to someone like her if not for strong affection?
But yet, how was it possible? How could she not suspect such an astonishing turn of events?
The man who always gazed at her coldly, who never spoke more than a few words to her, who called her “tolerable”—loved her?
Yes, it was true that he danced with her at the Netherfield ball, that they had interesting conversations, and that he took her side several times.
Still, none of it suggested anything remotely like admiration and certainly not love—ardent love.
She could not imagine that Mr Darcy would ever use that word, let alone harbour such feelings.
What was she to do now? Must she face him again the next day?
Surely, after such a fight, any hope of Mr Bingley’s returning to Netherfield was destroyed forever.
Mr Darcy would never allow him anywhere near Jane.
He would surely give up Netherfield shortly and be gone from their lives as though he was never there.
Rejecting Mr Darcy was a decision Elizabeth could not regret for an instant.
But, as the night progressed and she continued in agitated reflections, she was not equally pleased with her manner of addressing him.
Further, she considered the effect of her rejection on her family and especially Jane—loved ones she had completely ignored during their heated argument.
Just before she fell asleep, she wondered whether there was another woman in the whole country who would reject a marriage proposal from a man who was by no means inferior and turn it into a battle—perhaps even a war.
Despite her turmoil, to none of her thoughts did she find palliation and to none of her questions did she find an answer.