Darcy’s Epiphany
Darcy’s Epiphany
Zarilda Belle Frost
Fitzwilliam Darcy caught a motion in the corner of his eye, and turned slightly.
Fine eyes stared up at him, then lashes fluttered closed against blushing cheeks.
He turned back, facing Mr. Allen, whose hallowed words flowed over him, but he gazed beyond the rector, beyond the church’s walls and single stained glass window, into the recent past. How everything had changed since the Netherfield ball, or rather, the day after the ball, Saint Nicholas Day.
Over the weeks since his arrival in Hertfordshire, he had found himself unwillingly fascinated by the impertinent second daughter of the insignificant family at the neighbouring minor estate.
He, and his family, had higher aspirations for his future wife.
Determined not to raise her expectations by his obvious interest, he had distanced himself as much as possible from the siren.
But at the ball, he gave in to temptation, dancing once with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, hoping to savour the memory after he returned to London.
He had revelled in Miss Elizabeth’s presence, her bright eyes flashing as they moved through the figures.
It would have been a perfect memory to tuck away, had she not chosen to upbraid him for his supposed treatment of George Wickham, the bane of his existence for many a year.
He could not defend himself without risking his sister’s reputation, so he had taken a last look at her fine eyes as the ball ended, and steeled himself to return to his duty.
He would travel to London with his friend, Charles Bingley, the day after the ball, and leave the Bennets behind.
He had not gambled on Bingley suddenly developing a spine of steel, and changing both of their lives in an instant.
***
Friday, December 6th, 1811
Longbourn
Darcy wandered the snowy path, which glowed with an otherworldly blue light as the moon peeked out through retreating clouds.
Miss Elizabeth walked beside him, her gloved hand light on his arm.
They spoke little, as both shot glances at his friend and her sister, walking on the opposite side of Longbourn’s dormant garden.
Bingley had announced that morning that he was delaying his trip to London, in favour of a visit to Longbourn, and an interview with Miss Jane Bennet. That brief visit had been extended to overnight thanks to the sudden and unexpected snowfall.
Darcy watched as his best friend spoke intimately with Miss Bennet, their hands clasped and heads close together.
Despite his earlier concession, he was convinced that Miss Bennet had only mild interest in Charles Bingley, but would accept him for the sake of her family.
He almost groaned as Bingley dropped to his knees in the snow, looking up at the angelic figure bundled in cloaks and furs, but restrained himself, ever aware of the presence of the angel’s sister, Miss Elizabeth, next to him.
Then Miss Bennet smiled, her expression revealed by the brilliant moonlight.
Not the smug, satisfied smile of someone who had achieved a goal.
It was a smile of pure joy, an ethereal smile, shining with love and admiration.
He let out a long sigh. She loved Bingley, and he had joined a conspiracy to tear them asunder.
He said a silent thanks for Bingley’s unexpected determination, and offered his arm to Miss Elizabeth to approach the pair.
“Shall we congratulate them?” He felt the tension melt from her.
Had she been so sure he would oppose the match?
How could he have been so mistaken about everything?
He had been certain that Miss Bennet’s serenity indicated only slight regard for his friend.
Miss Elizabeth, on the other hand, continually challenged him in her beguiling way, and he had believed she returned his regard, a regard he could, regretfully, do nothing about, as the chasm between their stations was too great.
He stopped suddenly, realisation spilling over him like wafts of snow from disturbed branches overhead.
Of course Miss Elizabeth distrusted, or even disliked, him.
His every behaviour had been designed to push her -and any other who would approach him- away, keep them at a distance.
Unbidden, Bingley’s words from earlier in the day came back to him.
“In fact, your attitude toward everyone in Meryton has been deplorable. You have disapproved of, and insulted, everyone and everything in this town since the moment you arrived,” Bingley had said, continuing, “Darcy, you have gone beyond Caroline overbearing, into the territory of your Aunt Catherine. What is it she says? That the distinction of the social classes must be maintained?”
Darcy had been shocked to have Bingley stand up to him, but had accepted his rebuke, at least on the surface.
Now, his actions of the past month flashed before him, and he realised the extent of his hubris.
Bingley was a good man, whose amiable disposition made him welcome everywhere, and who, it appeared, would be rewarded with the love of a good woman.
Darcy knew himself to be an honourable man, but his behaviour in recent months -years- could not bear close scrutiny.
Lady Catherine overbearing, indeed. The future suddenly stretched before him, a life of icily civil connections, holding everyone, including his perfectly acceptable wife, at arm’s length, so they could not take advantage of him.
His heart dropped at the thought. No, there must be something better.
He resumed walking at a gentle tug from Miss Elizabeth, hoping his distress was not apparent, and they arrived before Bingley and Miss Bennet, their expressions as bright as the moonlight.
Bingley laughed lightly. “Darcy, did you say anything to Mrs. Nichols about where we were going?”
“I did not.”
“Well, there may be some surprised people, either arriving in London, or when we return to Netherfield tomorrow,” Bingley grinned.
The evening before, following the ball at Bingley’s leased estate, his sisters, Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst, had attempted to enlist Darcy in a scheme to separate Bingley from Miss Bennet by following him to London where he had important business.
To his regret, Darcy had agreed, though he thought his own motives purer.
When Darcy and Bingley left the manor earlier in the day, the rest of the family was still sleeping.
It was quite possible that Bingley’s sisters had departed, thinking the gentlemen had left for London.
After Bingley confirmed his proposal and Miss Bennet’s acceptance, they meandered through the garden toward the candles glowing warmly in Longbourn’s windows, footsteps crunching in the fresh snow.
Near the front of the house, the youngest Bennet sisters built a small, crooked snowman, bringing to him the realisation that they were hardly more than children, just his sister Georgiana’s age, and should not be censured so sternly as he had thought.
His understanding of the Bennet family was challenged once again when they entered the house.
After their ungoverned manners at the ball the previous evening, he expected wild exclamations and raucous behaviour.
Instead, he found the middle sister, Miss Mary, reading the story of Saint Nicholas in a rich, low voice, followed by Mr. Bennet’s announcement of the engagement.
“I have always wanted a son.” Mrs. Bennet was in tears as she welcomed Bingley to the family, enveloping him, and Miss Bennet in a generous hug. “It is a true gift from Saint Nicholas.”
Darcy found his feelings warming toward the Bennet family, as he saw their joy at Miss Bennet’s happiness. But after tea and spiced biscuits, he welcomed with alacrity Mr. Bennet’s invitation to the quiet of his study for a game of chess.
“Your friend will be quite safe with the ladies,” the gentleman said wryly. “Let him enjoy discussions of weddings and lace for the rest of the evening. He has no one to blame but himself.”
Saturday dawned bright and clear, the snow retreating to the shadows of the hedgerows as it was chased by the sun. Darcy and a reluctant Bingley mounted their horses to return to Netherfield, only departing after being pressed to return for dinner later.
The first half mile passed in silence, the clop of their horses’ hooves on the muddy road, and distant bird calls the only sounds. Darcy let out a long breath.
“I was wrong.”
Bingley shook his head, swivelling to look at him.
“Beg pardon?”
“I was wrong. Miss Bennet clearly cares for you deeply. You had a much better understanding of her feelings than I did. I apologize for attempting to interfere.”
Bingley’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you, Darcy. I am glad we will not have any further disagreement, as my plans are quite set.”
“I hope it is not inconvenient for me to stay on at Netherfield,” Darcy continued, not used to being uncertain of his welcome. “Your words yesterday gave me a great deal to think on, and I believe I need to make amends for my behaviour since my arrival.”
“Of course you must stay!” Bingley’s voice was firm and pleased.
“You will stand up with me, will you not? Now, the question is my sisters. I am not sure whether I hope for them to be at Netherfield so I can ring a peal for their attempt to control me or hope they will be gone so I can concentrate on my happiness.”
As it turned out, he could concentrate on happiness.
They arrived at Netherfield to find the housekeeper, Mrs. Nichols, waiting for them with news of the previous day.
Miss Bingley and the Hursts had finally emerged from their rooms soon after the gentlemen departed, announced that they were closing the house and were on their way to London within the hour.