Chapter VII
Darcy remained immersed in his thoughts all the way back to Netherfield, and from there into the sitting-room. So intent on his thoughts was he that Fitzwilliam’s silence did not even penetrate his consciousness, though later he would reflect that his cousin had watched him throughout.
The visit to Longbourn had been illuminating in more than one way.
Mrs. Bennet was still loud and ill-bred, and the youngest girls unfit for little beyond the nursery, but he had seen something he had never anticipated—a family, flawed without a doubt, but a family, nonetheless.
What he had expected, he did not even know himself, but to see the Bennets in their home, to witness their relief that the danger in their midst had passed, had told him something.
Whereas Darcy had considered no one in this district worth his time and attention, he now knew that he had been mistaken.
Their worth was not in their behavior, standing, or wealth, but in the simple ties of affection, bonds that could be found in the meanest hovel in the kingdom.
More troubling to Darcy were the subtle hints he had caught of the Bennets’ dislike for him.
If Darcy were honest with himself, he had seen it before—during Mrs. Bennet’s visit to Netherfield, she had made her opinion of him clear.
That Miss Elizabeth had not viewed him with favor, however, was a notion that had never penetrated his thoughts.
The exchanges they had engaged in had always been spirited debates to Darcy; to her, they had not been so harmless.
Darcy could not quite say why he now understood this, for their conversation at Longbourn that morning had been interesting, genial, and even animated.
Yet the way she had looked at him, the skepticism he could see in her eyes, the manner in which the family had regarded him as he apologized, even if they accepted it, told him much.
The opinion of one country miss should not matter to the worldly and wealthy Darcy.
Yet somehow it was the most important thing in the world.
Darcy had departed from Netherfield, never intending to return, never thinking he would be in Miss Elizabeth’s company again.
She had presented a danger to his duty of advancing his family’s position in society by marrying an appropriate woman.
Yet the moment he had stepped back into her presence, he had felt the magnetic lure, the appeal of which Darcy did not think she was even aware herself.
It would be prudent for Darcy to leave Netherfield at once and never look back.
Now that he had come into her presence again, had seen what real interaction between them could be, he could not but be tempted again.
This time, he did not know if he was strong enough to resist.
Thoughts of Miss Elizabeth and his civil exchange with her brought other subjects to mind.
Darcy had not been blind while speaking to her, nor had he missed what else was happening in the room.
Fitzwilliam had situated himself next to Miss Bennet and had spoken to her the entire time of their visit, and no one in the family had thought it strange.
That meant it was a common occurrence. Darcy had seen it before—now he wanted answers.
“I wondered how long you would remain silent.”
Surprised though he was by Fitzwilliam’s sudden statement, Darcy did not wait. “It seems I have several matters to consider.”
Fitzwilliam nodded, a sense of amusement hovering over him. “Then what do you wish to discuss first? I suspect I can list your concerns.”
Darcy peered at his cousin. “You are rather satirical this morning.”
With a sigh, Fitzwilliam nodded. “Yes, you are correct. I apologize, Darcy—I was most put out with you for not dealing with Wickham, but I should moderate my displeasure.”
It was not a subject Darcy wanted to discuss further, so he pushed it to the side.
“Since you already understand what concerns me, I shall not scruple to conceal it. This morning you reminded me of Bingley during his time in Hertfordshire — I should like to know why you pay so much attention to Miss Bennet.”
“Careful, Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam, his expression a clear warning. “I have owned my error—do not compound it with demands.”
When Darcy peered at him, saying nothing, Fitzwilliam shrugged. “Yes, Darcy, I am paying attention to Miss Bennet. What of it?”
It was a tense conversation, nothing close to the amity he shared with his cousin. Darcy decided conciliation was his best option.
“Cousin, I do not intend to cast aspersions on your character or accuse you of not knowing your mind. I am concerned, however, not only for you, but for Miss Bennet. Have you not spoken at length about your need to marry a woman possessing a handsome fortune to fund your lifestyle?”
Fitzwilliam examined Darcy as if measuring his sincerity. He came to the correct conclusion and shrugged.
“While I shall not trifle with your intelligence and suggest those comments were all in jest, wealth and its trappings are not the most important consideration. I do not wish to spend my life with a supercilious, vain, or haughty woman—I want felicity in marriage, and Miss Bennet is the most genuine woman I have met in years.”
Darcy considered this. “Then you have decided in her favor?”
“No, I have not,” replied Fitzwilliam. “My convalescence will consume the next two or three months at least—I intend to use that time to come to know her better and learn my feelings.
“What I can say is this—Miss Bennet is the best woman of my acquaintance. If I reject her for her position, dowry, or anything else, it will be a disservice to us both.”
This was a side of his cousin Darcy had never seen.
Fitzwilliam was no proud noble; he had always been more than a little careless about the “distinction of rank” as Lady Catherine termed it.
The earl himself was a good man with not a supercilious bone in his body—he was well aware of his position in society, but he never flaunted it, never looked down on others for their less fortunate circumstances.
Yet Darcy knew the habits of men born to privilege—Fitzwilliam was the sort of man to put such things aside if it suited his purpose, but his jests over the years had never hinted at it.
“You will do what you wish, of course,” said Darcy. “The question I have is whether you can afford to marry Miss Bennet.”
Fitzwilliam nodded, considering. “As you know, my father has provided for me. It is not a stupendous fortune, but it is enough for me to take a wife, even a woman who does not possess much dowry herself. When the war ends, I shall have half pay, and there may be other inheritances about which I know nothing.”
With a shrug, Fitzwilliam added: “Miss Bennet will be content with little if I win her heart. Though I cannot know the future, I can provide her more than the basics of food and shelter. For anything more than that, we shall need to wait and see.”
Darcy nodded. “If you apply to your mother, she might even convince your father to purchase an estate for you.”
“Pride may go before the fall, Darcy, but I would not accept it if she did. An inheritance is one thing, but I prefer to make my way in the world rather than begging my father for an estate.”
“You could not live in the style you do now.”
“I would have Miss Bennet as a wife. That should suffice for anyone.”
A pause ensued, and Darcy regarded his cousin. “To own the truth, I had no notion you were so sentimental.”
This time, Fitzwilliam responded with a warm smile. “Nor did I—not until I met Miss Bennet. Now I understand that a life lived well includes an excellent woman to share the burden. I could search from now until my dying day and never find one better.”
“So long as you understand the challenges you will face,” said Darcy, knowing there was nothing he could do to alter his cousin’s course.
“There is one thing that makes me curious,” said Fitzwilliam, his eyes searching Darcy. “This business of Bingley and Miss Bennet and his failure to return.”
Darcy shifted, uncomfortable at the comment, though he had done nothing wrong. “What do you mean?”
For a long moment, Fitzwilliam continued to study him, then he offered a shrug.
“I suppose it does not signify, for Bingley’s loss is my gain.
Yet from all Miss Elizabeth and Miss Bennet have told me, Bingley presented the very picture of a man besotted with a woman, yet he went away and did not return.
Do you care to illuminate my understanding about the reason for this lapse? ”
After considering what he might say for several moments, Darcy ventured a response. “Bingley’s sisters did not agree with his interest in Miss Bennet.”
“Oh?” asked Fitzwilliam, a wealth of meaning in that one syllable. “Did they offer a reason?”
“Come, Cousin,” replied Darcy, shaking his head in exasperation, “you are acquainted with Miss Bingley.”
“To my regret.”
Darcy offered a slight smile. “Trust me, Fitzwilliam—you regret the acquaintance much less than I do.”
“Then I must suppose that Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst wish their brother to marry a duchess.”
“No, indeed, for even Miss Bingley is not that delusional.”
Darcy paused, wondering if he should reveal the extent of the woman’s ambitions. Though he knew it would anger Fitzwilliam, there was no reason for him to blame Darcy—they were not his ambitions.
“Miss Bingley does not push her brother toward such a match because even she knows it is unlikely. Instead, she has a target closer to home.”
The fire in Fitzwilliam’s eyes informed Darcy that his cousin understood his reference at once. “And did you agree with him, plot to offer Georgiana on the altar of her ambition?”
“Of course not!”
Fitzwilliam nodded, but he appeared no less angry.