Chapter IX #2
“Miss Bennet requires a husband who will not only love her but provide the firm foundation of a marriage, and Bingley is not steady enough to provide it. Perhaps when he obtains maturity that will change, but to own the truth, he is still too young and uncertain to take a wife.”
It was a perceptive observation, and one about which Darcy’s consciousness had flitted for some time, though he had never considered it in such concise terms. Bingley was still young, only two and twenty, and had moved through life eager for the next ball, the next party, paying little attention to the more serious things in life.
Even his venture into estate management had not released a more sober side of him, for Bingley had spent those months at Netherfield paying little attention to the estate.
While it was true that it had been in the autumn, there were still tasks to complete at any time of the year, yet he had been little interested in them.
“I can see you understand what I am saying,” observed Fitzwilliam.
Darcy nodded. “I have often wished that Bingley were firmer to his purpose, or even had a purpose at all. Miss Bingley is of a forceful disposition—you are correct to apprehend that Miss Bennet’s reticent temperament, coupled with Bingley’s compliance, would be an irresistible lure to Miss Bingley.
She already believes she controls her brother. ”
Fitzwilliam’s expression softened. “Then let me tie this discussion back to my interest in Miss Bennet. My esteem for her is such that it would pain me to see Miss Bennet in a difficult situation. She is a fine woman, but I believe she needs a husband who will take the lead and protect her. I am such a man—whether Bingley is I shall not attempt to judge, though I have my suspicions.”
“Which brings us back to my friendship with him,” said Darcy.
“Though I am concerned, there is nothing to be done. The die is cast and cannot be undone. If you provoke Miss Bennet’s regard, I shall do nothing other than wish you felicity in marriage.
Should Bingley end our friendship because of it, I shall regret it, but there is nothing I can do to change it. ”
“That is all you can do, Darcy,” replied Fitzwilliam. “For what it is worth, Bingley should understand that it is his doing and his alone that led to this situation. If he does not, perhaps your friendship should end.”
Darcy could say nothing to that. In his heart, he suspected Fitzwilliam was correct.
THERE WAS SOMETHING different about Mr. Darcy’s behavior that day, and Elizabeth suspected she understood what it was.
The gentlemen had not come to Longbourn the previous day, so something might have happened then.
Yet Elizabeth thought she could trace the return of the gentleman’s quietude to the last few moments of their last visit.
If Elizabeth were honest with herself, she could do nothing other than confess her surprise at the closeness that had developed between them.
Elizabeth was not in love with the gentleman—that much was clear to her.
Yet her feelings for him were far warmer than she had ever thought they would be.
Mr. Darcy was still the reticent man he had been then, but he had paired that reticence with behavior that was both softer and more engaged than before.
He would never be a man who would draw attention to himself with the force of his personality, but Elizabeth found she liked the gentleman he was now far better than she thought she would.
Where this left them, Elizabeth did not know.
Despite any improvement in his behavior, the disparity between them was unchanged.
Mr. Darcy was a gentleman, and Elizabeth was a gentleman’s daughter, but otherwise their situations in life were not at all alike.
Mr. Darcy was the scion of a long line of wealthy landowners with ties to a noble family, while Elizabeth’s forebears were small country squires, part of that privileged class, but not prominent in any way.
Men of Fitzwilliam Darcy’s position in society did not pay attention to women in hers.
Then again, Colonel Fitzwilliam was from a sphere even higher than Mr. Darcy’s, and his interest in Jane could not be misunderstood.
The most difficult part of this was Elizabeth’s inability to understand her sentiments.
Did she wish for Mr. Darcy’s attention? The rational woman in her could not deny her curiosity, while that same woman recalled the slight from the cold and haughty gentleman.
The Mr. Darcy before her now bore only a passing familiarity to that man.
In the end, Elizabeth could do nothing but push such thoughts away.
There was no telling what would happen, and Elizabeth did not wish to push the discovery along anyway.
It was much better to allow their connection to develop naturally and allow Mr. Darcy to make his case if that was what he decided.
It would do no good to continue exasperating herself on the subject, so she did not.
“Might I ask for your advice, Miss Elizabeth?” asked Mr. Darcy.
As Elizabeth suspected he wished to speak about whatever had caused his silence, she assented at once. “Of course, Mr. Darcy. I suppose it concerns my sister and your cousin?”
The gentleman fixed her with a soft smile—Elizabeth had become more accustomed to it the longer the gentleman stayed in the neighborhood. “I must remember that your powers of observation are profound, Miss Elizabeth. It should not be a surprise that you have seen something of my confusion.”
“It would be best if you remembered that, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, channeling a little of that impertinence Miss Bingley had deplored.
With a chuckle, the gentleman shook his amusement away. “It is, though I have been considering a potential consequence of my cousin’s interest in your sister.”
Mr. Darcy told her everything, from his concern about his friendship with Mr. Bingley ending, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s comments about Mr. Bingley’s complying character, and Jane’s need for a husband who would protect her.
Elizabeth agreed with every particular, but she could sense that Mr. Darcy’s anxiety about losing his friendship was real.
“It is not my place to say anything about your friendship, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth when he had related all. “I know little of it and would not presume to direct you either. I shall tell you something about my sister and myself that you do not know.”
When Mr. Darcy looked on her with curiosity, Elizabeth accepted this as an invitation to proceed.
“Mr. Darcy, I presume you have seen enough of my family to understand certain facts about us.”
The gentleman considered this and then ventured: “Do you refer to certain dynamics within your family, or do you speak of character traits?”
“Both,” replied Elizabeth. “My mother was not born a gentlewoman, Mr. Darcy, and she sometimes does not know how to behave.”
“If you will pardon me,” said Mr. Darcy, his manner suggesting he did not know how she would respond, “your father has a duty to instruct if her knowledge is deficient.”
“That is so,” replied Elizabeth. “Though I love my father, I am not blind to his failings. My father did not understand the truth about my mother before he married her. All he saw was her vivacity and her beauty.”
Elizabeth found her mother from across the room, an affection that was sometimes difficult to feel welling up within her breast. A difficult woman though she could be, her mother was not vicious or reprehensible—she was a woman who had married above her station and had never learned how to move in the circles she now kept.
“My father is not a wicked man,” said Elizabeth, turning back to Mr. Darcy.
“Though dissatisfied with his marriage, he has never, to the best of my knowledge, found comfort in another woman’s arms. The truth, however, is that he has little affection for her.
Given the discord I see daily, how do you suppose I view the estate of marriage? ”
Mr. Darcy looked on her with shock. “You do not wish to marry?”
With a laugh, Elizabeth reached out to touch his hand, a gesture of affection she could not have imagined making only a few short weeks before.
“That is not what I mean, Mr. Darcy, though I understand how you would think that. Jane and I both wish to marry, but we will only do it if a suitor meets certain conditions.”
Comprehension dawned in Mr. Darcy’s eyes. “Then you will not tolerate a marriage that mirrors what your parents have.”
“Exactly,” replied Elizabeth. “To ensure we enter the sort of marriages that we want, Jane and I have agreed that only the deepest love, respect, and trust will induce us into matrimony.
“It was for this reason that I refused Mr. Collins.” Elizabeth paused and grinned, prompting a response from the gentleman.
“Well, that is not entirely true, for the notion of living with Mr. Collins for a lifetime filled me with revulsion. But the rest is in force. I do not love Mr. Collins, do not respect for his abilities, and do not trust that he will make a good husband. With all these deficiencies, there was no possibility that I would accept him.”
Mr. Darcy pondered this. “If Miss Bennet feels the same way . . .”
“You are correct, Mr. Darcy. Jane would not have accepted Mr. Bingley unless she felt herself in love with him, but also that he returned her sentiments.”
“While I commend your principles, Miss Elizabeth, one can never know what may happen in the future. You might believe yourself in love, only to discover the regard was fleeting, or that the man was false.”
Elizabeth nodded agreeably. “That is a problem. Yet we can only do our best, and Jane and I support each other.” Recalling an evening in October, Elizabeth laughed.
“Not long after you came to the neighborhood, I told Jane that I gave her leave to like Mr. Bingley as much as she wished. That was not entirely in jest, Mr. Darcy. Had matters proceeded enough that we suspected Mr. Bingley of wishing to propose to Jane, I would have offered my opinion to her again.”
“Then you have given your opinion about my cousin?”
“I have, and without reservation.”
Mr. Darcy nodded. “How does this relate to Bingley?”
“My growing conviction that all has worked out for the best for my sister.” Elizabeth smiled.
“Please do not suppose that I judge Mr. Bingley, for I do not. Yet I understand the deficiency of his behavior. Perhaps he could have made Jane happy, but I believe your cousin is the stronger match. Though I sympathize with Mr. Bingley’s situation, I cannot but rejoice that my sister has found a man who will treat her the way she deserves, who will be the protector she requires.
“The one other factor in this is the surety we must feel before we can take that step. As you might suppose, Jane’s experience with Mr. Bingley was a hard lesson—she believed herself in love, but now knows she was not.
We must both take great care, else we may mistake infatuation, inclination, or even esteem for the deepest love. ”
Now that the gentleman understood, he nodded, though he still did not appear happy. “When you put it that way, Miss Elizabeth, I understand your point. That does not change the situation, but I cannot say you are incorrect.”
“Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, her voice gentle, “I understand your concerns. However, I advise you to remember that Mr. Bingley chose to leave Jane and Meryton behind of his own accord—Miss Bingley’s intrigues or your advice may or may not have influenced him, but the decision was his.
If Mr. Bingley does not acknowledge this and ends your friendship on that account, I may truthfully say that it is his own doing. ”
Mr. Darcy regarded her, respect shining in his eyes. “How did you become so wise, Miss Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth offered him a saucy grin. “Did you not know? All impertinent misses are wise, for it helps us know when to exercise our wit.”
Their shared laughter drew the attention of the room.
Though Jane looked on with indulgence, Elizabeth noted her mother’s shock and then sudden realization.
Given Mr. Darcy’s attention of late, his preference for her company that had grown more pronounced the longer he remained in Hertfordshire, Elizabeth wondered why she had not seen it before.
She could only ascribe it to her previous antipathy for him and the notion that Elizabeth was distracting him to allow Colonel Fitzwilliam to remain with Jane.
Now that Mrs. Bennet had seen something of it, Elizabeth knew her mother’s behavior would change.
“I see that your mother has seen something of our recent closeness,” murmured Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth threw him an amused glance. “Are you ready to endure all her officious civilities, Mr. Darcy? Now that she sees you as a possible suitor, it will be her purpose to ensure you do not depart without a proposal.”
“She is neither the first nor the worst matchmaking mother I have seen.”
“Unless I am incorrect, you have never been interested in a young woman before.”
“No, you are not.”
“Then that makes all the difference, Mr. Darcy. Unless, of course, I have misread your recent actions.”
“I apologize, Miss Elizabeth. When I was here in the autumn, I found myself increasingly drawn to you, but convinced I needed to make a match that society expected for me.”
“And I return your apology with one of my own,” replied Elizabeth. “I thought you proud and haughty when you were only uncomfortable.”
“It was more than that,” said the gentleman. “I am capable of pride when the mood strikes. Please do not assume more than I mean—I judge it still too early to make any declaration. Let me only say that my interest is engaged.”
“That is all I shall accept at present, Mr. Darcy.”
“Then we are understood.”