After the Ball
"Might I speak to you before you retire, Elizabeth?" Darcy asked upon our entry to Darcy house.
I consented though I knew this could not be good.
The carriage ride back from the ball had been awkward.
I had expected Darcy's unhappiness, but even Jane was silently sullen.
Dora was uncharacteristically talkative, cheerily reciting all the topics she and Mr. Farthingham had discussed, insensible to the general atmosphere of gloominess.
With envy I watched Jane and Dora mount the stairs to their chambers while I stood on the landing of the first floor, waiting as Darcy lit the lamps in his study.
I wanted to go to bed. I wanted to put off this discussion for another day.
This argument, I should say. It was certainly going to be an argument.
A grizzly one if the wrath radiating from Darcy was any indication.
"Come in," Darcy said. He gestured for me to sit in the chair he had placed across from his desk. I was being called to the carpet like I was a naughty schoolboy and he the grim headmaster.
I sat, but I refused to appear ashamed or cowed. Before I could grow frightened under his menacing scrutiny I said, "If you are going to scold me about arranging that dance for Mr. Bingley and Jane you might as well hold your tongue."
"Because you know how badly you behaved and my breath would be wasted?" He smiled, but his eyes held no warmth.
"I did not behave badly in the least. Or if I did—and I will concede I made things slightly awkward—my bad behavior was necessary to counteract your bad behavior."
"My—" he began, but I did not let him continue.
"I know you have said something to Mr. Bingley, something to make him abandon his pursuit of Jane."
I had not realized until this moment how badly I wanted to be wrong. Because I like him. And not only in a lustful way. I like how kind he is to his relations, how considerate he is of his servants. I like his sharp humor, his superior intellect, and his utterly devastating smile.
I like this horrible, horrible man.
"Can you deny it?" I knew he could not, yet I pleaded for him to do so anyway.
"I cannot deny it and I have no wish to do so," he said harshly, shattering all hope. "Bingley asked my opinion on the matter, I told him the truth."
"And what 'truth' was that?"
"That your sister is indifferent to his advances."
"Indifferent! You think Jane is indifferent to Mr. Bingley?" I asked with great surprise.
"I observed her most carefully. While she is certainly flattered by his attentions, she shows no greater regard for him than any other gentleman. I would call that indifference."
"Oh, indeed," I agreed sarcastically. "Are you certain your observations were not tainted by your own prejudice?"
Frustratingly, he had the gall to ask, "To what prejudice do you refer?"
"Come now, you have never bothered to pretend. It is obvious you think my family beneath you. Perhaps you wished to save your friend from the misfortune of such low connections."
"While I cannot be said to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections, it was not Jane's undesirable circumstances which influenced my conclusions.
Her own impassivity paired with your mother's and—much to my embarrassment—your own indecorous insistence in forwarding the match led me to believe there could be no happiness in a union between Bingley and your sister. "
"My indecorous insistence!" It was not enough for him to speak of my inferior connections and undesirable circumstances, he had to make this outrageous accusation as well.
"Indeed, I cannot comprehend it. While your mother certainly made clear an advantageous match was most desirable for one of her daughters—necessary even, I do not know why you, having accomplished that essential task, feel the need to push your own sister into a marriage for the sake of mercenary considerations. "
"Is this what you think of me? That I would do such a thing, place wealth over the happiness of my sister and push her to make a match with a man she is merely indifferent to?"
"I do not wish to think thusly of you, however from your behavior of late I can only conclude—"
"Really?" I screeched, interrupting him, "That is the only conclusion you can come to? And I thought you were clever. Did you ever consider that perhaps you do not know my sister as well as I do? That she perhaps does not display her feelings as openly as others, but nonetheless feels deeply.
"And she does feel deeply about Mr. Bingley, though why she should ever care for a man stupid enough to be persuaded out of his affection for her I do not know.
She thinks he never cared for her—that she is some unwanted acquaintance, which is why she has been distancing herself from him.
It was not you who put such falsehoods into her head, was it? " I asked suspiciously.
"I have not said anything to your sister," Darcy replied gravely.
"Yes. Quite. You would not wish to speak to someone so inferior to you. It is a miracle you speak to me, but I suppose I am a Darcy, however much you might wish otherwise."
Darcy opened his mouth as if to argue. Then closed it. I was still clinging to hope he would make it all better. Silly of me. As if there was some phrase he could offer in apology that would change anything that had passed between us. There could be no apology for his words.
"You must excuse me," I said hardly managing to hold back my tears, "I cannot bear to look at you a moment longer."