Chapter 16 #2
"No, but you have made your disdain for my family so obvious it was almost a relief to hear you speak of it. I had nearly fooled myself into believing you are not a snobbish arse," I said. If Darcy was shocked by my coarse language he did not show it.
"I do not disdain your family," he said very carefully, the way a person speaks when they want to convince the listener they are not lying. Which of course was the surest sign he was lying.
"I have the utmost respect for your family—"
However. I just know there is going to be a however.
"However—"
Told you.
"—I cannot pretend the conduct of your mother does not distress me—"
Of course you could.
"—or that your father's negligent attitude concerning the finances of his estate and the behavior of his wife and younger daughters does not irritate me."
How dare he say such things about Papa . . . even if they are true.
"My perturbation is on your behalf. That your parents should act thusly without consideration for your reputation and prospects pains me—"
"It pains you for my sake, does it?" I interjected, unable to listen to any more of this nonsense. For a man who claimed to value candor he was awfully good at deluding himself about his own motivations.
"It does, and you cannot deny it pains you as well. I saw the look in your eyes when your mother spoke foolishly. I witnessed you trying to rein in your sisters as your father ought to have done."
"Yes, I sometimes find my mother and younger sisters ridiculous, and sometimes I wished Papa would be more attentive and intervene. But they are my family to find ridiculous—"
"They are my family now as well."
"Yes, and that is truly what bothers you, isn't it? That you are forevermore associated with the Bennets."
"I respect your family," Darcy reiterated.
I laughed hollowly. "Yes, yes you respect my family but you cannot rejoice in the inferiority of my connections. Have you ever considered that I perhaps do not rejoice in my new Darcy connections?"
"Indeed?" Darcy asked incredulously, unable to disguise a sneer.
"Though I certainly like all of your family—most of your family," I amended thinking of Lady Catherine, "You cannot deny they come with their own absurdities, their own unfortunate circumstances."
He is going to say 'indeed' again in his usual haughty tone.
"Indeed." There was no question in the word this time, nor was it a statement of agreement. He might as well have said, "Your ideas are most foolish, but I will humor you by pretending to listen."
"Yes, indeed. You have one aunt who condescendingly graces everyone with her inane opinions whether they wish to hear them or not, another who will not leave the house for the shame of being made destitute by her husband—speaking of said husband however much you would like to pretend you have thrown off any connection to Mr. Vane he is your uncle and, if your great aunt is to be believed, he may rise from the dead at any moment.
"And while we are on the subject of your great aunt, it should be noted that she is thought of as a bit of a public nuisance, her wit is apparently is not to everyone's taste, but her notoriety is nothing compared to that of her dog who is best known for doing something indelicate to Lord Barrymore's leg.
Then there is your uncle James, though I have heard nothing to impeach his character, he did threaten to kill Mr. Vane in my presence and I do not think he was jesting.
And I have yet to address the milder eccentricities your bloodline seems rife with—Dora—need I say more? "
"I think it would better serve you to say less." Darcy looked thunderous, though he kept his rancor in check. Pity that. I wanted a row now.
"Have I offended you? It isn't pleasant, is it? Hearing your family spoken of in such a manner."
"It is not," Darcy replied. His tone was contemplative and perhaps a little abashed. I did not want that, not at all. He was on the cusp of apology and here I was all riled again.
"All that separates your family from mine is money and illustrious ancestors. Do not pretend the Darcys are perfect—"
He interrupted, "I never claimed—"
"—because they are not. Despite all their ridiculousness, not a single one of my silly sisters has ever made plans to elope with an unsuitable man—"
"Tread carefully," Darcy warned. Any hint of contrition was now quite gone from his visage. His temper was hanging on by a thread.
"I will tread as I like. Have I mentioned it since you told me? Have I ever given Georgiana the slightest indication that I knew, that I judged her for her mistake?"
Darcy kept his silence and his temper.
"Well, have I?"
"You have not," he acknowledged at long last.
"Of course I haven't. What good could have come from holding it against her? By treating her as if her mistakes, her imperfections were so absolute that there was no need to get to know her because nothing could compensate for them?
"I was determined from the first to treat her as I would my own sisters, to treat all your family as if they were my own.
In the beginning I did it for your sake, for the sake of our marriage, but as I have said, I have grown to like your family, they are all rather absurd, but of course I have had a great deal of practice loving absurd people.
" My voice broke and I gasped for air in an attempt to hold back tears.
I would not weep in front of him. Not again.
"Elizabeth, I am—"
"No, you don't even know what you are apologizing for.
My point is—oh, God what is my point?—the point is I am so angry with you and it isn't even about Jane and Mr. Bingley or what you said about my family—well, it is about that but I have been angry with you since before that, since before I even really met you.
"I hate the way you treat people, and I hate the way you judge people and then dismiss them forever. My family is ridiculous, yes. Mortifying, sometimes, yes. But there are so many wonderful things about them you will never know because you have already decided they are not worth knowing.
"When I think about the wedding breakfast—how you sat there silently, grimacing at every word from my mother's lips, making it perfectly clear that you hated us all, confirming everyone's belief that I trapped you—I want to slap you.
And I know you will say that it is your nature, that you meant no offense.
But you can be pleasant, I have watched you.
You can at the very least sit there with a smile on your face and look pretty, but you couldn't do it then, not for me. "
"Elizabeth—"
Suddenly the thought of hearing the apology I had so wanted these last three days was repulsive to me. Here I had this lovely grudge and I wanted to shine it and put it on a shelf and admire it forever.
"I do not want to hear it."
"Elizabeth—"
I tried to make my escape but Darcy grabbed both of my hands.
"Release me."
He held gently but fast. I looked away, unable to meet his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
So he has said it. Now I must decide whether to accept it or not.
Sensing an apology was not quite enough, Darcy added,"I am an idiot."
"Finally you say something sensible." I did not smile, but there was a hint of absolution in my tone. Just a hint, mind you.
"You were correct, I am arrogant and conceited.
I resented you for daring to accuse me of such faults yet the only inadequacy of your accusation was you neglected to mention the worst of my deficiencies.
Arrogance and conceit, yes, but also selfishness blights my character.
That day I thought only of my own discomfort never considering how my cold manner would wound you.
"I should not have behaved thusly. I should not have dismissed your family so callously, so definitively.
An inflexibility of opinion is a form of ignorance, I know this to be true and yet I often fail to reexamine my own beliefs, to challenge my own prejudices.
It is not required of me because no one dares to question me. Except you.
"I can promise never to harm you with intention, mine is not a malicious disposition whatever you may think, but I cannot promise that I will never injure you with unintended cruelties, products of a faulted character.
I will endeavor to improve upon my deficiencies, and I hope you will encourage me in my further betterment by pointing out when I am being a snobbish arse so I can tell you I am sorry, as I am telling you now, and beg your forgiveness. "
I must say this for Darcy when he sets out to do a thing he does it thoroughly.
I had hoped he would apologize, but I never believed he would fully understand the cause of my resentment (I had not fully understood it myself until I spoke of it).
I know people sometimes apologize disingenuously for the sake of peace, but Darcy had meant his words, I know he had.
Now I was at a loss for words. It was not that I could think of nothing to say; I was biting back a jest, several actually.
But now was not the appropriate time for my humor.
Darcy had made himself so vulnerable with such eloquence, my flippancy would be a poor reward.
However I was not quite ready to declare him forgiven.
Old resentments had been answered, but there was a lingering distrust I could not quite vocalize.
Yet I was grateful for his apology and I wished I could find the proper words to explain my feelings, however I was discovering that though expressing opinions came very easily to me, expressing my emotions—especially in the face of Darcy's raw honesty—was a daunting task.