Chapter 11
Elizabeth once again sat in the window seat. Once again, her attention was drawn when an extremely elegant, large carriage pulled up to the door. But this time, there was no mystery as to who the guest might be.
For a week now, Mr. Darcy had called at Longbourn every single day except Sunday.
Each time he brough Miss Darcy and Mr. Masters.
Elizabeth suspected that Miss Darcy came, simply because she longed for friendship, and Mr. Darcy had made his own motivations quite clear to Elizabeth.
Mr. Masters’ motivations, however, were less clear.
Elizabeth glanced over at Jane, whose swollen foot was propped up on a stool with a blanket covering it for modesty. She was holding a book awkwardly in her left hand while her right hand lay useless on a pillow at her side.
Perhaps, Mr. Masters’ motivations weren’t that much of a mystery.
Elizabeth remembered quite clearly how wildly worried he was when he carried Jane inside just yesterday after her fall.
Despite the fact that there was nothing else he could do for her after setting her down in a chair, he hovered over her uselessly until Mama asked him to go fetch Mr. Jones.
She wished she could give her sister some comfort or even company, but when she had tried earlier, Jane had shooed her away.
Though her manner and words were as mild as always, Elizabeth got the distinct impression that Jane simply wished to be alone in her pain.
This made her wonder whether Jane would accept Mr. Masters’ attention when he arrived.
Elizabeth didn’t have to wonder for long.
As soon as their guests were announced, Jane’s face brightened, and she looked toward the door expectantly.
Elizabeth was glad to see Jane so happy, but she simply could not understand how her sister’s affections had shifted from Mr. Bingley to Mr. Masters so quickly.
She had thought her oldest sister to be more steady, more constant than that.
She had little time to wonder, though, since Mr. Darcy claimed her attention almost immediately while his sister joined Lydia and Kitty.
“Good morning,” said Mr. Darcy. “I hope you’re well this morning.”
Elizabeth smiled at him just a little. She still was not certain she liked the man, but she had to admit that his present persona was far more appealing that his previous.
They had been in company together twice more since the Gouldings’ dinner party, and each time, he had spent the majority of his attention on her neighbors, though he had saved his last fifteen minutes for her on both occasions.
Between those parties and his daily visits, Elizabeth had become used to his presence.
His conversation was pleasant, and she had begun to suspect that the man was fiercely intelligent.
No matter what she wished to speak of, he seemed to have some knowledge of it and was able to converse intelligently, even when she spoke of the completely feminine art of trimming a bonnet.
His extensive knowledge on every subject made her wonder what he knew that was so far removed from her own life that she didn’t even know how to ask about it. Would he know how cotton mills worked? Would he have enough knowledge to build or repair a carriage?
Elizabeth replied to his initial greeting by saying, “You have asked after my health every time we have met. There must be some other way of beginning a conversation.”
“Perhaps there is,” said Mr. Darcy, “but when I say I hope you are well, I am not just referring to your physical health. I hope you are energetic, happy, confident, and many other things. It is a genuine wish. But if you would rather I say something else, perhaps you can offer a suggestion.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “To be honest, I cannot think of anything better,” she said. “I suppose all greetings in the English language are mere platitudes, meaningless nonsense whose only purpose is to ease us into the act of conversing.”
“Well, then, if you require no meaningless platitude, what meaningful thing would you like to discuss today?” he asked.
“I did have something on my mind,” she answered, “though it is a delicate subject. I suppose I was picking on your manner of greeting simply to avoid bringing it up, but it is something that must be discussed today.”
Mr. Darcy’s face grew concerned. “What is it?” he asked.
“My mother,” said Elizabeth. She glanced over at said lady and noticed that she was watching Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy carefully.
“It took a little longer than I expected, but Mama has begun to suspect that there is something between us. She asked me about you yesterday, and if you continue to single me out in this way, she will gradually begin to treat you the same way she used to treat Mr. Bingley.”
“You mean, she will tell the neighborhood I am violently in love with you and will spread the news that we will be engaged any day now?” asked Mr. Darcy.
When Elizabeth felt shame tinge her cheeks pink with embarrassment, Mr. Darcy added.
“I have every respect for your mother. She is only doing what most mothers I have encountered do. Though she may not always behave as you might wish, she seems to have her children’s best interest at heart. ”
Elizabeth felt wonder causing her to stare at the man next to her. “You do not mind?” she asked.
“I do not mind if the world knows I love you,” he said. “And I would rejoice if we could be engaged any day now, but the timing for that is up to you.”
Elizabeth did not know how to respond to such a bald declaration of his feelings while they were sitting in a parlor full of others. She stood and said, “Mama, would you mind greatly if Mr. Darcy and I take a walk? I believe some fresh air and exercise would do me good.”
Mama eyed both her and Mr. Darcy carefully before responding. “Of course you may,” she said. “But please stay near the house since none of your sisters can be spared as chaperone.”
“Thank you, Mama,” said Elizabeth. Then, to Mr. Darcy she said, “Let me just fetch my cloak.”
Once they were outside and they were walking rather briskly through the garden, Elizabeth said, “You are very direct, Mr. Darcy. Not only that, but your declarations come out at the most surprising times. I never know how to respond to you.”
“You are referring to how I said that I love you and that I would rejoice if we were engaged?”
Elizabeth sighed, though it was almost a groan.
“Yes, that,” she said. “I believe you, to a degree, but I have no idea what you expect from me when you say such things. Your expression does not match your words, since even now you maintain a nearly expressionless, serious face. The whole situation has me so confused that I do not know up from down.”
“I do apologize for any confusion I might cause,” said Mr. Darcy. “If I allowed my expression to reflect the depth of my feelings, I believe you would never come near me. I have a very distinct memory of you practically running away the first time I hinted at it.”
“Try it,” said Elizabeth. “Just once. Let me see for myself if what you truly feel scares me away.”
By then, they were in the back garden, out of sight of any casual viewer. Mr. Darcy stopped and turned towards Elizabeth. So, she faced him as well.
His expression was warm and caring, but there was fire in his eyes as well. He said, “I love you, Elizabeth, and I don’t care who knows it. Additionally, I would be overwhelmingly joyful and grateful if I could win your good opinion enough that you would agree to become my wife.”
For the first time, Elizabeth felt in her bones that Mr. Darcy loved her. He had said it more than once in the last week, but it was always in passing, almost as if the feeling meant little to him. She could not tell from his words alone why he was pursuing her so adamantly.
Now, however, it was clear. He did love her, deeply and passionately.
She watched him carefully as he gradually got his feelings back under control. The fire in his eyes faded to a more familiar mild warmth, and the slight smile that was on his lips slowly straightened back into the firm line that was usually there.
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth. “I still do not know how to respond to you, but at the very least, I believe I understand you better.”
They stared at each other for several more moments until Elizabeth cleared her throat and said, “Well, shall we walk again?”
“Of course,” he answered. Then he offered her his arm. Hesitantly, Elizabeth took it. His arm was warm and strong beneath her hand, and she was oddly comforted by the contact.
“With that settled, we need to discuss what I was trying to say before this entire conversation got out of hand,” said Elizabeth. “My mother.”
“Ah, yes,” said Mr. Darcy. “You were concerned that she was beginning to notice my attentions to you.”
“Exactly,” said Elizabeth. “You mentioned that you would not mind if she treated you as she did Mr. Bingley, and I do appreciate such forbearance, but the problem goes deeper than that.
You see, if she knows that you are serious about me and I then eventually decide against you, she will never let me hear the end of it, and I do mean never.
Every day, for the rest of my life, Mama will berate me for allowing the one man who could have provided security to my whole family slip from my grasp.
“I know this to be the case, because she has done exactly that when I refused Mr. Collins’ proposal the day after the Netherfield ball. She has also bemoaned the loss of Mr. Bingley far more than Jane did, despite the fact that it was Jane who was in love with him, not Mama.”
Mr. Darcy did not immediately respond, and the two of them walked in silence for a time. Elizabeth glanced at his face, and he appeared to be deep in thought. She could not fathom, however, what he might be thinking.
Eventually, he spoke, “I happen to know that no matter how you respond to me, your mother, your sisters, and you will be taken care of,” he said. “Do you think that, if your mother knew this, she would be more lenient with you?”
“What do you mean?” asked Elizabeth. “How could you possibly know such a thing?”
“I cannot answer that,” he answered. “All I can say is that it is true. Your father is aware of this as well, though he cannot tell you why either.”
Elizabeth was overcome with curiosity, but with an effort she set it aside. Since it appeared as though he could not answer her, there was no point in pursuing the subject.
“If it was true, it might calm her somewhat,” said Elizabeth, “but I am uncertain whether she would believe you, especially since you can’t give any details.”
“If your father and I spoke with her together, asking her to give you free choice in this matter, would that be enough? Would you then be willing to allow me to continue to call on you?”
Elizabeth stopped walking and looked up into Mr. Darcy’s face. “I don’t understand. Why is this so important to you that I be free to choose? I would assume that if I refused you, you would then care very little what happens to me afterward.”
“You misunderstand the nature of my feelings for you, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy.
Again, the warmth surfaced in his eyes. “I very much wish to marry you, but it is not so that I can possess you. Rather, it is so that I can have the power to make you happy and enjoy your company. If you do not come to me willingly, you will not be happy with me, which is counter to my desires. Therefore, I would not wish you coerced in any way.”
For the first time since Mr. Darcy returned to Hertfordshire, Elizabeth truly felt that it could be possible for her to fall in love with this man.
No one, not even her father, truly wished for her to choose her own life’s path.
The fact that he was so adamant on this point, implied that he would likely allow her a great deal of freedom and trust within their marriage, should she accept him.
The idea was entirely pleasing.
“I think that if both you and my father spoke with my mother, it might be enough to keep her from trying to force us together,” she said hesitantly. “It will not prevent her from gossiping or making assumptions about us, though.”
“Is that enough? May I continue to call on you?”
“You may,” said Elizabeth.
As they walked back toward the house, Elizabeth genuinely looked forward to the next few days. Perhaps, Mr. Darcy was far better than she had ever guessed.