Chapter Nine
“I do comprehend a great deal.”
“ELIZABETH!” HER NAME ECHOED THROUGH HIS HEAD.
DISBELIEF, ANGER, and empathy fought for control.
As a gentleman, he must defend himself against her charges.
But how? The prospect of seeing the contempt in her eyes again was not something he could tolerate.
Then how? A letter. I will write her an explanation.
Darcy would tell her what his resentment and dismay would not permit.
Addressing Elizabeth’s sentiments about Bingley and her sister would be easily portrayed as an innocent misunderstanding, but what of those of Wickham?
He would be required to share Georgiana’s shame.
Wickham had poisoned Elizabeth’s mind; to correct the dastard’s falsehoods, he must trust her with the knowledge of his sister’s near indiscretion in order to clear his own name.
He paced the room, attempting to compose his thoughts before taking up the quill. He would choose his words carefully. Lashing out at Elizabeth would lessen her chances of reading his missive.
Several hours later, his composition took shape.
He had carefully selected the best words—the ones which would encourage her to read the entire letter and perhaps be less repulsed by his attentions to her.
Darcy held no illusions that the letter might restore Elizabeth to him.
She was lost to him forever, but he could not, even now, have her in the world and thinking poorly of him.
Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of those sentiments, or renewal of those offers, which were last night so disgusting to you.
She could never be prevailed on to marry him. The words had danced across his memory each time he had closed his eyes. Leaning back in the chair, he forced himself to swallow the bile-like anguish invading his chest.
I write without any intention of paining you or humbling myself.
The effort, which the formation and the perusal of this letter must occasion, should have been spared had not my character required it to be written and read.
You must, therefore, pardon the freedom with which I demand your attention; your feelings, I know, will bestow it unwillingly, but I demand it of your justice.
Two offenses of a very different nature were last night laid to my charge.
The first was that, regardless of the sentiments of either, I detached Mr. Bingley from your sister, and the other that in defiance of various claims, ruined the immediate prosperity and blasted the prospects of Mr. Wickham.
It is my wish with this letter to offer you some explanation and, therefore, be in the future secured.
I had not been long in Hertfordshire before I saw, in common with others, that Bingley preferred your elder sister to any other young woman in the country, but it was not till the evening of the dance at Netherfield that I had any apprehension of his feeling a serious attachment.
I had often seen him in love before. At that ball, while I had the honor of dancing with you, I was first made acquainted by Sir William Lucas’s accidental information that Bingley’s attentions to your sister had given rise to a general expectation of their marriage.
From that moment, I observed my friend’s behavior attentively, and I could then perceive his partiality for Miss Bennet was beyond what I had ever witnessed in him.
Your sister I also watched. Her looks and manners were open, cheerful, and engaging as ever, but without any symptom of peculiar regard.
I remained convinced then that though she received his attention with pleasure, she did not invite them by participation of sentiment.
I did not believe her to be indifferent because I wished it; I believed it on impartial conviction, as truly as I wished it in reason.
How could Darcy say what he must next convey without harming Elizabeth?
Even after her vehemence, he could not bear to view her in distress.
How could he explain his objections to Elizabeth’s family applied to Bingley, as well as himself?
He could not explain his objections to her connections because in retrospect, they made little sense to him.
The Bennets’ vulgarity appalled him when he had come face-to-face with it; he had easily acknowledged his objections then because he had not allowed himself to love Elizabeth at that time.
Now those objections paled in review. If he could love Elizabeth, why could not Jane Bennet reciprocate Bingley’s affections?
My objections to the marriage were not merely those which I last night acknowledged, although the want of connection could not be so great an evil to my friend as to me.
The situation of your mother’s family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison to that total want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly, betrayed by herself, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally by your father.
Darcy explained how his criticism had not applied to Elizabeth or to her elder sister.
He spoke of observing the Bennets and Mr. Collins at Netherfield and how he and Bingley’s sisters had separated Bingley from Miss Bennet.
He would like to place his actions as being above board, but if Elizabeth’s evaluations were true, he had wronged Miss Bennet.
However, Darcy made few ill decisions and had an innate reluctance to admit such a shortcoming.
So, with some trepidation, he continued his letter.
Upon reflection, my motives for trying to spare Bingley I would take up again as a way to protect my friend, but there are two parts of the situation of which I feel dissatisfaction.
While protecting Charles, I duplicitously lied to him about your sister’s visit to London.
I knew she was in Town, and I did not share that information with him.
Neither Miss Bingley nor I told him, and he is currently ignorant of the fact.
If I wounded your sister’s feelings, it was unknowingly done; and though the motives which governed me may to you very naturally appear insufficient, I have not yet learned to condemn them.
Maybe he should change that last sentence and show more humility; but if he crossed out the idea, it would emphasize it.
He had hoped to convey the idea that although he may have erred, Darcy had done so in the service of a friend.
In that aspect, he could find no fault with his actions.
Now, he faced the daunting task of addressing Elizabeth’s opinion of George Wickham.
Darcy knew he could trust Elizabeth with the truth, but relating the pain of Mr. Wickham’s deceit filled him with regret—regret for failing his sister and, ultimately, failing his father’s trust.
With respect to that other accusation—of having injured Mr. Wickham—I can only refute it by placing before you the whole of his connection with my family.
Mr. Wickham is the son of a very respectable man, who had for many years the management of all the Pemberley estates.
My father supported Mr. Wickham at school, and afterward at Cambridge.
Darcy’s letter relayed how his honorable father had the highest opinion of Mr. Wickham, although Darcy himself knew otherwise.
He had never betrayed Mr. Wickham to his father, and the elder Mr. Darcy had died thinking well of George Wickham and had intended to provide the man with a living in the clergy.
Darcy explained how he attempted to fulfill his father’s wishes and had offered Wickham the living as soon as it had become vacant.
For the next part, Darcy worded the passage most carefully.
He felt anger at Wickham’s betrayal and jealousy that Mr. Wickham had earned Elizabeth’s acceptance when he could not.
His words spoke of Mr. Wickham’s refusing the living and of the man’s lie about a wish to study law.
He told Elizabeth how Wickham had accepted three thousand pounds and had given up all claims to assistance in the church.
All connection between us seemed now dissolved.
In Town, I believe, he chiefly lived, free of all restraint; his life was a life of idleness and dissipation.
Upon hearing the living had once more become available, Mr. Wickham wrote to me applying for the presentation.
He assumed to play on my dear father’s name.
Darcy confided to Elizabeth how he refused Mr. Wickham’s request. The man’s discredit figured into the decision.
He shared the depth of Wickham’s abuse of the Darcy name and his former friend’s revengeful vow.
Sharing Georgiana’s story with Elizabeth would be more difficult to write because it involved an innocent.
But last summer he was again most painfully obtruded on my notice.
I must now mention a circumstance, which I would wish to forget myself.
Having said this much, I feel no doubt of your secrecy.
My sister, who is more than ten years my junior, was left to the guardianship of my mother’s nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and myself.
About a year ago she was taken from school to Ramsgate, and thither also went Mr. Wickham, undoubtedly by design, for there proved to have been a prior acquaintance between him and Mrs. Younge, my sister’s companion, a lady in whose character we were most unhappily deceived.
Georgiana was persuaded to believe herself in love with the man and to consent to an elopement. She was then but fifteen.