Chapter Six
Darcy
Later that day
“You are certain you are well, sir?”
Mrs Kane stood in the doorway of the library at Glenmont Hall, her weathered features creased with concern.
The housekeeper had managed this estate for twenty years under Darcy’s late mother’s cousin, and had welcomed him efficiently upon his arrival.
Now she wrung her hands in a manner quite unlike her usual self.
“Quite well, Mrs Kane.” Darcy set down his pen. “It appears you have heard certain information that prompts your inquiry.”
“The entire household has heard, sir.” Mrs Kane stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. “An engagement. To one of the Ahearn’s visitors from England.”
“The news travels with remarkable speed.”
“It does indeed, sir.” She hesitated, uncertain how to proceed. “I confess I am... surprised. When you departed for the party, you said nothing of any prior attachment or intention to form one.”
He managed a slight smile despite the uncomfortable nature of this conversation. “That is because no such attachment existed when I departed. The engagement came about rather unexpectedly.”
“I see.” Her expression suggested she did not see at all but was too well-bred to press for details her employer had not volunteered. “Forgive me for speaking plainly, sir, but you seem quite calm about a matter that must represent a significant change in your circumstances.”
“I am ruminating the situation, let us say. The suddenness is undeniable, but not necessarily unfortunate.”
Relief washed visibly across the housekeeper’s features.
“Then you are not distressed? Forgive me, Mr Darcy, but when I heard the news, I feared…well. I know I warned you about fortune hunters in Westport, and the speed of this engagement seemed to suggest...” She trailed off.
“But if you are content with the arrangement, then I am truly relieved.”
“I appreciate your concern. It speaks well of your regard for my welfare. The situation with Miss Bennet arose from circumstances neither of us anticipated, but I believe we shall manage the matter honourably.”
“That is good to hear, sir. Very good indeed.” The housekeeper’s shoulders relaxed, the tension that had marked her posture since entering easing considerably.
“I have been worried since the news reached us. But if you are satisfied with how things stand, then I shall trouble you no further on the subject.”
“Thank you, Mrs Kane.”
She departed with a small curtsey, leaving Darcy alone once more with his thoughts. He stood for a moment gazing out at the grounds ahead. His grounds now, an inheritance from a branch of the family he had barely known.
Everything had changed so quickly. Merely a day before he had been a bachelor inspecting a newly inherited property, contemplating a peaceful fortnight away from England’s matrimonial pressures.
Now he was thought to be engaged to a woman he just met, navigating social complications he had never anticipated facing.
If only Bingley were here. His friend possessed a talent for cutting through complexity to reach practical truth, finding humour in disaster without diminishing its seriousness. Bingley would listen and make the entire situation seem less insurmountable.
Darcy returned to his desk and drew fresh paper forward. A letter would serve where conversation could not. The act of writing had always helped order his thoughts, and at present, they required considerable ordering.
My good friend Bingley,
I write from Ireland with news that will likely astonish you as thoroughly as it has astonished me. I am engaged to be married.
He paused, imagining his friend’s reaction. Bingley would read that opening line twice, certain he had misunderstood, then continue with mounting incredulity. His friend knew perfectly well that Darcy had come to Ireland to inspect property, not to acquire a wife.
Before you congratulate me or begin speculating wildly about the identity of my intended, I must explain the circumstances under which this understanding was reached. They are, I must say, rather extraordinary.
The story unfolded across the paper in succinct detail. Writing it out rendered the absurdity more apparent, whilst clarifying elements that had seemed muddled in immediate recollection.
You will no doubt think me mad for corroborating such a transparent fiction, Darcy wrote, and perhaps you would be justified in that assessment.
Yet in that moment, denial seemed unconscionably cruel.
Miss Bennet had acted to help me, however misguidedly.
To expose her fabrication before dozens of witnesses would have ruined her whilst leaving me relatively unscathed. I could not bring myself to do it.
He imagined Bingley nodding at this, approving the choice even as he questioned the wisdom that had led to its necessity. His friend understood honour. He would also recognise the impossible position Elizabeth’s declaration had created and Darcy’s limited options for responding to it.
The question now is whether to proceed with an actual marriage or attempt to dissolve the understanding once we return to England. Miss Bennet favours the latter course, believing distance and time might diminish the scandal. I find myself reconsidering the effectiveness of that decision.
Why was that? He set down his pen, considering.
The practical arguments against dissolution were beginning to arise.
There was a chance the gossip would follow them regardless.
A broken engagement carried its own shame and Miss Bennet’s reputation would suffer disproportionately.
Yet beneath these rational concerns lay something else, something he had been avoiding examining too closely.
He liked her.
The realisation was not precisely a revelation.
He had acknowledged Miss Bennet’s appeal from their first conversation.
Her intelligence, and the liveliness that flared through her features whenever an idea took hold — and yes, her directness, which he had initially found presumptuous and had since come to find refreshing.
Darcy picked up the pen again.
I must be candid with you, Bingley, for if I cannot be honest with my closest friend, with whom can I be honest?
Miss Elizabeth Bennet is not a woman I would have chosen under ordinary circumstances.
Our acquaintance is far too brief, our courtship non-existent, our families entirely unknown to each other.
By every conventional measure, this match is ill-advised.
And yet.
The words hung on the page, pregnant with implications he was only beginning to grasp.
She possesses a quality of mind I have rarely encountered in society.
Not the shallow reflection of approved opinions that passes for thought amongst so many of our acquaintances, but true, independent reasoning.
She corrected a gentleman who made factual errors despite knowing it would invite censure.
She inserted herself into a potentially dangerous situation yesterday without regard for consequences to herself, acting purely because she believed intervention was necessary.
Was that admiration colouring his words? Darcy frowned at the page, then continued.
She is impulsive, yes. Perhaps too much so.
But there is fundamental honesty in her impulsiveness, a lack of artifice that I find refreshing after years spent navigating the deliberate stratagems of the marriage market.
She sought to help me because she believed it right, not because aiding me might advantage her. That counts for something.
It counted for rather a lot, actually. How many women of his acquaintance would have intervened in such circumstances? Most would have observed the fortune hunters’ manoeuvre him into compromise, content to let the drama unfold without personal risk. But Miss Bennet had risked herself instead.
That kind of instinctive courage was an admirable quality that might form a stronger foundation for marriage than the unfavourable compatibilities his family had been foisting upon him for years.
Moreover, Darcy wrote, warming to his argument now that he had begun articulating it, marriage to Miss Bennet neatly resolves the situation with Lady Catherine.
My aunt cannot continue pressing Anne’s suit when I am already engaged elsewhere.
The family may be displeased by the suddenness, but they cannot reasonably object to the match itself.
Miss Bennet is genteel, well-educated, and respectable.
Bingley would laugh at this transparent rationalisation. Darcy could almost hear his friend’s voice: So you are marrying her to escape your aunt’s scheming? You cannot deceive yourself about what you actually want.
Very well. Honesty, then.
The truth is that I could do far worse than Elizabeth Bennet.
She is intelligent enough to provide genuinely interesting companionship.
She is spirited enough to prevent our household from becoming dull and possesses sufficient independence of mind to manage her own affairs and interests without requiring constant oversight.
We suit each other better than many couples who marry with longer acquaintance and supposedly deeper attachment.
I do not love her. She does not love me.
But I respect her, which strikes me as a sounder foundation for marriage than the romantic passion poets celebrate and reality so often disappoints.
Love, if it comes, may develop over time as we learn to know one another properly.
Or it may not come at all. Either way, I believe we shall manage to rub along tolerably well.
Better than tolerably, perhaps. We might even be happy, in our own fashion.