Chapter 18 #2
“She was certain to discover it sooner or later,” Elizabeth continued. “Though I confess I expected… rather more.”
Darcy’s expression altered slightly. “More?”
“More enthusiasm,” she said, with a faint smile. “More questions. More – decided conclusions.”
Darcy considered this. “Perhaps,” he said, “she chose, for the present, to restrain herself.”
Elizabeth looked at him with some amusement. “My mother, sir, is not often governed by restraint.”
“No,” he admitted. “But she is not without perception.”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows.
“In matters of consequence,” he added, “she may perhaps feel that observation serves her better than declaration.”
Elizabeth was silent a moment.
“Until now,” she said more quietly, “you were safe from her notice, because she never imagined that a gentleman such as yourself would… distinguish me in this manner.”
She hesitated, then added, with a faint, uncertain smile, “And I cannot say I imagined it either.”
A pause followed.
“What are you doing here with me, Mr. Darcy?” she said at last, more seriously. “I cannot even conceive of your world.”
Darcy stopped. Elizabeth, startled, turned toward him.
For a moment he said nothing. When he spoke, it was without hesitation. “I am here,” he said, “because I wish to be.”
Elizabeth held his gaze but did not answer.
Darcy remained still a moment, as though considering how much to say. “My life,” he continued at last, “has been, for some years, very much governed by duty.”
Elizabeth listened.
“To my estate. To my family. To my sister, most particularly.”
His tone did not change, but something in it softened. “After my father’s death, there was little leisure for anything else. I had much to learn – and I applied myself to it.”
Elizabeth could not mistake the truth of that.
“The world you speak of,” he went on, “has never held much attraction for me. Society, as it is commonly enjoyed, I have generally found… fatiguing.” A faint, almost reluctant smile touched his expression. “I attend it because I must. Not because I excel in it.”
Elizabeth’s lips curved slightly. “You are too harsh.”
“Maybe.”
A brief pause followed.
“I have acquaintances,” he said. “And a very few friends. Bingley – because he possesses a warmth I do not. My cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam – you would understand him immediately; he has none of my reserve.”
Elizabeth listened more closely now.
“But I have never,” he continued, more quietly, “met with anyone who made me forget myself.”
She felt the words before she fully understood them.
“Until now.”
Elizabeth looked down.
Darcy did not press the moment but went on with quiet steadiness.
“You speak of my world as though it must separate us. Perhaps it ought to.” He paused. “But I find I have very little inclination to let it do so.”
Elizabeth’s breath came a little quicker.
“When your mother spoke,” he added, “of one of her daughters being soon married…” He stopped, as though weighing the admission. “I believed she meant you.”
Elizabeth looked up, startled.
“I did not like the idea. Did not like it at all,” he said simply. “Truthfully, I would not like to live through those moments again until it became clear that it was Miss Mary.”
Elizabeth swallowed. There was no emphasis in the words – only truth. Silence followed. Elizabeth could not immediately command her voice. At last she said, more softly than before, “After that you talked to my father.”
“Yes.
She searched his eyes. “I-I did not know. Thank you for telling me.”
He held her gaze.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said quietly, “I wish you did not think so little of yourself.”
She did not answer.
“I am not here out of generosity,” he continued. “Nor from any sense of obligation.” He looked into her eyes. “I am here because I value your company above any other.”
Elizabeth felt her breath catch.
“You bring a liveliness,” he said, more deliberately, “which I have not met with elsewhere – and which I find I am unwilling to do without.”
He hesitated only slightly. “And if I speak plainly,” he added, “it is because I would not have you mistake my intentions.”
Elizabeth’s colour deepened.
Darcy’s voice softened, though it did not lose its steadiness.
“What I possess – my home, my position – has long been a matter of duty. I do not think of it as something to display.” He gently took her gloved hand.
“But it would be of far greater consequence to me… if it were shared with someone I esteem.” He squeezed her hand in his.
Silence followed.
Elizabeth could not immediately speak. She had not expected this – not the seriousness, nor the quiet certainty with which he had spoken. For once, she found no ready reply.
She looked down, though she was conscious of his gaze upon her. “You must not,” she said at last, though without her usual firmness, “place me in such a position, Mr. Darcy.”
His expression did not change, but he listened with the same steady attention.
“I do not know,” she continued, “how to receive such… distinctions.” A faint colour rose to her cheeks.
“You are deserving of them.”
She glanced up at him, briefly. “This… situation,” she said, with a trace of returning playfulness, “is rather perplexing. I feel I ought to make you some proper return.”
Darcy allowed himself a small smile. “Pray do not attempt it for form’s sake.”
“I would not be so insincere,” she returned. “But I must give you what is your due.”
She hesitated only a moment. “I thought you very handsome when we first met – before your insult,” she added, with a glance.
“Then you became a gentleman I was very willing to hear ill of. But I am not unreasonable; you have since regained your former advantage.” She met his eyes.
“Does that serve as a sufficient confession?”
“I am much obliged,” said Darcy, a quiet warmth in his expression, “that my unchanged appearance continues to meet with your approval.”
They both laughed – Elizabeth with sparkling ease, and Darcy with more restraint, though no less genuine.
After a moment, Elizabeth glanced ahead. “I believe we ought to rejoin the others. My mother will wonder at our absence.”
Darcy inclined his head and reluctantly released her hand.
She hesitated, then stepped closer and placed her hand lightly upon his arm.
Darcy smiled down at her, and then, as though nothing extraordinary had passed between them, said, “And there are others who may wonder still more.”
“Miss Bingley,” he said.
Elizabeth gave a small nod. “I hope you know…”
He exhaled lightly. “Yes. I know. Though I did not always choose to see it.”
***
The Bennet family had at last taken their leave, their carriage rolling away from Netherfield with a degree of animation that spoke more of Mrs. Bennet’s spirits than of the weather, which had again turned uncertain.
For some moments after their departure, the drawing-room remained in a curious stillness.
Miss Bingley stood near the window, watching until the carriage was no longer visible.
Mrs. Hurst adjusted her shawl with composed deliberation.
Mr. Hurst, who had only just rejoined the company after a most restorative nap, sank into a chair and looked about him with mild curiosity, as though uncertain how the day had progressed in his absence.
Darcy returned from seeing the guests off. He was about to announce that he was withdrawing into his room when Miss Bingley called out to him.
“I cannot say I entirely comprehend you, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy looked at her then.
Caroline’s smile was composed, but not quite easy. “Is it true?”
Mr. Hurst shifted slightly in his chair. “What is?”
“We were told Mr. Darcy is now courting Miss Eliza.”
Darcy’s expression remained perfectly calm.
“Is it true, Darcy? Good for you, chap. She is a bonny lass.”
“Thank you, Hurst.”
“But Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley continued, her composure tightening, “she is a nobody. She has not even been to London for the Season. She has no notion of society, no elegance, no connections. Do you truly mean to make such a girl the mistress of Pemberley?”
Darcy did not answer.
Caroline went on, encouraged by his silence.
“You cannot suppose she would acquit herself with any distinction. Her family…” she hesitated only briefly, “is hardly fit to be received. Her mother – her younger sisters – such behaviour! And Miss Eliza herself, though she may possess a certain… liveliness, has neither the refinement nor the understanding required of your situation.”
Mrs. Hurst shifted. “Caroline.”
“No, Louisa, I must speak. It is not only his own consequence at stake. It is ours. It is Charles’s. What will people say when they see him so closely connected…”
“That will do.”
Darcy had not raised his voice, but the effect was immediate.
Caroline stopped.
He looked at her then – no longer with indifference.
“You forget yourself.” The words were quiet, but unmistakable. “I do not require your opinion,” he continued, “and I will not hear Miss Bennet spoken of in such terms.”
Caroline flushed. “I speak only out of concern.”
“As you did,” he returned, “when you wrote to Miss Bennet of an attachment between Bingley and my sister?”
Caroline gasped.
“That was beneath even you, Miss Bingley. And yes,” he continued, with a steadiness that cut through her words, “you presume to speak of what is none of your business.”
Silence fell.
Even Mr. Hurst looked up.
Caroline stared at him, her composure shaken at last. “None of my…? When your actions must affect us all?”
“They do not.”
“They must! You cannot imagine that Charles will remain untouched by this-this partiality. He admires you – he follows you. If you persist in such a connection, what is to prevent him from forming one equally imprudent?”
“I will be in my room.” He turned to leave.
“Mr. Darcy – Why?” Caroline asked.
Darcy half turned. “I believe,” he said, “I should like to be happy.”
***
Mrs. Bennet had scarcely waited for the carriage to come to a full stop before she hurried out, gathering her skirts with uncommon energy and making directly for the house.
“Mr. Bennet! Mr. Bennet!” she called, even before she had reached the drawing-room. “Where is he? – Mr. Bennet!”
He was, as might have been expected, in his library.
Mrs. Bennet entered without ceremony. “My dear Mr. Bennet, what is the meaning of this? Why was I not informed? Why was I left entirely in the dark?”
Mr. Bennet, who had been seated with a book, looked up with composed curiosity. “My dear, I was not aware that I had concealed anything of consequence.”
“Not of consequence!” she cried. “Mr. Darcy!” she exclaimed. “Mr. Darcy and Lizzy! And you say nothing – nothing at all!”
Mr. Bennet closed his book with deliberation. “I imagined,” he said, “that you would discover it soon enough.”
Mrs. Bennet sank into a chair, fanning herself. “I am quite overcome. To think that such a thing should be going forward in my own house – and I not the first to be acquainted with it!”
“My dear,” said Mr. Bennet, “you have rarely shown yourself deficient in discovering what concerns your daughters. I was unwilling to deprive you of the satisfaction.”
She gave him a look of mingled reproach and impatience. “This is no time for your wit, Mr. Bennet. You must tell me everything.”
“There is, I am afraid, very little to tell,” he replied. “Mr. Darcy admires Elizabeth. That, I believe, is evident. And he is not a man to admire lightly.”
“Oh! Where is my fan? I shall be quite overcome – I declare I shall!” she heaved.
“Fanny, calm yourself. Mr. Darcy is not a regular suitor.”
Mrs. Bennet blinked. “Not regular? What can you mean by that?”
“I mean,” he returned, “that he is not a gentleman to be hurried, directed, or arranged for.”
Mrs. Bennet coloured slightly. “I am sure I do not know to what you allude.”
“No?” said he mildly. “I had understood that Mr. Collins was, for a time, intended for Elizabeth.”
“That was quite a different matter!”
“Entirely so,” he agreed. “And, I think, a very fortunate difference. For that scheme, had it succeeded, would have been most disastrous.”
Mrs. Bennet drew herself up. “Mr. Collins is a very respectable man.”
“I do not dispute it. But he is not Mr. Darcy.”
She hesitated. “No… that is certain.”
Mr. Bennet rose and began to walk slowly across the room.
“This is, as I said, a different game altogether. Mr. Darcy is a man of sense – and of consequence. If he chooses to pursue Elizabeth, it is because he has formed a decided opinion.”
She sat quite still for a moment, then gave a small, delighted exclamation.
“Well! This is beyond anything I could have imagined.”
Mr. Bennet glanced at her. “It generally is.”
“But what is to be done?” she continued. “We must invite him – no, he is already invited – we must see him as often as possible – Lizzy must be properly guided…”
Mr. Bennet raised a hand. “My dear, I would recommend that we do nothing.”
“Nothing!”
“Nothing,” he repeated. “If Mr. Darcy is in earnest, he will require no assistance. And if he is not, no assistance will avail.”
Mrs. Bennet considered this, though not without visible effort.
“But Lizzy – she must not be foolish.”
“On that point,” said he, “I am tolerably easy.”
Mrs. Bennet drew a breath, her spirits rising once more. “Well! I declare, I shall not sleep tonight. To think – Mr. Darcy! And Lizzy!”
As she left her husband’s room, she made her way upstairs to her own. Unlocking the cupboard where she kept all that was necessary to a lady’s appearance, she surveyed its contents with renewed purpose. If Lizzy were to be courted, she must do so with every possible advantage.