Chapter 14
Funny thing, character. You never know how or when it will change, though assuming it will be when least expected is not a bad rule of thumb.
Most of the time, a man’s character changes slowly over time, if at all—something like a boat lazily floating down a slow-moving river gradually evolving over years.
Other times, it may change much more abruptly, akin to hitting rapids, where the current is quick, the rocks sharp, and failure severe.
That is more or less how things progressed for me.
A boy of sixteen knows everything there is to know about everything in the world, including his own place in it and associated character.
He is as certain of his knowledge as the imminent rising of the sun.
His upbringing is thus complete, and all he lacks is escape from the shackles of parents, schools, society, and the like.
Ladies are still a mystery, but the gentleman is content to allow the mystery to unfold in its own time, as all will turn out correctly and will naturally coincide with his own convenience and desires.
A slightly older man at his majority, having lazily floated down the river from Eton to Cambridge with his father’s advice along the way, can look back and see the naivety of the callow youth he was, with the firm certainty that now he has finally arrived at the age of wisdom and knowledge, and he only lacks experience.
That young man is ready to learn the details of his inheritance and has years to accomplish the task.
He finds his character complete, but his knowledge of his responsibilities has room to grow.
A man of twenty-five, who has endured the death of both parents as well as his steward, taken over the reins of a vast estate with hundreds of dependants, taken reasonable charge of a decade-younger sister, and managed it all with nary a disaster, nor even anything close (save the occasional compromise attempt), may well rue the innocence of that twenty-one-year-old who so vastly underestimated the effects of being responsible for so many.
The river is longer and the current faster than anticipated, but his character matches his knowledge and training, thus allowing him to prevail—just about as expected.
Women are as much a mystery as ever, but his years of experience have taught him to be wary, and less naively optimistic about his chances of success on that front.
Much later, when that poor, arrogant, deluded fool meets his sister in the middle of a coaching station twenty miles from where she belongs, he might rapidly learn that the river has far worse rapids than he could have imagined, and like any land-lubber, he needs to learn to paddle like mad or sink; the chances of bashing his boat into several rocks of his own making are considerable.
He might be disconcerted to learn he entered the rapids without anywhere near the required skill, and it is only the whims of fate that save him.
Even later, should the lunkhead fall in love with a woman for whom most of her family makes a high art of impropriety, and for whom the two eldest members demonstrate with unflinching honesty just how deluded he has been—that poor blighter will go over a waterfall, and his survival will depend on doing just the right thing at just the right time to avoid disaster, despite his previously noted lack of skill in watercraft.
Such was my feeling when Miss Jane Bennet demonstrated the folly of all my unearned pretensions of superiority with naught but a travel bonnet and a mirror held up to my own arrogance.
I can assure you in the strongest terms that the view of the rocks dozens of feet below and rushing at me was nerve-wracking.
Things became crystal-clear. I recognized what I had been reluctant to admit to myself, and my poor boat flipped over, leaving me underwater.
Instead of trying to work out if Elizabeth Bennet was worthy of me, I had to somehow endeavour to make myself worthy of her.
The development of my character was far from complete, and it needed to improve rapidly to have any chance of success.
At the very least, I needed to survive the waterfall so I could live to paddle another day.
The first order of business was an abject apology, or several if you get down to it.
I doubted either lady would appreciate literal grovelling, especially after enduring a week of Mr Collins’ particular attentions, but I could make a good start on amends.
Beyond that, I needed to at least stake my claim with respect to my intentions, especially with the aforementioned groveller in attendance and eyeing the object of my affection with looks I could not like.
Miss Bennet’s last exchange, with me kneeling in front of her in supplication, laid the groundwork.
“You could ask anything of me, and I would happily grant it,” I said, meaning every word.
“I have asked for all I desire, sir,” she replied.
She probably meant it at the time, but since I had been in a position of well-earned distrust in her eyes for months, it would take more than a fifteen-minute conversation to reverse her opinion.
She was asking all she wanted at the time, and likely the most she thought she could expect based on my behaviour—but nothing said I had to be satisfied with giving her only what she asked for in the moment.
Her face showed her uncomfortable with my present position, which was entirely understandable since it was not exactly appropriate for either of us, so I moved back to the chair to look between the two.
Miss Elizabeth had very generously forgiven my earlier churlishness with nothing more than a rather minimal apology, but I suspected she doubted my words about her relative handsomeness in my eyes after they had been properly opened.
Compliments were easy for certain men, and I suspected she learnt the hard way to disregard most of them, especially with the number of insincere words her sister likely endured in her life.
The lady would remain sceptical about my assertion until she trusted me more, but that was perfectly understandable.
We had time to work out that particular argument.
I also assumed, based on my observations between her and Mrs Bennet that she was quite free with forgiveness, more as a good survival strategy than any excessively good nature.
She had given forgiveness I had not earned, but the debt remained.
I glanced at the clock and spoke as softly as I could, trying not to fall into the haughty voice they had no use for.
“Ladies, I believe I owe both of you more apologies, and certainly some explanations.”
“Explanations or excuses?” Miss Elizabeth snapped, proving her good nature had its limits.
“That is for you to decide. I shall strive for the former and depend on you to tell me if I stray to the latter,” I replied calmly.
“Why? As far as we are concerned, our business is concluded. With your agreement, Jane’s and my desires have been fulfilled. There is naught more to be discussed.”
“I think not,” I said gently, trying not to invoke her ire.
“What more could we have to discuss?”
Now we were getting somewhere.
I glanced at the clock again, and my concern increased.
We had been absent from the others for some time.
Whilst being forced to marry Miss Elizabeth through compromise was far from the worst fate in the world, it would make the start of our married life very difficult.
Despite any recent growth in my character, I still held a preference for easy over hard, all things considered.
While I was decided on my course, she did not even know what that course was, and would no doubt view the idea with extreme scepticism.
I rather fearfully replied, “I belatedly learnt that my character is in desperate need of amendment. I hope you will be willing to assist me.”
She stared in confusion, so I continued, “I can see it makes no sense, and we do not have time to go into detail now. Just know that I had a sudden epiphany about an hour before during the conversation with Miss Bingley that alarmed you so. I realised I was beginning to sound too much like her and my aunt, Lady Catherine; and too little like my parents and Bingley. The shock of this discussion has trebled or quadrupled my desire to make amends to the two of you, and my sister, as well as improve my character. I am well aware my behaviour in Hertfordshire has not recommended me. I should like to show you that I can be better—not just act better but be better. I should like to become a man worthy of your respect.”
Both ladies looked at me with obvious suspicion.
I was, I hoped, beginning to see their characters.
Miss Bennet was strong when she needed to be but seemed to prefer thinking the best of people when she could.
Miss Elizabeth was far more suspicious by nature, and she seemed to be re-evaluating our acquaintance, much as I had a quarter-hour earlier, and not making very much sense of it.
Given how inconsistently I had behaved, it was a sensible position.
I asked gently, “Miss Elizabeth, would you say that, despite your nervousness about my reactions, I had slightly improved my standing in your eyes by the time you left Netherfield?”
“You went from universally unpleasant to ambiguous, so that is something,” she said with just a touch of impertinence that I enjoyed very much.
“I suppose you found my inconsistency frustrating?”
“I suppose I did, yes.”
I sighed in relief. Implacable resentment would be difficult (though not impossible) to overcome, but ambiguity was a good step in the right direction. I found myself leaning towards Miss Elizabeth unconsciously, so I tried to lean back and share with them equally.