Chapter 15
I truly thought I would never be more shocked in my life than by Mr Darcy’s declaration of his affections—aside from the rather inconvenient truth that I did not hate the idea.
His affection had a certain appeal, though tinged with a goodly measure of fear. There were no decisions more important than the choice of a life partner, and I was not inclined to decide hastily.
That aside, I could picture a life with Mr Darcy in an abstract way.
When I imagined more conversations and feelings like the first hour in the library during Jane’s illness but without the disguise, it seemed idyllic.
In truth, just about any activity where I was allowed to listen to his voice while appreciating his handsome countenance had something to recommend it.
On the other hand, when I pictured the first words Jane or I had from the man, or the latter half of that library conversation, or swimming in a ballroom full of Caroline Bingleys in London—those were far less appealing.
His initial attitude when entering our neighbourhood was typical or even mild for members of the ton.
There seemed little doubt the claws would emerge if I appeared on his arm in London, and the idea filled me with dread.
Contemplating wedding someone outside my sphere complicated matters.
He was a gentleman and I a gentleman’s daughter, so we were supposedly equal in the social sphere, but nobody believed it.
In practice, we were chalk and cheese, and I would enter his world to live by that world’s rules.
My ability to be a good mistress to Pemberley was certain, and I was far more comfortable in social situations than he; but I would still encounter significant difficulties.
For example, his aunt, Lady Catherine, resembled a titled version of my mother.
I could well imagine her being just as spiteful about a matrimonial target escaping her grasp, and her vindictiveness would likely have sharper teeth.
It was much to consider! I was applying my mind to the problem when I was startled by yet another voice I would far rather have avoided.
“Is that your true opinion of our family, Elizabeth?”
Jane and I groaned and turned to the door to find our father looking as angry as he had ever been.
My mind filled with rage, and I spat my answer. “It is not opinion, sir. It is established fact, whether you like it or not!”
He was genuinely angry, for once, and answered with no hint of the mocking derision he usually assumed.
“And yet, whilst you deem the rest of your family somehow unsuitable—aside from your long-time favourite elder sister, of course—it is the two of you I find ensconced in a private tête-à-tête with a very eligible gentleman! The disparity between your attitude and actions demonstrates a level of hypocrisy that is impressive, even for a daughter of Francine Bennet!”
Certainly, blame it all on Mama, as usual. I disregarded his baiting.
“You are at least partially correct, for perhaps the first time in your life,” I seethed.
“Lizzy,” Jane hissed in alarm, but my mood was far from ready for capitulation, and I possessed no desire to indulge my father’s whims.
“In point of fact, your two eldest daughters are having a perfectly well-chaperoned discussion with a gentleman of impeccable honour at an unfortunate, but entirely proper time and place. Jane and I have chaperoned each other the whole time, while Mr Darcy’s valet guarded the door.
You are the only man he would have allowed entrance.
The setting is not ideal, but beggars cannot be choosers and our options were limited.
There has been no impropriety, and if tongues wag, a simple correction will still them.
We would not have engaged in this discussion had it not been absolutely necessary, in an attempt to mitigate the damage done by the rest of our family’s rather shocking behaviour.
It has been mortifying, even by our admittedly low standards of conduct. ”
"What? Has your family frightened away some of your lovers? Poor little Lizzy! But do not be cast down. Such squeamish youths as cannot bear to be connected with a little absurdity are not worth a regret,” he replied, which left even Jane gasping and fuming.
Mr Darcy itched to speak (or argue in a more physical manner), but I was by no means finished.
“To avoid confusion, sir, allow me to ensure I understand your point. Are the only people qualified to esteem a Bennet lady so lost to propriety that they will accept any behaviour, no matter how shocking? Are we required to limit ourselves to men who cannot see that our mother and Lydia will combine to ruin one of your younger daughters sooner or later, with a betting man favouring sooner? Are we limited to men who can disregard fortune, connections, and propriety? Are we to limit ourselves to men willing to disregard that after twenty-five years of a two-thousand-pound income, you have failed to save any dowries… none at all… not even enough to match our grandfather, an attorney who left each daughter five? Are our wings so clipped as that? Are we to be limited to the Mr Collinses of the world? Given that eligible men in this town are so rare that even Jane has never had a proposal from a decent man in seven years, are we doomed to wait forever?”
My father adopted a placating tone that irritated me even more than his stern one had.
"Do not make yourself uneasy. Wherever you and Jane are known you must be respected and valued; and you will not appear to less advantage for having a couple of–or I may say, three–very silly sisters.”
His voice hardened. “At least, that is what I would have said an hour ago. Now, I find that rumours of some supposed dalliance with you in particular, Lizzy, are rolling through the ballroom like thunder as we speak. You are in fine fettle to blame your mother and sisters when your own actions have you on the edge of scandal. Lydia is perhaps in her cups, and may well be acting like a typical silly girl, while you are acting much more like a wanton—at least according to the rumours being stoked as we speak.”
Jane looked faint, while I was simply getting angrier and angrier.
“I suppose you thought there was likely fire to go along with the smoke, so you came here to enjoy your sport instead of doing something about it?”
Angry people are not always wise, but I was beyond endurance.
“I came to see what damage was done so I could try to mitigate it. Instead of a reasonable girl willing to work to preserve our family’s respectability, I find an ill-tempered copy of her mother at her worst, ready to save herself by savaging others.”
“After all you have seen tonight, you disparage me?” I nearly screamed.
I stepped towards my formerly long-beloved father with nearly murderous intention, and it is hard to say what I may have done if Mr Darcy had not stopped me with a gentle hand on my arm.
He did not grab me, as many a brute would, but simply laid his hand gently on my elbow to imply I might take a moment to reflect on the disadvantages of the motion.
I doubt he would have stopped me by force, but he seemed more likely to want to slow my ire long enough to get me thinking clearly.
Once I had stopped, he stared at my father hard enough to show he was not to be intimidated and held the look long enough to make Papa swallow nervously for once in his life.
When he spoke, it was with a gentle tone, but iron rang in his voice.
“Mr Bennet, it seems you suffer from a certain misunderstanding of the situation. With your permission, I shall clarify. After that, you are welcome to chastise me as much as you like, but at least you will understand why.”
Such an opening left my father bereft of words, which was rare.
He was accustomed to never being challenged, and I doubted he liked the tone of a man who would not be intimidated.
As for myself, I was satisfied to allow Mr Darcy to have his say.
I was not afraid of my father, nor was he likely to best me in a shouting contest—but giving him another antagonist might make him grow. Lord knew nothing else ever had.
“Proceed,” he said churlishly.
Mr Darcy continued his disconcerting stare that had made me so nervous early in our acquaintance but left me feeling gratified when it was aimed at someone else and to my benefit.
When he finally spoke, I have no idea whether he shocked my father or me more.
“You and I were gifted through an accident of birth with positions of power, along with the attendant responsibilities. We find ourselves in this situation with your eldest daughters for one simple reason.”
The pause was dreadful, though I suspected it was deliberate.
“Which is?” Father asked.
“We both failed!” Mr Darcy said nonchalantly, then stared hard and continued.
“Your eldest daughters, whom you are so free to chastise, are here because we… and by that, I mean very specifically—you and me—failed in our duties, so they are left to pick up the pieces. They have done nothing wrong in the entire course of our acquaintance. That said, Miss Bennet may or may not make a match with Mr Bingley, but I can assure you that the behaviour of your family, who are your responsibility, would almost certainly have driven at least Bingley away had they not intervened. They are not here out of ignorance, but desperation.”
Father started to speak, but Mr Darcy held his hand and continued.
“Part of their problem falls to me. These ladies began their acquaintance with the Netherfield party like a one-handed boxer, primarily because of my failings. They know those failings well and will share them with you or not by their own choices, but suffice it to say, Miss Bennet’s nascent acquaintance, or courtship, or whatever it may or may not become—has been severely hampered by both my mistakes and yours. I have owned mine—will you own yours?”