Chapter 9 #2
He had proposed marriage to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, the daughter of a small country gentleman, and she had the nerve to refuse him most offensively.
It was unthinkable and unacceptable. How could he have exposed himself to such a situation?
Surely, it must be the result of too little sleep and too much brandy—otherwise such an outrageous event never would have taken place.
She accused him of absurd things that were not worth the trouble of denying!
She was invariably hasty in judging his character—and others!
It was such a disappointment to hear of her sympathy towards Wickham.
God knows what that miscreant might have told her, but still…
she should know better than to believe such a man.
And he should have known better than to propose during a moment of insanity. ‘Your manners impressed me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others.’
How dare she judge him so unfairly? On what grounds?
He had never behaved other than considerately and politely towards her!
He was more amiable with her than with any other woman.
He certainly did not deserve such an offensive reply, and she likely did not deserve his trust and admiration. What a disappointment!
She believed Wickham to be an honest, honourable man—what a joke!
—while she was convinced that he, Darcy, had come to propose that she be his…
Where on earth did she learn of such things?
How was a young country girl of twenty familiar with such…
arrangements? And how could she make such a blunder?
Surely, there was nothing in his words to suggest such a disgusting idea.
He could remember their conversation word for word, and he was certain he was not to blame.
He had been honest, open and fair, presenting his feelings, his hopes, his hesitations.
And she pretended he had offended her? Surely not!
He was the one who had been unfairly offended without cause.
He might have upset her by taking Bingley from Netherfield, but he had done it for his friend’s benefit and felt no regret about it.
To Bingley, he had been more considerate than to himself.
And he was still not convinced of his fault.
At least she had seen Bingley, and she would understand that he tried to make amends for his past misjudgement.
He hoped she would recognise his effort and regret her harsh words.
In truth, she looked unwell from what he could see from the hall.
Surely, she could feel no worse than he did.
She even accused him of being engaged to Cousin Anne.
How could she imagine that he would break his word to another lady by proposing to her?
‘You proposed to me a “way of solving your painful situation, by an arrangement which could be to the advantage of both,” while you know very well that you are engaged to marry Miss Anne de Bourgh.’ Why would she say such a thing? And how does she know Anne?
In truth, the words as she put them were confounding, but surely she twisted his meaning. He could not—
Miles entered, and Darcy startled, casting a sharp, reproachful glance at him. The servant remained immobile in the doorway.
“What is it? I do not remember ringing for you!”
“Forgive me, sir, I thought… Miss Darcy was concerned and asked whether she could speak to you. I knocked, but I received no answer, so I— It is dinnertime.”
“Tell her I am well, but I will be dealing with some urgent matters. I shall not join her for dinner tonight; please send her my apologies.”
“Yes sir, as you wish. May I be of any help?”
“No, you cannot! How many times do I have to repeat myself? Please leave!”
He knew he was being unfair, but he could not find the strength to behave politely.
And he surely could not speak to Georgiana and bear her stories about the time she spent in Gracechurch Street.
For a moment, he wondered how Elizabeth reacted after his departure.
Did she remain to entertain guests? Did anyone else notice her altered spirits?
Or were they really altered? Did her unfair judgement even slightly embarrass her?
He toyed with the idea of joining Georgiana for dinner and proposing that they leave for Pemberley. They could be gone by the end of the next day and not return to Town until spring. There was nothing in London for them. Yes, that was what he should do!
He started to dress while enjoying another glass of brandy. He knew Georgiana would not oppose his plan; she never did. They both would be happy at Pemberley. Surely, the estate was buried in snow, and Georgiana would love long rides in the sleigh.
Memories of their ride in the sleigh two days before produced a sharp pang in his chest. Her eyes were full of joy and sparkle, her cheeks crimson as she laughed at him…
That would never happen again. Earlier that day, Elizabeth’s eyes were tearful, empty and lifeless.
That would be the image he carried with him when he left.
He gulped another glass of brandy and leaned back in the chair, staring out the window. How could he even consider going to dinner?
∞∞∞
It was finally silent in the house. Elizabeth had prayed to fall asleep since she closed herself in her room, but in vain. ‘In vain I have struggled…’
Every word and thought that crossed her mind unbidden carried the memories of what occurred earlier, and each time she closed her eyes, his image sharply returned to trouble her—his image from the hall when he was forced to return to the house after their horrible fight—wet, dirty, frozen, offended, hurt, and obviously searching for an escape!
A sharp pain seized her chest, and breathing became difficult.
What would happen in the next days? How could she bear to face him again?
Or would she ever face him again? He likely would avoid her as his worst enemy and surely would forbid his sister any further visits.
What should she do? His close relatives were intimate friends of her family; how could she avoid wondering glances, insinuating questions, and awkward situations?
How would she manage to keep such a secret?
Hours passed, and Elizabeth’s memories only returned more vividly.
She easily could remember every word, every gesture, and every glance, but still she was unable to judge properly what had happened.
‘…both of us shall allow new or old acquaintances a chance to prove their worthiness before judging their characters…’
She had long judged his character, and she could not say whether she had been wrong.
His insufferable pride and his inconsiderate and ungenerous involvement in Mr Bingley’s departure were not things to be forgiven or forgotten.
It was true that Mr Bingley had returned, but that did not diminish Mr Darcy’s fault in the slightest. And there was still his obvious disgust when he spoke of Mr Wickham.
He seemed unmoved about his unfair treatment of his boyhood friend—the son of his father’s steward.
She could not imagine herself attached to such a man, especially through marriage, and certainly not after such an insulting proposal.
Nevertheless, his behaviour was not an excuse for hers. She was not even clever enough to understand his intentions—not that morning and not before.
‘I have been interested in reaching an agreement with you many times, but somehow it seems we are meant to argue whenever we meet. More than once I have wondered whether one or perhaps both of us purposely search for subjects upon which to disagree.’
So many words from the past, so many small gestures, so many smiles and glances should have been a sign of his interest in her, but she missed them all.
Yet, she did not miss hearing Lady Sinclair speak of him…
and his own family making fun of his pretended relationship with that lady…
and Mr Wickham confessing their past relationship…
The room was too warm, and she could barely breathe, so she threw open the window.
Mr Darcy asked her to marry him, and she refused him—the worst possible refusal.
∞∞∞
For almost a week, Mrs Gardiner’s parlour was a daily host to pleasant, entertaining guests. Since his return, Mr Bingley had called each day, and his visits were highly improper: he came too early, stayed too long and, not rarely, just left and returned again an hour later.
Yet, Mrs Gardiner had no cause to establish new rules since Mr Bingley seemed to be the most proper gentleman, and his mere presence brought complete and instant happiness to Jane’s eyes.
Besides, his gesture of bringing his sisters with him one day, in which they behaved in a faultless manner during the entire visit, was greatly in his favour.
Miss Darcy visited them three times, and Lady Selina and Lord Matlock, sometimes together with Colonel Fitzwilliam, were regular presences in Gracechurch Street.
That morning, just before breakfast, Mrs Gardiner heard the main door and could barely hide a smile. Mr Bingley was much too early; he would have to wait some time before Jane would be ready to receive him.
To her surprise, however, Lord Matlock barged in without an introduction, apologised briefly and asked for a glass of brandy before he spoke with obvious distress.
“Mrs Gardiner, please forgive my impromptu visit but things cannot continue in this manner. We must take proper measures before more harm is done. Is Miss Elizabeth better today?”
Mrs Gardiner raised her eyebrow in surprise. “I think so, sir; as I had the pleasure to inform you yesterday, she is somewhat recovered. She had a very bad cold, and she is still tired and somewhat indisposed, but other than that—”
“Yes, yes…but do you remember the precise day of her indisposition? It was the day after the ball; am I correct?”