Chapter 16 #2
“I will not hear any slurs on Miss Bennet’s character and conduct,” he retorted, walking to the door.
“I make none,” Lady Catherine told him. “Other people will, however, even if she is as blameless as you seem to believe. There is always talk when an unmarried young woman lives under the same roof as an unmarried man. You would have done better to find another middle-aged widow like Mrs Annesley.”
Before she could add any further inflammatory remarks, Darcy left the room and closed the door behind him, his blood pumping strongly in his veins as he walked away.
∞∞∞
After his confrontation with Lady Catherine, Darcy did not feel equal to making light conversation with the rest of the party, especially Elizabeth Bennet.
Instead of following the sound of Georgiana’s light fingers on the pianoforte, he went straight upstairs towards his room.
The other house guests were presumably listening to the music or playing at cards, and Darcy doubted he would be much missed.
In his bedroom, he removed his jacket, poured cold water into the washbasin, and splashed it on his face. Darcy felt thoroughly unreasonable today, and he did not like it. He hoped to restore himself to equanimity before he rejoined the gathering downstairs.
His aunt’s words played on his mind, as did Colonel Fitzwilliam’s earlier and more complimentary statements about that young woman.
Both exchanges had made him feel quite wild in different ways, although he could not say why that should be, and the uncertainty aggravated his temper further.
Darcy hated not having complete understanding and control of his emotions.
“Elizabeth Bennet,” he said under his breath before applying more cold water to his face. “What are you doing to me?”
Darcy’s feelings were hot and tangled where she was concerned, as they were for no other woman.
He could keep a cool head and even temper when thinking of anyone else, but not of her.
The thought of Elizabeth marrying another man made him feel hot, cold, angry, dejected…
jealous? Good lord, yes, jealous. Impossible as it was, he could not help wishing himself in the place of any putative bridegroom.
It was an awful admission for a man as proud as Darcy, to know that he wished to marry a woman of neither name nor fortune.
It would also be enough to send Lady Catherine through Rosings’ roof, Darcy knew, although he never intended to speak these feelings aloud.
His aunt had always taken undue, and unwanted, interest in her nephew’s marital prospects.
Now, Lady Catherine wished Darcy to send Elizabeth Bennet away, ostensibly from fear of some scandal attaching itself to his name.
In reality, he suspected that his aunt disliked Miss Bennet’s free thinking and fearlessness.
Not understanding the awkward dynamic that had attended Darcy’s relationship with Elizabeth Bennet from the start, Lady Catherine also evidently feared that the young companion would seduce him into marriage.
Sending Miss Bennet away was out of the question, of course. Georgiana would be heartbroken, and alone again. Nor would Darcy be glad to see her go, regardless of her fierceness in pursuit of her beliefs and principles. She gave new life to Darcy House, and he did not wish to lose her.
There was also another gnawing concern at the back of Darcy’s mind, one that had been there from the first moment he saw her in Mrs Bevan’s office.
When Elizabeth Bennet left Darcy House, where would she go next?
While her uncle and father might conduct some inquiries beforehand, Elizabeth would eventually be on her own in a strange household.
What if the gentlemen of that house were not as decent and civilised as Colonel Fitzwilliam or Charles Bingley?
What if they were like Mr Hurst, or worse?
Darcy found that he was actually frightened for Elizabeth when he thought about such an uncertain future. Part of what Lady Catherine had said was true — Elizabeth was too young, too pretty, and too amiable to be a companion or governess. It was not safe.
Still, if it was the life she had chosen, and she would soon be one-and-twenty, her choice of career was ultimately her own.
Darcy was only her employer, and not even an employer she liked.
Even when they were not at loggerheads, he suspected Elizabeth’s cordial manner with him was mainly for Georgiana’s sake.
Darcy had neither rights nor responsibilities concerning Elizabeth Bennet beyond those set out in the contract negotiated by Mrs Bevan.
He was neither brother, cousin, nor even really a friend of the family, as Charles Bingley could easily claim to be.
Wherever she went next, whatever she chose to do, Darcy had no influence whatsoever, and it pained him far more than he would like.
In fact, to say it merely pained him was to minimise what Darcy felt, the longer he thought about it. When he imagined Elizabeth facing a difficult or dangerous employer, alone and far from home, with no recourse to assistance, he felt he might go mad. Yet what could he do? Marry her…?!
The sound of carriage wheels on gravel drew Darcy to the window of his spacious bedroom as he took up a towel to dry his face.
On the drive outside, a Rosings coach had just pulled up near the house’s main steps, and three ladies proceeded to enter it.
Lady Catherine was visiting her neighbour, Lady Poynton, that afternoon, Darcy remembered, and she was taking Georgiana and Anne with her.
Heaving a small sigh of relief that he would at least escape his aunt’s company until supper, Darcy sat down at his desk, taking out pen, ink, and scrap paper from its drawers.
He must think matters through rationally to their logical conclusion rather than letting himself be buffeted by waves of emotion.
Dipping the quill into the inkpot and marking one side of the page with the title “Advantages” and the other with “Disadvantages”, Darcy gathered his disordered thoughts and fevered feelings and began to write.
∞∞∞
By the time the clock on the mantelpiece struck five, Darcy had more than filled the piece of scrap paper, adding multiple corrections and additions between and beside the lines. Finally, he sat back to reflect on its contents, both sides of the page equally well-inked at first glance.
Under “Advantages”, he had listed intelligence, wittiness, energy, and comeliness along with many other positive qualities possessed by Elizabeth Bennet.
Under “Disadvantages”, Darcy had assembled a column of similar size, beginning with money, name and family, the latter underlined several times for emphasis.
He had stopped short of listing Mrs Bennet, Lydia and Kitty Bennet, and Mr Collins by name.
At least the Gardiners were estimable and respectable people, Darcy supposed, but their solid character, sensible thinking, and trade-based wealth could hardly offset any of the acute disadvantages attending the Bennet girls.
Darcy shook his head at the thought. It was impossible that the future Mrs Darcy should have such an imperfect background. Lady Catherine would doubtless warn him that it would drag down the name of Darcy and Pemberley, and part of him agreed with her.
No, marrying Elizabeth Bennet was impossible.
How was he even considering such a rash step?
Added to which, even proposing to her was indecent in their present situation.
She might well flee back to her uncle’s house if Darcy declared himself, and she would be entirely justified in doing so.
For the sake of propriety and decorum, this madness must be put aside.
Then the figure of Elizabeth Bennet flitted through Darcy’s head, quick-stepping and vital, her hazel eyes flashing with feeling and her tongue ever-ready to speak what she perceived to be right and true.
Wasn’t such a strong-willed, comely, and intelligent wife an asset to a discerning gentleman?
Didn’t Darcy possess enough wealth and rank of his own to tolerate a lack of both in his wife?
He had only one sister to provide for, and Georgiana’s dowry was well-invested and secured beyond the reach of fortune hunters and adventurers like George Wickham.
Pemberley was a rich estate, and neither Darcy nor his predecessors had extravagant tastes, leaving the family coffers always full.
Unlike poor Colonel Fitzwilliam, second son of the Earl of Matlock, Darcy need not endure the indignity of marrying for money.
Lady Catherine and society at large would doubtless prefer that Darcy eventually marry some unthinking young heiress who brought Pemberley a large dowry, a connection to some family of equal or greater rank, and perhaps a pleasing smile, if Darcy was lucky.
Sometimes, it seemed that his aunt was even pushing poor Anne in his direction, although her health seemed to make the prospect of any marriage dubious.
Darcy himself shrank from the idea of facing a submissive, dull, or empty-headed woman over the supper table every day for the rest of his life, regardless of her other advantages.
He preferred to be stimulated and challenged, even at the risk of the rising temper he often felt when face to face with Elizabeth Bennet.
Yes, he must marry her. It would relieve his present disturbed state of mind, satisfy his deepest desires, and provide permanent company for Georgiana.
Let the rest of the world judge him as they would.
Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley could afford to ignore the carping of old women and hide-bound conventional men.
As Darcy tipped to and fro between the well-balanced arguments he had set out for himself, a rap at his bedroom door brought him up straight in his chair.
“Darcy? Are you in there?” sounded Colonel Fitzwilliam’s voice. “May I come in?”
“Yes, come in,” Darcy told his cousin, slipping the paper out of sight on the desk.
“I wondered where you had got to, Darcy,” said Richard Fitzwilliam pleasantly.
“At your letters again, I see. Well, if you are done now, how about a game of billiards before supper? I must say I am feeling rather dull. Everyone is gone out but us and Miss Bennet. She is taking a stroll in the park outside. I don’t think she was sorry not to be asked to join Lady Catherine’s visiting party. ”
Darcy stood, his limbs tensed and keen to move, even as his tongue now longed to speak. But not to his favourite cousin.
“I must take some air before supper, Richard,” he excused himself. “We shall play a game of billiards tonight, if it suits you.”
“Very much,” Darcy’s cousin agreed with a broad smile. “We may thereby escape the awful Mr Collins after supper. Lady Catherine has invited her pet rector to supper yet again. What about your jacket?”
This last question was spoken as Darcy reached the bedroom door and found that he had been about to venture out in his shirtsleeves to seek Elizabeth Bennet in the gardens. Truly his mind was disordered, even beyond what he had previously accepted.
Striding back to the bed, Darcy donned and fastened his jacket once again under his cousin’s puzzled and watchful eye. As an afterthought, he retrieved and folded the scrap of paper into one of his pockets with his back turned to the other man.
“Are you quite well, Darcy?” Colonel Fitzwilliam enquired. “You do not seem yourself.”
“I shall be well later, I hope,” Darcy returned, pushing open the bedroom door for them both to exit into the passageway. “There is something I must do.”
He left his cousin on the landing, hurrying down the stairs ahead of the other man without further explanation of his odd behaviour.
There was no way Darcy could explain the way he had been struggling with his conscience, his desire, and his sense of the Bennet’s social inferiority all afternoon, and he was in no mood to try.
There was only one person to whom Darcy felt bound to explain himself, and she was outside somewhere in Rosings Park.