Chapter 26 Respect
RESPECT
Charlotte returned, and I stammered an explanation of my sudden decision to leave. Then I retired to rest, pleading exhaustion. That was true—I had not slept the night before. I collapsed on the bed and woke to a brightening window.
The narrow guest bed was cozy with layers of wool and cotton. Birds chirped outside. Yesterday’s disconnected scraps of ideas returned, but coherent. What had felt desperate, now seemed possible. Maybe it was the birdsong and a rising sun.
I organized my things to depart, ate a bite of breakfast, then stepped outside for one last walk to fit the final pieces, hopping familiar logs and dodging rough spots while I thought.
When I saw Mr. Darcy approaching, I stopped to see what he would do. That part of yesterday seemed remote and fanciful.
He held out a letter. My fingers took it.
Precisely, he said, “I have been walking for some time in the hope of meeting you. Will you do me the honor of reading this letter?” With a slight bow, he strode off and was soon out of sight.
Apprehensive but curious, I examined the envelope. The Darcy seal, pressed into burgundy wax, was elaborate. I pressed my thumbs to shatter it thoroughly, then opened the envelope.
There were two sheets of paper written in a close hand. I forded a few yards of wilderness to reach a groomed lane where I could read while my feet wandered.
The letter was dated from Rosings, at eight o’clock in the morning:
“Madam, be not alarmed that this letter contains any repetition of those sentiments or renewal of those offers which were yesterday so disgusting to you. This letter would be unnecessary had not my character required it to be written. I trust your sense of justice will require you to read it.
First, on the matter of Mr. Wickham—”
I stopped reading with a snort. “What is his obsession with Wickham?” I skipped forward until I saw this:
“Next, at dinner, I observed your dismay and revulsion at Rosings’s investment in colonial plantations. Your—”
The remainder of that sentence was crossed out. Curious, I held the page to the sun. I made out “Your eyes” but the ink had been wet when covered, and the rest was obscured.
After that hidden passage, it continued:
“It was only when I came into my inheritance that I had authority to act as my conscience dictated. Pemberley was then purged of all investment that benefitted, directly or indirectly, from slavery. This was accomplished at great financial risk and cost due to the speed with which I acted. My only delay was first to separate and protect my sister’s inheritance in case disaster resulted.
I will write no further on the specifics, other than I have striven since to restore Pemberley and my family’s fortune.
As our lives are not to intersect, I see no necessity to rebut your accusations of selfishness in pursuit of wealth and influence, other than to say my conscience is clear.”
I hmphed. Doubtless he prided himself on creating jobs for tailors.
“Lastly, and for you, most importantly: I had not been long in Hertfordshire before I saw that Bingley preferred your sister to any other woman in the country.
But it was not till the dance at Netherfield, when I had the honor of dancing with you, that he told me his feelings were a serious attachment.
My initial concern stemmed from observing your sister.
Although she received Bingley’s attentions with pleasure, I was convinced she did not return them in any serious manner.
Your superior knowledge of your sister requires that I accept your judgment.
If by my error I inflicted pain on her, your resentment is not unreasonable.
However, my concerns sharpened when I saw your mother’s obsession with binding and her public and unconscionable pursuit of Bingley’s marriage gold.
And then I was repulsed by your father’s cruel public shaming of your sister Mary.
From the history I have recounted, you understand the irony and potency of your final words to me that evening—‘Speak to me again when you have defended a heartbroken sister.’ ”
What had he recounted? I must have missed something when I skipped his passage on Wickham. The letter finished:
“This, madam, is a faithful narrative that I provide, trusting to your honor and discretion.
Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
I had stopped walking as I became engrossed.
Now, for the first time, the incredible nature of his proposal sank in.
Mr. Darcy, a man of extraordinary consequence and wealth, had asked me to marry him.
He had been in love with me for some time.
All those long walks and sudden silences, in hindsight, seemed charged with significance.
It was, of course, unbelievable. But Charlotte had noticed. She even warned me that he was promised to Lady Catherine’s daughter. What had happened to that? Presumably, this would annoy her ladyship more than refusing a tart.
In fact, Charlotte had prodded me several times about Mr. Darcy’s attention. Was I so oblivious?
“Miss Bennet?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam was a dozen yards down the lane, hesitant to break my reverie.
I put away the letter, remembering I had promised to meet the colonel before I left. “Good morning, Colonel. I am sorry I did not find you sooner.”
“I am happy we have met. Do you have some time before you depart?”
“Of course. Shall we walk?” Lighter conversation would be a relief.
“I am honored.” He bowed, and we set off toward our favorite path.
I walked in silence, considering Mr. Darcy’s letter.
His excuse for interfering between Jane and Mr. Bingley was offensive and cruel.
But Jane’s restrained manner did conceal her feelings.
So perhaps that part was credible. With a shock, I realized Mr. Darcy did not know his interference had hurt Jane’s health.
Colonel Fitzwilliam cleared his throat. “I wished to speak with you before your travel separated us.”
“Yes?” I stopped. We were in a pleasant treed area, dappled with sunlight.
The colonel turned decisively to me, his posture exact. A gentleman officer, and extremely serious.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” He took a breath. “I have, for some time, wished to speak with you on a topic that is most personal and significant.”
He waited, as attentive and considerate as always.
When I looked puzzled, he said hesitantly, “I shall, of course, desist if you do not welcome this conversation. I am fully aware of my limited prospects. For myself, I am decided. I care not for my father’s wrath.
But the admiration that prompts me to speak also makes me hesitate, for you deserve a match of greater consequence.
Say a word, and it will be as if I had never spoken. My respect for you will be unchanged.”
Oh.
How different this was from my conversation yesterday. The colonel was a man I respected and genuinely liked. A man I would never wish to hurt.
And yet, I knew my answer was no. Why, though?
“I… Your regard honors me. Truly. And I care nothing for prospects. But I… This is a difficult time when I am unable…” I struggled to find words. Part of me wondered if I might, in time, say yes. Another part knew I never would.
“I understand. Shall we finish our walk?”
He offered his arm, and we proceeded in silence, my bottom lip crushed between my teeth to hide my feelings until I was alone.