Chapter 3 #2
“But I never imagined that his infatuation was, rather, love. Two months of sorrow have cast a shadow on my judgement. In the end, why should I concern myself with a woman’s reasons for being attracted to him?
Miss Bennet was certainly not Lady Helen.
Perhaps she simply wished to marry, and she might have been a good wife to him.
I discovered from Bingley’s sisters that she had been in London during this time, and they had never told him. And in the end, neither did I.”
“You are wrong and right at the same time. Take my case: I do not have the privilege of looking for love. My financial situation obliges me to seek an heiress. If I find one, I shall ask her to marry me, with or without affection. But I shall make every effort to be a loving husband and father. I shall look for love after marriage.”
“You say that could be Miss Bennet’s case, and that I was wrong to intervene?”
“Exactly—though you were also right in knowing that Bingley falls in love every six months. In my opinion, if his love is strong enough, he should go to Hertfordshire, with or without your advice, and see for himself whether Miss Bennet is the wife he wants. You should encourage him to find that answer for himself, and not from those around him.”
Darcy reflected on the colonel’s words. Left alone for some time—his cousin had some dances prearranged—he looked admiringly at Georgiana. She looked beautiful and elegant, a splendid young lady who would have made Lady Anne Darcy proud.
He had been apprehensive before her presentation at court, as no debutante was received if any shameful behaviour could be found in her past. He thought of Wickham, who could have damaged her reputation.
Fortunately, Georgiana’s intended elopement took place in Ramsgate, and it seemed far enough from London not to produce any echo of gossip.
He remembered again, with the same anger, that man who had almost destroyed Georgiana’s life.
He had thought he would never see him again, only to find him in Hertfordshire using the same ruses on young women.
Elizabeth seemed to be one of them, and for once, he was almost glad to discover that such a man had easily influenced her.
It indicated a lack of judgement, in which case she was not the woman he thought her to be.
But all his efforts to forget her or to dim her memory were in vain.
Not only could he not forget her, but that night’s ball was also a painful reminder of the one at Netherfield, when they had danced together.
She was resplendent and unaffected at the same time.
He remembered her bright eyes when she looked at him, and he wondered whether she had ever thought of him afterwards.
In some ways, Bingley was right. Apart from the richness, what was the difference between this gathering and the one at Netherfield?
“Did you like a certain lady from Hertfordshire more than any in this ballroom?” the colonel asked as soon as he returned. And Darcy could not help but be surprised at his cousin’s alacrity.
“It is still debatable,” he answered hesitantly. “I have looked around long enough. I need a family, a mistress at Pemberley, and it is difficult to decide.”
“You need…?”
“Yes—more than that, it is an urge. I am searching for a wife.”
∞∞∞
Later that night, while driving Bingley home, Darcy tried to discover his friend’s state of mind…and heart. They had been in one another’s company quite a lot, but usually it had been impossible to talk. Georgiana was staying for the night at Matlock House, so they were alone in the carriage.
“You danced frequently!” Darcy said, smiling, inviting him to share confidences.
“Yes, but I am not at all tired. Is that not strange?”
“Well, when you enjoy an activity, it is rarely tiresome.”
“I cannot say I did not enjoy it, but…I speak of the dancing and not of the ladies.”
As Darcy remained silent, he continued. “I enjoy dancing. I always have. It is my nature, and when I dance, I usually tend not to observe my partner—”
But that had not been true with Miss Bennet.
With her, his pleasure in dancing had been elevated by her nearness.
But he did not wish to open such a subject.
He thought of her more and more—not as desperately as he had during the first month, but with some hope.
This time, however, he resolved to be cautious and not allow anyone to know what he was thinking, especially Darcy or his sisters.
He had decided to allow some time to pass and then make a decision—following his own feelings, not those of the people around him.
But his hesitation did not pass unnoticed.
Darcy was observant and knew his friend too well not to understand his dilemma.
And he was glad for Bingley that he was on the verge of deciding for himself.
He still did not think that marrying into the Bennet family was a good thing, but lately, he was the last person to give advice.
More and more, he was on the verge of admitting that the only young woman he truly liked was Elizabeth.
How could he tell Bingley not to marry Miss Bennet when he himself was thinking of Miss Elizabeth?
During the last two months, he had looked carefully at every young woman he met, and no one had made a better impression upon him than Elizabeth.
Their relationship was strange and complicated, as they mostly contended when they were together.
Yet that very opposition interested him.
She was not impressed by his wealth, and during their meetings, she never showed any interest in him as a man.
She was determined not to marry for wealth and cared little for her mother’s advice or ambitions.
“Your cousin Miss de Bourgh was surprisingly enchanting,” Bingley said. “I found her shy, but happy about the event at court. I hope she will marry and make a life for herself at some distance from her mother.”
Darcy smiled in the darkness. Bingley was agreeable, even in casual conversation; it was his nature.
“Yes, she made some progress under the guidance of Lady Wharton and my aunt, and I hope she will not return to the way she was. You could marry her,” Darcy said without malice. Surprisingly, the little elf and his friend who lived in the clouds might suit one another.
“In other times, I might have considered that option. None of the other ladies—except Miss Darcy—aroused my attention.”
“What are you saying?” Darcy asked, startled. “Georgiana is still a child!”
“No, my friend, Miss Darcy is a young lady already presented at court, who may now marry. Exactly like Miss de Bourgh.”
Darcy sat quietly in his corner. It was a shock to him that his friend—or any other man—could consider his sister as a possible wife. But the truth was before him: she had danced all night with the most eligible young men in London.
Yet, he had to admit that Georgiana was no longer his little sister, but a young lady. He felt that painful sensation all parents experience when their children begin lives of their own. He disliked the thought, but Bingley had been right. Georgie was about to fly away from him.
And—indeed—he needed a wife more than ever.