Mr. Darcy’s Complex Courtship

1. Chapter 1 The Unfathomable Mr. Darcy

Thursday, 16 April 1812

Hunsford Parsonage

Elizabeth Bennet

P oor Jane . A soft groan passed my lips. Upon my initial reading of Jane’s words last week, I had missed the uncommon lack of enthusiasm in her remarks; this time, my sister’s subdued narrative stood out as an obvious indication of her continued malaise. I folded the letter and tucked the paper in my pocket.

Earlier today, I had discovered Mr. Darcy bore at least part of the blame for my sister’s heartache—and to think I had begun to question my firm disapprobation of him! His caprice made my sketch of his character a perplexing endeavour. Unlike the arrogant way Mr. Darcy had presented himself in Hertfordshire last autumn, he had been different these past weeks in Kent: awkward and mute much of the time, but somewhat pleasant on other occasions. And compared to his aunt Lady Catherine, he appeared almost humble. I had gone so far as to muse over possible excuses for his prior mistreatment of Mr. Wickham.

But Mr. Darcy’s callous tendency had been laid bare by none other than his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam, whom I had encountered on my morning walk. According to the colonel, Mr. Darcy had deemed Jane an unworthy match for Mr. Bingley—and convinced his friend to abandon her.

The utter audacity and rancour of that man—to blithely separate two people in love to their mutual detriment! No one deserved happiness more than my dearest Jane, who always placed the interests of others before her own. My hand curled into a fist and pounded the embroidered cushion beside me.

For anyone to disapprove of Jane , the kindest, loveliest, and most—

Distinctive clangs from the door-knocker disrupted my stormy rumination.

Had Colonel Fitzwilliam come to enquire after my health? He had expressed concern for my sudden reticence following his revelation today; to conceal my dismay, I had pretended to have the headache. Later, I employed the same excuse to avoid accompanying the others to Rosings Park House. I abandoned my slack position for a more presentable one.

The young maid, Patsy, entered the room. “Mr. Darcy, miss.”

Mr. Darcy. What did he mean by coming here?

As Patsy scurried away, he came towards me with a deliberate stride. “Good day, Miss Bennet.”

I should sooner have bitten through my tongue than wished him a good day. “Mr. Darcy.”

“Mrs. Collins indicated you were indisposed, and I came to assure myself of your well-being.” He held me in an intent stare. “You do not appear to be ill. I hope you feel better.”

His cordial speech might have fooled me before today, but a man who had treated sweet, angelic Jane with so little feeling could have no true care for my comfort. “I am tolerably well.” I used the frostiest tone I could manage.

“I am glad of that.” Mr. Darcy wandered through the room, pausing here and there before moving again. He sat in the chair across from me, but moments later sprang to his feet and confronted me. “I have tried in vain to conquer my feelings for you. Instead, they have grown stronger over time and with each subsequent meeting. There is no other course for me than to embrace this circumstance. I love you, most vehemently.”

What? Why would a man who had deemed Jane unworthy of his less-illustrious friend assert his love for me ? He continued to speak, but my mind would not budge from that stunning declaration. No, this did not make sense.

My sight riveted upon the proud, disagreeable, and imperious man. Notwithstanding these weighty defects, I could not fault his appearance: his piercing dark eyes and well-defined features had undeniable physical allure. Likewise, his thick mane of dark, wayward curls framed his noble countenance with a whimsical elegance, and the superior fabric and perfect fit of his attire on his athletic form further enhanced his person. Not that any of this mattered a whit, since I could never form an attachment to him. Then the tenor of his speech burst through my musing.

“…and some will consider my connection to one so below me in standing to be an abasement. Of even more concern are the frequent breaches of propriety exhibited by certain members of your family.”

I almost laughed aloud! Could he think disparaging my loved ones would encourage me to accept him?

“Yet my attachment to you has crushed any and all arguments against the union. So, regardless of the disadvantages, I am resolved to have you and no other at my side. Will you consent to be my wife?” Mr. Darcy shifted back on his heels, watching me with a hand upon his thrust-out chest.

No doubt he expected me to agree. Well, he would be disappointed. For the sake of my dear, long-suffering Jane, I ought to elucidate my disdain for him. Did he not deserve a thorough set-down for having contributed to my sister’s unhappiness?

A cutting invective danced on my tongue, and in my eagerness to express the insult, I sat taller. “Although the established custom is to…” Then the sheen of perspiration on Mr. Darcy’s temples caught my eye, as did the slight droop in his shoulders. What did this signify? Did he feel more anxiety than self-assurance? As the seconds elapsed, my zeal to rail at him dwindled. After all, if I indulged in such unladylike discourse, I should regret my indiscretion later. No, I should give him a courteous refusal, much as I had done for my cousin Mr. Collins last year.

“Miss Bennet”—Mr. Darcy’s eyebrows knitted—“will you not continue?”

“Pardon me, but your offer has come as a surprise. I had the impression you disapproved of me.”

He blinked. “No, far from it. My admiration of you is long-standing.”

Could his admission be true? Of course, it did not signify—nought could alter my resolve. Be polite , I reminded myself. “Um…although I appreciate the honour you have bestowed on me with this offer, I must decline.”

“You…you decline?”

“Yes.”

The colour drained from his complexion. He lumbered back and landed inelegantly on the chair.

Oh dear . I glanced at the doorway, inching to the edge of my seat. Any moment now, he would berate me for having the audacity to refuse him. If I departed, I could avoid an unpleasant scene. Keeping him in my view, I placed weight upon my feet. Mr. Darcy, though, displayed no trace of anger. He sat with his back sloped forwards, his head angled down, and his knuckles pressed against his lips. Never before had he appeared so…vulnerable.

His response conflicted with my notion of him. As a twinge of unease built within my breast, I abandoned my plan of escape.

Friday, 17 April

Rosings Park Estate

Elizabeth

I trudged through a section of the path made muddy by a late-night shower. Once past the sodden area of ground, I paused to take stock of my clothing; my petticoats had emerged unsoiled, but not my boots. I pushed onwards.

My pace slackened, though, as last-minute doubts descended upon me. Had I erred in agreeing to meet Mr. Darcy? I had acquiesced to his entreaty in a moment of weakness, in part out of curiosity for how he would attempt to explain his deplorable past behaviour. Yet our discussion could become uncomfortable or even hostile. Of course, Mr. Darcy could have reconsidered and seen the folly of having proposed to me; maybe he rejoiced in his fortunate escape and would not bother to come.

But when I neared the grove, Mr. Darcy’s familiar form emerged from the shade of an alder tree and strode to me. His blond cocker spaniel, Hunter, sprang ahead and reached me first.

I crouched to greet the joyous dog, whose hind quarters shook along with his wagging tail. “It is good to see you, Hunter.” This past week, Mr. Darcy had come upon me on my morning walks three times and chosen to accompany me. Due, in part, to my established belief that he disliked me, I had been puzzled and annoyed by those intrusions to my solitude. Hunter’s impish presence had been the redeeming element of those occasions.

“Good morning, Miss Bennet.”

I rose. “Good morning, Mr. Darcy.”

A slight twist stirred his lips as he studied me. “I want to address your reasons against my courting you. I know you well enough to expect you will not shy away from enumerating them.”

By all means; at the risk of arousing his ire, I should indulge my inquisitive nature. “ You may as well know I am aware you persuaded Mr. Bingley to forsake my sister.” A sharp edge tinged my words.

He betrayed no sign of surprise.

“Why did you act to separate them?”

“On the night of the Netherfield ball, I observed your sister and could detect nothing to indicate she had a peculiar regard for Bingley. For my friend to consider marrying a lady without fortune or connexions, I believed he ought to at least have her affections.”

How dare he make this determination on such flimsy evidence? A rush of heat rose up from my neck. “Your conclusion lacked merit. Jane has been anguished ever since Mr. Bingley departed Hertfordshire.”

“I am sorry to hear this.” His chin dipped. “I had no intention of hurting your sister.”

“Soon after her arrival in town, Jane called on Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. They waited weeks to return the call and left my sister in no doubt they did not care to maintain the acquaintance.”

Mr. Darcy avoided my gaze. “Yes, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst related they had met with your sister.”

His admission provided no satisfaction—rather, it provoked a tension in my chest. “Is Mr. Bingley aware Jane has been in town?”

“No.” He raised his sight to me, his features tight. “We…that is…Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst, and I decided not to inform him.”

I stiffened, crossing my arms. “You need look no further than Miss Bingley for your perfect wife.” I glared at him and did not bother to moderate my voice. “The two of you are of like minds and contrive so well together!”

His dark eyes flashed. “I cede to your superior knowledge of your sister and regret I acted upon my mistaken judgment. Unless you direct me otherwise, I shall acquaint Bingley of my error. I shall also reveal the lamentable advice I gave Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst and advise him that your eldest sister is in town.”

Did he speak in earnest? I swallowed. “You would make a full confession to your friend?”

“Yes, although I cannot predict whether or how he will act on the information.”

“Either way, Mr. Bingley ought to know the truth.”

“Then I shall speak to him upon my return to London.”

Good gracious ! The proud Mr. Darcy had admitted his blunder and would attempt to mitigate the damage. Maybe Jane stood a chance at happiness after all. He took a step closer, and his essence—masculine, a bit earthy, and reminiscent of the forest—enveloped me. Unlike many other men, his aroma had never been too pungent or objectionable. His valet must have applied a blend of pine and wildflowers, along with a hint of…vanilla? All together, they made a tantalising mix.

His hand grazed his chin. “To my mind, Miss Bingley is nothing more than my friend’s sister. Of late, her society has grown difficult to tolerate. Although we had both wanted to separate Bingley from your sister, our incentives differed. Whereas I have my friend’s future happiness in mind, she wants her brother’s marriage to elevate her in society.”

My weight shifted from one foot to the other, and I dug the toe of my boot into the loose gravel. “I suppose that, if our situations had been reversed, I may have taken similar steps to protect my sister from a penniless suitor. And Mr. Bingley is accountable for his own actions—unless you held him captive to prevent his return to Netherfield.”

The line of his mouth softened. “No, but in Bingley’s defence, he is accustomed to consulting me for advice as one would an older brother.”

With this matter settled, one other weighty concern remained. “You once alluded to Mr. Wickham’s inability to maintain friendships, but he accused you of withholding a living your father had intended to give him.”

At my mention of the name, Mr. Darcy’s visage hardened, lending him a grim appearance. He recounted his history with Mr. Wickham, and it soon became clear I had been taken in by a fictitious tale that included elements of the truth but amounted to mendacity.

A twisting discomfort beset my stomach when Mr. Darcy disclosed Mr. Wickham’s nefarious design to convince fifteen-year-old Miss Darcy to elope with him this past summer while she stayed with her companion, Mrs. Younge, in Ramsgate. Mr. Wickham had schemed with Mrs. Younge, aiming to gain control of Miss Darcy’s fortune. Mr. Darcy’s fortuitous unplanned visit had allowed him to save his sister from Wickham’s plot.

My chest clenched, and I turned away, unable to meet his gaze. What a fool I had been—misled by a charming new acquaintance with an adroit face! Mr. Wickham’s many compliments to me had ensured my gullibility and loyalty. And poor Miss Darcy—how anguished she must have been to learn Mr. Wickham had pretended affection for her.

I faced him once again. “May I enquire after Miss Darcy?”

His brow furrowed. “My sister has always been timid and has had a difficult time making friends. After the events of last summer, she has been more withdrawn than ever.”

The poor girl. And as a much older brother, would Mr. Darcy have known how to comfort her? “I am sorry she did not accompany you and your cousin to Rosings, for I should have liked to meet her.”

His lips edged towards a smile. “I should like nothing better than to introduce Georgiana to you. She chose to remain in London. She is wary of being in company these days and finds Lady Catherine to be an intimidating figure.”

“I can understand that.”

“My cousin Richard and I admire the deft way you have handled our aunt. I do not imagine she has met anyone like you before.”

I arched an eyebrow. “That is a generous way to describe her impression of me.”

“She encounters few people who are willing to disagree with her. You garnered her respect.”

An image of Miss de Bourgh came to mind, along with another of Mr. Wickham’s assertions—one I had accepted as true. “Mr. Wickham once remarked that you would marry your cousin Miss de Bourgh. I presume this is another falsehood.”

“Yes. Although my aunt has declared many times that Anne and I should make an ideal match, no one else agrees—certainly not Anne or me.”

“I see.” To my shame, I had never attempted to engage Miss de Bourgh in conversation. Rather, I had sought reasons to mentally disparage her—all because I had believed her to be Mr. Darcy’s intended.

He raised his hat to tame an errant tuft of hair. “Last night I reviewed our conversation at the parsonage, and it occurred to me that certain components of my speech may have been hurtful to you. By mentioning the differences in our situations and your family’s indiscretions, I intended to assure you that I had considered and dismissed those issues. I regret my unfortunate choice of words and hope you will forgive me.”

“Your apology is accepted.” His willingness to admit his mistakes and express remorse for them demonstrated strength of character. Then again, the differences he had delineated yesterday could not be dismissed, for they still existed. I took a moment to collect my thoughts. “Nevertheless, given the disparity in our stations, I believe you would regret a union between us—maybe not straight away but within a year or two. And that would be an intolerable situation for us both.”

His eyes flared and fixed upon me. “I cannot blame you for supposing me to be inconstant. I left Hertfordshire last November with no intent to return or see you again. At the time, I believed you to be unsuitable for me. I had thought that, once away from your presence, I should forget you.”

“That sounds like a logical solution. Did you not find it to be effective?”

He shook his head. “My mind conjured you up many times each day. Never before had a lady enchanted me so utterly and maddeningly. I even contemplated excuses I might use to return to Hertfordshire.”

“Yet you did not come back.”

“No, although you continued to dominate my thoughts, I resisted the impulse. Then I received a letter from Lady Catherine. She described Mr. Collins’s new wife and named the friend who would stay with them at the parsonage. My eagerness to see you had not abated. Yet I told myself that once we met again, this bewitchment would be broken. Instead, from my first sight of you here in Kent, I was a lost man.”

“But my circumstances have not altered. I am no less ‘unsuitable’ than before.”

“I was wrong—your many attributes more than make up for any possible detriments.”

What ‘attributes’ did he refer to? His stare had once annoyed me. Now, his attention elicited a novel sensation, warming me from within. “If Miss Bingley is any example of how you are treated by ladies of the ton , I can understand why my conduct piqued your interest. But you would not want a wife who is apt to dissent from you.”

“On the contrary. I expect we shall have disagreements, but we shall talk through them. We shall learn from each other, and our individual strengths will ensure our union is durable.”

My goodness, he spoke as though he believed we should wed—and managed to make the possibility sound sensible, even…astute. No, I should end this mad flight of fancy without delay. “For you to have proposed marriage, you must have believed you knew me well, but you do not.”

“I am assured of your admirable character, intelligence, and lively personality, but in other aspects you are correct. With your agreement, I hope to rectify the areas of ignorance.”

How else could I deter him? One evening last November at Netherfield Park, Miss Bingley had initiated a conversation designed to elucidate my dearth of accomplishments in comparison to herself. To my chagrin, her point seemed relevant now. “How could you expect me to fit into your world when I have no formal education, my musical skills are mediocre, and I am unaccustomed to life in town? I should be a fish out of water.”

“I should ensure you have all the support you need, but you have no cause for concern. Few denizens of the ton are as thorny as Lady Catherine, and your facility with her demonstrates your ability to thrive in any setting.”

He appeared to have a ready answer for everything. What else should I ask him? Oh yes—his boorishness in Hertfordshire. “You are polite and courteous when it suits you. Why were you churlish so often last autumn?”

He grimaced. “I recall one evening at Netherfield when you drew attention to my pride and vanity. At the time, I did not recognise the validity of your criticism, but I do now. In my conceit, I acted as though my wealth and station exempted me from the rules of polite society. My conduct fell short of the example my parents had provided, and I am resolved to do better in the future. You deserve no less.”

The sincerity evident in his elocution prompted an odd flutter deep within my belly. He had addressed every concern I raised, and no others came to mind—well, none I could attribute to him alone.

“Do you have any further questions for me?”

“Not at present. I appreciate your indulgence with my enquiries. Marriage is an intimidating prospect for a lady—she is dependent upon her husband’s benevolence.”

“That is an unfortunate truth. Any man who mistreats his wife is contemptible.”

“I agree.”

“My cousin and I shall return to town on the morrow. I understand you are leaving in a se’nnight.”

“Yes.”

“Will you go directly to Hertfordshire?”

“No.” My gaze settled upon him. “I shall stay at my uncle Gardiner’s house in London for a week. He lives in Gracechurch Street, not far from his warehouse.”

“May I call on you there?”

My breath rushed out. “You would call at the home of a tradesman?”

“I have attended dinners and parties at the most exclusive residences in town and never experienced the gratification I have in your company. I should be pleased to make the acquaintance of your aunt and uncle at their home.”

Dear me, after having exhausted each of my arguments, I could actually welcome the prospect of meeting him again. “Well then…I expect I shall see you in town.” A winsome smile brightened his countenance—an endearing sight.

He offered his arm to walk me back to the parsonage. As my limb entwined with his, a faint electric jolt prickled the skin of my forearm.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam and I shall call at the parsonage this afternoon to take our leave of the household. My cousin is aware of Mr. Wickham’s misdeeds, so if you would like him to confirm anything I told you—”

“No, that will not be necessary.” My cheeks burned for having interrupted him, and I took a moment to regulate my cadence. “I do not doubt your version of events.”

He nodded, and his lips curved up again.

At my suggestion, we parted before I reached the gate to Mr. Collins’s garden to avoid being observed together.

Later that day, we all gathered in the parlour of the parsonage with the two gentlemen callers. The colonel took the chair next to me, while Mr. Darcy sat near the sofa occupied by Mr. Collins and his wife—Charlotte Collins née Lucas—as well as Charlotte’s sister, Maria Lucas.

Mr. Collins carried on a protracted discourse conveying his appreciation to Mr. Darcy and the colonel for honouring his home with their presence. Mr. Darcy exerted himself to respond with polite comments to my cousin and Charlotte. He even engaged Maria in conversation.

I made use of the opportunity for an unobtrusive study of Mr. Darcy—in particular his strong jaw, elegant nose, striking sable eyes, and noble deportment, which I had failed to fully appreciate before. In the past, my perception of him had often been distorted by my prejudices and false impressions—as though I had espied him through a smudged window.

“We have been enjoying exceptionally fine weather this week. Do you not agree?”

I turned to Colonel Fitzwilliam, seated to my left, whose tense position belied his trite remarks. “Indeed, yes.”

A penitent frown replaced his smile. “Please allow me to apologise for my thoughtless and indiscreet speech yesterday. I am sorry to have distressed you.”

“You have no need to atone. My anger had been directed towards another. Since then, your cousin and I have cleared the air.”

His facial features relaxed. “Yes, he mentioned that.” The colonel took a glance towards Mr. Darcy, who spoke with Charlotte. “My cousin is a respectable, honourable man who has endured much loss and experienced too little happiness in the past. I believe that you—if you choose to—can transform and enhance his life. I hope you decide this is the right path for you.”

With my throat too taut for speech, I nodded. Soon thereafter, the gentlemen said their farewells. Mr. Darcy and I did not have an opportunity to speak alone, but his dark eyes held me in place when we exchanged our farewells. He took my proffered hand and bowed, giving me a slight smile. The brief contact of his gloved palm upon mine left a residual tingle.

Once they had departed, Charlotte took me to her sitting room for the stated purpose of seeking my opinion of her latest sewing project. She directed me to the sofa and sat beside me. “Upon my word, what a singular visit! Mr. Darcy has never been so amiable before. Did you notice his graciousness with my husband and me?”

“Yes, I cannot fault his behaviour today. He displayed no less cordiality than the colonel.”

Charlotte grinned. “When Mr. Darcy asked Maria how she liked the area, she was too shocked to give him more than a few words in response.” My friend held me in an intent look. “Are you still determined to dislike him?”

“No, I believe I may have misjudged him. He is a complex personality who is not easily understood.”

“Yes, I agree.” Her brow creased. “What a shame it is for you to come to this conclusion now, when he is leaving tomorrow. I maintain he has shown a marked preference for you these past weeks, yet I do not suppose you will have the opportunity to meet him again.”

I hesitated. Although I disliked deceiving my friend, I should not wish to encourage her already fertile imagination. Besides, Mr. Darcy may change his mind and decide against calling at my uncle’s home. “Well, perhaps you will invite me here again next spring, and I could see him then.”

She patted my hand. “Yes, you may depend on that.”

After we returned to the parlour, I remained rapt in contemplation of the unfathomable Mr. Darcy; Charlotte and Maria must have found me to be a dull companion indeed.