Chapter 6 #3
“You take your responsibility to those under your protection very seriously.” Elizabeth was unable to keep sharpness from entering her tone.
Darcy glanced at her, a frown creasing his brow. “Of course. It is my duty.”
“And does your sense of duty extend to protecting your friends as well? From unsuitable attachments, perhaps?”
Darcy stiffened, his expression closing like a door being shut. “You have spoken with Bingley.”
“He called this morning.” Elizabeth turned to face him directly. “He was most informative about the reasons for his abrupt departure from Netherfield last autumn.”
“I see.” Darcy’s posture had assumed the rigid formality she recalled from their earliest acquaintance. “And you object to the counsel I provided to a friend.”
“I object to your deliberate separation of two people who cared deeply for one another, based on your mistaken assessment of my sister’s feelings.” Elizabeth could no longer contain her indignation. “Jane was heartbroken when Mr. Bingley left. She still speaks of him with regret.”
“Is that so?” Darcy’s tone held genuine surprise beneath its coolness. “That was not my observation. Miss Bennet received Bingley’s attentions with the same pleasant smile she bestowed on everyone. I saw no particular preference.”
“Jane is reserved by nature.” Exasperation colored her voice as she paced the room. “She does not parade her feelings for public entertainment, but that does not make them less genuine.”
“How was I to know that?” Darcy countered, following her. “I acted on what I observed—”
Elizabeth whipped around, forcing him to catch himself before he ran into her. “How marvelous of you to state the problem so succinctly.”
She knew by the flash of anger in his eyes her barb’s aim was true.
“Bingley forms attachments easily and breaks them just as quickly. I believed your sister indifferent. I sought to spare him disappointment.”
“You had no right to make that determination based on your ill-informed assumptions.” Elizabeth resumed pacing. “No right to decide my sister’s happiness or Mr. Bingley’s. They are adults capable of managing their own affairs.”
Darcy’s expression hardened. “Bingley relies on my judgment in many matters. He is too trusting, too willing to see the best in everyone. It makes him vulnerable to those who might value his fortune over his character.”
“You believed Jane to be such a person?” Her shock covered the hurt beneath her anger. “My sister, who has never shown the slightest interest in material advantage?”
“I knew nothing of your sister beyond what I observed,” Darcy replied. “And what I observed was a serene indifference that gave no indication of deep attachment.”
She turned to face him again. “Let me understand. Despite the clear dearth of knowledge about a near-stranger, for some unfathomable reason, you felt qualified to judge her heart from a few public encounters?” Elizabeth’s voice rose despite her effort to maintain composure.
“To separate her from a man who made her happier than I have ever seen her? Who clearly continues to care for her despite your interference?”
A flicker of something that might have been doubt crossed Darcy’s features. Then it was gone, his expression settling into familiar impassivity. “I acted as I thought best for my friend. If I was mistaken about your sister’s feelings, I regret the error, but my intention was honorable.”
“Honorable?” Elizabeth repeated incredulously. “You call it honorable to manipulate another person’s life based on your own prejudices and assumptions?”
“I did not manipulate—”
“Did you not encourage Mr. Bingley to remain in London? Did you not reinforce his sisters’ assertions about Jane’s indifference? Did you not deliberately prevent him from returning to Netherfield when he spoke of doing so?”
Each question struck like a physical blow, the truth evident in Darcy’s tightening expression.
“I advised a friend based on my observations,” he maintained, though with less certainty than before. “Charles is free to make his own decisions.”
“A friend who trusts your judgment implicitly,” Elizabeth said. “Who would never question your assessment because he believes in your superior discernment.”
Darcy fell silent, something like discomfort flickering across his features.
“And what of Jane?” Elizabeth pressed on, unwilling to relent now that she had begun. “Did you consider her feelings at all in your grand strategy? Or was she merely collateral damage in your protection of Mr. Bingley?”
“I believed her unaffected.” His voice was harder now. “Had I known her heart was engaged, my advice might have differed.”
“Might have?” Elizabeth seized on the qualification. “You still believe you had the right to intervene?”
“I had the right to offer counsel to a friend who sought it. Bingley asked my opinion of the attachment. I gave it honestly, based on what I observed.”
“And your observations were colored by what, exactly? By the ‘inferiority’ of our connections? By my mother’s embarrassing behavior? By our lack of fortune and consequence?”
A telling flush rose to Darcy’s cheeks. “Those were also considerations. Bingley’s position makes him a target for fortune-hunters. I have seen it happen before.”
“So, you admit it. You separated them not because Jane appeared indifferent but because her family was deemed unsuitable.”
“I separated them because I believed the attachment one-sided,” Darcy corrected. “The unsuitability of the connection was a secondary consideration.”
“It was important enough to mention.” Elizabeth’s bitterness tasted sour in her own mouth. “How interesting that you found these same unsuitable connections acceptable when marrying into them yourself.”
She was stirring him to rage. One look at his face confirmed this. “Our circumstances were entirely different.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, her voice tight. “You were forced into marriage with me by scandal, while Mr. Bingley was willing—eager, even—to offer for Jane from genuine affection.”
The words hung between them, harsh and unretractable. Darcy paled, his lips pressing into a thin line.
“Is that how you see our marriage?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet. “As a forced obligation to be endured?”
Elizabeth hesitated, suddenly aware she had ventured into more personal and painful territory. “I see it as a union formed from necessity rather than choice,” she said finally, moderating her tone. “As do you, I believe.”
“You presume to know my mind on our marriage?” His voice held an edge she had never heard before, not even in their earliest, most contentious interactions. “Perhaps you should examine your own prejudices before condemning mine.”
“My prejudices?” Elizabeth repeated his words as if they were poison. “I am not the one who interfered in my sister’s happiness based on unfounded assumptions!”
“No, you merely accused me of deliberately compromising you to force a marriage,” Darcy countered, his control visibly fraying. “Of orchestrating our discovery at the cottage for my own purposes. Is that not prejudice of the most egregious kind?”
Before she could formulate a response, Darcy continued, his voice cold with suppressed anger.
“You formed your opinion of my character from a single overheard remark at an assembly. You have been determined to think the worst of me at every turn. Even now, as my wife, you leap to conclusions about my motives without seeking to understand them.”
“Then help me understand,” Elizabeth said, refusing to be cowed by his anger. “Explain how separating two people who cared for each other was an act of friendship rather than arrogance.”
“I have explained my reasoning,” Darcy replied stiffly. “You are determined not to accept it.”
“Because it is founded on your biased assumptions rather than true observation!” Elizabeth exclaimed.
“Jane loves Mr. Bingley. She has since their first meeting. Your interference has caused her months of unhappiness, and for what? To spare your friend a connection to a family you deemed beneath him?”
“That is not what I said.”
“It is exactly what you implied. Now that Mr. Bingley intends to return to Netherfield for the remainder of the season despite your efforts, what will you do? Warn him away again? Continue to manage his life according to your superior wisdom?”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “Bingley is free to do as he wishes.”
“But not without your approval, clearly. How fortunate for him to have such a discerning friend to guide his every decision.”
The sarcasm in her tone was the final provocation. Darcy drew himself up to his full height, his expression closed and remote. “This conversation is becoming circular and unproductive. We will discuss it no further tonight.”
“Of course.” Elizabeth’s own anger hardened into cold dignity. “Why engage with criticism when you can simply dismiss it as unworthy of response? How convenient for you.”
For a moment, something like pain flickered in Darcy’s eyes before his expression settled into impenetrable reserve. “Good night, Elizabeth,” he said, giving her a stiff bow before turning toward the door.
“Good night, Mr. Darcy,” she replied, deliberately using his surname, a reminder of the distance between them despite their marriage.
He paused briefly at her words but did not turn back, his tall figure rigid with suppressed emotion as he left the room. The quiet click of the door closing behind him held a finality that echoed in the sudden silence.
Elizabeth remained by the fireplace, her anger gradually giving way to a complex mixture of emotions she could not fully untangle.
Righteous indignation on Jane’s behalf warred with uncomfortable awareness that some of Darcy’s accusations regarding her own prejudices might contain elements of truth.
When she finally retired to her chamber, Elizabeth half-expected—half-feared—that Darcy might come to her despite their argument, as he had every night since their wedding.
But the connecting door between their rooms remained closed, the silence from his side complete.
She prepared for bed with mechanical movements, her mind still churning with the implications of their confrontation.
As she lay alone in the wide bed that suddenly seemed too large and empty, Elizabeth acknowledged the painful truth behind her anger.
If he could dismiss Jane’s feelings so easily, could he ever truly value Elizabeth’s own?
Or was she merely a duty to be fulfilled, an obligation assumed with proper Darcy honor but no genuine affection?