Chapter 25 #2
“Because my situation is different now?” asked Elizabeth, a little on her guard, even rather sharply, though not enough to disturb the ease that had settled between them.
“By no means. My regret arises from certain reflections upon my own character, not from the events of your life.”
“I feel much the same. I regret how I was in Kent.”
It was a curious declaration, not a very illuminating one, for it did not reveal whether she regretted her words, her tone, or the substance of what she had said. Still less did it clarify her present feelings. Might she even regret the refusal?
“I was many things in Kent, too,” said Darcy, adopting her own expression. “Not all of them are to be regretted. I do not wish to excuse myself. I only hope you may understand that not all my words sprang from…”
“Pride,” said Elizabeth with a smile, and he acknowledged it with a deep bow.
“Yes. You accused me of arrogance, conceit, and selfish disdain of the feelings of others…”
“You remember everything,” she murmured, surprised and a little embarrassed by words which, amidst the peace surrounding them, sounded even harsher than before.
“Arrogance is one of my faults, and much of what I said about your family may be attributed to it… But with Bingley, the situation was different. I advised him not to pursue the connection with your sister out of friendship and concern. I admit that I was superficial in my judgement of Miss Bennet, but my friend had come close to a disastrous mistake more than once in the past.”
“A disastrous mistake?” asked Elizabeth with amusement, and Darcy nodded, smiling. Difficult as the conversation was, the atmosphere between them remained unchanged.
“To marry an unsuitable person, whatever the reason, is a disastrous mistake, at least in my view.”
Elizabeth inclined her head in turn. It was entirely true, and she thought much the same.
“I misjudged your sister’s character, and I regret it. At the time, however, it seemed to me that a web was being woven around Bingley, meant to ensnare him, so that he might become an unwitting victim rather than a beloved husband.”
Much as Elizabeth wished to contradict him, she found herself without an argument. It had indeed appeared a web, only the spider had not been Jane, and had the marriage taken place, that web would have led them both to happiness.
“My mother,” she said, knowing he spoke the truth, but he made no attempt to agree.
“Then there was Wickham…”
“There is no need to say more. I have seen his superficiality before your terrible revelations, when I understood he was vile, not only shallow.”
“Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy continued, looking around as if he wanted to find support in the beauty of his home, “My tone was wrong, the manner in which I expressed myself, and, naturally, many of the things I said.”
“Mr Darcy, if you were to speak so of my family today, I should react differently. I would still be angry, but reflect on what you had said, and in the end, defending my family would mean helping you know them, not allowing you to leave, persuaded that you were right.”
“That is very true,” said Darcy, astonished by such a transformation in her thinking. He looked at her with growing admiration and an infinite compassion he kept carefully hidden.
“It is remarkable that tragedy led you towards wisdom. It carried me towards despair and destruction. After my mother died, I remained angry for years.”
“I am older than you were back then,” she murmured, smiling.
“Not much, I was eighteen.”
“Almost three years are essential.”
“Perhaps you are right. I tended to remember only her death, forgetting her marvellous life, the mother she was…”
“I agree,” she replied firmly. “It is a mistake to remember only the unpleasant things connected with Kent.”
“Were there pleasant ones?”
Elizabeth blushed slightly, though the parasol concealed it this time.
Standing beside him, she felt, for the first time, that with the passage of time, the core of what had happened in the Parsonage could be viewed with tranquillity, set apart from the rest of the conversation, until only what it truly had been remained: an awkward proposal of marriage yet sprung from true feelings.
Then suddenly she lowered her parasol, indifferent to any lingering colour in her cheeks, and met his gaze directly. Her intention was clear. She wished him to see her eyes.
“Yes, without doubt, things did not happen in Kent as they ought to have done—”
“Through my fault,” he interrupted at once.
“I do not dispute that. At first, through your fault, but afterwards through my own, because instead of reflecting, as my father always advised me to do, and extracting the essential intention from an unfortunate conversation, I chose to see only what wounded me and allowed anger to guide me.”
“Would you change anything?”
“I have changed,” she answered, yet not to his question, but he did not care as long as they spoke in that calm manner.
“Certainly, my father’s death compelled it, but not only because of its outward consequences.
I wish now to become the person he hoped I might be, more thoughtful, more responsible. ”
“I have changed as well, though without any cause so dramatic.”
“As I said, my inward change is not because of his death. It is because that was what he asked of me while he lived.”
“Have we made our peace with Kent?” asked Darcy, seeking her eyes again, and Elizabeth, as though she understood, lowered her parasol once more so that he might find them.
“Entirely. It is all I have wished for since I came here.”
She paused, however, for the declaration might sound strange, as though Pemberley itself had persuaded her to alter her opinion of him, and he might easily misunderstand her. She therefore resolved to be honest.
“Not merely because of the wealth of this place, but because I have discovered Pemberley to be a house where good people live and have lived…a family very much as we once were at Longbourn. That is my revelation, that all families are much the same…with both good and bad things.”
He took her hand and raised it to his lips, wishing to convey how deeply he regretted that she had lost not only her father but also the place where they had been a family. And this time, neither of them made any effort to conceal the feelings that lingered between them.
∞∞∞
“You seem rather fond of Mrs Cooper,” said Darcy with warm amusement when they were finally alone, the two of them enjoying a glass of sherry.
“Yes,” said the colonel without hesitation, surprising Darcy. Though he himself had become more willing to speak openly, particularly since Georgiana’s dreadful ordeal the previous summer, the colonel had always been reluctant to reveal his more private thoughts.
“I like her more than I expected to like any lady. Though how am I to know what attraction truly feels like, considering I have spent my life avoiding it?”
He needed not say more. Darcy knew perfectly well the reason for such caution.
As a second son, the colonel would inherit only a modest fortune, insufficient to support the manner of life to which he had been accustomed.
He needed to marry a wealthy heiress, and that necessity had always placed affection in a secondary position.
“What would Lady Matlock say about your interest?” asked Darcy quite mischievously.
“Never mind Lady Matlock. Tell me instead where that matter stands with you.”
“Close,” said Darcy enigmatically.
The answer left the colonel frustrated by its evasiveness, but generally pleased because, when he had kissed Mrs Cooper’s hand at parting, he had seen her blush deeply whilst smiling at him.
But he forced himself to set aside his own pleasure and said with vehemence, “Please do not hesitate. I watched you, and I found you both quite…close. Do not lose this moment, Darcy. Believe me, she would say yes, and for many good reasons.”
He did not say all that he knew, for Mrs Cooper had in fact hinted, through subtle remarks rather than plain declarations, that Elizabeth too was beginning to recognise and accept her inclination towards Mr Darcy.
It could be her dire situation, or even the beauty of Pemberley, but there was also a feeling that Mrs Cooper had detected before Elizabeth herself became aware of it.
And the colonel trusted Mrs Cooper…a great deal, more than he had ever trusted any woman before, and that trust extended far beyond their shared wish to see Miss Elizabeth and Darcy together.