Chapter Twenty-Four #2
After dinner, the gentlemen retired to the billiard room with a decanter of port. The table was already prepared. Bingley chalked his cue and leaned against the edge, his manner contemplative.
“I intend to marry Miss Bennet in February, as you know,” he said of a sudden, “and I have no plans to inform my sisters until it is already done.”
“Truly?” Darcy was hardly astonished. The Bingley sisters had made no secret of their disdain for Hertfordshire society.
Bingley scoffed as he sent a ball smartly into a corner pocket. “I have had no fewer than ten letters from them. Each demanded my whereabouts, speculating wildly. I had my post forwarded, yet they persist in sending everything to your house in town.”
Darcy’s amusement faded as Bingley grew serious.
“Darcy…how would you handle disapproving relatives when taking a wife? Especially after a proposal has been offered.”
Darcy rested his cue, thoughtful. The question struck deep, for it was not fancy. He had already considered it—agonized over it—on countless solitary walks and sleepless nights. At length, he replied.
“I would remember that the woman I marry must become my foremost duty. No other opinion, however loudly voiced, should outweigh hers. A gentleman’s charge is to protect his wife, not only from hardship, but from insult and disdain.
He must shield her from those who would belittle her, even if they bear his name. ”
He paused, the weight of his words settling between them.
His thoughts turned unbidden to his aunt, Lady Catherine.
She would be livid, unyielding in her condemnation, should she learn that he had chosen anyone but her daughter.
Her pride, her expectations, her imagined influence over him would all be shattered.
But the thought no longer dissuaded him.
If Elizabeth accepted him, he would face his aunt’s fury with resolute gladness.
“I think often of Lady Catherine. She will not be pleased with my choice not to marry her daughter. In truth, she may do all in her power to oppose it. But I have come to understand that love must not bow to pride, nor affection to pedigree.”
Bingley absorbed this in silence, his cue idle in his hand.
Darcy spoke on, more firmly, his words edged with protectiveness.
“If you mean Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, I will offer this: Miss Bennet is gentle, and your sister is…formidable. You must not allow your wife to be made uncomfortable in her own home. Miss Bingley will seek to dominate, as she always has. She is clever with her tongue, subtle in her slights. Miss Bennet may not call it out, but she will feel it. It is your duty, Charles, to prevent that—to be her advocate, her shield, her safe harbor.”
“And you, Darcy? Would you apply the same measures with your family? You have always spoken of duty. Would it not weigh against your own sense of obligation?”
Darcy’s reply was steady, without hesitation.
“My duty will be to my wife—whoever she might be; above all others. That is the lesson I have learned. A man may inherit title and fortune, but it is love and loyalty that render him worthy of both. The family name is nothing if preserved at the cost of his heart’s happiness. ”
His eyes turned distant. “I once believed it my task to uphold every expectation, to see the Darcy name remain unblemished. But I have come to know my truest duty lies not in pleasing my relations, but in cherishing the woman who will stand beside me for all my days. In her happiness, I shall find my honor.”
Darcy stood at the window of his bedchamber, one hand resting against the cold glass as he stared into the inky blackness beyond. The candles flickered, their glow casting long shadows across the walls. Behind him, the fire crackled low.
He had spoken the words to Bingley readily enough, but now, alone with his thoughts, he considered them more deeply.
He had never truly examined his stance—at least, not until Elizabeth.
From his earliest years, he had been taught that family was everything.
Respect, obedience, and loyalty were the pillars of a Darcy’s life.
One deferred to the wisdom of one’s elders; he was to uphold the dignity of the family name at all costs.
It was that creed which had driven him to leave Hertfordshire the first time, to walk away from the possibility of love because it did not accord with the standard imposed upon him.
But now…now he knew better. Love, true and abiding, did not disgrace a name. It honored it.
Elizabeth had altered everything.
All that mattered was winning her regard. And if he did, if she accepted him, they might build a life together that would withstand the disapproval of any who objected. Together, they could weather all.
Darcy turned from the window, conviction steady within him. He snuffed the candle by his bedside and lay down. As his eyes closed, it was her face he beheld—the radiance in her eyes, the charm of her smile, the memory of her laughter.
The morrow. On the morrow I shall speak at last.