Chapter Six #3
The words sounded hollow even to his own ears, defensive rather than convinced. But Darcy pressed on, needing to believe this explanation because the alternative, the impossible alternative his instincts insisted upon, was too extraordinary to accept.
Fitzwilliam opened his mouth, closed it again, clearly struggling with how to respond.
“I suppose that is possible,” he said finally, though doubt coloured his tone.
“Though I must say, Darcy, this all seems rather convenient. Are you certain you are not simply telling yourself what you wish to believe?”
The question struck too close to truth for Darcy’s comfort.
He turned away from his cousin’s penetrating gaze, staring at the portrait of some long-dead de Bourgh ancestor that hung on the wall.
The painted eyes seemed to judge him, to see through his rationalisations to the uncomfortable truth beneath.
Had his motives for separating Bingley and Jane been entirely honourable?
Had he truly acted solely out of concern for his friend’s welfare?
Or had some part of him been influenced by his growing feelings for Elizabeth, by the irrational hope that removing Bingley from the Bennet family might somehow benefit his own prospects?
Darcy’s conscience, which he had successfully suppressed for months, chose this moment to reassert itself with uncomfortable vigour.
He had told himself he was protecting Bingley from an imprudent match, from a young woman whose feelings seemed insufficient and whose family was decidedly disadvantageous.
He had convinced himself he was acting as a good friend should, decisively intervening to prevent a mistake.
But beneath those rational justifications had lurked less noble considerations. The younger Bennet sisters’ embarrassing behaviour, which might reflect poorly on Darcy himself if Bingley married into the connection. The mother’s obvious scheming, which offended Darcy’s sense of propriety.
Those motivations had nothing to do with protecting his friend.
They were pure pride and prejudice, the very qualities Darcy prided himself on having mastered.
And yes, some small part of him had wanted to ensure Bingley did not bind himself to the Bennet family, a circumstance which would likely have brought Elizabeth Bennet into circles where she and Darcy would cross paths regularly.
He had, at that time, not recognised just how impossible it would be to forget her.
“Perhaps my reasons were not entirely honourable,” Darcy admitted quietly, still not looking at his cousin.
“Perhaps I was influenced by considerations beyond simply Bingley’s welfare.
But the outcome remains the same. If Jane Bennet was not seriously attached, then the separation, however imperfectly motivated, caused no lasting harm. ”
Fitzwilliam made a sound that might have been agreement or protest, Darcy could not tell which. “And if she was attached? If you were wrong about her feelings?”
Then he had caused genuine suffering to an innocent woman, had destroyed a promising attachment through arrogance and presumption. Had wounded Elizabeth’s beloved sister and earned Elizabeth’s justified anger and contempt.
But Elizabeth was not angry. That was the fact Darcy kept returning to, the observation that supported his hopeful interpretation.
If Jane had truly cared for Bingley, if Elizabeth believed her sister had suffered real heartbreak, she would not have been pleasant and agreeable this morning.
Would not have smiled at Darcy with apparent genuine warmth.
Would not have accepted his company without visible reluctance.
Unless she had some other motivation. Unless she had decided to encourage Darcy, only to plan on breaking his heart with a cruel refusal once he had come to the point of proposing, in revenge for her beloved sister’s heartbreak.
No. Elizabeth Bennet was many things, but a malicious plotter was not one of them, he was sure of it.
Darcy pushed the unworthy thought away, clinging instead to the rational explanation he had constructed.
Jane’s feelings had been insufficient. Elizabeth knew this.
Therefore Elizabeth held no grudge. The logic was sound, even if it required him to ignore his own growing doubts.
“I think,” Darcy said finally, turning back to face Fitzwilliam, “that we may be troubling ourselves unnecessarily. Miss Bennet’s behaviour suggests she bears me no ill will regarding the matter.
Perhaps she recognises that I acted with Bingley’s best interests at heart, even if she might question my judgement.
Perhaps she even agrees that the match would have been unsuitable. ”
Fitzwilliam studied him for a long moment, his expression suggesting he saw through this rationalisation but was too kind to say so directly. “Perhaps,” he said, though the word carried little conviction. “I hope you are right, Darcy. For your sake as much as for hers.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the tension between them gradually easing though Darcy’s internal turmoil remained undiminished.
He had explained away Elizabeth’s lack of anger, had constructed a narrative that preserved both his past actions and his present hopes.
But his conscience refused to be entirely silenced, continued its uncomfortable insistence that his motivations had been less pure than he claimed, his judgement less sound than he believed.
And beneath that, deeper and more disturbing, lay the question he could not quite banish. If Elizabeth truly bore him no ill will regarding her sister, if she truly approved of his protective interference, then why did everything about her behaviour this morning feel so fundamentally wrong?