Chapter 2
Library
Rosings
Darcy stared at the blank paper on the desk before him, the ink drying on his pen, then looked out of the window near him. His intended business letter was not taking shape as it ought, as the outdoors called him like a siren song. The sky arched above as grandly as any of the vaults of the Catholic cathedrals on the Continent, and white clouds dotted across the blue by a hand whose artistry far surpassed that of Michelangelo. Somewhere out there, on the greensward or beneath verdant trees, walked a lady as fair as any sculptor's master-work. Darcy longed to walk by her side, to match Miss Elizabeth Bennet stride for stride, wit for wit as they conversed in happy amity.
He remembered, with a pang, the previous autumn, and his ignominious retreat from Hertfordshire. Miss Elizabeth’s pull had been too strong to be ignored; he found himself utterly fascinated of her vibrancy, her piquant beauty, and her cleverness. It had done Darcy little good to remind himself that her connections were execrable, her family deplorable, and her wealth nonexistent. No one could possibly argue that she was remotely a fit bride for a Darcy. And yet daily his infatuation had grown, until he had begun toying with the idea of offering for her, despite her many disadvantages. In his clearer moments, he had realized that he must depart Netherfield Hall near Meryton and its temptations forthwith.
Yet how his heart had leapt when only a few months later he arrived for his annual visit to Rosings and to discover – with great shock, yes, but also great joy – that Miss Bennet was in residence nearby. She was visiting the parsonage, where her good friend, Charlotte Collins neé Lucas, was now mistress. Darcy vaguely remembered Miss Lucas, a plain young woman, sensible and quieter than her jovial father. She was, doubtless, an excellent mistress of Hunsford, but she faded easily into the background beside her more vivacious friend. Or perhaps, Darcy acknowledged, that was his own partiality speaking.
Certainly he had had ample opportunity to see and speak with Miss Bennet, and his adoration, never entirely gone, blossomed anew in the lady’s presence. He contrived as often as he could to encounter her on her walks across the parkland, and several times the residents of the parsonage had been invited to dine at Rosings. Each such dinner had been nothing short of spectacular, in Darcy's opinion. His aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, was an autocratic, opinionated sort of woman, and few were the ladies who could hold their own against her imperiousness – at least, not without being offensively rude. Miss Bennet, however, handled her with grace and aplomb. Each insult or command thinly disguised as suggestion was taken with sparkling eyes and grave mouth, or turned away with a light jest, or rebutted in mild terms couched so archly as to be quite unexceptionable.
There was only one explanation for the effect she had on him, the way his heart pounded at the very thought of her, the preternatural eagerness that filled him at the prospect of seeing her again, even if they had been apart mere hours, the way he adored her every word and admired her every gesture and motion. Darcy was in love with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
It was a pity, really, that her situation was so poor, but her family was an embarrassment. Mr. Bennet was so indifferent to his family as to be nearly a recluse, Mrs. Bennet was vulgar and loud, Miss Mary was dull and obtuse in company, and as for the two youngest girls, well, they were undisciplined and boisterous to the point of hoydenishness. The solicitor uncle was tolerable enough, but his wife was little improvement on her sister-in-law, and there remained yet the other uncle, who was in trade and resided in Cheapside.
Longbourn was reasonably prosperous, and it would doubtless flourish beneath the hand of an interested master. But Mr. Bennet was nearly as indifferent to his estate as he was to his wife and daughters, and the estate was solvent rather than wealthy. No money had been laid aside in a dowry for his five female offspring, and thus each of them would bring only her beauty, her intelligence, and her personality into marriage.
Miss Elizabeth was so generously gifted in all of these as to permit him overlooking the blatant deficiencies in the matter of her fortune and relations. She would be a wonderful mistress of Pemberley, Darcy thought dreamily. She would light with joy and laughter the silent and solemn halls of the great mansion. His sweet sister, Georgiana, would have the sister she needed and wanted, who would counter her sweet shyness with a free joie de vivre .
Darcy came to a sudden, dramatic, definite decision. He would make Elizabeth Bennet his wife, despite his family’s inevitable disapproval. His uncle, the Earl of Matlock, would be displeased, but it was Lady Catherine who would be most vocally furious. After all, she had been insisting that Darcy marry her only child, Anne, for as long as he could remember. Darcy had never been enthused about the match – he cared for Anne as a cousin, but she aroused no tenderer passions in his breast – but now such a union was impossible. How could he even contemplate entering a marriage of convenience when the effervescent Miss Bennet had so thoroughly captured his heart?
Yes, he would marry her. He would make her his wife, mistress of his estate, sister of his sister. All that remained was to decide when he would make his offer and make her his own.
The door opened to the library and his cousin Richard entered, his expression grim.
“Darcy, there you are,” he said gloomily.
Darcy lifted one eyebrow as he shook himself free of his happy reverie. “Is something wrong, Richard?”
The colonel collapsed more than sat on the chair across from his cousin and covered his eyes with one hand. “I very much fear something is wrong. And I thought I was doing you a favor.”
“Whatever are you talking about?” Darcy demanded in a bewildered tone.
Richard allowed his hand to fall slackly onto his lap and leaned back into his chair. “I am sorry, Darcy. Not that you probably care particularly, but … erm … I should start at the beginning. I decided, given the weather, that today was the perfect day for my annual walk of the park. I met Miss Bennet in the glade beyond the stream.”
Darcy felt a slight quiver in his chest at his beloved’s name. “And?”
“And we spoke of this and that, and somehow we began speaking of your friend Bingley and…”
His cousin trailed off, and dread settled into Darcy’s stomach like a lump of coal.
“And?” he repeated, this time more harshly.
“And I told her about your pride in separating Mr. Bingley from an unsuitable young woman last autumn.”
Darcy stared in horror and then collapsed against his chair. “No!”
“I am so sorry, Cousin. I had no idea that the lady in question was her elder sister.”
Darcy lifted a hand to his forehead, closed his eyes in anguish, and groaned dramatically.
“I am sorry,” Richard repeated contritely.
Darcy thought hard, and after a minute, dropped his hand, opened his eyes, and leaned forward.
“She is a very clever woman, Miss Bennet,” he remarked. “Perhaps she was a trifle distressed to learn of my words regarding her unsuitable family, but she is also sensible enough to understand why I would not wish Bingley to enter a marriage without true affection and respect.”
“You are saying that Bingley was merely engaging in a flirtation with the eldest Miss Bennet?” Richard asked in disapproval.
“No, no, not at all. He was very much in love with Miss Bennet, but the lady did not truly care for him. She is very handsome, but serene, and I am convinced she accepted my friend’s attentions with pleasure, but her heart was untouched. Moreover, the ladies’ estate of Longbourn is entailed away from the female line so naturally Miss Bennet would desire…”
“Miss Elizabeth stated that her sister adored Bingley,” the colonel interrupted.
Darcy blinked in astonishment. “She did?”
“Indeed,” his cousin replied drily. “Moreover, I have trouble understanding why you, of all people, would imagine that you could successfully evaluate the true affections of an acquaintance, and a woman at that. You do not wear your heart on your sleeve, after all, though I know you have great love for Georgiana and the rest of your family.”
Darcy felt as if he had been kicked in the solar plexus. It was true enough that he did his best to hide his feelings, for fear that someone – probably a fortune hunting girl or her mother – would take advantage of him.
On the other hand, Miss Bennet was not a great heiress. Why would she act in such a demure way if she truly cared for Bingley?
A face rose into his mind’s eye. Not that of his love, Elizabeth, or her older sister, Jane, but instead of Mrs. Bennet. It was a peevish countenance, always accompanied by a shrill voice. He had long been astonished that the eldest Misses Bennet were so well behaved when both parents and younger sisters were not. Perhaps Miss Bennet, a quiet soul like himself, chose to hide her emotions between a calm mask?
He groaned again, rose to his feet, and began pacing for a silent two minutes before turning once more to his cousin.
“Is Miss Elizabeth very angry with me?” he asked plaintively.
“Very, very, very angry,” Richard replied with a sigh. “She said if she were a man, she would challenge you to a duel.”
This was the sort of thing that he would expect of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and in spite of his distress, he could not help a faint, besotted smile.
On the other hand, this was, without a doubt, an awkward situation. One of the many reasons he adored Elizabeth was that she was devoted to her family, and especially her elder sister Jane, who was all that was good.
“I will make it up to her,” he announced. “Perhaps Bingley is still interested, or I could put Miss Bennet in the way of other wealthy men. She is a lovely lady, and…”
“What are you speaking of, Darcy?” his cousin interrupted, his brow furrowed like a parched field on a hot summer day. “It would hardly be appropriate for you, as a mere acquaintance of the Bennets, to introduce Miss Bennet to your highborn friends!”
“Ah, but I am going to marry Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Darcy said gravely, and his heart quickened with excitement at having actually spoken of his intentions. Oh, how he loved her.
Richard stared at him, his eyes wide and his mouth drooped open.
“What?” he finally managed to croak.
Darcy leaped to his feet and began pacing quickly across the floor, matching the tempo of his words. “I love her, Richard, so very much. I know she is not truly worthy to be my bride given her antecedents and the poor behavior of her family, but I cannot help but overlook such things when I feel such adoration, such passion, towards her. She will be a wonderful sister to Georgiana and an incredible mistress of Pemberley, Cousin! She is so intelligent, and well read, and…”
At this point, he turned on his heel and promptly bumped into Richard, who had risen from his chair and planted himself squarely in the middle of the room.
He took a step back and peered at the colonel, confused by the expression of disbelief on Richard’s face.
“Are you mad?” the colonel demanded, accentuating each word with care. “Miss Bennet hates you. Hates you. She would no more marry you than she would marry a hedgehog!”
Darcy staggered back another step, his brain awhirl. “What? No, Richard, she does not. I am quite confident than when I explain my reasoning … but you have not seen us together of late, have you? We have been walking the paths of Rosings together, and spoken with amity and with a sincerity of affection. She is doubtless angry, but when I offer for her, she will…”
“She said,” Richard interposed ruthlessly, “that she has always known you to be an unpleasant man, that she believes that you despise her and her family thoroughly, and that you insulted her the very day you met.”
Darcy gulped. “What?”
Silence fell for a minute, as his usually powerful intellect struggled to make sense of these words. He had never insulted her. What was she…?
Memory returned – horrible, painful memory – of that first day in Hertfordshire, when Bingley had dragged him to an assembly in an unimpressive building in Meryton, filled with yokels of the first order and yes, he had … he had insulted her, had he not? He had said she was not handsome enough to dance with.
He lurched back to his chair and flung himself into it, his gaze turning again toward the lovely sky outside, though there was no joy now, but only grief and horror. The first thing she had ever heard from his lips had been offensive, and those few, poorly chosen words had impressed Miss Bennet with his arrogance, his conceit, and his selfish disdain of the feelings of others.
“Richard, what am I to do?” he asked forlornly.
His cousin was still standing and regarded him with a mixture of sympathy and irritation. “Do you truly love her?”
“Yes, with all my heart.”
“Enough to make the necessary changes?” Richard continued sternly. “You spoke of her degrading relatives, and that is not at all the right attitude toward a lady who doubtless cares deeply for her family.”
“They are quite...,” Darcy began, and then lapsed into silence. It was true enough, was it not? Elizabeth loved her family, and while the Bennets had their share of foibles and poor behavior, he could hardly expect her to leave them behind, to never spend substantial time with them again.
And yet, he had been assuming that she would do just that. That his Elizabeth would gladly traipse off to Pemberley by his side and never speak to her degenerate relations again.
“I am an idiot,” he said sadly, and then Richard replied with a hint of compassion in his eyes, “Yes, you are, Darcy. You are a complete and utter idiot.”