Chapter 7
A More Pardonable Pride
I should like to get out of this bed. Would you be so kind as to help me?
So read the note Darcy had ready and waiting for Elizabeth when she emerged from her room the next morning.
He had awoken feeling better—not a great deal but improved from the day before—and encouraged by the want of any snow at the window that today might be the day they returned home.
He did not show it to her, however, for unlike himself, she seemed to grow more tired with each passing day, and this morning, her red-rimmed eyes bore the unmistakable proof of tears.
He tucked the paper out of sight beneath his pillow and, when she glanced at him, mouthed, “Is there anything I can do?”
“Do?” she repeated, coming towards him to better read his lips. “About what, sir?”
“You are upset.”
Her surprise was evident, as was her embarrassment. She turned away slightly and rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her palm. Darcy reached to gain her attention with a light touch to her arm.
“I beg your pardon,” he mouthed. “I did not mean to make you uneasy.”
When she made no reply, he reached for the pen and paper, but she forestalled him.
“I understood what you said, Mr Darcy, and it was very considerate of you. Only, your not meaning to embarrass me did not prevent my being embarrassed.”
He reached for the paper anyway.
You would prefer that I not observe your distress?
Elizabeth gave a wry smile and nodded. He smiled back sympathetically and wrote,
I perfectly comprehend. I would infinitely prefer that you not see me in my present state. Permit me to say that of the two of us, you are withstanding the indignity with far more éclat.
She gave a small, conscious laugh. “I do not know about that. I cannot imagine what pain you must be suffering, yet you do not complain.”
Neither do you. But you may, if it would help.
Is there a particular matter that has upset you, other than our being detained here?
He thought twice about whether to expound upon his concerns and, deciding the importance of the matter outweighed the need for discretion, added,
Pray, tell me nobody has imposed upon you in any way.
“Oh, no, nothing of that sort! I was only thinking of my family, and how worried they must be. Jane was already in such low spirits I hardly dare suppose what she must be thinking now.”
Darcy remained very still, hoping Elizabeth would go on to talk of her other relatives, whose mention was less incendiary, but she did not. He took it upon himself to mention one of his own instead.
I hope my sister does not know I have been waylaid, for it will make her excessively anxious also.
“How could she not know? Does she not live with you?”
He extended a finger to indicate not.
She has her own establishment in town where she lives with her companion. We deemed it better that she not be troubled by the comings and goings of an older brother.
“Troubled by or witness to…” Elizabeth said with a smirk. “A most convenient arrangement for all concerned, I am sure.” She did not give him time to object. “May I be so bold as to enquire whom you meant by we?”
My cousin and I are joined in the guardianship of my sister.
The ghost of a frown passed over her countenance and, as often occurred with Elizabeth, Darcy found himself revealing more than he intended in an attempt to explain that which was likely of no concern to her at all.
My father hoped that between Fitzwilliam's good humour and my good sense, Georgiana might have some hope of a rounded upbringing.
He could easily discern Elizabeth’s delight in this characterisation and basked in her warm smile—until she tipped the matter on its head and he found himself skewered by his own words.
“Even your father thought you were ill-tempered then?”
It was said with a broad grin—an obvious tease—nonetheless, it stung.
He knew me to be serious by nature, certainly. A quality disdained by young ladies in general, I have observed.
She conceded with a chuckle. “I cannot argue with that, as you well know, for you have met my youngest sisters.” She pulled up a chair, marking her increased interest in the conversation. “Your sister is not silly, though, surely? Can she really give you much trouble?”
Darcy tensed in alarm. Did Elizabeth know of Georgiana’s near-ruin? He wished the heightened crackle of his breathing would not so obviously give away his agitation as he wrote,
Have you reason to suppose she might give us any uneasiness?
“None—that was my point. Even with one good-humoured guardian, the influences on Miss Darcy must still have been mostly the same as those that influenced you. I wondered if it were not more likely she shared your opinion of pride being a virtue.”
Darcy would have sighed with relief had not he thought it might choke him. Far better a conversation about his sister’s pride than one of her reputation.
Would that she did.
Elizabeth pulled a face that was a mixture of disapproval and incredulity. “You mean, she is not proud, but you wish she were?”
He touched a finger to the back of his other hand—“Yes!” When Elizabeth continued to look puzzled, he wrote,
I wish she had learnt to take proper pride in her descent. She loves her family, yet for her, ‘Darcy’ is but a name. She would throw it away in an instant.
“And what is the name Darcy to you?”
Without hesitation, he answered,
Everything.
Elizabeth read this and turned to him expectantly. “You must have a better explanation than that.”
He looked into her eyes. If ever there were a woman clever enough, sensible enough, passionate enough to comprehend the value of all his family had achieved, all it stood for, it was Elizabeth.
He had never thought to have the opportunity to discuss it with her and was vastly gratified to observe her evident interest in his answer.
It put him in mind to give a fuller reply than he might otherwise have attempted.
The Darcys have always been a just and honourable family.
We have opposed many sickening practices and helped advance countless worthy ones.
The name represents generations of hard work, ethical investments, liberal thinking, and innovation.
Pemberley alone employs hundreds of servants and supports hundreds more tenants and their families.
My sister believes that if she were to give it all up, she would be the only one to sacrifice anything.
She has no concept of the very great responsibility we have to all our dependents and to all who have worked hard to make us what we are.
For myself, being a Darcy is an honour unequal to any other.
Almost. The greatest honour he could wish for was something duty would not permit him to pursue. He jumped slightly when the object of that embargo reached to take the sheet of paper from him.
Elizabeth took her time reading and chewed her lip pensively as she did.
The hand in which she held the note was rested on the bed, and close enough that Darcy had only to extend his forefinger to gently brush the back of it to gain her attention.
She looked up to meet his gaze over the top of the page, and he raised an eyebrow in query as to her thoughts.
She let out a short sigh. “My good friend Charlotte Collins once said she thought your pride was justified because you had much of which to be proud. I think she may have been right. I mistook you when you defended your pride at Netherfield. I thought you meant to justify your hubris, which is a very different thing and not at all commendable. This”—she indicated what he had written with a glance—“is a very fine sort of pride indeed.”
Darcy frowned, and although aware that he was fixing on the wrong part of what she said, could not help but reply, “Charlotte Collins? Not Lucas?”
“Oh, yes. She has recently married.”
Darcy could hardly keep his countenance. “Not to your cousin?”
“Aye, to my cousin—and you may well pull that face. I did try to talk her out of it, for I know he will not make her happy, but she was convinced he—or at least the situation that comes with him—would do for her. She deserved so much better, though! To be partnered with such an obsequious, vain man forever—and knowing that his affection for her was the work of less than four-and-twenty hours and the result of a rejection from another—it was a wretched beginning!”
Feeling a frisson of wariness, Darcy picked up the pen and reached for a new sheet of paper.
By whom had he so recently been rejected?
She winced ruefully when he showed her, though her eyes danced with amusement, and she laughed lightly as she confessed, “Me.”
A gulf opened up in Darcy’s chest. He felt winded and tried to disguise it by drinking some water, though he suspected anybody with half a mind to look for it would have seen his discomposure.
“It is one of the reasons I decided to travel to London early,” Elizabeth went on.
“I have not been much in my mother’s favour since I refused him.
I have felt terribly guilty about it since, for he is the heir to Longbourn, and I have done my family a great disservice in not securing all our futures.
Jane would have done it, I am sure. Indeed, I believe Mr Collins could not have chosen a more intractable Bennet sister on whom to pin his hopes, for I think even Lydia would have said yes, if only that it would have meant she was married before the rest of us. ”
“Why did you say no?” Darcy asked, then held his breath.
“Because he is ridiculous, and I have too much respect for myself to submit to such a man.”
He let out his breath and almost gagged on the laugh that tried to escape with it, directed fully at himself for the absurd hope that her answer would amount to a confession of longing for him. “What did your father say?”
She smiled widely. “That if I married Mr Collins, he would never speak to me again.”
Darcy’s estimation of Mr Bennet increased tenfold in an instant. His opinion of Mrs Bennet remained unchanged, for it was not the first time he had witnessed her attempt to push one of her daughters into a match to which the lady in question was not inclined.
Perhaps your being unaccounted for will better dispose your mother to forgiveness upon your return.
“I should think it will better dispose her to achieve her life’s ambition of depleting Hertfordshire’s entire supply of smelling salts, but one never knows.”
Darcy could not repress his laughter this time, or the horrible wet clack of his closing throat, or the pain that shot up to the roof of his mouth and curdled the contents of his stomach.
“My apologies,” Elizabeth said contritely. “It is ungenerous of me to make you laugh—and even more ungenerous to tease my mother. Lord knows she can be a little hysterical on occasion, but she cares a great deal for all of us. She will be very worried about me.”
Darcy could have kicked himself for having returned her to worrying about the very thing from which he had been attempting to distract her. Doing his utmost to ignore the renewed pain in his neck, he wrote,
Their concern will be short-lived. It cannot be long before the snow begins to melt and we are able to go home.
He glanced at the window. Elizabeth followed his gaze then stood and crossed the room to look outside. She wrinkled her nose and shrugged inconclusively.
“It has stopped snowing. Any more than that is difficult to tell from up here.” She turned to face him. “I shall go down and fetch us something to eat and have a look outside. If it looks as though it has begun to melt, perhaps you could write a letter to your cousin for me to deliver.”
Darcy scowled and raised an extended finger in firm objection. “Not you.”
She tutted and rolled her eyes but conceded. “Very well, for somebody to deliver to the village.”
Relieved, Darcy held out his arms. “Would you help me sit up?”
She complied readily, though when she reached to add another pillow behind him, he pointed at the chair and explained, “I meant to sit there.”
She pulled back a little to look more squarely at him. “Are you sure? Forgive me for saying, but you still look very ill.”
“I am sure.”
“As you wish. But one moment.” She let go of his arms, pausing in front of him briefly as though she had balanced something breakable in a precarious place and thought it might topple over. When he did not, she stepped away to pull the chair closer.
Somewhere between pushing himself off the bed and lowering himself into the seat, Darcy began to wish profoundly that he had remained where he was.
He was every bit as weak as he had expected and lightheaded with the pain of holding his head upright.
He was glad at that moment to be mute, for he suspected whatever he might have said were he able to speak would have been distinctly improper.
“There,” Elizabeth said when he was in the chair. “Are you comfortable? Oh, foolish question, I can see that you are not—but are you content to sit there while I go downstairs?”
He managed a wan smile, certain the only thing worse than remaining in the chair for any length of time would be the agony of attempting to get out of it again so soon.
Elizabeth dithered a little longer but decided in the end to take him at his word and left.
Other than resting his head on the high back of the chair, Darcy remained completely still for some time after she had gone, the sound of his rattling breathing filling the room.
Eventually, the prospect of achieving nothing more than to remain conscious until Elizabeth returned vexed him into action.
He gingerly stretched his limbs and arched his aching back.
With his hands on the armrests, he pulled himself forwards until he was within reach of the water jug on the nightstand.
He did not trouble himself to empty it into the basin but brought it to his lap and used his hand to splash cold water directly from it over his face, hair, and hands.
He had not the strength to get the thing back onto the stand and instead set it on the floor.
With his very last reserves, he gritted his teeth and hauled himself out of the chair.
He could not yell, but a God-awful sound escaped him, almost more alarming than the pain in his neck, that made him think he had ruptured something vital.
He staggered the few steps to the bed and half fell, half rolled onto his back and knew nothing after his eyes closed on the brown stain in the centre of the ceiling.