Chapter 13 #4
“Mr Darcy,” she said, shaking her head in bewilderment. “I cannot understand you.”
He smiled at her. Elizabeth’s eyes widened. No one could have accused Mr Darcy of being ill-favoured before, but with the addition of only a little warmth, he became dangerously handsome.
Nor were his next words less likely to put her head into a whirl. “I do not think I can be blamed for finding you enchanting,” he said wryly. “You are not only one of the most comely women of my acquaintance but the most intelligent, principled and reasoned.”
That was a compliment she could never have anticipated, and one that could not fail to alter her own feelings.
Surely no one would place so high a value on good principles and reasoned thought while having acted as Mr Wickham had suggested.
Nor could a Mr Darcy who might see so much in her think himself so much above her as she would have imagined.
Elizabeth hardly knew how to answer. He meant to ask for some reconciliation, likely — perhaps, given the high nature of the compliments, he even meant to hint that they might enter into a courtship, once good understanding had been established.
Yet her own answer was less clear. Only moments before, she would have said her anger for him was implacable.
But his first words had shown her it must be an anger built upon several misapprehensions.
If Mr Darcy truly meant to ask her for a fresh start, should she not listen?
Mr Darcy did not wait for her to answer, but went on quickly, as though he had no doubt in what he intended to say.
“I have thought this matter over for some months now, and it cannot be left any longer,” he announced.
“No doubt you wonder that I should seek a wife from a family with so little to offer in terms of fortune or connections. You will doubtless perceive the potential injury to my dignity from such a marriage. Still, I have come to the conclusion that it would ultimately be to my benefit, given your excellent personal qualities.”
“Marriage?!” Elizabeth blurted out in mingled confusion and horror. “You wish to marry me?”
It was beyond anything she could have imagined.
His regard for her had been clear from the high nature of his compliments, but to immediately propose marriage?
Still worse, to propose marriage in terms of the insult it would mean for his consequence?
She had been wrong in him. He had not seen her feelings in the least, or he could not have proposed such a thing.
He could have no real understanding, no true regard, if he would suggest it.
But there was worse yet to come. “Yes, I would overlook even the vulgarity of your mother, the want of propriety of your younger sisters, and the irresponsibility of your father,” he assured her solemnly.
Each word struck Elizabeth like a blow, all the more painful because he stated each terrible insult as though it were an acknowledged fact.
“The dark shadow that has been hanging over my head these long months means I cannot afford to be fastidious in my choice. Instead, I must be prudent and choose a wife whose support will help to dispel this shadow.”
All Elizabeth’s previous anger and resentment rushed back with greater force than ever. To have words of such admiration, even of love, followed by such contempt was more than she could bear. It took every bit of self-control she could muster to answer coolly.
“Am I to understand, Mr Darcy, that you wish to offer me your hand because no one else would take it, and because you consider my own family so inferior that I would be bound to accept you?” she challenged him and saw his eyes widen.
“If so, and due to the intelligence, principles, and reason you were so good as to impute to me, I must reject your offer.”
“You reject me?” Mr Darcy echoed, driven to his feet with the surprise of hearing these words.
“I thank you for the honour of your addresses, Mr Darcy, but I cannot do otherwise than to reject your proposal,” Elizabeth confirmed and saw his face change, growing red, hurt and angry.
“I had supposed you to be fair-minded and understanding, Miss Bennet. Evidently, I was mistaken in my estimations, and you have been as swayed by ugly rumour as everyone else. I apologise for my error.”
That he would take no responsibility at all for the insults he had hurled at her in the form of a proposal was simply too much. Elizabeth surged to her feet, facing down the tall, dark man who stood before her.
“How dare you, sir?” Elizabeth said, holding his eyes unflinchingly. “Do not impute motives to me that I do not hold. I have no care whatsoever for the rumours you refer to, rumours that I entirely believe to be false.”
“But if that is so, how can you refuse me?” he demanded, his arrogance only a further goad to Elizabeth’s hurt and anger. How had she imagined, even for a moment, that he truly valued and understood her?
“I have no care for gossip, but I care deeply for the disrespect you have shown in assuming I am desperate enough for marriage to accept a man only because he needed the support of a wife and would be rejected by other more eligible women.”
“That was not the only reason for my proposal,” he objected, his eyes softening as he regarded her.
“Even if we had met under more propitious circumstances, I would have considered you the loveliest woman in Hertfordshire. If you truly reject the evil rumours about me, marry me and prove your sincerity.”
His admiring glances were as infuriating to Elizabeth as his words.
It somehow made everything a hundred times worse that he found her person pleasing.
It was a thousand times worse after the split second it took to acknowledge that Fitzwilliam Darcy’s face and figure were equally fine in her own eyes.
Looks alone were no reason to make a marriage.
“Mr Darcy, the personal deficiencies you have demonstrated in every moment of our acquaintance are so grave that I feel no need to burden you with imagined faults. True or false, the rumours are your business, not mine. You should disprove them and clear your name before seeking a wife. Even a woman who liked you could not presently accept your hand. I am not such a woman.”
Though Mr Darcy at least did her the compliment of believing her claim to be unaffected by the gossip swirling around him, his general resentment seemed unabated and simply took another course.
“Perhaps I offended your pride in speaking honestly of the inferiority of your fortune and connections, Miss Bennet,” he said, his voice quiet but hard with resentment. “I might have been received more civilly if I had flattered and complimented you, but that is not in my nature.”
“Believe me, Mr Darcy, there is no possible way in which you could have made your proposal that would have induced me to accept it. Your deeply insulting and ungentlemanly arrogance, your contempt for my family and friends, and your lack of compassion for the needs of others condemn you. I am only glad that your general contempt for me must mitigate any sorrow occasioned by my refusal.”
“Have you quite finished?” he asked. “I have heard your answer, although I cannot believe that injured pride does not play some role.”
“Finished? No, I have not! I confess that I have suffered some resentment for your supremely selfish behaviour in removing Charles Bingley from Hertfordshire and potentially alienating him from Jane’s affections, but this is nothing to the matter of your actions towards George Wickham.
With such heavy charges against you, I assure you that there was no circumstance or manner in which I might have accepted your offer. ”
Elizabeth finished speaking, breathless and almost panting, astonished by how much of her personal feelings he had provoked her into revealing.
It was unladylike, surely, and poorly done of her, and yet she could not entirely regret it.
She had spoken the truth, and if it was a truth that would hurt Mr Darcy, his own actions had called it forth.
“I see,” said Mr Darcy tightly, his voice betraying no further hint of the feelings he had earlier expressed. “I can only apologise for wasting your time, and my own. Good day, Miss Bennet.”
Without another word, he left the house. Her control almost exhausted, Elizabeth hurried upstairs to her room. It was something of a triumph that she reached it before breaking down in tears.
It was all simply too much. Mr Darcy, who she had thought held all Meryton in contempt, secretly in love with her! And yet it was not, could not really be love — not when his proposal came in such insulting terms.
There had been a moment when she had thought — but no. She should be ashamed of the softer judgement she had begun to have of him, for it could be based on nothing more than the compliments he had given her. He had not even troubled to proclaim his innocence.
Mr Darcy, in love with her! Alone in her room, Elizabeth shook her head. She could not regret refusing him, nor even speaking with such anger.
If there was a thread of regret in her heart, it was that he was not the man she had thought him for a moment, believing she had misjudged him all along. That man would not have insulted her as he had — and that was the man that, perhaps, she could have loved.