3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
E lizabeth paced the parlour. She had successfully portrayed feeling unwell to the residents of Hunsford Parsonage and had been excused from accompanying them on a visit to Rosings. A letter from Jane had arrived and confirmed her belief that forces had worked against her dearest sister to prevent her from seeing Mr Bingley while she was staying at the Gardiners’ in London. Under this cloud of frustrated anger, the bell rang shrilly and Mr Darcy was escorted into the room.
“Miss Bennet, I hope you are recovered.” The maid shut the door as he stepped closer. “I was hoping to have a private conversation with you about a most delicate matter.”
Elizabeth felt the colour drain from her face. A ‘delicate matter’ was exactly the sort of term typically used when a man had every intention of declaring his regard. Shock left her momentarily silent. It was all true! This wretched man who actually disliked her was temporarily enamoured. The only sensible way to deal with this tragic twist of events was to confront it assuredly and with directness. Elizabeth cringed from the idea of repeating the scene she had endured with Mr Collins. No. Demure politeness had been completely misconstrued by that particular blockhead. Elizabeth would not risk a similar scene.
Disregarding all formalities and expected invitations to sit down, Elizabeth approached Mr Darcy, making no effort to disguise her growing fury. As she pointed one finger sharply into his chest, Mr Darcy took a step back, one hand held up, palm out, his appearance of stoicism wavering in surprised disbelief.
Keeping her finger against the fine fabric of his vest over his firm chest, just over his heart—hoping that he was capable of any emotion other than wilful pride—she said, “If you have come here to declare some imagined illusion of regard for me, allow me to disabuse you of it. You most assuredly do not admire me! You do not even think well of me. Every occasion of our being in company has only reinforced how ill you think of me and my relations. Any hint of affection that you imagine you feel began around the time you heard me singing at the base of Oakham Mount. It is a false notion, sir. You need not waste my time and yours with any declaration of unnatural ardour. Such a declaration will be uniformly unwelcome and soundly rejected.”
Mr Darcy’s brows gathered and his face paled as he retreated another step back, clearly in a state of profound astonishment. Silence filled the room as Elizabeth cooled herself with a deep breath, eyes squeezed shut. Her finger dropped as she opened her eyes and held herself taller, attempting to add a hint of dignity to this disagreeable meeting.
“I am sorry, but you can hardly expect me to think your supposed affection for me genuine as you have frequently made no little secret of how much you detest me and my family. You are merely experiencing a supernatural phenomenon, which will hopefully be of short duration and cause you only minor pain.”
“How…how…” Mr Darcy stuttered with eyes wide, “…how did you know that I came here with the intention of proposing marriage?”
Elizabeth gasped. Spellbound attempts at wooing were all that she had anticipated. This was a most shocking and unpleasant development. She must have been wrong to discount how powerful the sound of her voice was. How could she have doubted her own father? A man of good sense, such as Mr Bennet, must have been under the sway of some strong, irregular influence in order to propose to her mother. And Elizabeth had privately scoffed at the notion! Yet, standing before her was a rational, unflappable gentleman, who had openly derided herself and those she loved, ready to propose marriage after hearing her sing.
“Marriage? No! You abhor me far too powerfully for that, sir. Clear your mind, it is in the peculiar sway of an enchanted fog. The women of my family cause men to love them with the sound of our voice. It is nothing more! You are deluded to believe yourself in love with—”
Elizabeth faltered and felt herself to be entirely too close to the imposing figure of Mr Darcy. He had recollected himself and straightened up to his full height, regaining all of his former imperiousness. Though his figure was tall and dignified, his eyes held a curious warmth—a blend of longing, hurt, and…mournful amusement?
He dropped his gaze as he absentmindedly twisted a cufflink repeatedly. “I think we misunderstand each other terribly, Miss Bennet. May I be seated?”
Elizabeth could only nod and gesture towards a chair, far too anxious to be seated herself. She paced back and forth, gathering her thoughts and tamping down confusion and anger. Mr Darcy was silent, his eyes following her intently without break. Elizabeth felt his watchfulness, burning her much like an August sun at the height of a cloudless afternoon. Finally she sat, taking far too long to arrange the folds of her gown, but not knowing what else to do with her hands.
“I think I must explain myself more clearly,” he said gently. “It has been quite some time since I have regarded you as the handsomest woman of my acquaintance.”
“No, no, no…” Elizabeth whispered, shaking her head.
“Please, I beg of you to allow me to finish. A lovely face is no new thing for me to witness. I have travelled widely and lived in London, among the highest set of society, and admired many beautiful women. Admired. From a distance. As one admires a mountain, though I had no desire to mount…”
Elizabeth gasped, wide-eyed with shock at Mr Darcy’s statement. A deep crimson hue covered his cheeks.
“What I meant to say…I was speaking in a metaphorical way, not literal, I assure you. Excuse me if it came out in a way that was crude and offensive. I am not accustomed to speaking in this manner with— My experience is not great and…”
Elizabeth thought back to the endless, rehearsed, ludicrously long proposal of Mr Collins. Suddenly, she felt very sorry for Mr Darcy, having to attempt to express himself on such a subject. Poor fellow. It was not his fault that he had heard her sing not once, but twice. Even if he had been the cause of all of Mr Wickham’s woes and had helped to muddle Jane and Mr Bingley’s courtship, he was still a mortal man before a woman with whom he mistakenly believed himself deeply in love.
She covered her mouth to hide her smile. Mr Darcy gave a brief laugh and shook his head. “As I was attempting to say, I have found more in you to admire than simply a beautiful face. Your laugh, your eager mind, your solicitude towards a sick sister, your liveliness of spirit, your beautiful singing voice—”
Elizabeth straightened up, her mouth open to protest.
“—which I hope you will note that I listed as sixth among your allurements, not first. All of these combined have given rise to a wholly new sensation for me. My fortune is nothing to the wealth of love that my heart possesses for you, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Mr Darcy leaned in and placed one hand upon Elizabeth’s. Her breath froze as the weight and heat of his flesh pressed softly down upon her.
She shook her head, unable to raise her eyes. With effort, she recalled the litany of his crimes.
“I have many reasons for refusing you, sir.”
“I welcome them, for I begin to strongly suspect that you are labouring under some delusions when it comes to your opinion of me. Perhaps I am not the only one in this room who is not seeing things clearly.”
“ That remains to be seen, does it not? You may find me fully justified in my objections. But I do not wish to insult you.”
“The greater insult would be for me to live the rest of my life in the agony of uncertainty as to why you would not even hear my proposal.”
“Mr Wickham. Your treatment of that man was unconscionable and intolerable.”
“Good God,” Mr Darcy muttered, standing and beginning a pacing of his own.
“Is it true that you refused to honour your father’s wishes by leaving Wickham penniless?”
“If I lay my business with that—that person before you, will you agree to pause your refusal of my proposal? I do not ask you to change it, only pause before you proclaim it to be the absolute in your opinion of me. I beg of you, for one week?”
“My goodness, you have a preternaturally high estimation of your powers of persuasion or a low estimation of the intelligence of my decision. Have it either way, but neither option paints either of us in a favourable light. One week to convince another into love?”
“Both are untrue. I believe you to be not easily persuaded and reasonably firm in your judgments. I am certain that once we understand each other fully, then you can begin an honest sketch of me, untainted by the lies of another.”
Elizabeth thought for a moment, then gave a small nod of her head.
Mr Darcy sighed in relief before he began a thorough recitation of all his dealings with his former childhood friend. The first startling revelation was the nature of the generous compensation that Wickham was paid instead of the living in the church that he had declined any interest in occupying. Startlement gave way to sickening shock when he told of Wickham’s averted attempt to elope with his young sister, Georgiana, just turned fifteen, and her substantial dowry.
Elizabeth was too stunned to speak. She knew it would take her several hours of quiet reflection to absorb the magnitude of what Mr Darcy had just shared when compared with her own interactions with Mr Wickham.
After a long pause, Elizabeth quietly said, “And of your interference with the mutual affection between my sister and your friend?”
Now it was Mr Darcy’s turn to blink in surprise, his mouth slightly open at the force of this new, unexpected accusation. His pacing began again in earnest. “I did what I thought best to protect a friend who is always too willing to bestow his affections on ladies who are unworthy of him.”
“My sister ? The sweetest woman anyone could ever hope to meet? Unworthy of Mr Bingley?”
“I—I spoke incorrectly. I was referring to the past and not your sister in particular.”
“Then clarify how you lump her in with this group of unworthies! I am all ears.”
“I studied her behaviour closely. I watched several instances when I believed a woman who truly loved Bingley would be expressive of her own heart. She was utterly unmoved.”
“In your opinion!” cried Elizabeth, standing with the fury of her hurt for a beloved sister. “I can assure you that I have witnessed many tears from Jane’s eyes, an uncommon occurrence, that testify to how deeply she was wounded when Mr Bingley left and then stayed away from Netherfield. And since her visit in London, he has apparently avoided her outright! Is any of that your doing?”
“I judged it best—”
“Is that an acknowledgement?”
“I…I did help to conceal her presence in London from Bingley—”
“You confess to this insult!”
“—at the encouragement of his sisters. They agreed that there was little sign of her affection—”
“I think you meant there was little sign of her dowry being worth the hand of their beloved younger brother!”
Elizabeth was once again before the gentleman, a tumult of rage and confusion battling in her soul. Her sense of justice had to give some ground to Mr Darcy. He had just cause to clear his name in the accusations that Wickham had spread about him. However, there was no justification in his meddling with the hearts of Jane and Mr Bingley.
“How dare you interfere in this business!”
“I have endured no small amount of degradation in order to clear my name in regards to Wickham. I ask that you extend to me the same grace. You have informed me of my mistake by providing new facts as regards to your sister. I was honest in my opinion of her disregard for Bingley, and am willing to admit that perhaps I was mistaken. You were given new facts about Wickham and perhaps now see that you were wrong in your opinion of him. I hope that your affections were not so bound to him that you are hurt by his perfidy.”
“No! That is, I was not… It is none of your concern what my former views on Mr Wickham were.”
By now the parsonage parlour had been split in half, each occupant pacing back and forth in their respective territory, wary and watchful of the other. Elizabeth felt warm and discomposed. She longed for solitude in order to reflect.
Perhaps aware of her desire for his absence as well as needing time for his own reflections, Mr Darcy stepped before her, pausing her anxious tread. For the first time in quite a while, she dared to look him directly in the eye, refusing to be cowed by his height and the strength of his bearing.
“I know you are desiring my absence, but I must beg this last favour of you. Please tell me why you think that I formed an attachment to you from your singing?”
Now Elizabeth felt entirely foolish; she dropped her gaze. Doubt that she had overreacted flooded her. She felt strongly obligated to share just as honestly as Mr Darcy had by relating such an intimate history that involved his younger sister and late father. Elizabeth resolved to proceed.
“It sounds silly, when I think of saying it aloud. My father wanted me to vow never to sing in mixed company because he believes that my mother bewitched him with her voice. And she…she passed that ability on to some of her daughters. Jane, myself, and Lydia. But I believed there would be little danger in singing at Rosings! I thought you detested me and that Colonel Fitzwilliam’s heart would not be easily touched.”
Mr Darcy blinked, silent. The sound of footfalls on gravel outside began to emerge. Elizabeth and Mr Darcy stared at each other, becoming painfully aware of how deeply and rapidly the intimacy of their relationship had grown in the past hour. Frank words had been spoken, feelings laid bare, secrets exposed, tears from the beloved sisters of both had been revealed and discussed, humiliating fables from Mr Bennet uncovered. Elizabeth felt swamped by the sheer amount of honesty, with little prevarication by either of them, that had been shared. Mr Darcy perhaps felt the same; his breath was ragged, his eyes slightly wild.
The bustle of Maria, Charlotte, and Mr Collins coming back from their call broke the peculiar spell of the past hour. Mr Darcy stepped closer and said, “Please remember your promise of a week. Will you take a walk by the pillars? The grove at the start of the drive into Rosings? In the morning?”
Elizabeth simply nodded. Mr Darcy greeted the Collinses as they entered and made a hurried excuse of his presence being needed back at Rosings. He departed within a moment.
Charlotte’s eyebrows raised in question. “Did Mr Darcy call whilst we were out?”
“Briefly.” Elizabeth smiled weakly. “He was out walking and wished to enquire as to my health.”
“And?” Charlotte asked.
“And that is all. It was little more than a quick call. Perhaps Lady Catherine was eager for some new information about how your house is managed, though I believe few could do such an excellent job as you. She has a powerful concern for the well-being of her neighbours, as you know.”
“That is true, and I thank you for the compliment.”
“Excuse me, dear Charlotte, I think I must retire early today. My headache has returned.”