Chapter 12
In London, Darcy was in a fine state. What had she been thinking?
Not suited? They were perfectly suited! Why did she think he had chosen her?
Because she had a fine figure and a pretty face?
Surely she must know he had seen many pretty faces but had never been tempted to propose marriage before.
He knew she was sheltered and young, but surely she knew she wasn’t the only pretty girl of his acquaintance?
After two days of ranting and silently questioning his own sanity—who desires to marry a penniless woman that does not desire to marry him?
—Darcy decided to give her questions the benefit of rational thought.
She had said her justice could not allow her doubts to go unspoken.
Well, his justice could not allow her questions to go unexamined.
After careful thought and deliberation, he came to the same conclusion he had all the other times he had thought about marrying Elizabeth Bennet.
The advantages far outweighed any negatives.
Yes, they were unfamiliar with each other, but that would change with time.
He believed they truly were suited and he knew his feelings would not fade.
They had only grown stronger since he’d met her last autumn and that was without being in her presence.
Once he had seen her in Kent, his feelings had grown enormously, to the point he could hardly think of anything else.
He knew this part of it all, this fever of the heart, would not, could not, last forever, but he also knew that the abiding care he felt for her was long lasting and that his enjoyment of her presence was unlikely to diminish with time.
He could only imagine how much more he would come to enjoy her when they were permitted to spend unlimited amounts of time together, undisturbed and unchaperoned.
He imagined that once they were fully intimate with one another, there would be an unshakeable bond between them, in addition to the increase of feelings and pleasure in her company such closeness would necessarily bring.
Still, she should not have tried to cry off.
Or to convince him to do it for her. It was cowardly of her.
His pride told him to let her worry about it for a while and hopefully that would teach her not to try to break a promise, especially with him.
A smaller, quieter part of him was very worried about her actions and the thoughts that must have led to them.
Her obvious lack of attachment to him was surprisingly disturbing.
What would it mean for their future together?
Her father had told him she did not love him as he loved her, as was only right, but her lack of devotion was worrying.
Alas, his pride won out and he did not send her another letter for nearly a fortnight, letting her bask in the uncertainty she was sure to be feeling.
Elizabeth spent the next few days in constant fear of the repercussions of her actions.
What had she been thinking? Why did she write that letter?
She simply hadn’t been able to resist an opportunity to escape what she saw as an untenable situation.
She had promised her father she would accept him, but if Mr. Darcy wanted to be released, she would not hold him.
Truly, she was terrified of the future and angry over being forced into such a situation.
Of course she would try to change her circumstances!
Mr. Darcy was not the sort of man she had thought to marry, and she was terribly afraid her future would hold very little in the way of joy.
She had to admit to also feeling guilty about receiving his letter and affections.
Mr. Darcy clearly felt strongly for her.
And she was angry at him for feeling that way.
What right did he have to come into her peaceful world and fall in love with her?
To force her hand by speaking to her father before herself?
To be so rich her father couldn’t refuse?
She had no way of knowing if his feelings were lasting or not, but he certainly believed they were.
She read his letter with some measure of repulsion and increasing embarrassment, as if it was written for someone else and she was trespassing in a most intimate way.
She couldn’t allow him to humiliate himself by continuing to speak and write to her in such a way, believing that she at least welcomed his affections even if she didn’t return them. It was all too much!
And now she had angered him. She had angered the man who would have ultimate power over her in a matter of weeks.
The settlement had arrived shortly before Darcy’s letter and her father had happily signed it.
It was done. Her mother and sisters had been told and she had an appointment with a dressmaker that afternoon. There was no turning back now.
But instead of marrying a man who loved her and wished to please her, she would marry a man who was angry at her and likely had no desire to please her at all; a man whom she had humiliated and attempted to jilt. What had she been thinking? Stupid, stupid, girl. Wretched, wretched mistake!
After a week had passed, and he had calmed enough to think about it clearly, Darcy wondered that she just didn’t break the engagement herself.
He thought she either wasn’t brave enough to do it herself and wanted the decision taken away from her, though he doubted that was likely, or she feared her family, namely her father, would not support her if she did.
He thought the latter was more probable until he was at a dinner with his Fitzwilliam cousins and, quite by accident, heard a lady sharing her concerns about marriage with a group of women and how little a lady knew a man before being completely in his power.
The lady had expressed her fears about accepting a proposal on short acquaintance and before he heard more, he’d walked away, but it did make him think that a large part of Elizabeth’s reasoning might have been based in fear.
Of the unknown, and chiefly of him, and what life with him would be like.
She did not know him. She had said in her letter that he did not know her well, and perhaps he didn’t know her in the way she thought he should, but he had spent countless hours observing her in a variety of situations and felt he really did know her.
Not as well as he would once they had lived together for a time, but well enough.
And that was when he realized she did not feel the same about him.
She had not spent hours observing him. It was not in her nature to observe without engaging and she was much younger than he.
She likely did not know what to look for.
She had not spent endless evenings in drawing rooms with desperate would-be husbands fawning for her attention.
She did not have his experience with society or with the world at large.
She would not know how he compared to other men.
The only men she knew were in Hertfordshire’s limited society.
She could not help but think his feelings similar to her own.
She did not know him well or feel secure in her choice, so she assumed he must feel the same.
Well, he did not.
After a few more days had passed, his anger with her had faded and he found compassion for her.
She would be thrust into a new role and a new place with a man she felt was nearly a stranger.
She could not know the depth of his feelings—he had not told her.
She could not know his reputation for kindness and integrity—they were not from the same circles.
She could not know he intended to support her in whatever way she needed and to do his utmost to be an exemplary husband.
She had seen poor examples and could not know her future was much brighter than her mother’s.
She would see. He would show her.
Twelve days. Elizabeth had received Mr. Darcy’s brief reply to her letter twelve days ago, but he had yet to send a longer missive.
She assumed he had been in contact with her father, at least in regard to signing the settlement, but for whatever reason, though she likely knew the reason perfectly well, he was not communicating with her.
Elizabeth was in a state of anxiety beyond anything she had experienced before.
The documents were signed, the date was set, the announcement had been sent to all her family.
It was done—she was as good as married now.
Breaking an official engagement was nearly impossible and would be humiliating in the extreme.
She couldn’t think of doing such a thing, even if she thought her father would support her, and she was sure he would not.
After another restless night and no word from her betrothed, she concluded he was not going to send her a lengthier letter.
The questions she’d dreaded were clearly not coming.
Deciding she had to do something, she sat down to write a letter to Mr. Darcy.
She had said she would say nothing more about their lack of suitability and endeavor to be a good wife to him, and so she would. Starting now.
Dear Mr. Darcy,
How is London? I hope your business is being seen to satisfactorily.
(This is ridiculous, but what else can I start with?) How is your sister?
I cannot wait to meet her. I hope we shall be good friends.
(And I dearly hope she is not as proud and awful as Mr. Wickham said she is.
I could not bear two Darcys staring at me all day long.)