Chapter 5
Darcy
She had accepted me to save her family.
I repeated this phrase until it lost all meaning and yet continued to wound.
I had believed a quiet affection lay hidden beneath her frankness. I had heard hope in her words because I wished to find it there. Her hand in mine, her smile that morning, the new softness in her gaze—I had transformed each gesture into proof.
Elizabeth had not deceived me. She had told me she did not love me.
My pride had taken care of the rest.
I returned to Rosings and shut myself in the library. First, I wrote the letter I had promised her. I recounted Wickham’s history with as much precision as Georgiana’s modesty permitted. I also acknowledged my intervention with Bingley, without seeking to make my motives nobler than they had been.
I still believed I had acted as a friend. But Elizabeth’s anger had revealed what my certainty had prevented me from seeing: I had not merely advised Bingley. I had concealed information from him in order to control his decision.
This distinction suddenly seemed essential.
When I had finished, I reread the letter. It was neither a supplication nor a perfect defense. It contained the truth. That was all I could still offer her.
Fitzwilliam entered without being announced.
“You didn’t come to luncheon.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
He noticed the pages on the desk.
“What happened?”
“You spoke to Miss Bennet about Bingley.”
His face fell.
“Darcy, I’m sorry. I gave no names.”
“She understood.”
“And she broke off the engagement.”
I did not answer.
He swore under his breath, then sat down across from me.
“I should have been more careful.”
“The fault is not yours. If one truth is enough to destroy an engagement, it is the engagement that was ill-founded.”
“She didn’t let you explain?”
“She will read my letter.”
“And then?”
I folded the pages.
“Then she will decide.”
“You speak as if you had no means of influencing that decision.”
“I want none that are not honest.”
He observed me with unusual gravity.
“You truly love her.”
I sealed the letter.
“Yes.”
“Then don’t give up before she’s had time to understand.”
“I’m not giving up on her. I’m giving up on constraining her.”
He didn’t know what to say.
I left Rosings on foot before Lady Catherine could demand my presence. Elizabeth was not on her usual path. I left the letter at the parsonage, then continued to the village under the pretext of needing to send correspondence.
In reality, I wanted to know what threatened the Bennets.
I could not question Mr. Collins. His indiscretion would have made any assistance humiliating and public.
Mr. Bennet’s name appeared in none of the information I had.
I decided to write to my man of business in London, asking him to discreetly investigate debts recently called in within Hertfordshire.
This inquiry might seem an intrusion. It was. But I could not remain inactive knowing that Elizabeth had considered sacrificing her future.
That evening, my aunt demanded that I dine with her.
She spoke at length about the state of the roads, a neighbor’s poor management, and the marriage she had always envisioned between Anne and me.
Each sentence reminded me that I had not yet announced my engagement and that I might never announce it.
Anne watched me from the other side of the table. Her pale face expressed a calm weariness. I wondered for the first time what she thought of the plan her mother had repeated since our childhood. Had she wished to marry me? Had she even believed she possessed the right to refuse?
Elizabeth had believed she did not possess it.
After dinner, I found an urgent reply from London that had arrived by express.
My man of business, by good fortune, already knew of the matter.
A creditor named Harcourt had acquired several obligations after the death of a certain Mr. Ellison.
Among them was a guarantee signed by Thomas Bennet for five thousand pounds.
Harcourt was seeking rapid repayment and threatening proceedings that could encumber Longbourn’s income.
I read the report twice.
Five thousand pounds was no small sum for the Bennets. For me, it was less than six months’ income.
I could purchase the debt the next day.
I took up a pen, then stopped.
If I made it disappear without explanation, Elizabeth would think I was trying to buy my way back into her favor. If I asked her permission, she would refuse out of pride. If I did nothing, her family faced public humiliation.
I chose a path that would preserve Mr. Bennet’s independence as much as possible.
My man of business would purchase the obligation, suspend all proceedings, and offer repayment over fifteen years at a very low interest, secured only by a reasonable portion of Longbourn’s income.
No gift. No connection to the marriage contract.
No advantage to me if Elizabeth married me.
I wrote the instructions.
Then I drafted a copy for Mr. Bennet, clearly explaining my intervention and giving him the option to refuse.
It was late when I finished. Fitzwilliam was asleep. Rosings was silent.
I stepped out onto the terrace.
In the distance, a single light still burned in a window of the parsonage.
Was it Elizabeth’s room? Was she reading my letter?
Did she hate me more now that she knew Georgiana’s history?
Was she thinking of Wickham with shame, of Jane with anger, of me with something that might still resemble the esteem she had once claimed to feel?
I knew nothing.
This ignorance was new. I had always considered uncertainty a weakness to be conquered through reflection and will. Elizabeth forced me to understand that another’s heart could not be governed like an estate.
I could offer my name, my fortune, my protection.
I could not obtain her love.
For the first time in my life, I desired something I could neither earn through duty nor secure through decision.
I had to wait for her to give it to me.