P&P Chapter 35 ~ #2
Darcy alternated between staring and gasping inaudibly. This was far worse than the harsh words of the previous day, and he had not the slightest idea what to say.
Elizabeth looked him in the eye and continued.
“When I declined last evening, did you ask me why I did so in a way that I could answer intelligently—the way you might ask a difficult question of someone you loved? Did you explain what was right with me, instead of what was wrong? Did you try to make me understand your feelings in any way, aside from that first startled-sounding declaration of love, which also included reference to your struggles and made your love sound like a personal failure?”
Darcy closed his eyes and shook his head in shame and further embarrassment.
Elizabeth disliked seeing him slumped in defeat, which surprised her. She disliked it even more than the angry and petulant gentleman she had dealt with the previous day, so she took a chance. She carefully unclasped her right hand from her left and reached over to grasp his arm.
“That is the first obstacle. Perhaps the events of the preceding months might be called obstacles—or at least they are from my perspective—but you cannot consider something an obstacle if you have not really tried.”
Darcy looked at her hand on his sleeve, then up to her face, and answered petulantly.
“Is it your contention that this is a sign of the Darcy weakness, and if so, why exactly do you feel the need to rub my nose in it?”
“If my contention is correct, the Darcys need new blood, or you will follow the Bennets and de Bourghs into extinction. You are doing an awkward job acquiring it but at least trying. You wisely avoid the ton and upstart social climbers of Miss Bingley’s ilk.
I applaud the effort, if not the execution. ”
Darcy laughed in spite of himself. “Though it sounds like the severest censure, it may be the nicest thing anyone has said to me in some time.”
Elizabeth laughed with him, though she was not at all certain it was funny. She drew a deep breath. “I chastise you because… because… well… to tell the truth… I do not really know why. I just could not stand to leave things as they were.”
“Where does that leave things then?” he asked in genuine concern, mixed with a dash of puzzlement.
Elizabeth thought for some time, standing awkwardly holding his sleeve.
“I suppose you must decide something. While I do not hold myself up as a prize—apparently my hand was something you desired at one time. It becomes a question of how much? Presuming neither of us would ever stoop far enough to force an alliance, we are still quite some distance apart. At the moment, I do not repent my refusal in the least—but I bitterly regret the manner of it. You may or may not regret proposing in the first place, but here we are.”
He sighed. “Yes… here we are,” having no better idea how to continue.
At length, Elizabeth asked, “Is a marriage between us something worth winning? It seems to me that if our union is worth having, it is worth fighting for. If it is not worth fighting for, it was not worth having in the first place. Handing me a letter and walking off without giving me a chance to reply does not sound like fighting for something important.”
Darcy snapped, “It sounds to me like taking a lady at her word. Should I keep importuning you or keep chasing you when you have made your preference clear? I would have just walked away but there are things you need to know for your own protection, as well as things I wished to say to defend my own honour. Perhaps we are still dealing with unregulated pride, but I could not stand having you somewhere in the world thinking so badly of me simply because I did not relate some key facts.”
Elizabeth stopped a minute to think, then sighed in acceptance. “I see your point. This is my second proposal in four months, and it does not seem to be something one gets better at with practice.”
Darcy gasped but just gave her an expectant expression, hoping she might continue now that she temporarily seemed less likely to bite his head off.
“Mr Collins is the heir presumptive to Longbourn, since it is entailed on the male line, for the reasons I previously mentioned. He came specifically to ‘heal the breach’, meaning marry one of the Bennet daughters. My mother offered me up as the sacrificial lamb without asking me or anybody else—even though Mary would have been a much better choice. I had to refuse him three times, and he kept saying it was the ‘usual practice of elegant females’ to deny requests they mean to later accept. I had to get my father to deny permission before he finally gave up and proposed to Charlotte three days later.”
Darcy's mouth hung open as she continued, “I suppose your acceptance of ‘no means no’ is admirable—all things considered,” as she stared at the ground in embarrassment.
Darcy cleared his throat. “If I decided not to give up at the first obstacle, would I be fighting for something worthwhile or refusing to take no for an answer?”
She thought about it and sighed. “I would hope to vacate my current position as Mistress of Hypocrisy. I suppose it all depends on how you refuse to give up. Mr Collins just kept repeating the same arguments over and over, expecting to browbeat me into submission. My mother did the same, though she would have more success browbeating a rock.”
Darcy chuckled, glad to see her moving to less murderous humour.
With his own sigh, he said, “It is certainly too late to start over, but… my image of you has changed with this conversation. You are stronger than I realised. Perhaps, I can change your image of me and see where that takes us.”
She smiled slightly. “At the very least, we should be able to improve on mortal enemies ‘til the end of time.”
Darcy chuckled and smiled—surprisingly handsomely. Elizabeth doubted she had ever seen him truly smile, but she had seen this smile’s younger cousin occasionally when she caught him staring at her.
“I still fear obligation. Suppose we do this? Tell me what is in that letter you worked on all night in three sentences.”
He started. “Three sentences?”
“Yes, that should do the trick, I think.”
Darcy put his hand over the pocket holding the letter, as if trying to draw inspiration into his fingertips through the cloth. He took a deep breath.
“George Wickham is a criminal, liar, gambler, cheat and seducer, who was educated at my father’s expense, though all of it was entirely wasted on gambling, spirits, and women; who asked for and received three thousand pounds in lieu of a living my father bequeathed to him; which he subsequently spent along with another one thousand pounds he received outright in four years; then asked for the living again when it fell vacant unexpectedly; and when denied, he tried and nearly succeeded in seducing my fifteen-year-old sister to elope with him just to get her dowry of thirty thousand pounds. ”
Darcy breathed hard at the end of it, and Elizabeth, shocked, turned pale and swayed on her feet.
Feeling bold, Darcy took her arm and led her off the main path into a trail mostly hidden from sight.
He led her a few dozen paces to a small bench next to a pond, where he wiped off the seat with his handkerchief and helped her sit.
He knew she was made of strong enough stuff to be fine without his intervention, but he reckoned a poor excuse was better than none, and getting her out of sight could only help his case, provided they were not observed.
Elizabeth sat for some time, giving way to every variety of thought—reconsidering events, determining probabilities, and reconciling herself, as well as she could, to a change so sudden and so important.
At length, the story of Miss Darcy turned it from a rather fanciful tale she was only half-inclined to take at face value (though she had to sheepishly admit she had done so with Mr Wickham’s story) to the opposite extreme.
Nobody would use his sister so abominably unless it was not only true but especially important to convince her of his veracity.
She looked at the gentleman; he watched her carefully with obvious concern.
She laughed, though it held no humour. “That is quite a run-on sentence.”
He chuckled, though his was just as brittle. “With only three sentences, I cannot waste breath or punctuation.”