Chapter 18 #2
Elizabeth sighed when it became apparent Mr Bennet had not informed his wife and daughters of her plans to go into the country after Twelfth Night, meaning she was unlikely to be at Longbourn again until the spring.
At one point, Elizabeth found herself speaking to Rebecca while everyone else was occupied in other conversations.
They shared their views of the day, saying how agreeable it was, and Rebecca remarked that she was pleased Elizabeth was with them.
It did not escape her notice that her companion’s gaze frequently rested on Bramwell, who was across the room with his brother and father.
As though talking to herself, Rebecca softly said, “If I were sensible, I would send him away for good.”
Gently, Elizabeth asked, “Why do you not?”
Sighing, Rebecca shrugged. “He was quite wild when he was younger, which I cannot forget. I am told he no longer behaves in such a manner, however, and his eyes… They are so blue, so—” Tilting her head to one side, she looked at Elizabeth.
“Yours remind me of his, a little, but you have brown eyes.” She chuckled.
“As you know. I would also say yours are more uncommon, but there is something similar, something that draws people in. Or, I should say, his eyes draw me in. I do my best to avoid meeting his gaze, specifically because I worry I shall agree to whatever he asks of me once they trap me.” Again, she laughed, waving a hand as though asking Elizabeth to forgive her silliness.
Her tone becoming a touch more serious, she continued.
“It is rather flattering that he has fixed on me. He might make a much more advantageous match. We—my parents and I—had intended to go into the country before Christmas, but we decided to stay for the ball. Rather, they did, hoping I shall resolve the situation with Lord Bramwell by then.”
“They would like you to marry him?” Elizabeth said.
Rebecca gave a bark of laughter, although it was humourless. “Everyone would like me to accept him, but…” She looked towards him again, and Elizabeth saw love in her expression. “I am so afraid of making a mistake.”
They were silent for a moment. Rebecca then turned to her and said, “You have spent time with him. You live in the same house. Do you think he is serious enough to be a husband? A good one, I mean.”
Elizabeth stammered, “I hardly know him. He might be my cousin, but recall, we have only just met.” She glanced at Mr Darcy, knowing she would not hesitate to say that he was serious enough to be a good husband, at least to a lady he esteemed and thought of as his equal.
I wonder how he would define equal in this situation?
Would it be only about connexions and wealth, and why do I think the answer is no?
“Do you not see that, in some ways, it makes you the perfect person to ask?” Rebecca said. “You are not prejudiced by years of knowing and loving him as everyone else is. And you are a young lady who must understand why I am being so cautious about who I marry. What is your impression of him?”
After considering her response briefly, she rested a hand on Rebecca’s, hoping to ease her anxiety, and said, “I would say that I like him very much. He is charming and handsome, but I also believe he is an excellent gentleman. I draw on how he has treated me and how I have seen him treat others, from his mother and father to the servants, which I always think is a good test of character.” Mr Darcy was full of arrogance in Hertfordshire, but did I not also see signs of goodness in him?
Much like what she had just said regarding Bramwell, he had been courteous and respectful in his dealings with Mr Bingley and the servants at Netherfield Park, and he had even managed to be polite to Miss Bingley, who would try the nerves of a saint with her constant efforts to secure his affections.
And Elizabeth had witnessed far more of his goodness since coming to town.
At the moment, he was sitting with Frederick and Julia Darcy and Georgiana, his demeanour easy and well amused.
As Rebecca chatted further about Bramwell and her concerns about the sort of life they would lead if she married him, Elizabeth continued to reflect on Mr Darcy, at the same time managing to respond appropriately to her friend.
Her cousins had both praised him, and the earl and countess spoke warmly of him.
None of them gave the impression of doing it to make her like him; rather, their approving statements about him were off-handed apart from one conversation she had had with Fitzwilliam, in which he had repeated several times that the lady who finally won Mr Darcy’s esteem would be ‘very fortunate indeed’.
Perhaps he is correct. The gentleman seemed like an entirely different person when amongst his family, one who was admirable—very much so.
But was he truly a completely different individual?
Had she simply failed to see him for the person he was in Hertfordshire?
If so, she believed they shared the blame for her misunderstanding; his behaviour had been unpleasant, and he had dismissed her.
But that was weeks ago. She did not dislike the Mr Darcy she knew currently, not at all.
In just a week, it would be the new year, and that was a good point at which to begin again, to remember the good of the past year—chiefly, discovering the story of her father’s family—and set aside the bad, including her previous dislike of him. Who knew where it would lead her?
To her surprise, she found she was eager to discover the answer.