Chapter 18 #3
“If you were to spend much time in the fashionable circles of London,” Darcy went on, “I know well that you would win them over at once, as a true original and a woman of great charm. Yet I hope you will never remain in the city beyond, perhaps, the amusements of the Season. You ought to be walking on shaded avenues between noble oaks, or perhaps striding up a hill to capture the view beyond. It is thus that I shall always picture you.”
For a moment, Darcy had been too much absorbed in his speech to be self-conscious, but he remembered himself all in a rush and glanced at Elizabeth, wondering if he had made himself ridiculous with such frankness.
If he had, Elizabeth did not seem to think so. Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes shining, and in them, he saw a hint of tears he did not think were due to sadness. “Thank you,” she said softly. “That is a rare compliment, and I shall only try to be worthy of it.”
“You are,” Darcy told her. “Never doubt it. If I have complimented you, it is only by describing you as I have seen you.”
A spark of mischief lit Elizabeth’s eyes. “Shall I tell you how I see you, then, Mr Darcy?”
“Please,” Darcy told her. “Tell me everything.”
“When I see you,” Elizabeth began, “I believe I shall always picture how you carried me home. It was so entirely yourself.”
“I do not mean to disagree with you,” Darcy said, a little surprised, “but neither do I quite perceive your meaning.”
“I shall explain,” she said. “This is the Fitzwilliam Darcy I have gradually come to know: a man of decisive action, who warned me of danger when others would have kept silent, and helped me when I could do no more.
You are the man of surprising gentleness who is such a caring brother to Georgiana, and the man of sly wit that you are at some pains to conceal.
“I do not think you belong to London any more than I do,” Elizabeth continued.
“Everyone who has spoken to me of Pemberley has told me of its beauty. I suspect you are the man you are thanks in no small part to the rocks and mountains of Derbyshire, and I hope you shall be as eternally yourself as they are.”
Darcy was silent for a long moment. Speech was quite beyond him, as Elizabeth’s words reverberated through his spirit. “It is agreed, then,” he said at last. “Be always yourself, Elizabeth, and I shall try to do the same.”
Elizabeth did not protest at the use of her first name. She only smiled, warmly and intimately, and held out her hand. “Shall we shake on the agreement, then? Let us always strive to be as we have seen each other this day.”
“I should like nothing better,” Darcy told her, and took her hand.
They shook hands. As their eyes met, they started to laugh, both overcome by a gesture at once so solemn and so comic.
And it was in that moment that Darcy knew beyond a doubt that he would propose to Elizabeth on the occasion of their next meeting and felt no doubt that she would accept.
When Darcy returned to Rosings, the house appeared much as he had left it.
The quiet of the morning had given way to the more ordered movement of the afternoon.
Upon entering the house, a servant informed him that his mistress had asked to be informed of his return, and he was shown into the smaller drawing room.
Lady Catherine occupied a particularly large and imposing chair in the centre of the room, and looked very much as though she had intended to be found there, much as a queen arranges to be sitting in her throne when a courtier is admitted for an audience.
She looked up at his entrance, mouth twisting in disapproval. “You have been at the parsonage.”
“I have.”
“And for some time, I think.”
“For as long as was suitable.”
Lady Catherine regarded him steadily. “I cannot understand the necessity of such frequent visits,” she said. “It is not the sort of society which ought to occupy you so particularly.”
“You must allow me, Aunt,” Darcy returned coolly, “to be the best judge of the society I choose.”
The answer was calmly given, but it was not one she received with satisfaction. “You have always been attentive to your situation,” she returned. “I should be sorry to see you forget it.”
“I assure you, Lady Catherine, I shall not.”
Lady Catherine’s gaze remained on him, as though there was some answer she wished to uncover. “I hope,” she said after a moment, “that you do not suppose such attentions to be necessary.”
“Necessary? Certainly not.”
“And yet you persist in them.”
“I do.” There was nothing more than simple acknowledgment in his tone, yet it admitted no correction.
Lady Catherine appeared inclined to continue, but after a moment, she turned her attention aside, reserving her opinion for another occasion.
Darcy did not remain. He withdrew to his own room without seeking further company.
The house was quiet, with nothing to engage him but his own thoughts.
Yet they did not require arrangement. His aunt’s disapproval was expected and could not alter his views.
It had been weighed, and it was insufficient.
The objections which might be urged had long been known to him.
He had once allowed them influence. He did not intend to make that mistake now.
What could any consideration matter, weighed against such an understanding as he had with Elizabeth? If Lady Catherine thought she could present any rational argument that would shake him, she would find herself badly mistaken.