7. 13 November 1811 #2
Lowering his forehead to his clenched hands, Darcy braced himself to do two things with which he had far too little experience: sharing his feelings and asking for help.
But he soon straightened, squared his shoulders, and told himself firmly that he was a Darcy.
He could and should admit his faults and mistakes, he could and would seek aid when necessary, and he ought to seriously work towards the future he wished for and his legacy demanded.
“Bingley, do you remember the list of five hundred sixteen characteristics I deemed necessary for the future Mrs Darcy?”
Bingley sat up, too, his eyes flying open. “Yes. I mean, you exaggerate, but I remember quite the gigantic list!”
“Well, consider that list consigned to the fire. I believe that, when I spouted off all those items, I had no idea of what I actually need, what Pemberley needs.”
“No idea? What do you mean?”
Darcy spoke slowly. “Naturally, there were things on that list that remain important…. Honesty, for example, is an important characteristic for a friend as well as for a wife. So not every item on the list was ridiculous. However, most of the listed traits are not in the least important, and it may be that the idea of a list at all was wrongheaded.”
“What has happened in four and twenty hours to cause this reversal?”
Darcy felt his cheeks heat. He shot a crooked smile at Bingley, whose whole face lit up in excitement.
“Is this about Miss Elizabeth? Do you like her? I mean, you barely know her! And it is not as if you ever looked at any lady, anywhere…. What is going on, friend?”
Darcy gave his face a swipe but could not wipe his smile entirely away. He said, “I feel—I do not know what I am feeling. I do not know enough about this to explain it to you, Bingley. I was hoping you could be my teacher in this.”
“Oh, a role reversal! I believe I shall like this very much indeed!” Bingley rubbed his hands together with hyperbolic glee and said, “Now, the ABC’s of flirtation are simple enough. Pray, listen carefully, student; there will be an exam:
“A is for acknowledgment. When you notice a lady, acknowledge her with your appreciative gaze. Act on your attraction, and you may achieve affection.”
Bingley spoke in a silly singsong voice, and Darcy shook his head and grinned at his friend. He always admired how willing Bingley was to laugh at himself.
“B is for bowing. Bow to the beauty in the bonnet, and possibly buss her hand as you bow. Most important, I feel, is the metaphorical bowing: Bend to her needs.
“C is for conversation. Converse on many topics, and when you can, compliment the lady. Soon you may find yourself courting her.”
Darcy laughed. “You are quite the instructor, Bingley. Stripped of all your silliness, you are saying I should stare at her, bow to her, talk with her, and praise her. Is that right?”
Bingley gave a playful grimace. “Your stare can be quite intimidating, you know. I said—and I stand by my choice of wording—gaze at her.”
“Gaze, bow, talk, praise.”
“Exactly. But we always bow to ladies. You must make your bow special. Think about how much you like her and give an extra deep bow. Or bow over her hand, holding that hand tenderly, brushing or pressing your lips to her hand, lingering with the kiss or at least with the hold.”
Darcy nodded.
“And do not just talk at her. You can be quite professorial, you know, so possibly consider not giving lectures but instead asking the lady about her life, about her taste in literature or music, about her opinions and concerns.”
“That sounds doable.”
“Finally,” Bingley said, looking quite proud of himself, “be sure any compliments you pay the lady are entirely sincere and heartfelt.”
“It all sounds so simple.” Darcy shook himself a bit and said, “I was wondering if I could discuss with you what I really need in a wife. If my list was mostly nonsense, what do I actually need?”
Bingley shrugged. “There must be something about Miss Elizabeth that had you questioning your list. Can you identify what that something was?”
Darcy closed his eyes to think harder. He did not open them as he hazarded a guess: “I found everything about Miss Elizabeth attractive, her expressive eyes probably the most alluring of all. But, as to how her existence seemed to overturn my list, I believe it was Miss Elizabeth’s inclination to laugh at me that first had me question that blasted list.” He opened his eyes and chanced a glance at his friend’s expression.
“She laughed at you?” Bingley’s eyebrows soared with astonishment.
“Well, not precisely. I was awkward, and she looked as if she wished to laugh, but she restrained the impulse. So only her eyes laughed.”
“I should have thought that would make you angry, tweak your pride, and lower your attraction to Miss Elizabeth. Can you attempt to discover why, instead, it caused you to wish to toss aside your list?”
“I suppose I feel the same way you do. If you had told me that a lady would trespass on my life with her hem six inches deep in mud and then proceed to laugh at me, I should have expected to feel anger at her, disdain for her, and the need to somehow defend my wounded pride. However, the specific lady called forth from me fascination, not disdain. I felt approval for her bright eyes and her obvious care for her sister, and even the mud on her skirts showed me that she cared more for reality than for appearances, more for loyalty than for decorum. There is something…freeing about that. But I would never have thought to put such items on my list.”
Bingley grinned. “Five hundred sixteen traits your future wife must have, and not one of them is Laugh at her husband? Not one of them is Care more for reality than appearances?”
“Exactly. I thought I needed a wife who would embody all the rules of decorum and propriety, and yet one glimpse of a wind-blown, muddied lady who has walked alone for several miles on behalf of a family member, and I realise that I actually need someone who is almost the opposite of what I had thought. I need someone who will put actual, practical necessity ahead of societal rules.”
Bingley looked contemplative. “Let us think about this a little while,” he suggested. “Do you remember your aunt’s ball this past May?”
“Of course. Wretched night.”
“And you remember the one lady your aunt insisted you dance with?”
Darcy nodded. “Miss Margaret Barnard. Granddaughter of an earl, dowry of fifty thousand pounds. That is the sort of thing my aunt would whisper to me as she dragged me over to introduce me to some eligible lady.”
“Oh, my. Honestly, I had no idea. My relations are not invited to such events, so nobody whispers in my ear.” Both men chuckled.
“And you bring up Miss Barnard…?” Darcy asked.
“Picture her firmly in your mind, with her personality exactly as you experienced that night; the only thing I wish you to change, in your imagination, is that you are here at Netherfield, and she is wearing a day dress, not a ballgown, and her hem is muddied….. Do you have that mental picture?”
“Yes, I do, and as I imagine you are going to ask, I have no jolt of attraction for her. She fawned over me in a way reminiscent of your younger sister; I cannot, in my wildest imagination, picture her wishing to laugh at my awkwardness and restraining herself.”
“I just wished to point out, Darce, that it is not the mud that you found attractive, but the actual lady wearing the mud.”
Both men laughed at his words. Darcy shook his head and said, “I never truly understood you before, Bingley. When you talk about one of your angels, I feel that I comprehend your words—because, of course, I have seen beautiful women and have admired their beauty. But this…what I experienced in Miss Elizabeth’s presence… it is a completely different feeling.”
Bingley blushed, and Darcy wished he had not worded his comment so that his friend had to acknowledge that he had been “in love” many times. It was not as if that was not something Bingley should keep in mind, but he did not wish to issue reminders while his friend was being so helpful to him.
“I do appreciate your instruction, Bingley. But I believe I shall retire before dressing for dinner.”
“Certainly. I will see you soon.”
Darcy left Bingley still looking thoughtfully at his own hands.