18. The Wisdom of Cheapside #3
“Mr. Darcy proposed to me.” The words came out in a rush, as though Elizabeth could not bear to hold them any longer. “In Kent. Before I came to London. Before the inheritance. He proposed, and I refused him.”
“You refused him graciously, of course,” her aunt reassured. “There is no shame in that.”
“That is not what I did. I have not told you what I said to him.” She hastily wiped her eyes, furious with her weakness.
“I told him he was the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry. I accused him of ungentlemanly behavior. I blamed him for Wickham’s misfortunes, which I now know were lies.
I said every cruel thing I could think of, because I wanted to hurt him as much as his proposal had hurt me. ”
“His proposal hurt you?”
“He told me he loved me against his will, against his reason, against his character. He listed my family’s faults.
He made it clear that proposing to me was a degradation, a weakness, a failure of his better judgment.
” Her throat was tight, voice entirely raw.
“And I was so angry, Aunt. I was furious that he could not simply love me without apologizing for it.”
“But he loved you.”
“Not anymore.” She pressed her palms to her face, unable to hold back her tears.
“I eviscerated him. I called him proud, arrogant, and selfish. I told him he had ruined my sister’s happiness by separating her from Mr. Bingley.
I told him he had destroyed Mr. Wickham’s prospects out of spite.
And then, he wrote me a letter explaining his reasons, proving that Wickham was a liar and a seducer, and now he is repairing the misunderstanding between Bingley and Jane.
He is still trying to fix everything, but?—”
“But you did not tell him you changed your mind?” Her aunt brushed a stray strand of hair from Elizabeth’s teary face.
“I cannot.” Elizabeth lowered her hands and looked at her aunt through tear-blurred eyes.
“He wrote in that letter that I need never fear he would renew his addresses. He promised to leave me in peace. And now, he has vowed to Lady Sophia that he will guide me through the Season, and we all know what that means—finding a husband from the society that now considers me a worthwhile match. From the Sir Geoffreys to the weeping Arthurs to Lady Prideaux’s son, even to Lord Coke, Darcy’s own cousin, who will be an earl someday. I am now a prize to be handed off.”
“I see.”
“No, you cannot see, Aunt; no one sees, because no one believes I can change my heart.”
“If you regret your refusal, perhaps you might?—”
“I cannot, because Darcy once told me that if his good opinion is lost, it will never be recovered. He is merely doing his duty, and he cannot wait until I am married to either Sir Geoffrey, Lord Coke, or Mr. Greaves, Craster, Langley, Rolleston, or even John Lucas, because then, my fortune would be in the hands of my husband and no longer his concern.”
“Elizabeth, my dear.” Her aunt drew her close, wrapping her in a tight, protective embrace. “The question isn’t what Mr. Darcy wants. We will deal with him later. It is what you want. What do you feel for him now?”
Elizabeth shook her head violently. “He cannot respect me. I am no lady, because ladies refuse proposals with grace and dignity. They remain polite. I am my mother—speaking without thinking of the consequences, loudly proclaiming my opinions, and oh, Aunt, I am even worse than my mother. She at least does not use wit to injure. She only says what she believes, but I… I twisted the knife. Brutally.”
“Whether you wound thoughtlessly or deliberately, the effect is the same.”
“No, deliberate is worse. Thoughtlessness can be forgiven. Darcy already told me he will never forgive deliberate injury. He said that any misery belongs to the one who did the wounding.”
“Perhaps.” Mrs. Gardiner drew back and cupped Elizabeth’s face in her hands, forcing her to meet her eyes. “Listen to me. You cannot truly know what is still left in his heart, but you have a chance to prove him wrong.”
“I cannot address him. You know that. A woman cannot propose. A woman cannot declare herself. All I can do is smile and encourage and hope that he understands, and he will not understand, because I was so cruel to him that he believes any encouragement must be a trap.”
“Then you treat him kindly, the way you wish him to feel. I don’t mean dishonestly.
A man like Darcy would see through manipulation.
Handle him like that baby bird he rescued—and yes, even we here at Cheapside heard about the elm tree.
Be gentle. Let him feel your heart, without barriers and without your sharp knives bristling.
Accept his help when he offers it, and allow yourself to trust, to need him.
From what I can see, he will not deliberately hurt you.
Lady Sophia would not have selected him to be your trustee if she believed him capable of harming you.
Perhaps his proposal was badly done, but he has no doubt learned that one does not need to say everything one is thinking—his error was thoughtlessness. ”
“Which makes it forgivable, like my mother’s outbursts. But Aunt, what if he never forgives me? Never trusts me again? If the damage is too great?”
“Then you will have learned something important about love and about yourself. But I do not think that is what will happen.” Mrs. Gardiner smiled, a small, knowing expression.
“Go to the ball, my dear. Dance with the fortune hunters if you must, and smile at the weeping Arthurs. Learn to distinguish between the absurd and the competent fortune hunters. And understand that not all men are after your fortune, so treat them kindly even when refusing. But when Mr. Darcy asks you for a set—and he will ask, because a man does not arrange a lady’s dance card and then fail to claim a dance himself—say yes.
Not because you owe him anything, but because you want to. That is all the permission he needs.”
Elizabeth drew a shuddering breath. Her face was wet with tears, her eyes swollen. “I suspect you will need to speak with Jane. She is in need of your wisdom.”
“I will, but Lizzy, will you allow yourself a chance to hope?”
“I don’t know how to stop being afraid.”
“No one does, my dear. We simply learn to be afraid and brave at the same time.” She kissed Elizabeth on the cheek. “Now, go find your cousins and get that piece of cake, and send Jane out with the dog. I suspect Nettle might need some air and a rosebush to growl at.”
Elizabeth managed a watery smile. “I love you, Aunt. And Uncle. I will try to be brave.”
“You already are. The first step is admitting your feelings. Now, go get Jane.”
Elizabeth’s step felt lighter as she hurried back to the house, although the weight of her mistakes pressed harder with every stride.
Self-awareness was a bitter pill. But perhaps bitterness, like the waters of Marah, would turn sweet if she could learn to call out for help and then trust the answer.