CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE #3
"I cannot give you credit for any philosophy of the kind.
Your retrospections must be so totally void of reproach, that the contentment arising from them is not of philosophy, but, what is much better, of innocence.
But with me, it is not so. Painful recollections will intrude which cannot, which ought not, be repelled.
I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle.
As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper.
I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit.
Unfortunately an only son, for many years an only child, I was spoilt by my parents, who, though good themselves—my father, particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable—allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing; to care for none beyond my own family circle; to think meanly of all the rest of the world; to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own.
Such I was, from eight to eight and twenty; and such I might still have been but for you, dearest, loveliest Lizzy!
What do I not owe you! You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous.
By you, I was properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception.
You showed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased. "
"Had you then persuaded yourself that I should?"
"Indeed I had. What will you think of my vanity? I believed you to be wishing, expecting my addresses."
"My manners must have been in fault, but not intentionally, I assure you. I never meant to deceive you, but my spirits might often lead me wrong. How you must have hated me after that evening?"
"Hate you! I was angry perhaps at first, but my anger soon began to take a proper direction."
"I am almost afraid of asking what you thought of me, when we met at Pemberley. You blamed me for coming?"
"No, indeed. I felt nothing but surprise."
"Your surprise could not be greater than mine in being noticed by you. My conscience told me that I deserved no extraordinary politeness, and I confess that I did not expect to receive more than my due."
"My object then," he replied, "was to show you, by every civility in my power, that I was not so mean as to resent the past; and I hoped to obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill opinion, by letting you see that your reproofs had been attended to.
How soon any other wishes introduced themselves I can hardly tell, but I believe in about half an hour after I had seen you. "
He then told her of Georgiana's delight in her acquaintance, and of her disappointment at its sudden interruption; which naturally leading to the cause of that interruption, she soon learnt that his resolution of following her from Derbyshire in quest of her sister had been formed before he quitted the inn, and that his gravity and thoughtfulness there had arisen from no other struggles than what such a purpose must comprehend.
She expressed her gratitude again, but it was too painful a subject to each, to be dwelt on farther.
He took a deep breath and prepared to confess his involvement with Trenwith House, but she had pulled out her watch and noted it was time to be home. They sauntered back onto the path.
“What could become of Bingley and Jane?” she wondered.
“Are you quite delighted with their engagement?” he asked.
“Are you?”
“I am. Charles had given me the earliest information of it.”
“I must ask whether you were surprised?”
“Not at all. When I went away, I felt that it would soon happen."
"That is to say, you had given your permission. I guessed as much."
“Charles does not require my permission on anything!”
“But he must have sought your counsel?”
"On the evening before my going to London, I made a confession to him, which I believe I ought to have made long ago.
I told him of all that had occurred to make my former interference in his affairs absurd and impertinent.
His surprise was great. He had never had the slightest suspicion.
I told him, moreover, that I believed myself mistaken in supposing, as I had done, that your sister was indifferent to him; and as I could easily perceive that his attachment to her was unabated, I felt no doubt of their happiness together. "
She smiled at his easy manner of directing his friend.
"Did you speak from your own observation," said she, "when you told him that my sister loved him, or merely from my information last spring?"
"From the former. I had narrowly observed her during the two visits which I had lately made here; and I was convinced of her affection."
"And your assurance of it, I suppose, carried immediate conviction to him."
"It did. Bingley is most unaffectedly modest. His diffidence had prevented his depending on his own judgment in so anxious a case, but his reliance on mine made every thing easy.
I was obliged to confess one thing, which for a time, and not unjustly, offended him.
I could not allow myself to conceal that your sister had been in town three months last winter, that I had known it, and purposely kept it from him.
He was angry. But his anger, I am persuaded, lasted no longer than he remained in any doubt of your sister's sentiments. He has heartily forgiven me now."
The relaxed and friendly manner in which she conversed with him pleased him more than anything as they made their way back to Longbourn.
He thought her beauty glowed more warmly than the sun, and but for the confidence he knew he had to reveal, their walk could not have been more satisfying until they had to part.
Charles had turned toward the house with Miss Bennet earlier and awaited by his horse outside.
Darcy walked Miss Elizabeth into the foyer of the house and there bid her adieu.
He placed a chaste kiss upon her hand. Her ensuing blush reflected the memory of their earlier, more passionate caress, and perhaps a shared desire for something more.