Chapter 1.2
Darcy did not expect any further invitation, but he knocked a few times before entering. He tried not to stare at her, and she tried to avert her eyes, but neither of them could avoid looking at the other.
So she did change, finally.
“Sir, you had better take a chair near the fire to warm yourself.”
“Thank you, Miss Bennet.”
He sat near the fire, close to her. Too close.
He could not decide whether the sudden heat that enveloped him was from the fire or from her undressed, wet, shivering body in need of being held and warmed—and caressed.
He wanted nothing more at that moment than to hold her tightly in his arms and be cold no longer.
Darcy sat with his back to the chair that held her wet gown; he was deliberately trying not to embarrass her further.
Elizabeth was eminently aware of his efforts and grateful to him for attempting to make the situation less awkward for her.
They were both uncomfortable, given their unfortunate predicament and the awareness of the other’s proximity, so neither knew how to begin a neutral conversation.
Allowing some further minutes to pass and desperately trying to regain her spirits, Elizabeth grew determined not to let his presence intimidate her.
“Mr Darcy, I think we should try to make some conversation.”
“I shall be most happy to talk with you about any subject you desire.”
“I shall think of something…”
She saw him looking intently at her and could not help teasing him lightly.
“Sir, I certainly hope you will not dare to say again that I look charming, for now I shall be absolutely certain you are mocking me.” Her voice was the same as the one he knew so well from their past debates, and he saw her right brow rise charmingly.
He quickly understood her attempt at conversation and was pleased by her efforts.
“Miss Bennet, I am deeply sorry, but I cannot find you anything other than charming. On the other hand, that garment… That is the most dreadful gown I have ever seen in my life and not at all attractive on you.” She began to laugh heartily.
Can it be true? He is teasing me and enjoying it. Who is this man? “Thank you, sir. You look less than perfect, yourself.” Oh lord, he is smiling at me!
A little distressed by the new display of his dimples and open smile, she teased him further. “And you must have noticed that this is not a real gown. You are, after all, very perceptive, as I was told by a certain young lady.”
“Miss Bingley,” said he, trying to appear quite serious, “always gives me credit for more than I ever can be. However, I know it is not a real gown, and I am quite relieved because it would have been the ugliest gown in the whole world.”
“Oh, I would not be so sure about that. The servant women wear similar clothes all the time, and they often look quite tolerable in them. I am certain that your servants are no different.” But, of course, you cannot consider servants to be human at all.
“I must confess I never look closely at my servants’ clothes—men or women. But I promise I shall check, and if what you say is in fact true, I shall pay them additional wages so they can afford better clothes,” said he, smiling.
“But, sir, if you increase their income, perhaps they will prefer to spend it for extra food or to save for their children rather than buy finer clothes for the sole purpose of pleasing you.” Her tone was by now fierce. Why am I so angry with him? Perhaps because of what he did to poor Mr Wickham?
In fact, speaking about servants reminded her of that gentleman’s sad story, and she felt guilty for forgetting about him and almost allowing herself to be deceived by Darcy’s pleasant manners.
His countenance suddenly became serious, and his tone lost all its playfulness, but he answered her less severely.
He seemed conciliatory and willing to get along well with her, reminding Elizabeth she must keep her temper under control.
“Miss Bennet, I hope none of my servants or tenants is in need of anything and surely not of food or comfort for themselves or their families. It is my custom to treat them with all the respect and care they deserve and to compensate them fairly for their work.”
“I am sure that must be right, sir.” After a moment, she continued, “Indeed, sir, that is quite remarkable. You must have many people depending on you, and it must be difficult to do what is right all the time.”
“It is difficult sometimes; nevertheless, I consider that to be one of the most important duties I have. It is equally true that doing the right thing can be uncertain and depends very much on those who are involved.”
“And you never let other feelings come between you and that duty?”
“What other feelings could there be?” Darcy’s face had become as dark and stern as it used to be.
“I do not know—vanity, pride, a bad temper. After all, you yourself told me that your good opinion once lost is lost forever. It is easy to be blinded by prejudice when those feelings overwhelm you.”
“Perhaps, but I am careful not to allow that to happen.”
She grew more and more annoyed. How cynical you can be, Mr Darcy. I liked the old, rude Darcy better than this insincerely charming and cruel man. How dare he consider himself so correct after effecting such a great injustice on Mr Wickham.
“Well, it is good to see that you are so confident in your judgment. But certainly you are aware that some people might contradict you.” Let us see how you defend yourself.
“Again, you are absolutely right, Miss Bennet. But may I enquire as to what these questions tend?”
“Merely to the illustration of your character,” said she, endeavouring to shake off her gravity. “I am trying to make it out.”
“And what is your success?”
She shook her head. “I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as to puzzle me exceedingly.”
“From whom could you hear such different reports if I may be so bold as to enquire? Or do you know, by chance, many other acquaintances of mine?” His dark eyes were on fire while searching her face, and he knew the answer long before she spoke it.
“As a matter of fact, I recently met on old acquaintance of yours: Mr Wickham.” There, I am not afraid to defend my opinion or my friend.
A deeper shade of hauteur overspread his features.
“Mr Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends. Whether he may be equally capable of retaining them is less certain.”
“He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship,” she replied with emphasis, “and in a manner from which he is likely to suffer all his life.”
Darcy made no answer for a while, and Elizabeth was convinced he was desirous of changing the subject. She was wrong, for he spoke again.
“Am I correct in assuming that Mr Wickham told you of our past dealings?”
“Yes, he did me the honour of trusting me enough to tell me about his misfortunes.”
“Am I to understand, then, that you and Mr Wickham are old acquaintances?”
“No indeed, sir; we met just a few days ago.”
“I see…”
“Why would you presume otherwise?”
“I…I just find it hard to understand why a gentleman would talk of such a delicate subject with a young lady who is not a relative or an old friend.”
For a moment, his words struck her with all their hidden force, but she continued to defend Mr Wickham and, at the same time, her conduct towards him.
“I understand from your words that you consider such a discussion highly improper, both from Mr Wickham for starting it and from me for listening and accepting it.”
“Miss Bennet—” Darcy’s voice again became forceful and at the same time soft, and his eyes met hers, trying to tell her more than could his words. “Since the first day I met you, I have never found anything improper in your conduct. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same about Mr Wickham.”
That shiver again! Why do I shiver when he looks at me? “I think you are aware, sir, that Mr Wickham easily could have said the same about you.”
“I am sure of that. In fact I am positive he frequently says something akin to that.”
Elizabeth became uncomfortable at his statement but said nothing, allowing him to speak further.
“I should not expect you to believe me, considering our short acquaintance and the fact that my behaviour towards you was not what it should have been, but as I said before, I consider you one of the most intelligent people I have ever known. I trust you will use your intelligence, your knowledge, and your wit to search for evidence, proof, or witnesses before believing anything that I, Mr Wickham, or any other man whom you scarcely know might tell you. It would indeed be marvellous if all young ladies were as cautious as you when dealing with men who may be unscrupulous.”
As he spoke earnestly and without the anger or pride Elizabeth had expected following her attack, his gaze never left hers.
She could see no insolence or sign of the impenetrable mask that used to cover his face.
She became increasingly flustered by the intensity of his look and equally shocked by her own reaction to it.
The compliments he gave her conspired to make her feel equal parts pleasure and embarrassment—along with some degree of shame, knowing that his praise was undeserved.
One of the most intelligent people… That is the greatest compliment any man—except my father—ever gave me.
“I thank you, sir, but I am afraid you give me too much credit. To be honest, it would be difficult for me to do as you suggest since Mr Wickham was kind enough to trust me with his version of the story while your account is still unknown to me.”
“Miss Bennet, it is not a matter of trust but of respect. I do not know what Mr Wickham has told you—though I might easily guess—but my dealings with him were very unpleasant. Normally, I would never burden you or any other respectable young lady with such a narrative unless it was absolutely necessary. Nevertheless, I shall be more than happy to answer any questions you may have, giving you the proof you require.”