Chapter 3
THREE
FITZWILLIAM DARCY
His resentment had melted in the face of her pallor and now, hidden behind a newspaper of which he had read not a word, he felt all the desolation of the end of his hopes.
Some of her dislike of him was formed on mistaken premises—the honeyed poison that dripped from Wickham’s forked tongue—but with the haze of anger dispelled, he was becoming aware that some was his own doing.
“From the very beginning, from the first moment, I may almost say, of my acquaintance with you, your manners impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form that groundwork of disapprobation, on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike...”
He had not, he must admit, attempted to present himself as a well-mannered gentleman in Hertfordshire.
He had been there to assist Bingley, caring nothing for the neighbourhood or the people in it, wishing only to avoid being pursued for his acquaintance, which he knew without conceit could open many doors in London society, or for his hand.
He had held himself aloof always, been outright uncivil on occasion, and yet he had expected that all about him would respect and like him merely because he was Mr Darcy of Pemberley and had a fine reputation in town and in his home county.
He had expected that she would like him because he had deigned to like her.
Not once, he perceived several months too late, had the fond mamas and papas of Hertfordshire pressed their daughters upon him, and only a very few of the gentlemen had made any attempt at a further acquaintance and the benefits which might attach thereto.
He had gone to their assembly and interacted with none but his own party; he had accepted the hospitality of their homes while hardly offering a civil word in return.
Whatever the failings of the gentry of the neighbourhood, they had not sought to inveigle themselves where they were clearly not wanted.
Even Mrs Bennet, as eager a matchmaker as he had ever seen, had seemed rather to disdain his company than think him a match for one of her many daughters.
All her efforts had been focused on Bingley, who had done more than enough to encourage her hopes.
Her hopes, and perhaps her daughter’s, he thought with a creeping unease. Could he have been so very wrong about Miss Bennet’s feelings? From Elizabeth’s lips, it had not sounded as though what had been dashed were hopes of a prudent marriage, but rather of something much more tender.
He wished very much to know the answers to these questions, and when else might he have the chance to discover the truth? He hesitated; then, resolved that he must know if she were willing to tell him, lowered the paper. “Miss Bennet?”
She gave a single, startled blink, then turned to him, putting on a smile. It was polite, and quite false, and he recognised it as the one with which she had been wont to greet him in Hertfordshire. “Yes?”
He groped for words. “Please, tell me if... if you do not wish to have this conversation. But I should very much wish to understand, if you will do me that favour. Your sister—she was truly... attached to my friend?”
There came that fractional flattening of the lips again, there and gone in the twinkling of an eye.
Too late, he was learning to understand her.
She was silent for a long moment before she replied with cool deliberation, “I will not break my sister’s confidence for anyone, but I will tell you what everyone in Meryton knows, if you will accept that. ”
“I will accept anything you choose to share,” he said earnestly.
“Here are two facts you might have from any of my neighbours, then: first, my sister has always been entirely frank on one subject, and that is that she will not marry for anything but deep and abiding love. Second, when Mr Bingley failed to return as he said he would, she was so downcast that all could see it. Make of that what you will.”
“I see,” he said, heart sinking. Elizabeth must know her sister’s feelings better than any other, and she was nothing if not honest. “You believe that had my friend proposed and your sister had not thought her own affections to be true and lasting, she would have refused, despite all the prudential reasons to accept?”
“I do believe that, yes. Jane is easy and agreeable, always seeking to ensure the happiness of those about her, but she is not without resolve. When she knows herself to be right, she is immovable. I cannot imagine that anything would induce her to place herself or Mr Bingley in a marriage of unequal or insufficient affection.” Her gaze was sharp and challenging, as though she expected him to argue.
“Then I am very sorry I did not see it and advised my friend that I did not believe his affections were returned. Had I understood then that she cared for him, I should have told him that rather than the opposite, or declined to speak on the matter at all.” Her brows rose with surprise as he made this admission and—hoping to forestall the just anger which must follow—he swiftly added, “Do you think matters might yet be repaired between them? I am perfectly willing to inform him that my belief in her indifference was mistaken.”
Bingley had not been quite the same since leaving Netherfield. Until today, Darcy had thought his melancholy the unfortunate price of avoiding a marriage that would not make him happy, but now it seemed entirely without purpose.
Elizabeth frowned and thought, her gaze directed absently to the window, where the rain dropped a curtain against the world.
“I hardly know. In her last letter, she said that she has at last learnt not to trust the compliments of amiable young men, but that was in reference to the portion of Miss Bingley’s leave-taking note which suggested that his true interest lay in another direction.
My sister has dwelt upon that claim too much, I fear, but if she were to learn that is a fiction, she might be willing to hope again.
I have tried to convince her that it cannot be true, but even now she does not believe that Miss Bingley would tell an outright lie, much less commit it to paper. ”
He was not at all surprised that Miss Bingley would use the suggestion of another attachment to dash Miss Bennet’s hopes, even in the absence of any hint of such a thing. Her manipulative tendencies had been apparent to him almost from the first moment of their meeting.
“Bingley was not, and is not, at all enamoured of any other lady, unless matters have undergone a revolution since I left town.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Even had I not been so suspicious of Miss Bingley’s motives, I should not have thought you would allow anyone, even your good friend, to call upon your sister before she is out in society.”
He felt the muscles of his neck and spine stiffen abruptly. “She claimed that Bingley is attached to my sister?” Seeing alarm flicker across her face, he moderated his tone. “I beg your pardon; my anger is not at all directed at you. Did Miss Bingley name my sister in her letter to yours?”
“She did,” Elizabeth responded, eyeing him a bit warily still.
Then she seemed to decide that she might be open with him on this subject and continued in an easier manner.
“I do not recall the exact phrases she used, but her meaning was quite clear. She praised your sister’s beauty and accomplishments, said that Mr Bingley admired her greatly, and baldly stated that she and Mrs Hurst entertain the hope that Miss Darcy will be their sister in future.
She said also that both families wished for the connexion the match would bring. ”
An offended breath hissed through his teeth. “If that letter were to fall into other hands, my sister’s reputation might be damaged.”
“It is safe,” she assured him. “It rests in Jane’s travelling desk, which she keeps locked, and there is no one in my uncle’s home who would go through it in any case.
I will be there in London with her for a time before returning to Longbourn, and I could ask her to burn it for Miss Darcy’s sake then, if she has not already done so for her own. ”
“I thank you,” he said, struggling to master his temper.
“That Miss Bingley should dare to record such things about my sister... but I cannot do anything about it at present, although I shall be relating this to Bingley when next I see him. You may tell your sister that you have it directly from me that there is no attachment whatsoever between my friend and my sister, if you like. I would not allow any hint of such a thing until she was older, and in any case, I do not believe they would suit. My sister is far too shy for such a gregarious man; your sister is reticent, it is true, but comfortable in society and not at all averse to meeting new people, from my observations.”
“You have the right of it there,” she allowed. “Thank you, I shall tell her that if it seems wise to do so.”
“And I shall tell him... well, I hardly know what I shall say, but I am determined to make him understand that I have entirely changed my opinion about your sister’s feelings.”
She looked thoughtful for a moment, then suggested, “You have been friends for some time, have you not? You know how he is best addressed. And I do not think he would disbelieve an abbreviated version of the truth—you might tell him we quarrelled and I castigated you with taking Mr Bingley away and wounding Jane thereby.”
“He would believe that indeed,” Darcy agreed wryly.
“He often teased me, while we were in Hertfordshire, that you and I could turn the colour of the draperies into a debate. But will Miss Bennet be in London much longer? Fitzwilliam and I had planned to depart on Monday; if you will share your uncle’s direction and she will be there, Bingley may wish to call. ”
“I am for London a week from tomorrow and expect to stay there for two or three weeks before Jane and I return to Longbourn together.” She hesitated for a moment, then added, “I presume Mr Bingley’s sisters never informed him that they called upon Jane at my uncle’s house?”
“They did not,” he replied, resisting the urge to squirm with shame. He had known of that visit and played a part in concealing it from his friend. It was beneath him, and he ought not have considered it, much less done it.
“As I thought.” She smiled tightly and rose, walking to the escritoire by the window and making a short note, which she handed to him on her return.
He glanced at it.
Mr Edward Gardiner
No 29 Gracechurch Street
It was written in a pretty hand he longed to sit and admire. Instead, he folded it and tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket. “I thank you. Bingley shall know all at the first opportunity. Following that, of course, what happens will be in his hands, and your sister’s.”