Chapter Three
It would have surprised Elizabeth, and disappointed her, if she had known that following his loud declaration that she was too pretty to have a good character, the handsome Mr. Darcy had begun to hold a suspicion that she was in fact of a virtuous and admirable nature.
This unromantic notion was first suggested to Mr. Darcy by his own sense of justice.
He was a disappointed man. He knew he was likely to judge severely any woman whose look and manner enticed him, and he knew that was not fair.
Miss Elizabeth and Mary were both women with dark coloration, of less than average height, with enthusiastic and clever manners.
Mary’s tendency to flirtation, her quick wit, her delight in conversation, and her ability to look at Darcy with those wide dark eyes and suddenly take everything he said with complete seriousness—while yet finding a way to laugh about the matter—had drawn him to her.
That his mother had been keen for the match to occur, and that she was exceedingly rich and lovely, had in no way reduced the interest.
Yes, vanity had played its part.
Possessing Mary made Darcy’s friends even more envious of him than they had been before. And he knew that. And it had encouraged him to not think twice.
A fool.
Darcy had dismissed the signs that their characters were dissimilar. He had instead busied himself with enjoying the flutterings of stomach and heart which her piercing glances gave him.
Yes, Darcy had known enough to tell him that he should have feared to tread.
She made cleverly worded jokes about adulterers and drunkards.
She laughed at the misfortune of a servant dismissed for lewd behaviour.
She often spoke about how marriage was generally a mistake.
She spoke slightingly of religion, the church, the clergy, and even the Crown.
While sometimes she was governed by generous and concerned impulses, she also delighted in vicious jokes.
Mary seldom attended church.
Darcy wished to believe that he would not have married Mary if he had been more experienced and observant.
He had no reason to think that Miss Elizabeth Bennet had the combination of imprudence and lack of moral principle that had characterised Mary. It was Darcy’s duty, as a sensible and thinking man, to judge her upon her own merits and not upon the faults of his former wife.
The next time he saw Miss Elizabeth, the elder Miss Bennet was also present.
Miss Elizabeth closely attended her sister, hands always busy and with concern for the blind woman on her face.
She made sure that Miss Bennet was comfortable, she supplied her with cushions and food, and she surrounded her with persons happy to converse with her.
Miss Elizabeth jumped away from her own conversation to help Miss Bennet whenever her sister needed to be guided.
This sincere care for the unfortunate made it impossible for even Darcy’s present disinclination to like anyone or anything to defeat his better self. Miss Elizabeth seemed to be a very good sort of creature, and quite possibly better than the average in character.
Her determined friendliness towards Darcy’s own sister continued, and Miss Elizabeth coaxed Georgiana into the circle around Miss Bennet. He watched the smiling and lively yet soft way that Miss Elizabeth drew Georgiana out of the stammering silences to which she was prone.
By the time the evening was half over, Darcy entertained warm feelings of gratitude towards Miss Elizabeth. As his pique dissipated, he forgot that he must instinctively scorn every pretty girl.
Darcy also noticed that Bingley found Jane Bennet to be an interesting figure from how he quickly inserted himself into the conversation around the girl.
Bingley made the group laugh, and Miss Bennet regularly turned her cloudy eyes towards his friend with a smile that made her lovely despite the deep pox marks over her face.
It was a terrible misfortune for the Bennet family that the poor girl was blind.
Darcy did not know this, but every matron in the room was disappointed—Mrs. Bennet included—when Bingley spent the better portion of the evening in conversation with Miss Bennet.
Mrs. Bennet’s disappointment came because she had wholly ceased thinking of her eldest daughter as a marriageable being.
There might be some unsuitable person who might take a scarred and blind wife, but no sought-after man, no member of that delightful species who occupied such a large place in Mrs. Bennet’s heart and hopes, no single gentleman of large fortune, could ever fall in love with someone who had suffered the way that Jane had.
Thus Mrs. Bennet’s chief thought when she saw Mr. Bingley pay attention to her oldest daughter was that he did not pay attention to Elizabeth, upon whom her hopes for one of the girls making an exceptional marriage chiefly rested.
She likewise thought nothing of the attention that Mr. Darcy paid to Elizabeth.
This second matter was excusable.
Mr. Darcy chiefly looked at Elizabeth with a deep frown. He did not approach close enough to listen to her conversation, and it is likely that Mrs. Bennet thought that he was paying attention to his sister and not her daughter.
While the neighbourhood would have, in general, been eager to see which of their daughters Mr. Darcy might turn towards, his behaviour of declaring that the partners he had danced with were ugly, and that he would show no kindness towards Elizabeth Bennet because he despised pretty women, had convinced all that he was a disagreeable, unpleasant man, above being pleased, and that it would be no kindness to a soul to wish his attentions upon them.
In the big coach and four on the way home, Georgiana was full of conversation about Miss Elizabeth and Miss Bennet.
Each delighted her. Miss Bennet was all that was kind, all that was sweet, and all that was lovely in Georgiana’s eyes.
“It is easy as one speaks to her to forget that she cannot see. Her eyes are clouded, but the way she addresses a person—she speaks in such a way as to make me believe that I am better, kinder, nicer than I am.”
“You are without reproach,” Darcy said in reply. “There is nothing wanting in your character.”
Georgiana laughed. “You may say that. I have flaws! I am too quiet, and I sometimes think mean thoughts about people. Miss Elizabeth does too. She said so.”
“I never think mean thoughts about anyone!” Bingley exclaimed. “Not unless I absolutely must, and even then I hate the necessity.”
“I do not believe that is a virtue,” Darcy said. “To think well of everyone suggests a lack of discernment and failure of judgment. I am glad that whatever my flaws, many though they are, a belief in the universal goodness of mankind does not rank amongst their number.”
This statement of ill mood went unchallenged, though Bingley frowned in some concern at his friend.
Mr. Bingley was deeply concerned for Darcy.
He had not seen his dear friend since the death of his wife.
Immediately he had noted that Darcy was thinner, quieter, and with a burning inside that pushed him into flashes of open anger and great irritability. Darcy never fully lost his temper, and that only made Bingley more concerned that he could perceive any such emotion.
Darcy only appeared easy and happy in the presence of his daughter, and a little bit with his sister.
Otherwise, he was quiet to the point of rudeness, refused to engage in polite conversation with Bingley’s sisters, and acted so much like a bear that Caroline was on the verge of abandoning her marital aspirations towards him.
But what else could be expected?
Within the course of a few months, Mr. Darcy had lost his mother to the natural consequences of age and illness, and then his wife in a wholly unexpected accident. Only a strange man indeed would not be deeply affected.
The previous Season, Mr. Bingley had perceived that Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were not on good terms, but Darcy was close about the matter. He was generally close. He did not complain about his wife, not even to his dearest friends.
The discord was obvious to one who knew Darcy as well as Bingley.
He had wondered whether there was some way to achieve a reconciliation, but when he had attempted to broach the subject with Darcy, his friend had pretended that nothing was amiss.
So, alas, the lovely Mrs. Darcy and the handsome Mr. Darcy rarely appeared together, and they pursued their entertainments separately.
Darcy had still taken the sudden and tragic death of his wife severely. Bingley’s friend thought deeply, felt deeply, and had a profound sense of duty and a deep kindness towards those who needed his aid.
Thus, Bingley knew his own duty: he must be cheerful, talkative, and eager to bring Darcy into company. He would distract his friend from his melancholy until he began to forget and until time repaired his damaged spirits.
Making the acquaintance of Miss Bennet delighted Bingley, but he had no thoughts of flirtation.
Matters between men and women were arranged by the fundamental rules of society.
Pretty girls were presented by their matron mothers or aunts at balls for the inspection of such gentlemen as Mr. Bingley—he would marry one of them someday, but only when he found one whose conversation and looks he particularly liked.
His father had always told him that when he married, he must marry to please his heart, and that he should be in no hurry to wed.
It took time to know a woman well enough to discover whether it would be wise to pair one’s life with hers.
Above all, his father had insisted to Bingley, he must be certain of her heart and her character and not merely his own.