Chapter Nine #2
Odd.
As she pulled her coat and boots on, Elizabeth guessed that he meant to offer her some position, likely unusually well paid, maybe as Emily’s governess or Georgiana’s companion once her father was dead.
If so, that was most kind of him, though a little lowering.
She was, however, determined to sacrifice herself for her sister’s well-being in a more permanent and efficacious manner.
Mr. Collins followed them to the vestibule.
Mr. Darcy looked at the clergyman in the way he might study a rat that had found its way into the pantry.
Mr. Collins took Elizabeth to the side and said, “My loveliest cousin, though Lady Catherine is not presently on the best of terms with Mr. Darcy, he is still her beloved nephew and a man of great consequence in the world. Likely you will be in company with him on occasion when what I hope comes to pass—but let us speak no more upon that until the situation is proper. You must be as complaisant and obliging towards Mr. Darcy as if he were the king.”
Her cousin paused, giving Elizabeth time to rejoice and despair at the sentence which promised a future proposal from this gentleman more clearly than anything he had yet said directly.
“That is, you must satisfy Mr. Darcy in any particular befitting your station as a gentlewoman and that respects every moral and social duty you possess.”
Elizabeth lowered her head modestly. “Yes, I shall.”
Mr. Darcy had already donned his greatcoat and gone out. He was pacing back and forth in the garden when she stepped out. There was a great scowl upon his face.
The manner in which Mr. Collins had spoken suddenly gave Elizabeth a different idea: perhaps he meant to make her an offer to be his mistress.
That would match the way he looked at her, but she could not believe that a respectable gentleman would make any such offer to a woman whom he had allowed his small child and his sixteen-year-old sister to become dear friends with.
They do say that he murdered his wife.
As Mr. Darcy paced, Elizabeth matched his step, but he did not begin the conversation. They made three turns about the garden in silence.
Elizabeth determined to speak at last and asked, “Mr. Darcy, what—”
He spoke at the same moment, saying, “Miss Elizabeth, I first—”
They both stopped and smiled at each other. Elizabeth gestured at him to continue.
“Miss Elizabeth, I first must ask whether you have entered into an engagement with Mr. Collins.”
What a beginning.
When Elizabeth did not answer, he added, “Bingley informed me that Miss Bennet thinks it is likely that he will make you such an offer.”
“I am surprised,” Elizabeth replied, her face heating, “to hear that my doings are discussed in such a way. I did not know that Jane was on such terms of intimacy with Mr. Bingley as to inform him of such speculations.”
“My question may seem an impertinence, and I apologise for that,” Mr. Darcy replied. “However, I assure you that I have a strong reason for wishing to know.”
Elizabeth’s insides turned to ice. “He has not.”
Mr. Darcy nodded slightly. His face became stiff. She could not read what emotion was in it.
“I believe he means to make me an offer,” she added, saying it quickly aloud to make it seem more real to herself. “And I mean to accept him if he does.”
“You wish to encourage him?” he asked.
“What choice do I have? Papa could die at any minute. Dr. Cliff said there is at best one chance in two that he will live out the week. What choice do I have?” she repeated.
“And you mean to do your duty? To care for Miss Bennet?”
“Yes!” A wave of sickness washed over Elizabeth. “Why must you ask me these questions? But yes, I shall do it. I only wish…”
“That Mr. Collins was less of a dullard,” Mr. Darcy finished for her.
“Lord! He is to be my husband. I give you no permission to insult him.”
They walked twice more back and forth in the garden, from the wall on one side to the trees on the other. Mr. Darcy’s face was like carven stone. She could not read his thoughts, but he was greatly perturbed.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he spoke at last. “I mean to make you an offer of marriage.”
“You mean to make me an offer of marriage!” Elizabeth replied in complete astonishment, and yet to part of her mind it made perfect sense.
“Yes. That is to say, will you give me your hand in marriage?”
Rather than joy, misery, or any comprehensible emotion, Elizabeth felt raw terror.
She had girded her mind to marry Mr. Collins, and now she was offered a different choice. A possibility that would either bring happiness or far greater grief than marriage to her cousin but which above all would be different.
And she had to choose now.
When Elizabeth did not reply immediately, Mr. Darcy said, “I see you are surprised.”
“I had no notion—no, that is not wholly true. But I had no idea that you might make such an offer. You have in general held yourself aloof, and we have rarely spoken at any great length, except that time at Netherfield. That you could be in love with me seems—”
“I am not. I do not mean to ever be in love again. But despite that, I must marry again. Emily requires a mother, and I must have an heir, and the sooner he is created, the better it will be. Despite my misgivings, you are a worthy person who will make a good mother and a good wife.”
“I see.” Despite it being utterly stupid, a pain cut through Elizabeth’s stomach at this unhesitating declaration that he did not love her.
“I am determined,” he continued, “to give you no happy illusions. I do not wish there to be any basis on which you can accuse me of having promised you one kind of marriage when you have received another. I will not offer false coin for true return. What I said at Netherfield is the truth. I am a cold man. You cannot expect me to have unending warmth of heart, unchangeable affection despite your own mutable nature, or that fondness for weakness that will make me never think ill of you, no matter how you behave. I cannot give you the flattering conversation that women naturally want. I shall enjoy your smiles, your cheerfulness, and your lively way of speaking, but I cannot act the gallant in return. And I will expect you, if you choose to become my wife, to always behave in an upright manner befitting our station and in your duties as a mother and a wife. But I do not believe that you can hope for any greater companionship or warmth of feeling from Mr. Collins. So far as I can perceive from conversation with him, his sole true affection is for my aunt. Despite my great deficiencies as a husband, my greater station and your affection for my daughter and sister must be inducements to prefer me over him. I do not love you, but I think we can become good friends. I believe even that would be impossible with such a man as Mr. Collins.”
“But—you must wish to marry a woman who has sympathy of character with you. We are most different. You are taciturn and full of judgment for those around you. I laugh fondly at their foibles while chattering endlessly.”
“You must decide for yourself. For my part, when I decided that I must marry again, I determined that I would not find another fashionable society lady who is toasted by all the ton. I wished to find a woman from a station in life decidedly inferior to my own. I hoped to find a bride who was nearly penniless, whose looks were plain, and who had no connections of note. At first I dismissed any idea of seeking your hand—you are too pretty, too eager for dancing and friends, and you have too great a consequence in this local society. Only your lack of fortune and connections match what I hoped for. But despite expecting you to display ill-nature and a weak character due to those deficiencies, I have constantly been impressed by your kindness, your cheerfulness, your determination to do what you ought, and your commitment to your duty. In this I have been surprised by you, and in it I have come to admire you.”
Elizabeth swallowed. So, he did admire her in those ways. That was a thing she could cling to. If she accepted him.
“As for other matters,” he continued, “you need have no concern about being thrust into such an unexpectedly high role. You learn quickly, and I know that you will take sensible advice from the servants upon matters of importance until you have been at the estate long enough to know when it is prudent and right to demand your own way. I have complete faith in you in this matter.”
“I thank you for that, sir.”
“Then I must ask you, what is your reply? Will you have me?”
Elizabeth hardly knew what to say. “Are you sure, Mr. Darcy? Are you sure this is what you wish to do? To marry without affection—that is a serious thing.”
“I have married once with affection, and it was a mistake with dreadful consequences to all involved. I desire to embark upon a different scheme. It is upon you that the decision rests.”
There was something about the gentleman’s manner that half suggested to her that he was not certain whether he hoped she would accept his offer or refuse it. That idea made her, oddly, feel warmer towards him.
“I swear, this was a wholly unexpected request,” Elizabeth said.
“When I imagined what you might say when you requested this private conference, the notion that you might wish to marry me did not cross my mind. Oh, I had once dreamed that I would only marry for the deepest affection. And you express no affection for me—you only say that you think I shall be a good mother and that you must have an heir. And, of course, I am penniless and from a station in life beneath your own. Oh, let me think. Let me think!”
“I have done you a great favour by making this offer.”