18. Thwarted and Remorseful
Thwarted and Remorseful
Darcy walked as far as the lane before his steps faltered and he felt himself reeling.
Had Elizabeth heard what he had said of his feelings?
Of his love? Had she understood his purpose?
Surely not! He was there to make an offer of marriage and had had no chance to form the words!
She had dismissed his half-made declaration only to question Bingley’s character, and by connexion, his own.
My ‘imprudent affections’.
Bewildered, his eyes stinging with an emotion he did not recognise, Darcy ran a hand through his hair.
She was too overwrought over Bingley to hear me out. I should be grateful, I suppose, that she did not fully comprehend my sentiments. He had never seen such fire in her eyes, such mercurial expression in a lady. Such passion. Even in her anger, she was like no one else.
He took a breath, and another, as his own anger turned to something closer to despair.
If he had the courage—or the foolish impulse—there was time, within the span of their visits to the neighbourhood, to speak again and make plain his intentions.
Not that she cared to hear them, he thought morosely, kicking at a rock.
Suddenly desperate for the seclusion of his rooms and a stiffening drink of the brandy Fitzwilliam had left there, he straightened his shoulders and moved with determination towards Rosings.
A public lane was no place to act as a mooncalf.
After slipping in through a servants’ door, he took a back staircase to his chamber, waving away his man’s attentions after he had assisted with Darcy’s boots and jacket.
He removed his waistcoat and tossed it on the bed before tearing at his neckcloth then throwing it aside once he had it undone.
He shook his head, ran his hands through his hair and over his face, tried to sit, then stood and stared out the south-facing window from which he could see the parsonage’s chimneys.
He could not see the house, but he knew it was there.
Knew Elizabeth was there. Perhaps her anger had abated and she now felt some share of his mortification.
If she does, the depths of our mutual regret are nothing to the shallowness of Bingley’s.
How can the man be so imprudent? To express his concern, no matter how earnest, so intimately to a maid, newly arrived and unknown to the other servants, where anyone in the house could see—and at least one had?
Elizabeth was perceptive and intelligent and had misread the situation.
What would a housemaid or footman have made of it?
Feckless idiot! Oh, how well Elizabeth understood Bingley, even if she had misunderstood his actions towards Nora.
Bingley, through his failure to control his sister, had ruined his prospects with the lady he professed to love, by blackening his reputation with her sister!
How Darcy admired Elizabeth’s actions. In separating Miss Bennet from a man she thought to be a rake—charming but unserious in his attentions at best, dangerous to her sister’s reputation at worst—she had done with Miss Bennet what he had nearly failed to accomplish with Georgiana.
Lord, but he admired Elizabeth’s strength and passionate defence of her sister.
Miss Bennet was a fortunate woman to have such a protector.
Darcy had not thought to enquire about the lady’s well-being.
He had been too shocked by Elizabeth’s dismissal of his avowal of affections and her accusations—mostly unfounded—against Bingley.
Bingley has a new angel, but what of Miss Bennet? If she is ignorant of the charge made against him, is there a chance she still pines for him?
Miss Bennet might not believe it, but she had made a fortunate escape. In that, at least, he and Elizabeth were in agreement.
Elizabeth sank back into the chair she had abandoned upon Mr Darcy’s departure.
Her mind swam as she tried to understand what she had done.
Mr Bingley was no rake—she had wrongly assailed his character—in her mind and to his friend!
The shame she felt upon realising her own mistaken impressions of an innocent conversation—one Mr Bingley had naturally wished to have in private—turned to guilt and then to what she saw as a larger truth.
Had I not seen Mr Bingley with the maid, Jane’s heart still would have been wounded. He still would have abandoned her.
Of equal astonishment was that Mr Darcy, a man so incapable of reading her feelings or properly expressing his own, recognised Jane’s worth and suitability! He thought her a good match for Mr Bingley, meaning he had not intended his friend would marry Miss Darcy.
Indeed, it was as Elizabeth had suspected. Mr Bingley’s purported interest in Miss Darcy was a lie, a cruel machination by Miss Bingley to ensure Jane would believe her hopes were in vain.
Spiteful, duplicitous thing—and a terribly false friend to dear Jane. How she would have suffered with such a bitter sister!
It mattered little now whether there had been true affection on either side. Jane was happy, her letters betraying no residual feelings for Mr Bingley, no regret over him. Nor did he regret Jane, apparently. He had not returned to Hertfordshire to call at Longbourn or ask for her direction in town.
Unlike Mr Darcy, who sought me out here to ensure my welfare and to tell me he loved me.
Elizabeth rose from the chair and stepped towards the windows, leaning her forehead against the glass as if to cool the fevered emotions that continued churning within her.
There was too much to think on. Recalling Mr Darcy’s impulsive appearance and wild declaration of affection overwhelmed her.
All the confusion she had felt over his contradictory character!
It seemed she was unable to judge any man correctly—or to refrain from speaking harshly to one who confessed deep affection for her.
Elizabeth had never truly argued with a man, not even with her father. If she had not been preoccupied with the issue of Mr Bingley, she could have listened to Mr Darcy, not shown him anger and disgust.
He stares not to find fault but because he admires me! He tells me he loves me, and I impugn his character.
Wretched as she felt, Elizabeth had little time to consider her behaviour, for she soon heard the clatter of carriage wheels on the road.
Mr Collins, Charlotte, and Maria were returning.
Her cousin would plague her with admonishments, Charlotte would fret over her health, and Maria would wish to enumerate all the dishes that had been served.
Wiping a tear from her cheek, Elizabeth realised how much she missed the soothingly silly chatter of her youngest sisters and went quickly to her room to await Maria’s soft and anticipatory knock on her door.
Charlotte, however, preceded her sister, coming only moments after Elizabeth had pulled on her nightgown and robe.
“Lizzy, are you well?” she asked, entering with a tea tray and worried expression. “Are you lost in the stars?”
Elizabeth sat on the bed before taking the cup her friend proffered. “It will not surprise you that I am.”
Charlotte took the chair next to the bed and wrinkled her nose. “I shall sit here. I do not wish the redolent air of burned trout and oily white sauce to come too close while you enjoy your oolong.”
Laughing, Elizabeth shook her head. “I cannot smell any of your lovely dinner, although the soup you left for me may have been more satisfying. There is some left, if you are hungry.”
“Oh, I am not hungry. Regardless of a dish’s taste or form, Lady Catherine and Mr Collins are zealous in ensuring we all eat healthy portions.
It is fortunate Maria and I are accustomed to sauces being used by our mama’s cook to conceal excessively roasted meats and vegetables.
At least one of Lady Catherine’s nephews appears to have been similarly conditioned by his meals in the army. ”
Elizabeth felt Charlotte’s gaze burning into her but kept her eyes on her tea. “I do not recall the pheasant or creamed potatoes we dined on at Rosings as being anything but pleasant.”
“We dined promptly at six on that day.” Charlotte’s voice took on a teasing quality. “This evening, our dinner was delayed when Mr Darcy failed to join us. He disappeared from Rosings’s drawing room shortly before we were to dine, and Lady Catherine sent two footmen to search the house for him.”
Elizabeth could only shake her head, unable to speak. She lifted the cup to her lips.
“You will not guess where he was found.”
The tea burned her throat. Coughing, she set it on the bedside table. “Where?”
Charlotte’s voice grew softer. “He was not found. He disappeared from the house and was seen re-entering it only moments before our departure.”
“Was he—is he well? Does anyone know where he went?”
“I suspect I do… Mr Darcy is the only gentleman of my acquaintance in Kent who wears a cologne with the scent of bergamot.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Charlotte—”
“Mr Collins and Maria have no idea,” Charlotte assured her. “It was fortunate you encouraged Sarah to visit her mother.”
Yes, Elizabeth had allowed the girl to walk to her mother’s house a mile away, but it had not been a scheme to allow for a secret meeting with Mr Darcy!
Charlotte smoothed her pale blue skirts.
Elizabeth recognised the gown as one her friend had worn to many of the Meryton assemblies, and she wondered briefly whether Charlotte had laughed or danced since her wedding.
She was, in essentials, still the wry, intelligent, warm-hearted friend Elizabeth remembered, but she was now a wife.
Mrs Collins owed her loyalty to Mr Collins.
Elizabeth could not speak to her of what had passed between herself and Mr Darcy.
“Lizzy, was Mr Darcy here?”
She frowned, making sure to display her own dismayed surprise at the call. “Briefly, very briefly. I had encountered him and Colonel Fitzwilliam earlier on my walk, and he worried their company had caused my headache.”
“That is all?”
Elizabeth nodded and turned away, unable to bear the scrutiny in her friend’s doubtful expression. “I am a little tired,” she murmured. “Thank you for the tea. Please tell Maria I shall be an eager audience tomorrow for her account of the evening.”
Charlotte closed the door as she departed, leaving Elizabeth in quiet contemplation on the bed.
There she remained, lying awake for several hours, shamed by her evasions and attempting to sort her thoughts and understanding of Mr Darcy.
He came to the parsonage concerned for my welfare because I was unwell.
I did not prevaricate, other than on the content and duration of his call.
Elizabeth! He came to declare his admiration for you! To tell you that his feelings could not be suppressed. What did that mean? Love? Desire?
It was unthinkable, truly, that he should feel so! But he had declaimed it with such intensity and had neglected his aunt to come tell her. And I told him his words were unwanted and exposed myself as a fool. I misjudged his friend and have misjudged him as well.
Mr Darcy had been discreet, upright, and restrained in feeling—until the moment he burst into the parsonage to tell her of his affections for her!
Which she had dismissed as imprudent and unwanted in order to level accusations at his character!
Mr Darcy had emerged as a true gentleman, quiet and reserved but protective of his friends, whether or not they deserved it.
Finally, her desire for sleep led her to extinguish the only candle still burning. However, it was some time before her desire became a reality, and sleep remained elusive throughout the night.