Posted on Tuesday, 25 April 2006
Elizabeth Bennet was not terribly excited. Upon arriving to Hunsford to stay with her friend Charlotte, who had married her rather obnoxious little cousin, the parson, she had visited Lady Catherine at her grand estate of Rosings. Elizabeth had actually looked forward to the visit with some interest - if even a quarter of what her cousin had told her about the great lady were true, then she was a self-centred busybody of the highest degree. Elizabeth was diverted by such eccentricities so she stored up all Lady Catherine’s inquisitive and uncivil remarks and advice to share with her father upon her return home.
But this is not what left her in such a state of seething annoyance. She discovered that a disagreeable gentleman, in fact the very last man in the world that she wished ever to see, was soon to be visiting Rosings.
Mr Darcy was this man. He was Lady Catherine’s nephew - betrothed to her sickly daughter - and a great favourite of the aunt. But Elizabeth thoroughly despised him. He had taken no pains to make himself liked in Hertfordshire when he had stayed at the home of his friend, not three miles from Longbourn.
Longbourn was the estate owned by Elizabeth’s father, a country gentleman of respectable gentility, even though he had allowed the farmyard to overrun his estate. Elizabeth wasn’t sure which aspect of her lovely home displeased the haughty Mr Darcy the most, the dung heaps in what might have been a prettyish sort of wilderness beside her house, the duck ponds where the rose garden ought to have been, or the pigs that roamed the house like pack of spaniels.
Whatever the case he turned his nose up at her and she at him. Though they had danced one time at the Netherfield ball. Elizabeth still wasn’t sure what that had been about. The room had spun around in a most unusual way and it had seemed as if there were no one else but the two of them, then suddenly it was back to the normal boisterousness of a country ball. Actually, it was almost equivalent to a barn dance or a gathering at a tavern, and Mr Bingley’s sister had been very out of place in her London finery. Well, supposedly it was London finery, but Elizabeth swore to herself that Caroline’s ladies’ maid had forgotten to put her dress on over top of her shift.
That, however was all behind her. She and her father had had a good giggle about everything. Then her mother had encouraged Mr Collins to offer for her - but she’d managed to fob him off, only for Charlotte to fall prey to his lure. And then her friendship with Charlotte had almost come to an end when she had pleaded with her not to make such a terrible mistake as to marry a fool in exchange for a secure future.
She would never forget Charlotte’s words: “Don’t judge me!” Well, she couldn’t help but judge her friend. She’d thought she was making the worst mistake in her life. Oh - she didn’t expect Charlotte to stick to the same ideals as herself. She would marry for only the deepest love. But really, there were limits! Mr Collins was an inept sycophant.
However, now she saw how Charlotte managed her husband with great skill, and set him about following every one of Lady Catherine’s suggestions for the improvement of her home. When he was not sermon making, or pandering to the great lady herself, he was putting shelves in all the closets and minding numerous hives of bees. Charlotte said that he was so tired by the end of each day that he slept like a log. Elizabeth could well see the benefits of that.
When Mr Darcy finally arrived to the neighbourhood, he came to visit the parsonage with his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. The colonel was not a handsome man, like Mr Darcy, but what he lacked in looks he more than made up for in address. Elizabeth soon found him to be the most charming gentleman of her acquaintance. Even more charming than Mr Wickham, who was quite irresistible with his uniform, blue eyes, and long blond hair swept back and tied with a matching blue ribbon.
A few evenings later they were invited to Rosings after dinner. Elizabeth was quite pleased at the prospect of meeting the colonel again, and felt his company was worth putting up with Mr Darcy’s presence and his penetrating gazes.
“Why does your cousin stare at me so?” she asked the colonel as she took her seat at the pianoforte.
“I should think it obvious, Miss Bennet,” he responded. “You only need look in a mirror to get your answer.”
“You are very much mistaken,” she laughed. “Mr Darcy hardly even finds me tolerable!”
“More fool he,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. “What will you play? Shall I turn your pages for you?”
Elizabeth soon discovered that the colonel turned pages in a way no other gentleman of her acquaintance ever had before. Even though he was very adept she could not help but fluff and slur her way through the more difficult passages, but rarely had piano playing afforded her so much pleasure. Lady Catherine, however, found much to complain about in the quality of the music.
“Miss Bennet would not play so very ill,” she announced, “if she practised more.”
“Indeed,” said the colonel to Elizabeth. “I am at your service to help you practice night or day.”
“But when you help,” said Elizabeth pertly, “my playing only suffers.”
“But the advantages more than outweigh the disadvantages, don’t you agree?”
As Mr Darcy approached the piano, Elizabeth adjusted her skirts and smirked at him. “Do you think coming here in all this state will intimidate me?” she asked.
“That was not my first intention,” replied Darcy. “I just thought my cousin and you appeared to be enjoying yourselves immensely and thought joining you would be more fun than listening to my aunt’s drivel.”
“Have you ever heard the expression two’s company, Darce?” asked the colonel.
“I’m rather partial to crowds,” said Darcy with a smirk.
Elizabeth sputtered. “Partial to crowds? Colonel - have you ever seen how your cousin acts in large gatherings?”
“I can well imagine.” said the colonel. “Stands around propping up the walls or staring out the windows twiddling his pinkie ring?”
“Well, there’s that, but I was thinking more in line of his lack of social skills. He sat close to Mrs Long for half an hour without speaking to her once.”
“I nodded my head,” said Darcy defensively.
“In answer to her question - you never addressed one remark to her.”
“I... do not have the talent of conversing easily with people I have never met before.”
“Perhaps you should take your aunt's advice and practice?”
“Her advice was to you - and referred to music. I am a true proficient.”
“You play the piano?”
“Well, yes - but I never perform for strangers.”
The evening continued on in much the same way. Mr Darcy was as obnoxious as ever. The colonel took every opportunity to provide Elizabeth with stimulating company whenever they could manage a private tete-a-tete. And so the weeks rambled on. There were visits to Rosings and visits to the parsonage and walks in the park where Elizabeth met both gentlemen, sometimes together, sometimes alone.
One day Elizabeth found her way to a Greek folly - a sort of summer house set back upon the grounds of Rosings. She’d never known of its existence prior to that day. Just as she happened upon it, the blue sky turned thunderous, and the heavens opened up. There was such a deluge of rain that soon the folly resembled an island. Small woodland creatures began scrambling aboard. Elizabeth worried for a moment that this was the second Noah’s ark - with Noah nowhere in sight, and no one to help her populate the world forty days hence. She heard a loud splashing and saw someone dog-paddling up to the railing.
It was Mr Darcy. He pulled himself aboard and sat to catch his breath for a few moments. He was impeccably dressed as usual, but completely soaked. Of course, in full Regency attire this did not show his physique to any better advantage than usual. Elizabeth had not escaped getting wet either, but female Regency attire reacted quite differently to a wetting than the male. The sight must have pushed Darcy to point non plus.
“I love you,” he blurted out. “ Most ardently. Please do me the honour of accepting my hand.”
She stared at him, open mouthed. “How incredibly eloquent.”
“Is this your reply?”
“Does it sound like one?”
“Are you...are you laughing at me?”
“Sir, I am not. I’m just too flabbergasted to think straight. Did I hear you correctly or am I delusional. Did you just ask me to marry you?”
“That is what accepting one’s hand is generally all about. But if you’d accept my hand without marriage, I guess I wouldn’t complain.”
“Well,” pondered Elizabeth, “I accepted your cousin’s without marriage the other day . . . but, no. You see, it would be most inconvenient because I have sworn to loathe you for all eternity.”
“Are you rejecting me?”
“I'm sure that the feelings which, as you've told me have hindered your regard, will help you in overcoming it.”
“What feelings are you talking about - all I said was I love you - ardently. I never told you all that other stuff about our inequality, how much better I am than you, how uncouth the rest of your family is, and how I struggled against my reason and my will before I decided to follow my passion and give in to my overwhelming desire for you. It would have been idiotic to propose like that.”
“I see your point,” said Elizabeth. “And if all I were concerned about was not dying an old maid I’d jump at your wealth and marry you despite my loathing. But, as I’ve said countless times, I’ll only marry for the deepest love.”
“Might I ask why, with so little endeavour at civility, I am thus repulsed?”
Lizzy rolled her eyes. Was this guy dim or what? She’d just spelled it out. “I . . . do . . . not . . . love . . . you.”
Well, sometimes when a gentleman is told no in no uncertain terms, he wishes the lady all the best in her health and happiness and then wanders away to attempt to improve himself and eventually maybe win that lady’s respect, if not her love. But Mr Darcy was extremely wet, and cold, and exhausted, and the flood waters had not yet abated. And even more than that, he had been facing Elizabeth’s earthly attractions, made all the more obvious by the diaphanous wet material that draped them, and his emotions had been stirred. Now, the fire in her eyes as she made clear her lack of feelings for him pushed him beyond all endurance. He obviously had nothing to lose, so he threw caution to the winds.
As a sudden wind ( the one he had thrown caution to) pulled the roof off the summer house, Darcy swept Elizabeth into his arms and kissed her with all the pent up passion, all the unspent ardour, all the lost hope, and all his anguish and despair at her refusal, just for the chance to taste her tempting lips once before his existence became a meaningless void. It wasn’t long before the kiss became much more than that. The moment Elizabeth did not recoil, the moment her tongue darted in to join his, he learned to hope as he had not thought to hope again. It was a small step from hope to sheer enjoyment of the sensations that ran through his body. This was not a kiss to end all kisses - it was a kiss to start kisses forever more.
When she finally came up for breath, Elizabeth stared into his eyes and gasped, “Do these pleasing attentions proceed from the impulse of the moment, or are they the result of previous study?”
“Do you really expect me to answer that question at a time like this, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth?”
“What does it matter anyway?” she said, throwing her arms about his neck and snuggling even closer to him. “You have enchanted me body and soul!”
Little by little the flood waters subsided. As soon as the water was no higher than knee deep, Darcy escorted Elizabeth back to the parsonage.
Inside, Charlotte and Maria were peering out the window.
“But, I thought she didn't like him,” said Maria, as they watched the couple walking arm in arm, Elizabeth’s head resting on Darcy’s shoulder.
“So did I, so did we all. I guess we were wrong. Though I suspected Mr Darcy was attracted to Lizzy since even before the Netherfield ball.”
At the door Darcy stopped and looked into Elizabeth’s eyes. “So, it is agreed that we are to marry?”
“If that’s the only way I can accept your hand,” said Elizabeth, teasingly.
Darcy rested his head upon her forehead. “Until today I was afraid I was going to lose you to my cousin.”
Elizabeth forbore to mention that until an hour ago she had not been his to lose. “Do you have a cousin? I had completely forgot,” she whispered.
“He turned the pages while you played piano, if you recall.”
“Oh him. He is tolerable, I suppose, but you, Fitzwilliam, are a true proficient.”
Darcy smiled a deep, self satisfied smile and ran his finger along the curve of her cheek. “I had better go and tell my aunt. If you should hear any loud rumbles and see a big cloud of dust, it’s just the walls of Rosings tumbling down. I don’t think Anne will mind quite so much - there’s always plan B and the colonel to fall back on for her.”
Not a bad plan B, thought Elizabeth. But she kept those thoughts to herself. She could see all the definite advantages of her plan A. She must have been crazy to have refused him earlier. She had to admit that she had hated him then, but in situations such as this a bad memory was pardonable. And it was difficult to remember a time when she hadn’t loved the man to distraction. She wondered why kissing wasn’t a requisite part of the initial courting process rather than a celebratory treat when success had been achieved.
They jointly decided to treat themselves one more time on the doorstep, when they were fully out of view from the parlour window. Elizabeth watched as her Fitzwilliam walked off rather unsteadily, then attempted to compose herself before entering the house and joining Charlotte in her sitting room.
When Elizabeth entered the room, Charlotte cried, “Whatever have you done to poor Mr Darcy? He cannot keep a straight line.”
Elizabeth giggled. “I have no idea,” she said smugly, “but I think I am suffering from the same affliction!”
“He looks a rare fool!” said Maria with a grin.
“He’s been a fool, then so am I!” cried Elizabeth as she twirled about the room and threw herself upon the settee.
“We are all fools in love,” sighed Charlotte.