Posted on 2008-11-16

It was at his father's request that Fitzwilliam Darcy was making the long journey from Derbyshire into Cambridge. He was very reluctant to leave Pemberley at this time, for it was becoming slowly evident to him that his father was not recovering from his latest bout of illness. Over the last few months Darcy had virtually completed the process that had started a few years ago, of gradually taking over his father's responsibilities in managing the great estate, and though he still consulted his father on matters he considered to be of grave importance he was starting to worry that his father had barely the energy or the patience to give him any meaningful counsel. Georgiana, at twelve too young to understand the full consequences of her father's condition, had been initially delighted to have her father so often at home in the family quarters, but now even her cheerful enthusiasm was beginning to weary their ailing father, and Georgiana's brightness, too must ebb with his withdrawal.

At such a time Darcy was anxious to remain, to bear as much of the burden he could of the two people dearest to him in all the world, but the master of Pemberley had duties in the world without as well. The living at Lambton had fallen vacant, and Mr. Darcy, the elder, had asked his son to seek the counsel of Dr. Arnold, a dear friend of his in whose care Darcy himself had been situated as a student at Cambridge. Though Darcy was not eager to make this journey, and had suggested more than once that the necessary advice could be sought via correspondence with his beloved former tutor, his father had been insistent, even querulous, and in this instance he that thought it wise to relent. For one thing, the thought had crossed his mind that his father might seek to award the appointment to his one-time favourite, Wickham, who was already named in his father's will as the eventual recipient of the neighboring, though smaller, living of Kympton.

Yet Darcy was not altogether unhappy to find himself back in his old familiar haunts at Cambridge. He visited his college, and was sentimental enough to call the porter and ask to revisit the rooms he had kept there, where he made the acquaintance of the younger man now occupying them. Mr. Charles Bingley too was from the north, and seemed delighted to make his acquaintance. Darcy, normally terse in unfamiliar company, found himself warming to this engaging young man, and surprised himself by expressing a desire to renew the acquaintance at some later date when they should both happen to be in town.

For dinner he joined Dr. Arnold in his rooms, where he discussed his father's request. Dr. Arnold was very happy to oblige, and over dinner he suggested the names of a number of men who were seeking such preferment, most of whom had taken orders and obtained curacies some time prior.

After dinner, as they lingered over coffee, Dr. Arnold seemed to hesitate before suggesting to Darcy, "While we are on the subject, there is a young man here that I should like you to meet. I cannot say that you will find him to be a suitable candidate, nor has he expressed any interest in such preferment, but I think you ought to meet him all the same."

"I should certainly be happy to meet with any friend of yours, Doctor, but I should like to know why you hesitate to recommend him."

Dr. Arnold paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts before responding.

"Bennet is a remarkable young man; I have no hesitation on account of his intellect or character. Indeed those are the reasons I would recommend him heartily over the men whom I have just named. They are in no way deficient, you understand, but Bennet is altogether their superior. He is full young, and he has not been ordained, nor do I know that he has any intention of seeking ordination. Indeed he has not shown any interest in the church as a career, nor in any other career. He seems to me to be wholly lacking in any ambition, though any college in Cambridge would gladly have him for a fellow. Nor is theology his only interest, but though he is as incisive a debater as any I have met he seems to have no intention of entering into public life. Indeed as far as I can tell his whole intention seems to be to fade into complete obscurity once he completes his tenure here at the university."

"That is a very strange recommendation."

"There is not another gentleman in this country to whom I would recommend him, should they come seeking a vicar."

"Yet you ask me to meet him."

"I have only ever tutored one other student of his caliber, and he sits before me today seeking a parson," the tutor answered instantly, before continuing, in a slower, more reflective manner. "I always knew that I would lose you to the world; I taught myself never to covet you for the university or the church, and I know that with the domain you command and the number of people who rely on you, your talents cannot be said to have been wasted. Yet you are something more than that. Lesser men than you have covered themselves and this country with glory. Do not tell me you know nothing of the desire for obscurity. Had you not had Pemberley, you might well have chosen my obscurity here at the university, or if you had wished for the comforts of a family you would have found it in the sort of country living you are now looking to bestow.

"But Bennet's case is altogether more peculiar. He gives me to understand that he has no expectations to speak of---there is no property that he might inherit, nor does his family intend him for any profession. There is an uncle, I gather, whose support has only gone so far as to help him find a scholarship here at the university, and who can do nothing further for him. And yet he threatens to disappear altogether into the wilderness once his thesis is submitted. Indeed it might have been submitted months ago, only I constantly drag him into further disputations so that he is forced to extend his stay here, so that I might persuade him to change his mind and choose some profession, it matters not which, at this point, if only for my peace of mind.

"But even that is not to the point. Whether you will gain a parson from the interview, I do not know, and it is not for me to speculate whether you will find a friend. You will meet an equal, in the most important sense of the word, I can promise you that much, if it is enough. And this is not to your purpose at all but to mine, that he will meet an equal. He has led a rather restrictive life, I gather, and I do not know if he has yet met someone who could hold his own against him. I rather hope that it might inspire him not to escape from the world, and when an old tutor sequestered in his library and withered before his time says that, you must believe that it would be a dire seclusion indeed, for one such as him."

Darcy had expected to meet a very young man, but he was altogether taken aback by the slight insubstantial figure he encountered in the shadows of the reading room. As he stepped into relief against the late afternoon light slanting in through the beveled windows, Darcy was struck by the delicate features of this wisp of a creature, with not even the hint of a beard. There was, perhaps, nothing extraordinary in the features, yet the face was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the expression of those dark eyes. They were very fine eyes, large and expressive, holding a wealth of promise.

"Mr. Bennet."

"Mr. Darcy."

As they completed the necessary formalities Darcy observed idly that the other's movements in bowing were a trifle awkward, and less graceful, certainly, than he would have expected. Bennet must have led a secluded life indeed, if he was so unpracticed in these common courtesies.

"I..."

They both started to speak at the same time, and paused; Darcy motioned for the younger man to continue.

"I am delighted to make the acquaintance of any friend of Dr. Arnold's, Mr. Darcy, but I do not wish for you to entertain any misconception as to the purpose of this interview. I must tell you very candidly that I am not a suitable candidate for preferment in the church."

"It is not for me to determine your choices, I grant you, but surely it is for me to decide whom I consider suitable to minister to the souls in my parish."

"I see. And do you mean to dispute with me as to my doctrinal positions without reference to my choices? You find me quite at leisure this afternoon, for I cannot deny that I enjoy a good debate."

"I must admit I have some familiarity with your doctrinal position. Dr. Arnold was so good as to share with me your thesis last night."

"I am surprised, in that case, that you should feel the need to speak to me at all. My positions are not ones fashionable in parish priests, I think, however they may be tolerated here."

"On the contrary, I was struck by the pleasure you take in expressing opinions that are not precisely your own."

Bennet smiled, archly. It was a sweet smile, boyish, though perhaps that wasn't quite the right word.

"You would teach Dr. Arnold to disbelieve every word I write?"

"Dr. Arnold may draw his own conclusions. He is, at any rate, more interested in your arguments than your beliefs."

"And what do you make of my arguments?"

"Why, that you are enamored of your own cleverness. It is not an unnatural fault in one so young, and in your case you have some reason. Do you reject the church because you have some other undertaking in mind?"

"Not as such, no. I have at present no thoughts of a career."

"Have you an independence, then?"

Bennet laughed, a disconcerting sound, so young and merry, and yet, lacking humor.

"No, Mr. Darcy, I believe I may safely say that I have no independence whatsoever."

"Why have you no ambition then? Do you not desire to make something of yourself in this world? A man of your abilities could go far."

"A man of my abilities? Perhaps, but I have found out the hard way that that path is not for me. Do not patronize me, Mr. Darcy. I do not possess your advantages. I know what it is to struggle to find my way in this world. I was not born a gentleman's son!"

His voice seemed to catch on that last word, and the low, almost hoarse tones quivered with some strange emotion. In the fading light he could almost be imagining this slight figure who turned away with unconscious grace to hide his bright eyes in the shadows.

"Your despair is misplaced, Mr. Bennet. The world is changing more quickly than you know, and those things, while far from insignificant, count less and less among those with abilities. You have had a gentleman's education, at any rate, and you have taken better advantage of it than most. Will you now allow yourself to waste it?"

"Is there not some advantage to be gained from my improved understanding and knowledge of the world?"

"Certainly, towards the improvement of your mind, if you have the luxury of cultivating your mind at your leisure."

"I know what you must think of me. Believe me when I say that I do not aspire to idleness. Nor do I wish to speak in riddles but I will not lie. It must be as I say. It is only that I have taken too long to realize it."

He moved again, almost unconsciously, to face the window. Darcy took a few steps closer, observing those pale hands touching the panes of glass. Fine, delicate hands, and so very small. Georgiana's were scarcely any larger. He looked again, more closely at the figure before him, the slender face framed by slightly unruly curls that seemed a bit out of place, the slight form, the trim waist, the subtle swell of the bosom? It was as though a kaleidoscope had shifted; he was seeing the same sight but his eyes were leading him to an altogether different conclusion. Bennet turned, and he saw that the expressive eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"You seem unwell. Is there nothing you can take for your present relief? A glass of wine -- shall I get you one, Miss Bennet?"

She looked up sharply at that, and attempted to leave, but his substantial form was blocking her path to the door, and he grabbed her wrist as she attempted to get around him, effectively preventing her escape.

"Please release me, Mr. Darcy. This is not proper. You must allow me to leave."

The voice was different now, still low, but with a clear, melodious tone, whose urgency was palpable. Yet his response was flippant.

"You were the one to grant me this interview, Miss Bennet. You are the one to have chosen a rather novel method of throwing yourself into the company of young men; surely you are able to live with the consequences."

"The circumstances are different now, Mr. Darcy. I do not insult your intelligence by attempting to deny what you have inferred. You must know that it is decidedly improper of you to detain me in this fashion. I am confident you are capable of behaving in a more gentlemanlike manner."

"But do I address a lady?"

"I said I was no gentleman's son, Mr. Darcy, but I am a gentleman's daughter. So far we are equal. But I was not aware that a gentleman's manners should deviate based on the quality of his company."

"Touché, Miss Bennet, though you are hardly in any position to be chastising me on my conduct at present. Under the circumstances I see no harm in extending our interview a little longer. Are you not concerned that should you escape through that door I might expose you?"

She looked up at him in some surprise.

"I expect nothing less. Why would you not expose me?"

"It is certainly not my first instinct, at least until I know what you are about. What should I gain by your exposure? It seems to me a great pity if your thesis is not completed. It is certainly a credible effort."

"I do not mean to be needlessly suspicious, but I must ask why you are offering such forbearance. Your attitude is certainly unexpected. You will not blame me, I hope for attempting to escape with some credit. I dare not contemplate the consequences if my escapade is traced back to my family."

"You have not thrown over your family, then? You cannot be here with their consent?"

"Not exactly, yet I do not believe that my father is wholly disappointed that one of his daughters is getting a gentleman's education. He is a man of quixotic parts, and I imagine he thinks it is easier to let me have my adventure and return than for him to act to restore me to my family."

"And that is all that brings you here, some grand adventure?"

"No, Mr. Darcy, it is not why I started upon this path. I had hoped to help my family. I was enamored, as you say, of my own cleverness. I had devised a sort of scheme, you see, to break the entail that governs my family's estate. It was utterly naïve of me, and I soon realized that it would not be so easy for me to impersonate a long lost cousin and attempt to defraud the chancery courts. Even if I were successful in breaking the entail, which was very doubtful, I should have lived in constant peril of exposure, especially if I had lived in any proximity to my family, which surely could not have been avoided. But by the time I realized the impossibility of this I was already here, bearing the name of the fictitious cousin who would have helped my father break the entail. And since, upon my running away, my father had already given out that I had been admitted to a young ladies' seminary, I saw no reason to interrupt my education. I thought it might be easiest to keep a low profile, earn my degree and disappear into obscurity."

"You are a remarkable creature. It would be impossible for you to remain obscure."

"I came very close. In another month or two I should have returned to my sisters, to netting purses and covering screens."

"Yet you are meant for more than that, surely. I have read your thesis."

"Thank you. I should tell you that I have read your own thesis as well. It was partly for that reason that I agreed to meet you, despite my reservations."

"And what did you think of my argument?"

"I think that you, unlike myself, would have been an asset to the church, and I imagine you run a very well ordered estate."

"You find me staid."

"Mr. Darcy, you are alone in a room with me, holding my hand without my consent, and espousing very radical views as to the role of women. I certainly do not find you staid. Besides, you have too caustic a sensibility for me to possibly consider you in such a light. From your writing I might have guessed that you were cautious, but as it is I find you to be very reckless indeed. I cannot imagine what you are about."

"My God, you are an engaging creature."

"Mr. Darcy, I beg you to release me. I meant what I said. You have found me in such a state in which there is very little you can say which can do either of us credit. You do not know me. You must be tremendously arrogant to find me engaging simply because I make some effort towards taking your likeness."

"I daresay your efforts do both of us credit. I may be arrogant, but I would have to be a fool not to recognize what a treasure you are."

"Had we met in a ballroom you should not have looked at me twice."

"When we meet in a ballroom, we shall see. In the meantime I shall be meditating what a very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow."

"Mr. Darcy, you are no sentimental fool. Your imagination does not jump from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment. Why do you say these things when nothing honorable can come of them? You admire my thesis; for that I thank you. As to the other compliment, I am all astonishment; you have not even seen me!"

"On the contrary, Miss Bennet, has anyone else seen what I have seen? How could you hope to marry someone who did not know you?"

"And now that you see I am a woman you concede that marriage is all I am fit for? You are not so very radical after all."

"You are determined to misunderstand me, I see. First you infer that I would make you dishonorable proposals, and now you imply that I diminish your abilities by suggesting that you ought to marry. I stand by my words. I should think it a great pity if you did not marry. I do not deprecate your talents by saying so; it is a very honorable vocation. There is nothing wrong in choosing a private life, as long as one has some sphere in which to exercise one's talents. In the right marriage, the right woman certainly has such opportunities. To be a mother, the mistress of an estate, is to influence the lives of a great many people. It is not so different from the lot of any gentleman worth the name."

"That is a very stirring defense of marriage, Mr. Darcy. I will certainly keep your words in mind should anyone happen to make me an offer."

She dropped an ironic courtesy, and made as if to leave. He held up the hand that he was still holding.

"Not so hasty, Miss Bennet."

"I rather think the haste is on your part, Mr. Darcy."

"Perhaps I am hasty, but I am not insincere. Shall we know each other better through idle chatter in a drawing room, or shall we discuss Aristotle in a ballroom?"

"I could never talk of books in a ballroom. Now despise me if you dare."

"Indeed I do not dare."

"Mr. Darcy, what do you want from me?"

"I thought that would be obvious, Miss Bennet."

"If you mean to be a gentleman, Mr. Darcy, your offer is not sound."

"I am neither a rake nor a fool, Miss Bennet."

"Do not force me to refuse you."

"Will you not give me a chance to plead my case?"

She smiled.

"If I give you a chance, will you release me now?"

"What have I promised away for this?"

"It is very simple; when you find me in a ballroom, Mr. Darcy, you may plead your case."

His eyes widened.

"An interesting challenge, but in that case, I believe I require a keepsake."

And quick as that, he gathered her to him and stole a quick kiss, barely more than a moth's touch. When he released her, she stared up at him with those wide shimmering eyes, the color high in her cheeks, her hand unconsciously reaching up to her mouth, then scurried out of the room abruptly.

He watched her go, smiling to himself. He wondered whether her decision was the right one, and whether he would go looking for her when he'd had a chance to think about it. But he was unable to imagine that he could be happy without her now that he knew such a woman existed.

As he left the room just moments after her he saw the hall porter lock the door after them, muttering, "Bloody fairies!"

Darcy shook his head in amused chagrin. Perhaps he did believe in fairies after all.

What else is left to say? Darcy returned to Pemberley, having engaged a competent and motivated but far from brilliant parson, who assisted him admirably in the trial ahead, as his father gradually slipped away from this world to the next. With all the responsibilities of his estate and his sister, he could not immediately go hunting for the enchanting creature whose bright eyes still haunted him, though he did at some point return to Cambridge and read the final draft of the thesis she had submitted. When he went to a ball in London he certainly scanned the room to seek her, and perhaps he was more than usually willing to accept engagements in the country, that he might explore neighborhoods not so well connected with London. Yet he could not search for her in earnest. He certainly did not believe that she had given him her true name.

He had made more than one friend in that brief trip to Cambridge, however, and it was through Bingley, of course, that he finally found himself thrown in company with Miss Bennet, nearly three years after that first eventful meeting. She was right in predicting that in a ballroom he would not know her, but he was equally correct in asserting that once he thought to look, he would be captivated by her eyes. That story you know already. But perhaps, with this beginning, it might have been a little shorter.