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Chapter 21 The Calm before the Storm
Morning found Darcy again waiting in the park for Elizabeth. He told himself he was walking because it was a lovely day to be outdoors but it was difficult to lie to his heart.
This time he did not have to wait for she was already there.
They stood there for some while, Elizabeth's face unreadable but it seemed she took no pleasure in seeing him.
"Miss Bennet," greeted he.
"Mr. Darcy."
"I hope this morning finds you well," he said for lack of anything else to say.
"I am quite well, thank you," she replied. Elizabeth continued to walk past him, so he turned and walked in the same direction. She glanced at him with raised eyebrows, made as if to say something but silenced and did not protest.
They walked in an awkward silence - Darcy was too confused and nervous as to what to say to the woman with whom he was in love with.
Racking his mind for something to say, Darcy said, "Are you enjoying your stay at Hunsford?"
She looked at him, as if trying to determine his thoughts.
"Yes I am. I have not seen my friend for some time, nor am I likely to see her after I leave. I doubt she will be leaving Kent for some time." The lady sighed. "She is now married and it seems married women have little time for visiting."
"And what is your opinion of Mr. and Mrs. Collins' happiness?"
She looked at him strangely.
He suddenly realised he knew very little about her. He knew her, but he did not know her.
"I mean, with your idea of marriage in general, is it a good match?"
"Did I not say, when you came to Hunsford, that it is a very good match for her?"
"Yes, but what is your opinion?"
"A marriage, where neither party can respect the other, it cannot be agreeable."
Darcy knew he held a great respect for her . . .
"A marriage which has love, respect and security is best. I believe Mr. and Mrs. Collins' situation has at least one of these."
Darcy imagined a marriage between them - would it have all that he wished?
"Mr. Darcy."
"Oh . . . yes, Miss Bennet?"
"We are at the gate outside the Parsonage."
"Of course."
He was quite unwilling to leave.
"Good day, sir," said Elizabeth. She curtsied and opened the gate.
He felt a pang of regret as she walked up the path.
"Farewell . . . Elizabeth," he whispered under his breath.
She was to far away to hear him.
He visited the Parsonage with Colonel Fitzwilliam frequently. He rarely spoke during these visits, only for propriety's sake rather than from any wish to talk.
One of the things he was worried about was did Elizabeth care at all for his cousin?
He watched the two carefully, laughing and talking amongst themselves. It took great strength of will not to violently protest every time they whispered to each other. He was envious of his cousin's ease in speaking to her.
Does she love him?
As time passed, Darcy became convinced that though Elizabeth certainly enjoyed the Colonel's company, she was not in love. Also, had not his cousin assured him that he had no plans in that direction? Richard Fitzwilliam needed a wife with fortune and Elizabeth did not have that.
With that matter concluded, he turned his mind back to the problem of should he or shouldn't he marry Elizabeth?
All the reasons why not were clear. All the reasons why he should were not so clear but much more powerful. Actually, it was only reason - love.
Darcy looked at her again. The way she smiled, the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed was enough to make him grip his chair tightly to retain his control.
He forced his eyes to move and as they searched the room, he realised Mrs. Collins was watching him.
Darcy knew Mrs. Collins was a observant, practical woman and he feared she had noticed his attentions to Elizabeth. What if she told Elizabeth of it?
God damn it, does she know what agony she is putting me through?
He lay awake most of the night trying to determine what to do.
Darcy had realised that he could not imagine his life without her. Whatever paths he imagined his life taking, he wanted with all his heart and soul to take those paths with Elizabeth at his side.
Then propose to her before you leave.
His heart froze with fear. To admit his love to himself was one thing - to say it aloud to the woman he loved was quite another. Never in his life had he exposed his innermost feelings to anyone or opened himself to hurt and ridicule. What if she said no? How much would that hurt?
Come now, why would she refuse you? No woman in her right mind could refuse you. There is no reason why she should not - in fact there is every reason in the world why she should.
That is very true . . . .
"Shall we leave tomorrow, cousin?" asked Colonel Fitzwilliam on Tuesday.
"No. Let us wait to Saturday, shall we?"
"Another delay? 'Tis rather unusual. Have you suddenly developed a fondness for Lady Catherine's company? and Anne? Or have you resigned yourself to matrimony and plan to make a proposal before we leave Kent?" he jested.
A proposal - How does he know I am planning to propose to Elizabeth? thought Darcy. Before he could return a sharp reply to his cousin, he realised Colonel Fitzwilliam was referring to Anne.
He cringed from the thought of telling Elizabeth exactly what he felt for her.
Darcy realised his cousin was looking at him strangely.
"I need time, Fitzwilliam."
The question, "Time for what?" was undoubtedly going through the Colonel's mind but Darcy left the house before his cousin could ask it.
He needed peace to think, which was impossible to find at Rosings with his aunt there, so he again the next morning went to the walk. It had the added bonus of meeting Elizabeth as well.
Darcy walked down the path at a fast pace, deep in thought.
What do I say in a proposal? Do I tell her how I love her, my struggles in overcoming my objections?
He wanted so much to ask her to marry him, and yet couldn't find the courage to do so.
Not knowing where he was going, he walked into Miss Bennet before he realised she was there.
"Oh! Miss Bennet, I do apologise," he said, half-bowing to cover his shock and feeling of pleasure when he had touched her. Though he knew such thoughts were scandalous, he did not reject them.
Elizabeth did not reply but bent down to retrieve her bonnet which had fallen to the ground. He also bent down and picked it up. He handed it to her and she accepted it with a nod of thanks.
They stood there for some minutes afterwards, just looking at each other. Darcy knew this was the time to speak, but the words would not come out.
"I seem to be meeting you quite often in the Park, Mr. Darcy," said Elizabeth finally.
"It is my aunt's property; I am able to come here whenever I please. Whoever stays at Rosings has leave to go wherever he or she wishes. Would you not like that?"
"I would. But I am not staying in Lady Catherine's house."
"That may change."
A light blush spread over her as he spoke. He could not read her expression, but she seemed slightly embarrassed. She smiled at him and said, "Whatever you mean I do not pretend to know. Besides, it is unlikely I shall be coming to Kent again."
"You may, sooner than you expect."
She did not reply to that.
Have I been too obvious? Surely she must know by now!
Elizabeth resumed walking, and Darcy unconsciously turned and walked with her. She stopped and looked at him.
"Do you plan on accompanying me to the gate again?"
He did not want to say yes in case his meaning was misinterpreted.
"No . . . not quite."
Apparently satisfied with this answer, she continued her walk. Darcy kept pace beside her, not close, but not far either.
They didn't speak for much of the walk - a few formalities but nothing further. Darcy was quite content with that arrangement - he was content with looking at the woman he hoped would be his wife.
On Friday afternoon, Colonel Fitzwilliam was about to leave for his annual tour of the park. Darcy was grateful for his absence as it gave him the peace to think.
You are leaving tomorrow. You cannot put off your departure any longer - you must ask her today!
Finally resolved on doing so, it only remained to figure out how to go about it.
Be honest with her. You are doing her a great favour, a great honour. Tell her you know that you are going against the wishes of your family and duty, but you don't care.
This is the most practical offer anyone has and will give her. It would be insane for her to say no to you. She should be honoured a man of your position is even thinking of matrimony to her.
You have thought over this carefully. You know what you are doing. You know that your proposal might seem rash, irresponsible, even juvenile, you know your family will be angry, that you will be frowned upon, that your social positions are very different. You have considered all these things and you find that your love for her is so overwhelming that all these objections are insignificant. Tell her all your objections so she will understand, tell her how much you admire and love her.
Darcy smiled to himself as he looked out the window towards Hunsford.
Now there was only the problem of getting Elizabeth alone to ask her.
He heard voices in the hall way. He looked out to see that the party from Hunsford had arrived. He searched for Elizabeth - maybe he could ask her to go for a walk outside.
Darcy did not see her. There was Mr. and Mrs. Collins, Miss Lucas and his cousin but no Elizabeth.
"There you are Darcy," said the Colonel. "Miss Bennet will not be joining us here tonight . . . "
Mr. Collins interrupted, "Yes, I am afraid, my dear sir, that my fair cousin has been taken ill with a headache and so has remained at my humble abode and she sends her regrets that she cannot join us this evening . . . "
Darcy did not hear any more of Mr. Collins' speech.
Elizabeth was at Hunsford - alone.
"Fitzwilliam," he said absently. "Make my apologies to Lady Catherine - I have a matter of business to attend to."
He turned, took his hat and walking stick and left the house before Fitzwilliam could ask where he was going.
Outside Rosings, Darcy took a deep breath, then set out for the Hunsford Parsonage, where Elizabeth Bennet was alone.
Chapter 22: Love, Hate And Pride And Prejudice
Darcy arrived at the door of the Hunsford Parsonage, his heart beating wildly. In a few moments he would look upon Elizabeth's face and tell her that he loved her. He would ask her for her hand in marriage. In his mind he imagined his aunt's fury, his cousin's surprise and Elizabeth's delight.
Before ringing the bell, he paused to check his appearance in the window. He looked at himself, took a deep breath, then rang the bell.
The door was opened by the maid. In a lowered voice he asked to see Elizabeth. The maid nodded then led him to a room.
"In here sir," said the maid. Darcy took no notice but walked into the room. The door shut behind him.
"Forgive me, I hope you are feeling better," said he automatically.
Elizabeth stood there and stared at him. Darcy did not look at her but went to the mantle then turned to face her.
"I thank you, I am," replied Elizabeth quietly. Darcy wondered if her headache had put her into a bad mood. But that did not matter - he had news that would no doubt lighten her spirits immensely.
Tell her.
The moment he told his tongue to move, it froze. His courage failed him.
He turned to her. She did not smile.
"Would you not sit down?" she continued.
Darcy heard her speak but the words did not register. In the end, she took her own advice and sat down on the chair beside the table.
He stared at the clock, trying to think of how to begin. He walked in an agitated manner around the room. To stop himself from lapping the room, he sat down uncomfortably on the edge of the chair, but no sooner than he had done so, he sprang up again and paced the room again. Pausing, he looked at her, panic rising slowly at her puzzled and impatient expression. Darcy drew breath to speak. Never in his whole life had he willfully admitted his most intimate feelings to anyone, and he was finding it extremely difficult to say what he had kept close to his heart for such a long time. His courage failed him and the moment passed without him saying a word. Nervously he twisted his ring.
The tense silence grew, if that were possible, more tense. Darcy stared at Elizabeth and stood in front of her.
Just say it!
Finally, adrenaline and tension forced him to blurt out,
"In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."
The moment the words were out of his mouth he felt a profound relief flood over him. He had kept his love inside him for so long and when he had finally said it, it felt very good.
After pausing for a moment, feeling very pleased with himself, he looked at the lady to whom he had declared his love to.
The lady herself was staring with an expression of total astonishment upon her fair countenance. She stared, coloured and was silent. This he considered sufficient encouragement, and he continued with his proposal.
"In declaring myself thus I am fully aware that I will be going expressly against the wishes of my family and friends and I hardly need add, my own better judgment. The relative situation of our families is such that any alliance between us must be regarded as a highly reprehensible situation."
Might as well let her know what she is in for in our marriage.
He paused for breath and did not look at her, concentrating on the words rather than their effect on Elizabeth.
"Indeed in a rational manner I cannot regard it such myself but it cannot be helped."
Darcy was now struggling for words. What else could he say apart from the clichéd,
"Almost from the earliest moments of our acquaintance I have come to feel for you a . . . . passionate . . . admiration and . . . regard which despite my struggles has overcome every rational objection and I beg you, most fervently to relieve my suffering and consent to be my wife."
He refused to say any more. If he had, it might give her the impression that she was coming into this marriage as an equal, instead of a sub-ordinate. He had said enough, and now all that remained was to wait for her agreement.
After a few moments silence, she spoke, quietly and calmly.
"In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned. It is natural that obligation should be felt, and if I could feel gratitude, I would now thank you. But I cannot - I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. I am sorry to have occasioned pain to any one. It has been most unconsciously done, however, and I hope will be of short duration. The feelings which, you tell me, have long prevented the acknowledgment of your regard, can have little difficulty in overcoming it after this explanation."
Darcy, who was leaning against the mantle-piece with his eyes fixed on her face, seemed to catch her words with no less resentment than surprise. Her words did not register; he did not at first comprehend them.
What?! How dare she - !
His complexion became pale with anger, and the disturbance of his mind was visible in every feature. He was struggling for the appearance of composure, and would not open his lips, till he believed himself to have attained it.
She cannot be serious! She cannot do this to me!
At length, in a voice of forced calmness, he said,
"And this is all the reply which I am to have the honour of expecting! I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little endeavour at civility, I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance."
"I might as well enquire," replied she, "why, with so evident a design of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character? Was not this some excuse for incivility, if I was uncivil?" Her voice began to rise. "But I have other provocations. You know I have. Had not my own feelings decided against you, had they been indifferent, or had they even been favourable, do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man, who has been the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?"
What on earth - ! How did she know about that?
Darcy changed colour; but the emotion was short, and he listened without attempting to interrupt her while she continued, though this decision was more from the shock the sudden knowledge of her immovable dislike of him produced.
"I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No motive can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted there. You dare not, you cannot deny that you have been the principal, if not the only means of dividing them from each other, of exposing one to the censure of the world for caprice and instability, the other to its derision for disappointed hopes, and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind."
He listened with an air which proved him wholly unmoved by any feeling of remorse. He even looked at her with a smile of affected incredulity. Why should he feel remorse for his actions? His separation of the two was necessary and he was actually proud of the fact that he had done it with so little fuss to anyone.
"Can you deny that you have done it?" she repeated.
"I have no wish to deny it. I did every thing in my power to separate my friend from your sister, or that I rejoice in my success. Towards him I have been kinder than towards myself."
I do not need to explain myself to you, foolish woman!
"But it is not merely this affair," she continued, "on which my dislike is founded. Long before it had taken place, my opinion of you was decided when I heard Mr. Wickham's story of your dealings with him."
WICKHAM?! What does he have to do with any of this?
"On this subject, what can you have to say? In what imaginary act of friendship can you here defend yourself? or under what misrepresentation, can you here impose upon others?"
"You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns," said Darcy in a less tranquil tone, and with a heightened colour.
No, this cannot be happening! First Georgiana, now Elizabeth has fallen under his spell!
"Who that knows what his misfortunes have been, can help feeling an interest in him?"
"His misfortunes!" repeated Darcy contemptuously; "yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed."
"And of your infliction," cried Elizabeth with energy. "You have reduced him to his present state of poverty, comparative poverty. You have withheld the advantages, which you must know to have been designed for him."
What is this nonsense?!
"You have deprived the best years of his life, of that independence which was no less his due than his desert. You have done all this! and yet you can treat the mention of his misfortunes with contempt and ridicule!"
He was shocked at hearing that she believed Wickham's account instead of his. Anger as he had felt only in Ramsgate last summer, flared up.
"And this," cried Darcy, as he walked with quick steps across the room, "is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which you hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully. My faults, according to this calculation, are heavy indeed!" Finally finding control of his emotions, he realised a reason for her rejection of him.
Her bitter accusations are made out of a resentment of my voicing the objections to a marriage with her.
A desire to lash out at the one who had caused hurt to him rose.
"But perhaps," added he, stopping in his walk, and turning towards her, "these offenses might have been overlooked, had not your pride been hurt by my honest confession of the scruples that had long prevented my forming any serious design." Standing above her he continued, "These bitter accusations might have been suppressed, had I with greater policy concealed my struggles, and flattered you into the belief of my being impelled by unqualified, unalloyed inclination - by reason, by reflection, by every thing. But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence. Nor am I ashamed of the feelings I related. They were natural and just. Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections? To congratulate myself on the hope of relations, whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?"
Elizabeth had turned away from him, but now she turned to face him.
"You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that the mode of your declaration affected me in any other way, than as it spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner."
Darcy started, stunned.
"You could not have made me the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it!"
The shocks were coming fast and thick. His mind reeled with every blow. He could not register what she had said - it was so impossible and unbelievable to him.
"From the very beginning, from the first moment I may almost say, of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form that ground-work of disapprobation, on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry."
Darcy winced with every harsh word. He could not believe it. In a space of a few minutes, his world had been turned upside down. Doubts about himself that he had never thought of before began to surface in his mind. Was her picture of him accurate?
The last man in the world whom she could ever marry.
The words hurt deeply.
His control of the situation (if he had ever had it) was lost. Humiliated, he resolved on leaving that very moment.
"You have said quite enough, madam," he said coldly, "I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness."
And with the shreds of his dignity that he still retained he curtly bowed and let himself out of the room, his mind in chaos and plagued by doubt.
Chapter 23: Telling the Truth
Darcy stormed out the Hunsford Parsonage, his mind reeling. The events of the last few minutes were too unbelievable to comprehend. A rejection! His proposal of marriage to Elizabeth had been rejected!! But that wasn't the only shock. More astonishing were Elizabeth's reasons for refusing him.
He felt a rush of anger at being humiliated by the woman he - no used to - love. As he walked towards Rosings, he thought over her words.
Was he proud and arrogant? Elizabeth was the sharpest lady he had ever met and it was worth at least considering her words. He reviewed his manner of proposal and winced. Upon reflection she seemed to describe him very well. Her words rang in his ears.
You are the last man in the world whom I could ever marry. Did you think any consideration would tempt me? Your arrogance, you conceit and your selfish disdain for the feelings of others. Darcy leapt up the steps to the house then slowed. My opinion of you was decided when I heard Mr. Wickham's story of your dealings with him.
"Well, at least in that I may defend myself," he muttered aloud. It was actually the only thing that he could find fault with. Everything else Elizabeth had said of him was looking fairly accurate.
Darcy winced when he remembered what he had said to her.
Did you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections? To congratulate myself on the hope of relations whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?
When one thought about it, if that was the way he had treated her during their acquaintance, perhaps her opinion of him wasn't so surprising. Darcy stood in the doorway, unwilling to go further where his relations were talking. But Elizabeth's last rebuke - oh that stung like nothing else she said did.
You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy. The mode of your declaration merely spared me the concern I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner.
But not everything she said was correct, he thought. She has misunderstood - or has perhaps been misinformed about Wickham, and as for Bingley . . .
"Who's there?" demanded his aunt from the sitting-room. Darcy turned and saw his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam walking to greet him.
"Darcy, we quite despaired of you - " began he before he was interrupted by Lady Catherine saying,
"Is that my nephew? Where have you been? Let him come in and see me!"
Company was the last thing Darcy wanted at the moment. He needed solitude to think over what had just happened and nurse his wounded pride.
"No, if you will forgive me . . . . you will forgive me . . . " he said absently. He started up the stairs towards his room.
"Darcy, you are unwell?" inquired the Colonel.
"I am very well, thank you. I . . . I have a pressing matter of business to attend to . . . . " He resumed his ascent. "Make my apologies to Lady Catherine, Fitzwilliam." He quickly climbed the stairs, went to his chamber and locked the door.
He flung his hat and walking stick into a corner and took a deep breath. Though Miss Bennet's assessment of him had probably been accurate, there were some things that he could explain. His dealings with Bingley and Wickham were the accusations he could defend himself against.
I cannot face her, not after this evening. I doubt she would be even willing to listen to me. But he would have to swallow his pride and tell her the truth no matter what.
Darcy soon came to a decision, went to the desk and pulled out pen and paper.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Be not alarmed, Madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of those sentiments, or renewal of those offers, which were this evening, so disgusting to you. I write without any intention of paining you, or humbling myself, by dwelling on wishes, which, for the happiness of both, cannot be too soon forgotten; and the effort which the formation and the perusal of this letter must occasion should have been spared, had not my character required it to be written and read. You must, therefore, pardon the freedom with which I demand your attention; your feelings, I know, will bestow it unwillingly . . . .
With this introduction, Darcy put down his pen and leaned back in his chair, wondering what exactly to tell her.
. . . . but I must be allowed to defend myself against the charges laid at my door, in particular those relating to Mr. Wickham which if were true, would indeed be grievous; but which are wholly without foundation and which I can only refute by laying before you his connection with my family . . . .
He got up and walked to the window and watched the fading light Outside, birds were singing which did not lighten his mood at all. In his mind he mentally wrote his letter to Elizabeth Bennet.
. . . . Of what he has particularly accused me, I am ignorant; but of the truth of what I shall relate, I can summon more than one witness of undoubted veracity. Mr. Wickham is the son of a very respectable man, who had the charge of our family estates, and my own father was fond of him and held him in high esteem. We played together as boys . . . .
Darcy thought back to his childhood. He and George Wickham had been the best of friends and Wickham had been his only companion before Georgiana's birth. He bitterly smiled at the memory. Their favourite pastime had been fishing - down by the river under the tree was where the fish usually were. Wickham had fallen into the river once, and he, without thinking, had dived in to save him, quite forgetting that they could not swim. Luckily a servant had been on hand to rescue them and after that incident his father had decided that they should both learn to swim.
But that was many years ago, and his relations with Wickham had drastically changed. And Wickham had persuaded Elizabeth that his lies were true. Darcy went back to the desk, removed his jacket and began writing furiously.
. . . . After his father's early death my father supported him at school and afterwards at Cambridge. most important assistance, as his own father, always poor from the extravagance of his wife, would have been unable to give him a gentleman's education . . .
Darcy paused and thought back to that day when he had finally acknowledged that Wickham was no longer the honourable friend of his childhood. He had been walking back to their rooms at Cambridge after lectures . . . .
. . . . He hoped he would make the church the profession . . . .
Arriving outside the door he had thought he heard some rather suspicious noises . . . .
. . . . But by then George Wickham's habits were as dissolute as his manners were engaging . . .
He had flung the door open to find his friend half-dressed kissing a young lady who was sitting in his lap, also half-dressed. Upon his arrival, the girl sprang up and rushed to Wickham's bedroom and locked the door. Darcy leaned on the door, shocked but not surprised. Wickham slowly rose out of his seat and defiantly looked at him.
. . . .It is many, many years since I first began to think of him in a very different manner. The vicious propensities - the want of principle, which he was careful to guard from the knowledge of his best friend, could not escape the observation of a young man of nearly the same age with himself, and who had opportunities of seeing him in unguarded moments, which Mr. Darcy could not have. Here again I shall give you pain - to what degree you only can tell . . . .
Darcy was painfully aware that Wickham's lies could be too deeply rooted in Elizabeth's mind for her to take notice of his information. He knew only too well what Wickham's charms were capable of, and it was very likely that Elizabeth believed herself to be in love with him.
But you should at least try to warn her. It would not be a gentlemanly thing to do if you did nothing to stop Wickham.
He loosened his collar, removed his cravat and continued writing.
. . . . My own, excellent father died five years ago . . . .
That memory was too painful to dwell on for long. The candle was almost burned out - Darcy paused for a moment, rubbed his hand and replaced it. The room was getting rather warm so he half-unbuttoned his shirt.
. . . . and his attachment to Mr. Wickham was to the last so steady that he desired that a valuable family living might be his as soon as it was vacant. There was also a legacy of one thousand pounds. Mr. Wickham declined any interest in the church as a career and received three thousand pounds instead of the living. He expressed and intention of studying the law . . . .
Darcy remembered that day well. It would be last time he would see Wickham for three years. He had to force himself to write the cheque for three thousand pounds, not because he was unwilling to give such a large sum away but because he was certain that Wickham would spend it unwisely. He handed it to Wickham, who had been pacing the room, a smile on his face.
"Thank you," said Wickham softly. Darcy did not reply, but fiddled with his pen. Wickham went to the door to let himself out.
"I am most exceedingly obliged," he added. He bowed mockingly and left.
Darcy wished it had been forever.
. . . All connection between us seemed now dissolved. Being now free from all restraint, his life was one of idleness and dissipation . . .
His hand was cramping, he stopped again and looked back on what he had written. It was his second sheet of paper and it was beginning to fill. Darcy glanced around the room, dimly aware it was very late and a servant had entered without his noticing leaving a tray of food. Having no appetite as of yet, he continued.
. . . . I thought too ill of him to invite him to Pemberley, or admit his society in town. In town, I believe, he chiefly lived, but his studying the law was a mere pretense, and being now free from all restraint, his life was a life of idleness and dissipation. For about three years I heard little of him; but on the decease of the incumbent of the living which had been designed for him, he applied to me again by letter for the presentation. His circumstances, he assured me, and I had no difficulty in believing it, were exceedingly bad. He had found the law a most unprofitable study, and was now absolutely resolved on being ordained, if I would present him to the living in question - of which he trusted there could be little doubt, as he was well assured that I had no other person to provide for, and I could not have forgotten my revered father's intentions. You will hardly blame me for refusing to comply with this entreaty, or for resisting every repetition of it. His resentment was in proportion to the distress of his circumstances - and he was doubtless as violent in his abuse of me to others, as in his reproaches to myself. After this period, every appearance of acquaintance was dropped . . . .
How Darcy wish it had been reality, and not appearance!
. . . . How he lived I know not. But last summer, our paths crossed again under the most painful circumstances, which I myself would wish to forget. and which no obligation less than the present should induce me to unfold to any human being.
For a moment he paused, wondering at the wisdom of revealing Georgiana's near-disaster at Ramsgate to Elizabeth. Would she tell? No, he decided. He knew her well (but not well enough to predict her response to his proposal obviously) to know she would not tell. And this, he told himself, if nothing else does, will hopefully persuade her of Wickham's deviousness.
. . . . Having said thus much, I feel no doubt of your secrecy. My sister, Georgiana, who is more than ten years my junior was left to the guardianship of Colonel Fitzwilliam and myself. About a year ago, she was taken from school, to Ramsgate and placed in the care of a Mrs. Younge, in whose character we were most unhappily deceived. And thither also went Mr. Wickham, undoubtedly by design. She was persuaded to believe herself in love, and to consent to an elopement. She was then but fifteen years old . . . .
His grip on his pen tightened with anger at Wickham and Mrs. Younge. He had trusted her with his sister and she betrayed his trust! And Wickham! At the time he had thought his former friend would have the honour to not take advantage of his former relations with him. But no. His trust in people had declined noticeably since that day.
. . . . A day or two before the intended elopement, I joined them unexpectedly . . .
And I thank God I did.
The memories of that day were as clear in his mind as if it had happened yesterday. He had climbed out of the carriage and gone to look at the sea from the cliff. To his shock and horror, he had seen Wickham touching Georgiana's arm in a manner that was not gentlemanly and whispering in her ear. Then Georgiana had looked up to see him with an expression of relief on her face. She had run into his arms and poured out the entire story.
"I won't do it, I won't leave you," said Georgiana.
He had realised Wickham's reasons for gaining Georgiana's affections. Darcy told Georgiana who asked Mrs. Younge for the truth and when Wickham laughed at her gullibility, she began to cry.
. . . . Unable to support the idea of grieving a brother, to whom she looked up to almost as a father, she acknowledged the whole plan to me at once. You may imagine what I felt, and how I acted . . . .
He saw Mrs. Younge first, and discharged her from his service. Then he saw Wickham. Darcy remembered how disappointed he was, with Wickham and with the fact that their friendship had become hatred.
. . . . Regard for my sister's credit and feelings prevented any public exposure, and Mr. Wickham left the place immediately and relinquished his object which of course was my sister's fortune of thirty thousand pounds. His second object must have been to revenge himself on me. Had he been successful, his revenge would have been complete indeed. This, madam is a faithful narrative of all my dealings with Mr. Wickham.
Darcy slammed down his pen and leaned back in his chair, exhausted, both physically and mentally. He rested his head for a while, wishing he could sleep. But rest was too far away.
What if she does not believe me? Then he realised something, picked up his pen and continued writing.
. . . . and for its truth I can appeal to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who knows every particular in these transactions. I know not under what form of falsehood Mr. Wickham imposed himself on you but I hope you will acquit me of cruelty towards him.
The explanation of his dealings with Wickham was finished. But the other matter of Bingley and Jane was difficult. According to Elizabeth, Jane was not indifferent to Bingley, but did in fact have feelings for his friend. Darcy groaned - what hurt had he done to Jane who was the most angelic creature in the world?
I cannot blame myself. I observed Jane and my observations told me that she was indifferent. Perhaps I misunderstood her expressions - if so I have not acted maliciously but labored under a misapprehension. Surely Elizabeth cannot blame me for something unintentional.
He picked up the pen again and continued with grim determination.
. . . . The other charge leveled at me, is that regardless of the sentiments of either party, I detached Mr. Bingley from your sister. I have no wish to deny this, nor can I blame myself for any of my actions in this matter. I had not long been in Hertfordshire when I saw that Bingley admired your sister to any other woman in the country. But it was not until the dance at Netherfield that I suspected a serious attachment . . . .
Darcy thought back to the Netherfield Ball. It was there he had first acknowledged that perhaps Elizabeth did mean more to him than he cared to admit, and when he first had the pleasure of dancing with her . . .
Stop it. Keep your mind on the business at hand.
. . . . His partiality was clear - but though she received his attentions with pleasure, I did not detect any symptom of peculiar regard. The serenity of her countenance convinced me her heart was not likely to be easily touched. I did not believe her to be indifferent because I wished it - I believed it on impartial conviction. If you have not been mistaken here, I must have been in error. Your superior knowledge of your sister must make the latter probable - if it be so, if I have been misled by error, to inflict pain on her, your resentment has not been unreasonable . . . .
He stopped again in his writing. The next part he intended to write would in all probability, insult Elizabeth and cause her pain. But Darcy had to be truthful and honest.
. . . . As to my objections to the marriage, (which this evening I acknowledge to have required the utmost force of passion to put aside in my own case), the situation of your family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison to the total want of propriety so frequently betrayed by your mother, your younger sisters, and even occasionally, your father . . . .
It was not difficult to recollect Mrs. Bennet's loud and vulgar conversation at the dinner table, Mary Bennet's untrained singing or her father's obvious humiliation of her. Elizabeth's embarrassment at the youngest Bennet girls dancing around the room with an officer's sabre was all too fresh in his memory.
. . . . Pardon me - it pains me offend you. But amidst your concern for the defects of your nearest relations, and your displeasure at this representation of them, let me give you consolation to consider that, to have conducted yourselves so as to avoid any share of the like censure, is praise no less generously bestowed on you and your eldest sister.My friend left Netherfield for London the following day, as you, I am certain, remember, with the design of soon returning.
The part which I acted is now to be explained. - His sisters' uneasiness had been equally excited with my own; our coincidence of feeling was soon discovered; and, alike sensible that no time was to be lost in detaching their brother, we shortly resolved on joining him directly in London. We accordingly went - and there I engaged in the office of pointing out to my friend, the certain evils of his choice of your sister as a prospective bride. I described, and enforced them earnestly. But, however this remonstrance might have staggered or delayed his determination, I do not suppose that it would ultimately have prevented the marriage, had it not been seconded by the assurance, which I hesitated not in giving, of your sister's indifference. He had before believed her to return his affection with sincere, if not with equal, regard. - But Bingley has great natural modesty, with a stronger dependence on my judgment than on his own. It was not difficult to convince him of your sister's indifference to him . . . .
Darcy thought for a moment. If her had not interfered with Bingley's life then he and Jane would probably be happily married. But it was not so, and Darcy had instead kept his friend from the best of happiness. Perhaps it was not right for him to interfere so much with the life of his friend.
. . . . I cannot blame myself for having done this much. There is but one part of my conduct in the affair on which I do not reflect with satisfaction. That is I concealed from him your sister's being in town. I knew it myself, as it was known to Miss Bingley, but her brother is even yet ignorant of it. That they might have met without ill consequence is, perhaps, probable; but his regard did not appear to me enough extinguished for him to see her without some danger.Perhaps this concealment, this disguise, was beneath me. It is done, however, and it was done for the best. On this subject I have nothing more to say, no other apology to offer. If I have wounded your sister's feelings, it was unknowingly done.
There was nothing more he could say to her. He could not blame himself for separating Jane and Bingley but he still felt a pang of guilt.
You may possibly wonder why all this was not told you last night. But I was not then master enough of myself to know what could or ought to be revealed. I shall endeavour to find some opportunity of putting this letter in your hands in the course of the morning. I will only add, God bless you.Fitzwilliam Darcy.
He put down the pen and stared at the sheet. The paper was scarcely seen for the amount of writing on it.
God bless you. Why did I write that?
He was too tired to think any more. Trying to make as little noise as possible, he readied himself for bed. When the candle was blown out and he was waiting for sleep to come, only then did the full impact of the day's events come crashing down on him. The woman whom he had loved for so long hated him. Darcy would not be triumphantly bringing her to Pemberley or visiting Georgiana, or seeing Miss Bingley's face go green with envy.
Depression fell upon him and though he desperately wished for sleep, sleep would not come. He lay there, listening to his mind replay the entire scene in the Hunsford Parsonage. In his mind's eye he watched her face reflect her disgust and resentment.
In one blow his dreams and heart had been broken.
How long he lay there, half-awake and half-asleep he did not know. Finally abandoning all attempts to sleep he got up and relit the candle. Darcy drew the curtains and saw that the east was just turning light.
He looked at the desk. It was covered in writing materials and sheets of paper not yet sealed. He sat down and slowly folded it, until he could no longer see his writing. Then he sealed it, and on the front he wrote, 'Miss Elizabeth Bennet'
The dawn was fast approaching. Darcy went to the basin and washed his face. The water was cold but it certainly woke him up. He sighed, put out the candle and got dressed, all before the house had even begun to stir.
He quickly went to the Park. Knowing that Elizabeth usually took a morning walk along her favourite walk, he decided to wait for her there. He did not know how to face her. He certainly would not let her see how much her words had hurt him, or how humiliated he was by her. All he was doing was pointing out the errors in her judgment - nothing more. He was not trying to explain himself to win her good opinion.
Darcy waited for some time without seeing her. Perhaps she was somewhere else.
He wandered to the edge of the Park and stood under a tree while searching the Park.
Suddenly he heard a soft tap of a show on wood. He turned to see Elizabeth, also turning and walking quickly away.
"Miss Bennet," he called as expressionlessly as possible.
She turned to face him without any sign of pleasure.
"Mr. Darcy."
"I have been walking in the grove some time in the hope of meeting you. Will you do me the honour of reading that letter?" he asked with haughty composure. He curtly bowed and walked quickly away into the trees.
He wandered for some time, not really taking heed of his surroundings, lost in his own thoughts.
He had to forget her. It was unlikely they would ever meet again, for they would each make a conscious effort to avoid each other.
And he had to stop loving her.
Darcy collapsed under a large tree. That was the crux of it. He still loved her. And no matter how hard he would try to forget her he never would. When he saw her this morning he knew that he still, and always would love her.
Not since the death of his father had Darcy wept. But under the cool shade he silently let the tears fall.
Chapter 24: Leaving Rosings - And Other Things - Behind
How long he sat there under the tree he did not know. When he decided to return to the house he estimated it to be about ten in the morning.
The Park was peaceful and pleasant but none of this lifted Darcy's mood. Soon, the facade of Rosings was seen through the trees. On the steps was a familiar figure.
When he arrived at the top of the stairs, he did not bid Colonel Fitzwilliam a good morning but moved as if to walk past him.
"Where on earth have you been, Darcy?" inquired the Colonel, "We woke up to find that were gone. I assumed a walk in the Park but at such an early hour? and for so long?"
"We're leaving," said Darcy without looking at his cousin.
"I beg your pardon? Today?"
"Yes, as soon as possible."
"Patience, we are already leaving tomorrow." Fitzwilliam looked at Darcy strangely. "What is the rush? You have delayed our departure twice already and now all of a sudden you want to leave as soon as possible?"
Darcy glared at his cousin, but finally conceded that as they were leaving on Saturday anyway, he'd might as well wait.
The two gentlemen went to see their aunt and cousin, who were sitting in the drawing-room.
"Good morning, Aunt, cousin," said the Colonel gaily. Darcy said not a word but got a cup of tea and went to stare out of the window.
Tomorrow he would leave Kent and Elizabeth behind. It was more than possible that they would never see each other again. He had not wish to and he imagined she felt the same way.
Darcy knew he could never love anyone else. Elizabeth had captured his heart so completely that could never get it back. He knew that he could not force himself to marry without love and it would fall to Georgiana to produce an heir for Pemberley.
But what about the things Elizabeth told him - to his face? What should he do about that? Forget them and get on with his life?
"We shall be quite desolate without you, Darcy - Anne especially," said Lady Catherine to him.
Darcy ignored that remark and merely said, "We shall return next year, Aunt."
There was a silence until Colonel Fitzwilliam said, "I think we should say farewell to the Collinses and Miss Bennet before we leave. What say you, Darcy?"
His heart froze for a moment. He wanted to see her one last time before he left - but he did not want to face her either.
Despite Lady Catherine's protests, Colonel Fitzwilliam got up and began walking to the hall.
"I am going - are you coming with me?"
With a sudden decision, Darcy joined his cousin.
They walked slowly, partly because the Colonel found it such a beautiful day, partly because Darcy was reluctant to go.
His cousin frequently shot him curious looks. Finally he asked, "Is there something troubling you, cousin?"
He looked up to see Fitzwilliam's concerned face.
"Why do you ask?"
"You seem preoccupied, and there are several rather strange aspects of your behaviour lately. Every morning this visit you go for a walk in the Park, you disappeared last evening and now after delaying our trip to London twice you are suddenly very eager to go there. Can you blame me for having suspicions that all is not well with you?"
Irritated, Darcy replied, "It is of no concern of yours. I am perfectly well!"
The Colonel looked at him with a knowing look and they continued to Hunsford in silence.
Mr. Collins either had a sixth sense or a very good view of the path for he and his wife and sister-in-law were waiting for them just outside.
"My dear sirs, you honour us with your visit," said the clergyman, bowing deeply.
The two women at his side curtsied almost as deeply as he did.
"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Collins, Miss Lucas," said Colonel Fitzwilliam. He looked around. "Where is Miss Bennet?"
"She left early this morning to take a turn about the Park," said Mrs. Collins, "She looked rather pale when she came down for breakfast and said the fresh air would do her good."
Darcy said nothing. He knew that it was yesterday's event was the reason for her pale face.
"Is she well?" asked Colonel Fitzwilliam anxiously.
"I don't know - she has not come back yet and it has been an hour at least," said Miss Lucas.
"We had come to take our leave of you as we are to leave tomorrow morning," said Fitzwilliam.
"We shall be quite desolate without you, my dear sirs," said Mr. Collins with another bow.
Not even the man's humourous attempts at imitating his patroness could bring a smile to Darcy's face.
"If you will excuse me, I shall return home," said Darcy. "Sir, madam, I take my leave."
He bowed and turned to his cousin with an inquiring look.
"Ah, no. I think I shall wait a while . . . " replied he. Mr. Collins nearly fell over the chance to spend more time with one of the noble Lady Catherine de Bourgh's nephews.
Darcy shrugged and left. He was glad and yet regretful that he had not seen her.
As soon as he arrived, he went to his chamber and locked the door.
Leaving his Aunt and cousin behind was a relief - but though he knew he was doing to right thing leaving Elizabeth, he did so with a heavy heart.
He held his head in his hands, willing the tears not to come. He had not slept the entire night. The desk had bee cleaned and the candle replaced. It seemed as if last night's torture had never happened.
Finally, fully clothed as he was, he sat in the padded armchair and went to sleep.
His sleep was fitful and he soon awoke. It was about an hour later when he exited the room to join the others downstairs for their last lunch in Kent.
As he walked down the stairs, he saw his cousin just entering the door. Fitzwilliam sighed.
"I waited for almost an hour but I did not see Miss Bennet," he said. "I am quite worried and I would go out in search of her if I did not know that she knows these woods almost as well as I."
"Is she all right?" asked Darcy anxiously.
"I am sure she is. She is a very independent lady. Whoever her husband will be is in for a very eventful life."
Darcy looked at his cousin who looked at him significantly.
"I would not know," replied Darcy.
They left early the next morning. Lady Catherine had insisted upon Darcy kissing Anne's hand in farewell. He did so without protest so that they could leave as soon as possible.
As the carriage pulled away, Colonel Fitzwilliam sitting opposite him laughed at the sight of Mr. Collins deeply bowing beside the road.
"Ridiculous little man! When will he grow a spine of his own?"
Darcy did not answer but stared out the window. The Colonel sighed and looked wistfully at a group walking to Rosings.
"And I did not even get to say farewell to Miss Elizabeth Bennet," said he. "I must say this has been the best visit to Rosings we have ever had. Do you not agree?"
Darcy stared after the group and didn't answer. Elizabeth was walking at the back. She turned and glanced at the carriage. He could not tell if she had seen him.
Either way it did not matter.
"Darcy, are you all right?" asked the Colonel. He was staring at his face.
Darcy was suddenly aware of a wetness on his cheek. He angrily wiped away the offending tear and said to his cousin,
"I am perfectly well."
Colonel Fitzwilliam silently shook his head.
"There is something wrong cousin," he said seriously. "I want to help. I will be there for you but if you do not confide in me then I cannot help you."
I don't need - or want - your help.
The rest of the journey was silent.
24 Dark Days, Part 1
The carriage arrived in London outside Darcy's townhouse in the late afternoon. Throughout the trip, Colonel Fitzwilliam had tried his best to get his cousin to open up and talk without success.
Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley and the Bingleys were waiting to meet them. Their pleasure at seeing the two men were sincere, Georgiana's most of all with Miss Bingley close behind. The greetings were numerous but the contrast between Darcy and the Colonel was obvious. Fitzwilliam smiled and shook hands all round, but Darcy simply nodded to everyone then retreated inside the house.
He wordlessly handed the servant his coat and hat then went to his study. Behind him he could hear Georgiana inquiring about him to Colonel Fitzwilliam.
"Is there something the matter?"
"I don't know," said he slowly.
Darcy didn't care - he slammed the door and collapsed into the chair.
The fireplace was dark - the servants had not yet had a chance to light it. And many of them were well acquainted with their master - he did not want to be disturbed, and the only one who had the courage to knock on the study door was Colonel Fitzwilliam.
"Darcy, what are you doing in there? Why don't you come and greet your friends and sister properly?" When Darcy did not answer, he opened the door and stood there, blinking his eyes against the darkness.
"Georgiana has not seen you for some time and she says you have also neglected to write to her," he said.
Georgiana came up behind her cousin, then stepped past him into the darkened room.
"Brother, are you well?"
Darcy got up. He needed comfort right and took Georgiana into his arms.
"I am . . . perfectly well," he lied. Over her shoulder he could see Colonel Fitzwilliam staring at him. He shot him a look that convinced his cousin not to bring up the subject of Darcy's trouble at the present moment.
A maid respectfully bobbed a curtsey in the corridor.
"If you please, sir, ma'am, dinner is ready."
They left the room.
"And how was your visit?" asked Miss Bingley. She sat beside Georgiana with her brother on her other side.
"Quite interesting, actually," said Colonel Fitzwilliam. Some acquaintances from your visit to Hertfordshire was there," (here Bingley looked up), "Mr. and Mrs. Collins and Miss Lucas and . . . "
Darcy didn't listen to his cousin. But when it seemed that the Colonel was to reveal Elizabeth's presence in Kent, he looked up with a pained expression. His cousin saw it and said,
"And Aunt Catherine seemed to enjoy their company very much."
Conversation continued, dominated by Miss Bingley, who tried to get Darcy to talk and Colonel Fitzwilliam who answered all of her questions.
Darcy was not hungry. The food and wine sickened him and he soon gestured to the servant to take it away. He left the table without a word and went to the library.
He felt everyone's questioning gaze upon him as he left.
The library was large with a fireplace at one end. Darcy sat in the large chair beside it and stared into the fireplace. It was too warm for it to be lit fully and there were only embers.
He sat back in the shadows. Wherever he went, he still saw her. But last time it had been a pleasant memory - this time it was not. Before him the image of her rose unbidden.
You are the last man in the world whom I could ever marry . . .
Anger rose at the memory. She had humiliated him - thankfully she was the only witness to it. Her accusations still rankled with him. Though he had explained to her why he had separated Bingley from her sister, he could not see Bingley without being reminded of it. His friend was withdrawn and he felt guilt at being the cause of it.
And Wickham! - If the man was in his reach right now, he would not have been able to prevent himself from doing something harmful to him. But Darcy had explained himself to Elizabeth had he hoped she would believe him.
Was it right for him to have told her about Georgiana's incident with the man? Was eh willing to threaten his sister's position just to win the approval of a woman he loved?
Why did he do it in the first place? It would not have changed her opinion of him - her hatred was too deeply rooted to be moved easily. She would probably tell the world about it out of spite!
Anger flared again - this time at himself.
She would not tell. She is honourable and she would understand that it is a delicate matter. How could you even think such a thing? If there is someone in the wrong, it is you!
His wallow in sorrow was interrupted by the opening of the door at the other end of the library.
"Why is Fitzwilliam so sad?" came Georgiana's voice. "He has not said ten words to me since you returned, he shuns our company - what on earth happened in Kent?"
"Georgiana," said Colonel Fitzwilliam, "I truly do not know - " He stopped.
"Actually, I have an suspicion - more than an suspicion - of Darcy's troubles. Whether I am at leave to tell you I don't know, it is a very personally matter of his."
"But I want to help him, and I cannot if I do not know what is wrong."
"I - " Frustration coloured the Colonel's voice. "I tell you what, dearest, if Darcy doesn't improve by next week, then I will tell you. But I am hoping that this is just a simple, temporary matter."
Darcy listened to his cousin. Though he could not see his face, he could tell his cousin did not think it was a simple matter.
Georgiana on the other hand, did.
"Very well. Please try and make him feel better. I am only a child - I cannot help as well as you can, cousin."
"You are growing up, Georgiana, and though I can see it, I don't know if Darcy can . . . " The rest of the conversation was lost as the pair moved out of the library.
Darcy remained where he was for a few moments longer, then went to his bedchamber without saying goodnight to anyone.
He had a dream that night - a nightmare really. He dreamed he was in a darkened room. There was moonlight shining in the window and by the window was the figure of a woman. Thinking it was Elizabeth, Darcy apologised again and again. Finally he asked her for her forgiveness.
The figure moved out of the darkness and into the moonlight.
"I forgive you," said Miss Bingley.
Darcy woke up, and groaned. He wanted Elizabeth's forgiveness badly - but how?
Chapter 25: Dark Days 2
The advantage of fencing was that it occupied the mind and the body. Thus it was that it allowed Darcy to forget his troubles that had plagued him for the past fortnight for a few moments and concentrate on something else.
Before Rosings, Darcy had been only moderately adept at the sport, but now he threw himself into it. He brushed his hair back and looked at his opponent. Colonel Fitzwilliam looked back and nodded. More young men and the fencing master watched from the sidelines.
His cousin made no move to attack; it was obvious he intended to be on the defensive this time. Darcy was happy to oblige and lunged. The rapier was parried and the two moved away again.
Suddenly, unbidden (and most certainly unwanted) rose the memory of that humiliating evening in Hunsford. He had lost that duel - very badly.
Determined that this time he would not lose, Darcy attacked with such ferocity that the Colonel was taken aback and was pushed backwards until his back was against the wall, trying to block the rain of blows coming down on him. Finally, he lowered his rapier in a gesture of defeat.
Darcy took no notice, but slashed down. Thankfully, the Colonel leapt nimbly away and dashed to grab Darcy's sword-arm. He held it tightly until Darcy lowered the weapon.
"All right, I surrender. You do not have to injure me to win, Darcy," said he in half-jest.
Darcy did not answer. There was no indication if he had even heard his cousin speak.
The library or his study was his favourite rooms at the present moment. Few dared to disturb him there, and whenever he needed a distraction from his gloomy thoughts he could turn to one of the numerous books that filled the shelves.
Today, he was too tired to reach for a novel. The duel with the Colonel, on top of many sleepless nights, had exhausted him. Too weary to resist, his guilty conscience took hold.
He had nearly seriously hurt his cousin! He had let his emotions rule his good sense and in doing so he had nearly done something terrible. Had he not always tried to dissuade Bingley from that habit, of letting one's heart rule his head? See the consequences of it!
Usually Darcy would never have let such a thing happen. But so many things about him had changed ever since . . .
He knew what - who finished that sentence. But he tried to turn his thoughts away from - her.
Soft footsteps behind him.
"Why are you here in this dark library?" asked Georgiana, touching the back of the chair Darcy sat in. "We are all missing you."
Darcy wished that Elizabeth and his sister could be friends. But if she despised him, then she in all probability wanted nothing to do with his sister.
He said nothing in response to his sister's query.
"What is troubling you, brother?" said Georgiana, voice trembling. "You have been so unhappy ever since your return from Kent. A whole day passes in which I do not see you - you spend the entire day either in your room or study or here. Whenever you do come into our company, you never speak unless it is absolutely necessary. You are so distant - it has been as if I have been living with a stranger." Darcy heard a sob in his sister's voice. "What is wrong? Will you not confide in me?"
He desperately wanted to talk to someone - but he could not burden his sister with his troubles.
"Forgive me if I do not. It is nothing that I should trouble you with." He sighed. "I don't even know myself anymore, if I am a good man or a bad one? is it possible for a man to change his way of thinking? Will I allow myself to change?"
Silence fell. Darcy said no more.
"Come and join us, Fitzwilliam," said Georgiana, laying her hand on his shoulder.
He ignored the gesture.
"No."
Georgiana left. He heard her trying to hold back tears. Out in the hall, he heard her whisper, "Richard, cousin, nothing has changed . . . " The door swung shut, and Darcy got up and locked it.
He tried to read, but he found his attention wandering. Frustrated, he unlocked the door. Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam and Georgiana Darcy stood there. He ignored them both and brushed past them to his study. Again, he locked the door.
The best distraction was lying on his desk in a rather large pile. Letters to answer, accounts to manage and so much more were things that required his undivided attention. He flung himself into the chair beside the desk and grabbed a pen.
There were five letters. He answered them as shortly as possible. Bills, accounts were soon all done. Numerous invitations to parties and balls - all answered, all declined.
It was soon all done. With nothing to take up his attention he all too quickly lost himself in his suffering and sorrow.
Her words haunted him wherever her went, whatever he did.
Had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner . . . . You are the last man in the world whom I could ever marry . . .
He had tried his best to forget them but they were acid-etched into his memory. Even harder to forget was Elizabeth's expression as she said those words.
Darcy stared at the luxurious room. Large, tastefully decorated with expensive furniture and shelves that held many generations worth of books. The accounts and bills, even when all paid, still left him many thousands of pounds. Yet he would trade it all for one kind word, one approving glance from the woman he loved, but who did not love him.
The pile of paper on his desk was a mute testimony as to how dull and empty his life was. In fact, when he thought about it, the most exciting times in his recent life, the times when he had felt the most alive were in Elizabeth's company; talking, dancing . . .
For all his duties and responsibilities, Darcy was still a young man, insecure in the ways of his own heart. He had 'lived in the world' as Elizabeth put it, but he had not lived. He did not know what to do - forget her or remember her, love her or hate her. He did not know how to separate his emotional problems from everyday life - that was why he had nearly injured his cousin that morning.
He wished he could talk to someone, expose himself and let his shields built around himself down just once.
But the last time he had did that, he had been hurt and humiliated. Never again. He was a man grown and could deal with his feelings himself!
Darcy was tired - for one moment he envied Wickham's indifference to what others thought of him. But it was only for a moment - he did care about what others thought of him. Most of all he wanted them all - especially Elizabeth - to think well of him.
Was what Elizabeth said true? Did his friends and acquaintances see him in such a light? Arrogant, conceited with a selfish disdain for the feelings of others.
Darcy wanted to know - but feared to ask. Scared of what the answer would be.
26 Dark Days Part 3
Time passed as time does, slowly or fast at times. Darcy's twenty-eighth birthday came and went - it was celebrated very quietly with nothing more than congratulations and many happy returns of the day given by all his friends and family.
He himself could find no joy on the day. It was unhappy - he wished he could have seen his birthday with Elizabeth at his side.
It seemed that ever since their return from Kent, Darcy's life had been one continuos spiral downwards. He could not break out of it - and he did not know what he would find at the bottom.
Three weeks it had been since their return; three weeks in which Darcy's moods unpredictably swung from depression, irritable (usually when Miss Bingley was around) anger and despair. He was short-tempered and found fault in everything and sometimes could not refrain from snapping at everyone.
Darcy could not see Bingley without being reminded of how he had hurt Jane Bennet (unintentionally but done all the same) nor could he face his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam without a surge of jealousy at how Fitzwilliam had enjoyed Elizabeth's company and she his. When he saw Georgiana he remembered Wickham and how he had helped turn Elizabeth against him.
But the worst was that there was not a single minute in the day that he did not think of her, and his behaviour towards her during their acquaintance. Reflecting upon all their meetings together he realised that Elizabeth's accusations were not without foundation.
In fact, he sometimes wondered how he could face himself everyday with the knowledge of all that she had said.
It was late evening. The curtains were shut in the library and the only light was from a dying fire. Darcy sat in a large chair by the fire, his face hidden in the shadows. He was not concerned - the shadows seemed to reflect what he was feeling.
He sensed, rather than heard, his sister come in. Nowadays, it was something of a routine for Georgiana to try to persuade her brother to join their company. She had had no success.
"Will you be joining us tonight?" she asked.
Silence for sometime.
"No."
Darcy heard Georgiana stifle a sob. Suddenly she walked determinedly away in the direction of the piano. He heard her sit and open it.
Though it was dark, he knew his sister needed no light if she was playing from memory. Darcy gave no thought to his sister's actions until she began to play.
Mozart's Sonata in A, 1st movement. The piece Elizabeth played at Rosings. Though Georgiana played beautifully, he could not bear to hear her play this particular piece.
"Stop!" he cried.
The music broke off abruptly. It was replaced by stifled sobs, and then running feet. A door slammed and then silence returned.
Darcy felt guilty about what he had done to his sister but that feeling was soon eclipsed by anger. How dare she play that piece! It was Elizabeth's piece.
Suddenly the door opened again and was shut decisively. Darcy did not know who had entered but the mystery was soon cleared up as the one who entered spoke.
"Are you all right?" asked the Colonel in a tone of impatience, as if he knew what the answer would be.
"Yes," replied Darcy shortly and tightly from his position in the chair.
"No you are not." The Colonel came around to face Darcy, trying to see past the darkness shrouding him. "You have been in a foul humour ever since Kent. If you have to take your bad temper out on someone, take it out on me and not Georgiana! Can you not see how worried and upset she is?"
Darcy made no answer to this outburst, which had obviously been building for sometime. He merely stared in to dying flames.
"Everyone is worried about you and I myself am beginning to tire of this!"
Again, no response. Darcy saw his cousin take a deep breath, as if taking the plunge.
"What happened between you and Miss Bennet?"
His head jerked up and life returned to his eyes.
What on earth does he know?
Seeing his reaction, the Colonel went on. "Don't try to deny anything, cousin; I have eyes. What happened between you and Miss Elizabeth Bennet?"
Regaining control, Darcy retorted, "It is none of your business and I do not want to talk about it."
"If you will confide in me I can help you and - "
"I don't want to talk about it!"
He would never ask for help. His pride would not let him.
The Colonel sighed, frustrated. Darcy wished he would leave him in peace to nurse his wounded pride. But the loneliness also made him wonder and worry if what Elizabeth had said of him was true.
He did not want to know the answer to that - but he couldn't spend the night worrying about it.
As his cousin was leaving, he asked, "Fitzwilliam, tell me truly and honestly, do you think me guilty of pride?"
"What do you mean?" came the confused response.
"Exactly what I said, cousin," said Darcy impatiently. "Am I arrogant, conceited, with a selfish disdain for the feelings of others?"
"At the moment, I think yes!" came the near-shouted answer.
So it was true.
Depression and self-loathing fell over him. His face contorted with hurt and pain. As his face was in shadow, the Colonel could not see what effect his words had on him.
"For the last three weeks, you have wrapped yourself up in your own . . . self-pity, hurt pride and sorrow and you are taking it out on everyone else without a single thought as to how you are hurting them! Even your own sister - you should be ashamed at how you have neglected your responsibility to care for her!"
Darcy literally flinched with each word. Everything his cousin had said had opened up half-healed wounds. It was true, everything Elizabeth had said was true. Even his own cousin was telling him so to his face.
"Why you behaving so? What happened with you and Miss Bennet?"
Darcy did not hear him. He refused to let his cousin see how deeply he was hurt. He looked up and imagined he saw Elizabeth standing behind Fitzwilliam, looking at him. Darcy choked back a sob but made no answer to his cousin.
The Colonel looked down at him, waiting for Darcy to speak.
"I wash my hands of you. Solve your problems yourself if you will not ask for help."
Colonel Fitzwilliam stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him in his frustration.
Darcy sat there, frozen to his seat. Though it had been nothing in comparison to that evening, nevertheless what his cousin had said stung.
There was some wine on the side table near by. Darcy poured himself a glass and drank it quickly. He looked at the empty glass for a while and toyed with the notion of getting himself well and truly drunk. It would numb the pain at least.
But that would make him as bad as Wickham, and he had seen the man with too many hangovers to relish the idea of finishing the wine off. That would certainly be ungentlemanly behaviour.
Bed was the only attraction the night held. He replaced the glass and walked slowly upstairs to his room.
Darcy slept uneasily - he had another nightmare. It was the same as the first one he had had, the night of their return to London.
Again, he was in a dark but moonlit room. There was a lady sitting by the window in the shadows. Darcy fell to his knees and apologised over and over to the figure he imagined to be Elizabeth.
Again, he asked for her forgiveness.
The figure stepped into the moonlight.
"I forgive you," said Lady Catherine.
She reached into the shadows and pulled Anne into the moonlight.
"I have waited a long time for this day, nephew," said she with a laugh.
Darcy woke up, gasping.
How much longer would he have to endure such pain and torture? When would he conquer it?
Would he ever conquer it?