Posted on 2012-10-30
1. Netherfield
"… the expression, certainly, would be difficult to capture, but their color and shape, and the lashes, so remarkably fine, might be--"
Darcy's words came to an abrupt halt as he and Miss Bingley rounded a corner of the hedge and ran smack into Mrs. Hurst and Miss Elizabeth Bennet herself, standing with her lovely eyes wide open and a look of shock on her face that left no doubt that she had heard him. He shut his eyes for a moment, feeling the blood flood his cheeks, but on opening them, happened to see Miss Bingley's face, which bore such an expression of chagrin that he wanted to laugh.
"Mr. Darcy!" Mrs. Hurst moved quickly to intercede, taking his free arm. "Were you walking this way? Do let me join you!"
She steered them toward another walk, but his head turned to watch Elizabeth, now standing alone and still looking adorably confused. It was unconscionably rude for them to walk off and leave her there, and he wanted to invite her along, to suggest they go into the avenue, but his composure wasn't strong enough. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, then she turned and almost ran back towards the house.
Darcy spent the rest of the afternoon wondering what he should do. It all depended, he finally decided, on how much of his conversation with Miss Bingley she had overheard. If she had caught only the last few lines and somehow managed to deduce that they were about her, then he rather thought the best thing would be to say nothing. It was not so terrible if she knew that he admired her eyes; really, he had no wish to deny it.
But Darcy was very concerned about arousing false expectations, and he had certainly been paying her a great deal of attention lately. If Elizabeth had overheard enough of the conversation to know that Miss Bingley was teasing him about the idea of marrying her, then it was quite possible that she had gotten entirely the wrong idea. For while Darcy was attracted to Elizabeth, while he admired her and enjoyed her company and was at times positively bewitched by her, and while the idea of marrying her was undeniably delightful and appealing, it was impossible. He did not have, could not have, any serious designs on her. It would be dashed awkward, but the best, kindest thing in that circumstance would be to set her straight.
He went to Mrs. Hurst to discover the crucial information. This lady looked astonished and uncomfortable at the question, but finally admitted that they had heard quite enough to have gotten the gist of the conversation. "I didn't know what to do," she said. "You were coming straight towards us, and she was quite frozen with astonishment. I would have hurried her away if I could have."
"It's not your fault," he said shortly.
It was his fault. It was his fault for being so unguarded in his speech to Miss Bingley, and so obvious in his admiration. He could only imagine that Elizabeth was even now planning her wedding clothes, and while a part of him was sorry to disoblige her, it had to be done.
"Miss Bennet." He came across her in the hallway. "I wonder if I might have a word with you?" He nodded toward the library.
She hesitated but entered, and he came after her. "What is this about, Mr. Darcy?" For the first time he had ever seen her, she seemed shy around him, and would not look him directly in the eye.
"Miss Bennet, forgive me for speaking so frankly, but I have never liked disguise, and it would serve me ill now. I know that you overheard Miss Bingley and I when we were discussing you."
She flushed. "I did not eavesdrop by design!"
"I am not suggesting that you did. I only wish to make my position clear, lest you misunderstand."
"Misunderstand?"
"Yes, I…" he was finding this more difficult than anticipated, and shifted uncomfortably. "I don't wish you to take from Miss Bingley's teasing… to suppose that her fanciful jests are reflections of my stated--or implied!--intentions--or to form any expectations because I--"
"Mr. Darcy!" Miss Bennet was beet red by now. "I assure you, nothing was further from my mind! I would never… and you especially!"
"Oh. Oh, well then… I am relieved to know that," he said, feeling terribly disappointed.
"Now, if you would excuse me…" she moved hastily towards the door.
"Miss Bennet!" he found himself calling her.
She paused reluctantly. "Yes, Mr. Darcy?"
"Miss Bennet, in one respect the conversation you overheard was entirely accurate. You have remarkably fine eyes."
Those eyes widened, and for several moments blinked at him, before shifting rather longingly to the doorway. She bobbed a quick curtsy. "Good afternoon."
He continued to stare at the door even after she had exited through it. A sudden thought occurred to him. Him especially, she had said. Why him especially!?
2. London
Ever since Miss Bingley had told him about Miss Bennet being in town, Darcy had been mulling over the best course of action. He had agreed with her, initially, that it would be better if Bingley did not meet the lady. The fellow had never entirely gotten over her; although he was cheerful most of the time, Darcy could see the difference.
Yet… it did not sit well with him. He hated disguise; he had always said it proudly. He hated arts and deceptions and conniving. In honesty lay clarity and honor. That did not mean that it was incumbent on him to always say everything that could be said, to expose his own private dealings to the world, or to share his inner most thoughts and feelings with those who had done nothing to earn such a confidence. He did not even always confide in his best friends, not when it came to most delicate parts of himself. Darcy did, after all, have his natural pride and reserve to guard him. However, this was not such a case. This was a case, rather, of deliberately keeping information from a friend, of avoiding the subject at the very least, and it might require outright prevarication. He did not like it. He did not like it at all.
By the time that Bingley returned to the house that evening, Darcy had made up his mind. It was a basic matter of respect, and of honoring the trust that Bingley placed in him. The man deserved to know, and that was that.
He went out into the hallway and invited his friend to come into his study for a drink before retiring. Bingley was happy to do so. They shared a brandy before the fire, sipping at it and chatting idly about the people Bingley had seen while he was out. Darcy had spent the time dining with his sister.
"Bingley," said Darcy at last, "I thought you ought to know. Miss Jane Bennet is in town."
Bingley took a rather larger gulp of the liquor than he had intended, and choked a bit as it went down. "Jane--ah, Miss Bennet? What is she doing in London? And how," he added with sudden surprise, "did you learn of it?"
"I believe she is staying with the family of her uncle, her mother's brother who resides near Cheapside and is in trade." Darcy emphasized the family's situation slightly. "Miss Bingley told me of it."
"Caroline told you?" he repeated. "She said nothing to me about it."
"Well, you could hardly expect her to, after everything that happened. Of course she would be concerned that such knowledge would only pain you."
"Well what in blazes was she doing confiding in you about it?"
"She wanted my advice on how she should proceed," said Darcy tactfully. "I had not much to give her at the time--I did share her concerns--but I have been thinking about it and I have reached the conclusion that you ought to know."
"Well of course I ought to know," Bingley muttered, staring down at his warm liquid. "How long did you say she's been here?"
"I am not precisely certain, but I believe about two weeks."
There was silence for some time after that. Darcy leaned back in his chair, content to let his friend process the new information, glad that he could be there to help temper whatever reaction he might have.
"I ought to call on her," said Bingley at last.
"You are not obliged to do that."
"Well, but… for my sisters to know about her being here, she must have written to them, or called on them."
Darcy did not feel it wise to answer that.
"She clearly still considers herself a friend of our family, and why should she not? Louisa and Caroline both liked her very much. And I hope…" his voice trailed off momentarily, "I hope that she still considers me her friend. It would look excessively rude if I didn't call on her."
"Or perhaps excessively pointed if you did."
"Oh, hang it all, Darcy, I can call on an acquaintance without offering marriage, can't I?"
Darcy looked at him skeptically. "Ordinarily, yes, but Miss Bennet is not just any common acquaintance. When you left Hertfordshire there was a general expectation in the neighborhood that you would offer for her before long; the very reason you could not return was to squelch it before it affected your reputation or hers. If you call on her now, in London, it will appear as exactly the sort of particular attentions which you most need to avoid."
Bingley frowned. It was an unusual expression, for him; it made it him look older. "You were reluctant to me the truth about her location because you were afraid that I would simply run off after her like a lost puppy, weren't you?"
"Ah--" Darcy was taken aback.
"There's no need to deny it. I know I've not been the most constant of fellows where my affections and purposes were concerned. Yet it's not the same, this time." He stood up suddenly. "She's not the same, this time. I really love her, Darcy. I've thought about her constantly, ever since I left Netherfield. It's like… it's like an ache inside of me that can never quite be healed. I know that she doesn't love me, but if there was the slightest chance that I could make her love me, that I could win her, fairly, like a man--" he stopped and drew a deep breath.
"A man like you should not have to win a woman like Miss Bennet," said Darcy testily, his alarm overriding his tact. "If she cannot see the man that you are--if she was not capable of appreciating your merits and loving you from the first, then she does not deserve your devotion."
"But Darcy, any good woman is worth winning!"
"Come now, Bingley, let's be realistic. As charming and handsome as Miss Bennet undoubtedly is, she is simply not the warm, loving type of woman. She has no passion, no spark, no fervor! I daresay you may engage her affections as far as they can be engaged, but what is that, compared to the feelings you carry for her? She is a poor match for you in every way, and you are far and away superior to any match she has a right to expect! She will never be able to deserve you!"
Bingley stared at his friend in shock, his face reddening. "You're wrong," he said at last, slowly, as if the words were strange. "Miss Bennet is not what you say she is… and the fact that you think that makes me believe that you have never understood her at all."
"Bingley--"
"No, no! You shall not convince me otherwise. I have always trusted your judgment, Darcy, but this time you are simply wrong. Miss Bennet is tender-hearted and devoted and caring. She does feel things deeply, I know it."
"I observed her most carefully and--"
"Yes, yes, I know what you observed! And perhaps you are right that she cares nothing for me especially, although now I doubt that too. But she is worthy of me--more than worthy! It is I who am not worthy of her, of such excellence and goodness and beauty and sweetness--and yes, tenderness. Tenderness such as she showed to all her family, her sister Elizabeth most especially, but also to her mother and her father and her other sisters, no matter what they were. If she loves them so much," he began to pace in his excitement and agitation, "even though they are everything that you said they are, even though none of them are anything like her at all, if she loves them with such devotion, why should she not love me? Her heart is ready, eager to love, Darcy! She thinks well of everyone, and truly means it. She is attached, most sincerely attached to all her family and friends. I have a chance--I am sure that I must have a chance to win her love, and if were so fortunate to do so, I should never repine, Darcy!"
"Her family--"
"I don't care about her family! Don't you understand that?"
"Your sister--"
"Will not suffer unduly if I marry Miss Bennet. After all, who are we? Our family fortune was acquired in manufacturing and trade. And she likes Jane, of course she does."
Darcy groaned inwardly, wishing that he hadn't said anything after all. "You must consider before you act, Bingley."
"I've done nothing but consider for the last two months!"
"You cannot throw yourself away on a--"
"No more, I pray you!" He patted his coat down hastily, as if checking it, and ran his hands through his hair. "Potter! I must call Potter to bring my hat and my gloves! What street did you say?"
"You can't go tonight!"
"What? Yes, I suppose you're right, it's too late. I'll go in the morning then. First thing. Potter!" He went out into the hall. "Potter, you'll have all my things ready for the morning, won't you?"
Darcy sunk his head into his hands. What had he done?
3. Longbourn
"Well, Lizzy?" Mr. Bennet looked up smilingly from his book. "Have you come to share my solitude for an hour or so?"
Elizabeth came slowly into the library. "I wish to ask your opinion, Father." It was odd this, seeking his advice. She hadn't done so for years, but it was just so very hard to know what to do, and Jane had been little help.
"My opinion?" He set down the book, and looked her over closely. "This is a new start. What matter troubles you so much that you should seek my opinion on it, eh?"
She twisted her fingers together. "Father, if you had knowledge that some… some person of your acquaintance was not of good character, but that person was soon to depart from the area in any case, would you feel it your duty to share your knowledge with society generally?"
Mr. Bennet frowned. "And is this person's, er, ill character, of the sort likely to inflict itself on others?"
Elizabeth thought of Mr. Darcy's young sister. "Perhaps. Yes. Not always."
"Not always? Are we speaking of Mrs. Long's tendency to collect other people's silver spoons, or something more sinister?"
She smiled a little. "More sinister, without a doubt."
"But he is to leave the area soon?"
"Yes, very soon."
For several moments his shrewd gaze studied her face. "Has someone been telling you stories about the officers, Lizzy?"
She jumped a little at his quickness. "Only one."
"Ah, well…" he squirmed a bit. "I do not like to tell you this, but it is a fact that perfectly respectable men may sometimes engage in behavior which would sound shocking to a girl such as yourself. I advise you not to listen to such talk, or to put a great deal of stock in it."
"Father, no!" She blushed furiously. "It was not that sort of story. There was no titillating gossip. My source was very reliable, I assure you, and the charge very serious. It involved a gentlewoman."
His brows rose. "One we know?"
"No, and I could on no account reveal her identity--or tell the whole story, even. It was told me in the strictest confidence, and to even name the person who related it to me would be a betrayal of trust. But as for him--the officer--is it right that he should continue in good society without anyone understanding his true character?"
"Perhaps not right, but inevitable, I'm afraid, if you're unable to say any more. Ruin a man's reputation because a person you cannot name accused him of offenses you cannot name against a lady you cannot name? Really, Lizzy, you must do better than that."
She sighed miserably and twisted her fingers more tightly. "His general habits were described as vicious and profligate."
"Not so uncommon among officers, I am afraid."
"He slandered an innocent man."
Again his gaze grew penetrating. "Is that man likely to suffer from it?"
Instantly, she saw again his face as she had berated him for misusing Wickham. "I think he has already suffered from it," she said in a low voice. "But I do not know that the continued ill opinion of the populace here is likely to disturb him."
"Then I do not see the benefit that could come from exposing this officer who is, as you say, leaving the neighborhood in a mere fortnight. Particularly if he is an, um, well liked fellow, you'll appear more like a spiteful gossip than anything else, telling everyone that he is a drunkard and a seducer, yet without any specifics."
"Yes… yes, I suppose you're right."
"Of course I am. I honor your conscience, my love, but really, there is little to be done in most of these cases, and so long as he does not pose an immediate threat anyone's daughters, little purpose in attempting it. And you wouldn't want to appear merely disappointed in love now, eh?"
So he had guessed right again. She smiled wryly. "I am not disappointed, or in love."
"Perhaps, but that makes you a less interesting subject, does it not? No, Lizzy, I think if you were to decry his character at just this time, the resulting gossip would be more likely to center on you than him."
Elizabeth doubted the veracity of her father's argument, but felt his point was correct: there was nothing to be gained from attempting to expose Mr. Wickham now. She was relieved. It would not have been a pleasant task. Yes, she thought as she left the library, remaining silent was undoubtedly the best course of action. Soon enough he would be gone out of all their lives, and she would never have to worry about him again.
She had sat down with Jane's letters and just began to read the first, when Mr. Darcy unexpectedly entered the room. He drew up immediately, evidently surprised to find her alone, and she rose to her feet, her cheeks coloring.
"Mr. Darcy! Good morning."
"Good morning, Miss Bennet." He glanced around. "Forgive me, I did not mean to intrude. I had thought to find your aunt and uncle with you."
"They went to walk down to the church. I had," she looked down at the papers still in her hands, "some letters that came this morning, so I stayed here to read them."
"Ah. Forgive me," he said again. "I obviously came at a bad time." He began to draw back, but she could not let him.
"No, no, it is not important." She laid the letters on the side table. "Won't you stay and wait for them?" She felt dreadfully bold asking him, but there had been such evident disappointment in his face, and she truly did not want him to go.
He did not need to be asked twice, but removed his hat again, and set it, together with his gloves, on a table by the door. Elizabeth gestured self-consciously to the chair opposite her, and they both sat down, neither at ease at all.
A moment of awkward silence passed, then they both began to speak at once, and both halted. They tried again, with the same result, and finally ended in nervous laughter. "Please," said Darcy, "speak."
"I--I only wished to tell you how much I enjoyed meeting Miss Darcy. She is a delightful young lady."
"She likes you very much."
She colored again, and her eyes fell before the frank admiration in his gaze. Darcy jumped to his feet, and began to pace in a manner distinctly reminiscent of his proposal. As if suddenly realizing it himself, he drew up sharply, his face flushing slightly. "Miss Bennet," he said, "the last thing I wish to do is to make you uncomfortable, or to revisit past memories which I know cannot be pleasant, but I must beg your forgiveness for how I treated you last April."
"Please do not," she interrupted him hurriedly. "If anyone should be begging forgiveness it is I."
"I disagree. Your mistakes were entirely excusable, mine not at all. My behavior to you up until that evening had been deserving of the severest rebuke."
"Your behavior was not so bad that I was warranted in thinking so ill of you--in believing Mr. Wickham's stories so unquestioningly without proof. Nor did you deserve my great unkindness in speaking to you that way."
Darcy stopped and looked at her a long moment. "You mean, I suppose, that I would still have received a rejection, simply a politer one."
She colored further and looked down at her lap. She could not deny it.
"You did right to refuse me." He stood there, smiling faintly at her. "It was a most salutatory lesson, I assure you. But tell me, if you please. My letter--you believed what I wrote?"
She nodded, looking down again. "I did not want to, but even I was not so prejudiced that I could not see that it must be true."
"I am sorry for the tone I used. I believed myself perfectly calm when I wrote it, but I have realized since that I was terribly bitter."
Elizabeth met his eyes. "You have no cause to apologize on that account, Mr. Darcy."
"Miss Bennet--" he came forward a step or two. "I have sought, since we so fortuitously met again, to show you that I have attended to your reproofs--that I regret my past attitudes and wish to do better."
"I believe that you have been quite effective in that, sir."
"Is it wrong of me to hope that you regard me with slightly less disfavor than previously?"
She didn't know if it was possible to blush any redder than she was doing, but she could see how much these questions were costing him, and heard it in his voice. Her insides were churning with happiness and anxiety and feelings she could not name, but she could not let that stop her from answering him as he deserved. First she shook her head, then said, forcing herself to look at him, "No… no disfavor at all, Mr. Darcy."
His eyes grew brighter, his stance more confident. He walked forward slowly and took the seat he had so recently deserted. "Miss Bennet, if… if I were to come to Hertfordshire, would… would you have any objections to my calling on you there, at Longbourn?"
She smiled tremulously. "Of course you would be welcome, sir."
He took a deep breath, his graze growing even more intense. "Miss Bennet, just so that you do not misunderstand me, I do not refer to simply calling on your family as a friend, but on you… as a suitor."
It was so different, so very, very different from how it had been at Rosings. His hand on the chair arm trembled slightly as he spoke; she noticed it, and was more moved that she could possibly say. "You would be welcome," she repeated, in little more than a whisper.
Darcy took another deep breath, blinked rapidly and looked away. They neither of them were composed for a moment, understanding the significance of their new understanding. Not that it was all settled yet, by any means--Darcy was not ready to make, or Elizabeth to receive, another proposal, and they had just met again so recently, after such a long time and many misunderstandings--but for the first time since he had insulted her in that assembly room, they were both moving in the same direction. They were meeting on common ground at last, with no concealment between them.
Clearing his throat, Darcy suggested at last, "Will you not finish your letters? Although you were kind enough to put them aside, you stayed behind because you wished to read them. I do not want to prevent you."
She smiled and thanked him self-consciously and, trying to ignore his steadfast gaze, picked up the sheets of paper again and tried to focus on Jane's handwriting.
"You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, please tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever."
Elizabeth felt all the anxiety and pain which must be attendant on such a declaration, made after a first refusal, and hastened to reassure him in whatever way she could. "Of course they are not the same! I cannot remember my ungenerous and unjust words without shame. I know that I was utterly wrong about you." He looked at her, hope and uncertainty and inquiry in his gaze. "But…" she stumbled. It would be so easy, to just give him what he wanted. "But, sir, I cannot say that I am quite ready for… that is, I think I hardly really know you, and I would wish to, truly, but…"
He put a hand out, his face very tight. "You need say no more. You are kind to try to soften the blow--"
"But I'm not kind!" she blurted out, dismayed that he had misunderstood her. "I'm not kind at all! I'm not--" she paused and took a deep breath. "Surely you know enough of my frankness to believe that I would never pretend to more inclination than I feel." To her unspeakable relief, she saw the anguish in his eyes ease a little, to be replaced by confusion. "Perhaps it sounds absurd to say that I don't know you well, after all our past history, but truly, I feel that I met you for the first time at Pemberley. And our time there was just not long enough…" she shut her eyes for a moment, opened them, and tried again. She knew he was suffering, and could not bear it, but it was just so hard. "Please don't leave Hertfordshire, Mr. Darcy," she said, looking directly at him, willing him to see her earnestness. "Please stay. I don't…" she took another deep breath. "I don't want you to leave."
For several moments Darcy said nothing, while she watched him anxiously. Many emotions mixed in his features--uncertainty still, but strong relief and a dawning comprehension, followed by what looked like--
"So I have reason to hope," he said.
"Yes." She smiled tremulously. "You have very much reason."
He took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck, glancing randomly around him. "Well you must know that it is impossible for me to refuse you. If you wish me to remain in Hertfordshire then I shall."
"And you must know that it was difficult for me to--" she almost said refuse you, but caught the words back at the last moment, "to not answer you as you wish. But… it is the rest of my life."
"Yes." His gaze become overwhelming tender all at once. "The rest of both of our lives. It is in your power to decide them now."
The rest of both their lives. How did one bear such responsibility? She searched his face. Could she make him happy? She would make him unhappy if she ultimately refused him, but was that not better than a lifetime's unhappiness? Would he make her happy? Or would her happiness be in her power to make him happy?
"Miss Elizabeth?" He spoke her name very softly. Coming out of her reverie, she blushed a little. He smiled a little, and offered her his arm. Tentatively she took it, and they resumed their walk in silence until he finally cleared his throat."
"I believe we must have some conversation."
Shaking off her heaviness, she smiled as archly as she could manage. "Books?"
The End