Mr. Darcy’s P&P POV (the abridged version) – Part 7

Chapter 34 –

What the hell happened?

I remember walking into the parsonage’s modest parlor. There was Elizabeth, pale but sitting upright. She was not at death’s door. I recall the enormous relief I felt, along with annoyance that I had walked out of Aunt Catherine’s tea for no purpose.

Purpose. I remember thinking of my purpose. Suddenly, all became clear. I loved her. I loved Elizabeth. Pride, status, expectations—they were as nothing to me. I must surrender to her. I must have her.

“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.” Yes, I said that. I meant that.

She gave me such an unreadable expression. I thought her overwhelmed by my declaration. My thoughts seemed to tumble out of my mouth. She deserved—she needed to know of my struggles. To comprehend what I had thrown away and rejected for her sake. I had to have her! And then…

Rejection. She rejected me. She did not expect my declaration. She was surprised—shocked—disgusted. Disgusted with me.

I remember feeling stunned, then angry. I do not know whether I had ever been that angry before. Not even with Wickham had I been that angry. I offered her my heart, and she spit on it!

She talked of Bingley and Miss Bennet. How did she come to know of that? And why was she so angry? Her sister did not love my friend! There was nothing in her actions that showed anything of it!

And then—Wickham. She believed Wickham. The woman I loved, the woman I thought above all others, believed Wickham over me. Me! I do not know how I did not rail at her. And then…

“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.”

That was a punch to the gut.

“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 groundwork of disapprobation, on which succeeding events have built so immoveable 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.”

Good God, she hated me.

I had to hold on to my pride. I said something; I know not what. I had to leave her. I had to leave the woman I adored before I broke down.

***

Somehow I got back to my room undetected. I had to think. I had to understand.

What the hell happened?

How could I have been so wrong about her? I could not have. The vixen was flirting with me, here and at Netherfield!

Except she was not. My Elizabeth would not lie. Then if it was not flirting…

Oh, good God! It was right in front of me. She hated me. She always hated me.

But why? I had shown her great respect! She, alone of all the women of my acquaintance, I showered with my attentions. She could not have misunderstood.

But misled? Yes, that must be it! I will write her, and…

No. Fool, she hates you! No letter can overcome that!

But I can save her from Wickham. Yes. I will not allow that reprobate to continue to deceive my Elizabeth—

No, she is not my Elizabeth. She never was. She is Miss Elizabeth.

But I will save her anyway.

***

Chapter 35 & 36 –

It is done. It took me most of the night, but I have finished the letter. I explained why I acted the way I did in Bingley’s service. Miss Elizabeth loves her sister, and because of that she could not see, or failed to see, what was evident to me. Miss Bennet, while open and pleasant, showed absolutely no symptom of love. Perhaps I was wrong to try to separate my friend and her sister, but if I was, Bingley would not have acted on my advice. If he loved Miss Bennet the way I loved Eliz—Miss Elizabeth, nothing and no one could convince him otherwise.

Except the lady in question, of course.

As for my dear former friend, he will have no power over Miss Elizabeth. I told her everything. How Wickham deceived my father, tried to steal my money, and attempted to ruin my sister. Miss Elizabeth must be warned. If my honest recollection of my dealings with that no-good piece of scum holds no value for her, surely she would believe Fitzwilliam.

Miss Elizabeth will be safe, but only if I put this letter in her hands. As painful as the interaction must be, I shall not waver. I shall perform this last duty for her.

***

I paced about the park early in the morning, looking for Miss Elizabeth, wondering if she had abandoned her usual walk. Had she remained inside in an attempt to avoid me? Was she sorry for her refusal? Did she regret her words? Perhaps she was mortified and could not bear to see me. Or, more likely, she avoided me because she could not stand the sight of my face. Back and forth my feelings battled between angry satisfaction and depressed sorrow. As I took in the prospect, usually striking but now pale and lifeless, I heard a movement behind me. I looked and there she was by the gate, turning away.

“Miss Bennet.”

She stopped. I made my way to her, studying her expression, trying to catch a clue to her state of mind. But I could not tell whether her blush was from anger or regret. I steeled myself; I would not let her know how much she has hurt me.

“I have been walking in the grove for some time in the hope of meeting you. Will you do me the honor of reading that letter?”

She took it without a word, I gave her an automatic bow, and I walked away and out of her life as steadily as I could.

***

Chapter 37 –

Last night was no more restful than the night before. Thank God, I am leaving this wretched place.

Fitzwilliam is quiet today, thank goodness. I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head last evening when I asked him to answer any question Miss Elizabeth might pose about Wickham.

“Any question?” he responded.

“Any and all,” I said.

“You cannot mean Ramsgate?”

I nodded, and all hell broke loose. My education is deficient. I did not know the meaning of half the curses Fitz threw at me. It took me a quarter-hour to calm him down.

“Why on Earth did you tell her?” he demanded. “Do you mean to marry her?”

“No,” I lied.

“Then why?”

Because I love her. “I cannot have her be Wickham’s victim.”

That seemed to satisfy him, which is well. I no longer want to talk of Miss Elizabeth. I no longer want to think of Miss Elizabeth.

I only want to forget.

***

To be continued…

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Jack Caldwell
Ramblings of a Cajun in Exile