Darcy had never been so bewitched by any woman
as he was by her.
Some seven days later, Darcy reviewed the events of the past week with satisfaction.
After Bingley had left for town, his friend had soon dis-covered that his disdain at the behaviour of much of the Longbourn party at the ball was endorsed and exceeded by both Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. However pleasant the manners of the eldest Miss Bennet, it was agreed that the rest of her family, and in particular her mother and three youngest sisters, were quite inappropriate connections for a family of Bingley’s consequence. Any partiality that Charles might feel for Miss Jane Bennet could surely evaporate as rapidly as his enthusiasm for other young ladies had done in the past.
Following their discussion, Darcy had travelled himself to London with Miss Bingley and Mr. and Mrs. Hurst. It had been agreed during the journey that Bingley should be persuaded by his friend of the indifference of Miss Jane Bennet, which indeed had seemed to that gentleman to be the case from his observance of her. Miss Bingley could not resist inserting a barb about Miss Elizabeth’s “fine eyes” in the conversation, but Darcy chose to ignore this. In the privacy of his room, he had reflected that any objections that applied to the eldest Miss Bennet having any alliance with his friend were more than magnified and reinforced in the view of his own greater consequence and fortune.
In the event, Darcy was a little surprised that the task of persuading Bingley that he should remain in London was not accomplished easily.
His friend was usually more willing to accept his advice and direction than now appeared in this case. Bingley seemed to be persuaded that his feelings were stronger and persistent than on previous occasions, and less susceptible to being eradicated by time. However, by dint of repeating Darcy’s and his sisters’ conviction many times that the lady’s affections were not engaged, over a period of days Bingley was also convinced of his own indifference.
If it then seemed in the ensuing weeks that his friend was at times more pensive and reflective than was his habit, Darcy did not allow that to concern him.
There was one short alarm, when Miss Bingley told Darcy that she had had a formal call from Miss Jane Bennet. It appeared that she had travelled to London to stay for some weeks with those same relations in Cheapside of which so much sport had been made in Miss Bingley’s conversation in Hertfordshire.
However, although the call was eventually returned, the news of the visitor from Longbourn being in town was kept from Charles Bingley. Darcy could therefore contemplate with some satisfaction the way that his friend’s temporary affliction of the heart had been dealt with.
What did surprise Darcy was the obstinate difficulty he himself had in removing from his own mind the image of Miss Elizabeth Bennet during the next few weeks in town.
Darcy in his youth had spent the festive season at Pemberley, and it had been his happiest time of year in the company of his parents. Since their demise, Darcy had avoided Derbyshire until the weather at the end of the winter made the roads more fit to travel, after the January snows.
But he could not recall when he had suffered such an uneasy mind. The more he sought, as the New Year began, to eliminate Miss Elizabeth Bennet from his thoughts and interest, the less he seemed to succeed. Making more effort than usual to encounter other company in town had no countervailing effect. The society of ladies of his own consequence only seemed to provoke memories of lively conversation and pleasant and more informed wit from that other source.
Indeed, his failure to thus control his thoughts made him more abrupt than was in any case his habit. He found himself particularly short of temper in company with Miss Caroline Bingley. Her wit, which he had once found pleasantly astringent and barbed, now seemed particularly affected and tiresome. His sister’s joining him in London for once offered only some assistance in this situation.
However, to keep himself occupied, he took Georgiana to seek some new furniture for her sitting room, and had some pleasure in her delight at the opportunity. By such minor pursuits, Darcy passed the next few weeks. The prospect of any relief from the tedium of the season in town was small, and the most exciting excursion that the future promised was his annual visit for about ten days after Easter with Colonel Fitzwilliam to his aunt, Lady Catherine, in Kent.
This was not something to which Darcy normally looked forward. Fitzwilliam’s company could be had elsewhere with greater pleasure, his cousin Anne had little to recommend her, and Lady Catherine made such forceful discourse, with her own replies, as to make it even less necessary than usual for Darcy to persuade himself to make polite conversation.
The prospect of the tiresome new rector, Mr. Collins, being added to the company from time to time was no additional inducement on its own.
However, a communication from his aunt brought the surprising news that Mr. Collins had returned from his most recent visit to Hertfordshire after the Christmas festival with a bride—none other than Charlotte, the eldest daughter of Sir William Lucas.
Darcy had regarded Miss Lucas as one of the more sensible and serious young ladies he had met while at Nether-field. More significant was that she was a close friend of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. As March began, and the time of his visit drew nearer, he was aware that he would welcome the opportunity to hear some news from the new Mrs. Collins of a young lady from another county.
Then a second letter came from his aunt. Together with the usual advice to himself about Georgiana, it informed him that none other than Miss Elizabeth Bennet herself was at the parsonage at Hunsford, accompanying Miss Maria Lucas on a visit to her sister. However, their stay of some six weeks would end just before Darcy and Fitzwilliam were due to arrive in Kent.
Almost before he knew what he had done, Darcy had written a swift note to his cousin Fitzwilliam, who was in the north for a few weeks before travelling to town.
His cousin’s reply came by return on Friday.
“Dear Darcy
Your enthusiasm for travelling to Kent to see our aunt is most commendable. I shall, as you ask, arrange to be in town three weeks earlier than we agreed, so that we can be at Rosings in time for Easter. Forgive this short note— written in haste.
James Fitzwilliam.”
Darcy wrote to his aunt to say that he planned to arrive for his visit to Kent in the week before the festival, and received a letter within a few days welcoming the idea.
His cousin reached London in time for them to leave for Kent some eight days before Easter. On the journey from town, Fitzwilliam asked Darcy how he had been passing his time since they last met. Darcy, without naming his friend, recounted his success in separating Bingley from an unfortunate alliance that could have damaged his situation for life. He took pains to emphasise that his motives had been allied with the knowledge that the affections of neither of the parties had been fully engaged, and so that the whole affair had been for the best.
Fitzwilliam commended Darcy for his foresight and rapid action, saying that, as the younger son of an Earl, he would need to have regard to fortune and position himself when he married. His cousin added that, now that he had attained his thirtieth year, marriage was a matter to which Fitzwilliam might need to give some more serious attention.
Thus it was that Darcy and his cousin arrived in Kent at the beginning of April, with Easter only a few days away.
He had apprised Fitzwilliam that there might be more enjoyable company than usual awaiting them at Rosings. On the day after their arrival, the rector Mr. Collins arrived to pay his respects. Darcy found him in every way as curious and pompous as he had at Netherfield the previous autumn.
However, having had a few hours in the company of Lady Catherine and their cousin Anne the previous evening, Fitzwilliam needed little persuading to walk back with Darcy to the parsonage in Hunsford with Mr. Collins, to pay their respects to the rector’s new wife and her visitors. Their approach having been announced by the door-bell, Darcy and his cousin found the former Miss Charlotte Lucas a pleasant contrast to her husband’s verbosity. Her younger sister, Maria, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet curtseyed to the visitors, but said nothing on the introduction to Darcy himself.
Darcy ventured a compliment to Mrs. Collins on the house and garden, but was more interested to listen to the conversation between his cousin and her friend. The latter seemed to Darcy to be much as he remembered her, as his cousin’s ease of address and ready manner led Miss Bennet into conversation with him. Her lively manner and sense of humour were soon displayed, and he found himself engrossed in their discussion.
At length, however, Darcy enquired of Miss Bennet about the health of her family. She answered him in the usual way, and then added “My eldest sister has been in town these three months. Have you never happened to see her there?”
Darcy was uneasily aware of his own embarrassment as he answered that he had never been so fortunate as to meet Miss Bennet. The subject was pursued no further, and Darcy soon made his excuses and went away with Fitzwilliam.
Over the next few days, his cousin called at the parsonage several times, but Darcy refused to join him, jealous that Fitzwilliam’s more easy manners would show his own at a disadvantage. As a consequence, he was only able to glimpse Miss Bennet at church.
However, no sooner had Darcy been pleased to find that his aunt did not intend to see much of Mr. and Mrs. Collins whilst her nephews were staying, than he found himself wishing the opposite, so that he could encounter one of their visitors.
However, it took several carefully placed suggestions to bring it about that, by Easter-day, almost a week after his arrival, an invitation was issued for the party from Hunsford to spend the evening at Rosings after leaving church.
Mr. and Mrs. Collins with their guests joined Lady Catherine’s party in the drawing room. Her ladyship, however, gave them little attention, speaking to her nephews and especially to Darcy, much more than to any other person in the room.
However, Fitzwilliam seemed really glad to see them; since anything was a welcome relief to him at Rosings; and Mrs. Collins’s pretty friend, Miss Bennet, seemed to have caught his fancy. Thus he sat by her, talking agreeably of Kent and Hertfordshire, of travelling and staying at home, of new books and music, so that Miss Bennet gave Darcy the appearance of having never been half so well entertained in that room before. He himself was full of feelings that, if they had been more familiar, would have been recognised as jealousy.
She and his cousin conversed with so much spirit and flow, as to draw the attention of Lady Catherine herself, as well as that of Darcy. Lady Catherine was more visibly put out at not being the centre of attention as she was used to, and she called out to his cousin.
“What is that you are saying, Fitzwilliam? What is it you are talking of? What are you telling Miss Bennet? Let me hear what it is.”
“We are speaking of music, Madam,” said he, making a resigned face to Darcy, when no longer able to avoid a reply.
“Of music! Then pray speak aloud. It is of all subjects my delight. I must have my share in the conversation, if you are speaking of music. There are few people in England, I suppose, who have more true enjoyment of music than myself, or a better natural taste. If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient. And so would Anne, if her health had allowed her to apply. I am confident that she would have performed delightfully.”
Then turning to Darcy, she continued, “How does Georgiana get on?”
“She is most competent for her age, Madam, and practices as often as she can.”
“I am very glad to hear such a good account of her,” said Lady Catherine; “and pray tell her from me, that she cannot expect to excel, if she does not practise a great deal.”
“I assure you, Madam,” he replied, “that she does not need such advice. She practises very constantly.”
“So much the better. It cannot be done too much; and when I next write to her, I shall charge her not to neglect it on any account. I often tell young ladies, that no excellence in music is to be acquired, without constant practise.”
“I have told Miss Bennet several times, that she will never play really well, unless she practises more; and though Mrs. Collins has no instrument, she is very welcome, as I have often told her, to come to Rosings every day, and play on the piano-forte in Mrs. Jenkinson’s room. She would be in nobody’s way, you know, in that part of the house.”
Darcy did not answer, since even a man of his consequence could recognise the incivility of this remark.
When coffee was over, Fitzwilliam reminded Miss Bennet of having promised to play to him. As she sat down directly to the instrument, he drew a chair near her. Darcy would have joined them, but was detained by his aunt for many minutes. Eventually, she was distracted by a conversation with Mr. Collins, and Darcy was able to move away and join his cousin so as to observe Miss Bennet at the pianoforte.
At the first convenient pause, she turned to him with a smile, and said,
“You mean to frighten me, Mr. Darcy, by coming in all this state to hear me? But I will not be alarmed though your sister does play so well. There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me.”
Darcy was cheered by this reversion to the playful manner in which she had sometimes addressed him in Hertfordshire.
“I shall not say that you are mistaken,” he replied, “because you could not really believe me to entertain any design of alarming you; and I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance long enough to know, that you find great enjoyment in occasionally professing opinions which in fact are not your own.”
Miss Bennet laughed at this picture of herself, and said to Fitzwilliam, “Your cousin will give you a very pretty notion of me, and teach you not to believe a word I say. I am particularly unlucky in meeting with a person so well able to expose my real character, in a part of the world, where I had hoped to pass myself off with some degree of credit.”
Then turning back to Darcy, she said,
“Indeed, Mr. Darcy, it is very ungenerous in you to mention all that you knew to my disadvantage in Hertfordshire and, give me leave to say, very impolitic too, for it is provoking me to retaliate, and such things may come out, as will shock your relations to hear.”
This reply and manner of speaking stirred in him feelings that were familiar, and far from unwelcome.
“I am not afraid of you,” said he, with good humour.
“Pray let me hear what you have to accuse him of,” cried Fitzwilliam. “I should like to know how he behaves among strangers.”
Darcy awaited her next words with little apprehension, since she had smiled at him again, and that was worth any degree of discomfort that he was likely to suffer.
“You shall hear then, but prepare yourself for something very dreadful,” said Miss Bennet. “The first time of my ever seeing him in Hertfordshire, you must know, was at a ball, and at this ball, what do you think he did? He danced only four dances! I am sorry to pain you, but so it was. He danced only four dances, though gentlemen were scarce; and, to my certain knowledge, more than one young lady was sitting down in want of a partner. Mr. Darcy, you cannot deny the fact.”
Darcy’s mind went back immediately to the assembly at Meryton, and his rejection of Bingley’s suggestion that he should dance with Miss Elizabeth. In his embarrassment, he replied rather stiffly.
“I had not at that time the honour of knowing any lady in the assembly beyond my own party.”
“True; and nobody can ever be introduced in a ballroom.” She smiled again at Darcy, before turning to his cousin.
“Well, Colonel Fitzwilliam, what do I play next? My fingers wait your orders.”
However, Darcy intervened, for he was more than reluctant to lose her attention.
“Perhaps,” he said, “I should have judged better, had I sought an introduction, but I am ill qualified to recommend myself to strangers.”
“Shall we ask your cousin the reason of this?” said Miss Bennet, still addressing his cousin Fitzwilliam. “Shall we ask him why a man of sense and education, and who has lived in the world, is ill qualified to recommend himself to strangers?”
“I can answer your question,” said Fitzwilliam, “without applying to him. It is because he will not give himself the trouble.”
“I certainly have not the talent which some people possess,” said Darcy, “of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as I often see done.”
“My fingers,” said Miss Bennet, “do not move over this instrument in the masterly manner which I see so many women’s do. They have not the same force or rapidity, and do not produce the same expression. But then I have always supposed it to be my own fault, because I would not take the trouble of practising. It is not that I do not believe my fingers as capable as any other woman’s of superior execution.”
Darcy smiled, for there was no denying the justice of her remark.
“You are perfectly right. You have employed your time much better. No one admitted to the privilege of hearing you, can think anything wanting.”
He hesitated for a moment, and then added, “We neither of us perform to strangers.”
He would have wished to continue the conversation further, but they were interrupted, as Lady Catherine called out to know of what they were talking.
Miss Bennet immediately began playing again as Lady Catherine approached, and, after listening for a few minutes, his aunt said to Darcy,
“Miss Bennet would not play at all amiss, if she practised more, and could have the advantage of a London master. She has a very good notion of fingering, though her taste is not equal to Anne’s. Anne would have been a delightful performer, had her health allowed her to learn.”
Lady Catherine continued her remarks on Miss Bennet’s performance, mixing with them many more instructions. Darcy looked at the lady to see how she took this and the comments that followed on playing the instrument, but the performer received them with forbearance. At the request of the gentlemen, she remained at the instrument till her lady-ship’s carriage was ready to take the party home to Hunsford.
When their aunt had retired for the night, Fitzwilliam remarked to his cousin, “Miss Bennet seems to bring out the best in you, Darcy! I have rarely seen you as animated in company as you were tonight.”
“You did not seem indifferent yourself,” said Darcy, seeking to redirect his cousin’s attention. “But remember, Fitzwilliam, that she comes from a family with no fortune, and very limited connections.”
“She is not for me, you mean,” said his cousin regretfully. “But you are right, the younger son of an Earl must marry for money. At least, that consideration need not worry you, Darcy.”
“You imagine more than there is.”
“I hope so,” Fitzwilliam replied, “for I have a strong impression that our aunt has other plans in mind for you and, as we both know, she likes to have her own way.”
To this, Darcy thought it wise to make no reply.
The following morning, Darcy went for a walk in the woods to the north of Rosings. Despite himself, and contrary to any intention of which he was consciously aware, after another half an hour he found himself ringing the bell at the parsonage.
To his surprise, the other two ladies were absent in the village, and he found Miss Bennet alone, writing a letter.
Having been invited to sit, he found this uncomfortable. On standing, he walked about the room, but was not at ease and, without his cousin Fitzwilliam to provide conversation, he found that he had little to say.
At last, Miss Bennet made some enquiries after the family at Rosings.
Then, they again seemed in danger of sinking into total silence. Finally, Miss Bennet said, “How very suddenly you all quitted Netherfield last November, Mr. Darcy! It must have been a most agreeable surprise to Mr. Bingley to see you all after him so soon; for, if I recollect right, he went but the day before.”
She paused as though for a reply, but he could think of none, painfully aware that he was not best at untruths, and unable to formulate anything that might not compromise his role in the matter.
At length, she went on, “He and his sisters were well, I hope, when you left London.”
Awkwardly he said, “Perfectly so, I thank you.”
After a short pause, she added, “I think I have understood that Mr. Bingley has not much idea of ever returning to Netherfield again?”
Darcy replied, “I have never heard him say so.”
But then not wishing to imply any intention by Bingley of renewing his friendship with Miss Jane Bennet, Darcy went on, “But it is probable that he may spend very little of his time there in future. He has many friends, and he is at a time of life when friends and engagements are continually increasing.”
He found it difficult to gauge her expression as she said, “If he means to be but little at Netherfield, it would be better for the neighbourhood that he should give up the place entirely, for then we might possibly get a settled family there. But perhaps Mr. Bingley did not take the house so much for the convenience of the neighbourhood as for his own, and we must expect him to keep or quit it on the same principle.”
“I should not be surprised,” said Darcy, “if he were to give it up, as soon as any eligible purchaser offers.”
She made no answer.
After a further silence, Darcy tried to make some other conversation.
“This seems a very comfortable house. Lady Catherine, I believe, did a great deal to it when Mr. Collins first came to Hunsford.”
“I believe she did, and I am sure she could not have bestowed her kindness on a more grateful object.” She smiled a little at last as she said this.
He tried to continue the conversation by referring to her friend.
“Mr. Collins appears very fortunate in his choice of a wife.”
“Yes, indeed; his friends may well rejoice in his having met with one of the very few sensible women who would have accepted him, or have made him happy if they had. My friend has an excellent understanding, though I am not certain that I consider her marrying Mr. Collins as the wisest thing she ever did. She seems perfectly happy, however, and in a prudential light, it is certainly a very good match for her.”
Almost without knowing what he said, he went on,
“It must be very agreeable to her to be settled within so easy a distance of her own family and friends.”
“An easy distance do you call it? It is nearly fifty miles.”
“And what is fifty miles of good road? Little more than half a day’s journey,” Darcy replied. “Yes, I call it a very easy distance.”
She seemed determined not to agree with him. “I should never have considered the distance as one of the advantages of the match. I should never have said Mrs. Collins was settled near her family.”
With the distance from Hertfordshire to Pemberley suddenly in his mind, he pressed on, “It is a proof of your own attachment to Hertfordshire. Any thing beyond the very neighbourhood of Longbourn, I suppose, would appear far.”
He thought that she might have similar thoughts in her mind, as she blushed as she answered, “I do not mean to say that a woman may not be settled too near her family. The far and the near must be relative, and depend on many varying circumstances. Where there is fortune to make the expense of travelling unimportant, distance becomes no evil.”
Darcy was much encouraged by this, for Miss Bennet must be contemplating his own interest in her, and the possibility of her living in Derbyshire.
However, she recollected that they had been speaking of Mrs. Collins, and so returned to speaking about her friend’s circumstances.
“But that is not the case here. Mr. and Mrs. Collins have a comfortable income, but not such a one as will allow of frequent journeys, and I am persuaded my friend would not call herself near her family under less than half the present distance.”
Anxious to be certain that a distance from Hertfordshire would not be uncongenial, Darcy drew his chair a little towards her, and said, “You cannot have a right to such very strong local attachment. You cannot have been always at Longbourn.”
She looked very surprised at this, but said nothing. Darcy drew back his chair, took a newspaper from the table, and, glancing over it, changed the subject by asking,
“Are you pleased with Kent?”
They had maintained more successfully a short dialogue on the subject of that county when Mrs. Collins and her sister entered the room, just returned from their walk.
After greeting them, and sitting a few minutes longer without saying much more, Darcy went away.
Despite any intention he had promised to himself, Darcy took every opportunity over the next few days to visit the parsonage, but as often as he could in the company of others.
The season for all field sports was over. Within Rosings, there was Lady Catherine, books, and a billiard table, but the nearness of the parsonage was a temptation almost every day. Darcy and Fitzwilliam called at various times of the morning, sometimes separately, sometimes together, and occasionally with their aunt.
When he was there, Darcy found it no easier to make conversation than on his previous visits to Hunsford. He frequently sat there ten minutes together, cursing his lack of ease in making conversation, and therefore often without opening his lips. But anything was better than not being in her presence and, when he thought that he was not observed, he looked at Miss Bennet. He was aware that the more often he was in her company, the greater his need for it.
Darcy was encouraged by Miss Bennet telling him which were her frequent haunts in the park, believing this to indicate that their encounters were welcome, that she was aware of his interest and was of the same mind about their acquaintance. With the weather being fine for the time of year, and knowing her fondness for walking, he then took pains to cross the paths when he could anticipate that she might be there. Often when they met thus, he would turn back with her towards Hunsford.
When the opportunity offered, he asked Miss Bennet about her love of solitary walks, her pleasure in being at the parsonage with her friend, and her opinion of Mr. and Mrs. Collins’s happiness. Later, he risked venturing a question to test whether she might see herself as staying at Rosings on her next visit to Kent.
Thus the days passed quickly, and so much more pleasantly for him than was usual when staying with his aunt, and twice, to his cousin Fitzwilliam’s surprise, he postponed their departure from Rosings.
Although Darcy had evinced no more interest than usual in her daughter, on the second occasion that he extended their stay, Lady Catherine evidently thought that his remaining at Rosings indicated that he now had serious intentions towards Anne.
By now, he knew that nothing could be further from the truth. What Darcy had finally come to realise was that without Elizabeth Bennet as his wife, life would no longer be supportable. He had marshalled in his mind every argument against her, against their marriage, recited to himself every objection to her mother, her younger sisters, her aunt in Meryton, her uncle in Cheapside, and all the other inferiorities of her connections. Indeed, he had spent much of the last few nights in restless dispute with himself. But nothing had come to matter to him but his affection, his admiration, his passion for her.
Darcy was acutely aware that his twice postponed departure from Rosings was now imminent, if only because his cousin had business in town, and he himself had promised Georgiana that he would join her within the week. They therefore must leave Kent on Saturday.
The arguments against an alliance between his friend Bingley and Miss Jane Bennet must apply with even more force in his case. But Darcy’s resolve to maintain a distance from his feelings of passion and attachment to Elizabeth Bennet had proved to be unsuccessful. Whatever proper considerations of position and propriety might indicate, he now was unable to contemplate a future time that did not include her as the mistress of Pemberley. He had at last to admit to himself that his heart was so engaged that nothing less than a declaration of his affections would do, with the agreement to his suit that would surely follow.
That his proposal might not be successful did not enter his consideration. It would be a rare lady of fashion who would turn down such an offer, however great her fortune. For someone whose father’s means were small and whose mother’s social position was at best doubtful, it was not conceivable.
Darcy was very aware that he must now find an opportunity to speak to Miss Bennet alone. That might not be an easy task, since she was usually in company with her friend Mrs. Collins or with Miss Lucas. It would be unwise to rely on encountering her in the park, regularly though Miss Bennet might walk there for her own pleasure.
But the circumstances favoured him.
On the Thursday afternoon, Mr. Collins and his party were invited by Lady Catherine to take tea with her. However, when they entered Rosings, it was for Mr. Collins to express abject regret that Miss Bennet had remained at Hunsford, as she was feeling unwell. His aunt seemed to be indifferent to this news, although his cousin Fitzwilliam expressed his regret.
Darcy however determined to have some excuse to leave the company, and did so, making the reason his need to write a letter to his sister.
His feelings of anxiety as he slipped out of the house that afternoon were not based on any apprehensions that his application to Miss Bennet might be rejected.
They related, first, to the fact that she might not be well enough to receive him.
Secondly, Darcy had never flattered himself that he had the ease of manner and happy address of his friend Bingley, or indeed his cousin Fitzwilliam.
He had therefore considered carefully the manner in which he would make clear the force of his affections, and that they had overcome all the obstacles of his position that indicated that he should look elsewhere for his wife.
On arriving at the parsonage, he was told that Miss Bennet was in the parlour, and he entered to find her sitting by the window. In an hurried manner he immediately began an enquiry after her health, imputing his visit to a wish of hearing that she was better.
She answered him briefly.
Darcy sat down for a few moments at her invitation, but could not feel easy thus, and so rose and walked about the room for several minutes, seeking as he did so for the right way to begin.
Finally he turned towards her, and was still conscious of his agitation as he spoke.
“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 colour ran from her face and as quickly returned, as she remained silent.
This was not the reaction that he had expected, for he assumed that she had been aware of the special attentions he had been paying to her during his stay in Kent. However, he considered her silence sufficient encouragement to continue, and went on to avow all the affection and attachment in his heart, which he had long felt for her.
However, in fairness to himself, he went on to add his sense of her inferiority, of its being a degradation, of the family obstacles that his judgement had always opposed to inclination.
He concluded with representing to her the strength of that attachment that, in spite of all his endeavours, he had found impossible to conquer; and with expressing his hope that it would now be rewarded by her acceptance of his hand.
He then confidently awaited her answer.
The effect of his words was quite contrary to what he had expected. The colour rose into her cheeks, and she began to speak in terms of angry emotion.
“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.”
Darcy looked at her with disbelief as she continued.
“The feelings which, you tell me, have long prevented the acknowledgement of your regard, can have little difficulty in overcoming it after this explanation.”
Darcy struggled to retain his composure, although his complexion became pale with anger. He tried not to speak until he felt that he was in control of what he should reply, although the disturbance of his mind was visible in every feature.
At length, when he had mastered himself, 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.”
He added, although indeed with little truth, “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?”
For a moment he thought that she had done, but she then continued on quite a different subject.
“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?”
Darcy was aware that he changed colour as she spoke, for she obviously referred to his influence on Bingley after they had returned from Hertfordshire the previous November. But the reaction was short, and he listened without attempting to interrupt her while she continued.
“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.”
She paused; he was silent.
“Can you deny that you have done it?” she repeated.
He took a deep breath before saying, with assumed tranquillity,
“I have no wish of denying that I did every thing in my power to separate my friend from your sister, or that I rejoice in my success.”
After a moment’s reflection, he went on, “Towards him I have been kinder than towards myself.”
She ignored this, as she continued on to another subject much more sensitive as far as he was concerned,
“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. Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received many months ago from Mr. Wickham.”
Darcy listened with increasing dismay, as she said,
“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?”
Darcy could not help replying angrily,
“You take an eager interest in that gentleman’s concerns.”
She came back at him immediately,
“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 Miss Bennet. “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. 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.”
Her remarks confirmed Darcy’s worst fears of her partiality for Wickham, which he had hoped to have misinterpreted at the ball at Netherfield. “And this,” he cried, beginning to lose control over his temper 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!”
Then a thought occurred to him and, pausing before he crossed the room again in his agitation, he said as he turned towards her, “But perhaps these offences 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.”
“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 everything.”
Darcy looked to her for a reply, but received none. He therefore decided to speak plainly, and said, “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?”
If he had thought to get her agreement on this, he was mistaken, for Miss Bennet rounded on him and replied, “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 for once was quite dumbfounded, and unable to say anything as she continued, “You could not have made me the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it.”
Sentiments so opposite to those which he had expected to hear led Darcy to regard her with feelings of mingled incredulity and mortification. But worse was to come.
“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 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.”
Although Darcy struggled to comprehend such a catalogue of rejection and criticism, yet his convictions of the soundness of his sentiments as far as her family were concerned gave him some certainty and comfort. Since clearly there was nothing to be gained by his remaining in the room, or remonstrating with her further, he said, “You have said quite enough, madam. 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.”
With these words Darcy hastily left the room, opened the front door and quit the house.
When a man has been accustomed since his earliest years to command what he desires, a disappointment in matters nearest to his heart must come as more than a severe shock.
On his return to Rosings, Darcy went upstairs directly, unable to compose his mind enough to spend the evening in the company of his aunt and cousins. He paced his room for half an hour, fury, resentment and dismay within him in equal measure.
He had no qualms about what he had said to Miss Bennet concerning the manners and origins of her family. When she had had time for reflection, she must readily acknowledge them to be true from her own observation. As to her sister’s affections, that was—perhaps—a matter on which she might have better information than himself.
It was on the subject of Wickham that Darcy’s resentment burned most strongly. What a misfortune for fate to allow that gentleman to poison her mind! He recalled only too well his conversation with her during the dance at the Netherfield ball. Clearly Miss Bennet had been easily deceived by Wickham’s narration of his dealings with the Darcy family, and by his pleasing style of address.
At least that deception could be remedied, and she must be trusted with the unhappy story of his sister’s encounter with Wickham the previous year. He had confidence in her discretion as to Georgiana’s unfortunate entanglement.
Darcy tossed and turned through all the dark hours, composing in his mind a letter that might remove her admiration for Wickham and at least absolve himself from unreasonable prejudices as far as Miss Jane Bennet was concerned.
Eventually, after many hours, Darcy finally fell into a restless sleep. When he awoke, he rose quickly, anxious to complete the task ahead.
Thus it was after a very disturbed night that Darcy sat down in the morning to write.
Rosings, eight o’clock in the morning.
“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 last night so disgusting to you.
Darcy paused, acutely aware of the pain in her dislike of him. Whatever he had in the past anticipated when he should reach the situation of offering for the hand of a woman of status worthy to be his wife, he had never contemplated rejection of his suit.
Nor had he ever thought that he should be told in such terms of the unwelcome nature of his offer, nor of the manner in which he had made it.
Certainly, he had no regrets about what he had said to Miss Bennet, but his affection for the lady was strong enough for Darcy to wish her to continue reading further into the letter. He picked up his pen again and, dipping it into the inkwell, went on,
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.
Again he paused in thought, for her words came too readily to his mind,
“I might as well enquire why with so evident a design of offending me and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character. I have every reason in the world to think ill of you.”
Was that the character by which he wished to be known, which he displayed to the world? Darcy shied away from the thought, and wrote on.
You must, therefore, pardon the freedom with which I demand your attention, your feelings, I know, will bestow it unwillingly, but I demand it of your justice.
Two offences of a very different nature, and by no means of equal magnitude, you last night laid to my charge.
The first mentioned was, that, regardless of the sentiments of either, I had detached Mr. Bingley from your sister, and the other, that I had, in defiance of various claims, in defiance of honour and humanity, ruined the immediate prosperity, and blasted the prospects of Mr. Wickham.
Wilfully and wantonly to have thrown off the companion of my youth, the acknowledged favourite of my father, a young man who had scarcely any other dependence than on our patronage, and who had been brought up to expect its exertion, would be a depravity, to which the separation of two young persons, whose affection could be the growth of only a few weeks, could bear no comparison.
But from the severity of that blame which was last night so liberally bestowed, respecting each circumstance. I shall hope to be in future secured, when the following account of my actions and their motives has been read.
If, in the explanation of them which is due to myself, I am under the necessity of relating feelings which may be offensive to your’s. I can only say that I am sorry. The necessity must be obeyed and further apology would be absurd.
Again Darcy stopped the flow of his pen, and stabbed it into the ink with such force that he broke the end of the quill. By the time he was ready to continue with another, he had had too much time to recollect his unhappiness, and the pain he felt about what Miss Bennet had said last night.
How, for instance, had she known that he had influenced Bingley against returning to Hertfordshire and to Netherfield? He had confided in no-one about his part in that as far as he could recall, unless . . . He remembered suddenly his conversation with Fitzwilliam on the journey down to Rosings. It was just possible that his cousin had recounted Darcy’s care for his friend, and that Miss Elizabeth Bennet had realised that the lady concerned must have been her elder sister.
In any case, his reasons for separating Bingley from Miss Jane Bennet had been sound and well founded. So he continued writing.
I had not been long in Hertfordshire before I saw, in common with others, that Bingley preferred your eldest sister to any other young woman in the country. But it was not till the evening of the dance at Netherfield that I had any apprehension of his feeling a serious attachment.
I had often seen him in love before. At that ball, while I had the honour of dancing with you . . . ,
Darcy paused at this point, with happier memories of that evening, when at last Elizabeth Bennet had agreed to dance with him, the touch of her hand, the way she had turned across the dance until... He shook himself, and continued,
...I was first made acquainted, by Sir William Lucas’s accidental information, that Bingley’s attentions to your sister had given rise to a general expectation of their marriage. He spoke of it as a certain event, of which the time alone could be undecided.
From that moment I observed my friend’s behaviour attentively; and I could then perceive that his partiality for Miss Bennet was beyond what I had ever witnessed in him.
Your sister I also watched. Her look and manners were open, cheerful and engaging as ever, but without any symptom of peculiar regard, and I remained convinced from the evening’s scrutiny, that though she received his attentions with pleasure, she did not invite them by any participation of sentiment.
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 such error, to inflict pain on her, your resentment has not been unreasonable.
Darcy at this point rested his head on his hand, and was deep in thought for several minutes. If Fitzwilliam had told Miss Elizabeth of Darcy’s part in the matter, he could not risk discussing her with his cousin, since they knew each other too well for Darcy to be able fully to conceal his feelings from Fitzwilliam. As it was, his cousin had been curious as to why Darcy had been so keen to prolong his stay at Rosings, when he was normally only too glad to get away.
And if Miss Elizabeth Bennet was correct about her sister’s feelings, were there other occasions when his own judgement might have been at fault?
For a moment he hesitated. But Darcy was not accustomed to thinking himself in error, and his indignation and confidence reasserted themselves,
But I shall not scruple to assert, that the serenity of your sister’s countenance and air was such, as might have given the most acute observer, a conviction that, however amiable her temper, her heart was not likely to be easily touched.
That I was desirous of believing her indifferent is certain, but I will venture to say that my investigations and decisions are not usually influenced by my hopes or fears. I did not believe her to be indifferent because I wished it, I believed it on impartial conviction, as truly as I wished it in reason.
My objections to the marriage were not merely those, which I last night acknowledged to have required the utmost force of passion to put aside, in my own case; the want of connection could not be so great an evil to my friend as to me.
But there were other causes of repugnance, causes which, though still existing, and existing to an equal degree in both instances, I had myself endeavoured to forget, because they were not immediately before me. These causes must be stated, though briefly.
Here Darcy stopped again, for what he must now say was certainly most unlikely to commend his cause to Elizabeth Bennet. However, surely she must realise that such matters could not be overlooked?
The situation of your mother’s family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison of that total want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly betrayed by herself, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father.
Darcy stopped writing, and looked unseeingly out of the window. Her words came back to him
“had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner . . .”
He shook his head as he continued—
Pardon me. It pains me to offend you. But amidst your concern for the defects of your nearest relations, and your displeasure at this representation of them, let it give you consolation to consider that, to have conducted yourselves so as to avoid any share of the like censure, is praise no less generally bestowed on you and your eldest sister, than it is honourable to the sense and disposition of both.
I will only say farther, that from what passed that evening, my opinion of all parties was confirmed, and every inducement heightened, which could have led me before, to preserve my friend from what I esteemed a most unhappy connection. He left Netherfield for London, on the day following, 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 readily engaged in the office of pointing out to my friend, the certain evils of such a choice. I describe, 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 judgement than on his own. To convince him, therefore, that he had deceived himself, was no very difficult point. To persuade him against returning into Hertfordshire, when that conviction had been given, was scarcely the work of a moment. I cannot blame myself for having done thus much.
There is but one part of my conduct in the whole affair, on which I do not reflect with satisfaction, it is that I condescended to adopt the measures of art so far as to conceal 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, and though the motives which governed me may to you very naturally appear insufficient, I have not yet learnt to condemn them.
With respect to that other, more weighty accusation, of having injured Mr. Wickham, I can only refute it by laying before you the whole of his connection with my family. 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.
Darcy then went on to relate the whole unhappy story of his sister’s visit to Ramsgate the previous year, of the close attentions that had led her to believe herself in love, and of Wickham being rapidly despatched from the town when Darcy had learnt of his designs on Georgiana and her fortune.
This, madam, is a faithful narrative of every event in which we have been concerned together; and if you do not absolutely reject it as false, you will, I hope, acquit me henceforth of cruelty towards Mr. Wickham.
For a few minutes, Darcy rested back in his chair, uncertain how best to continue, for he knew not what false stories, what devious little compliments, Mr. Wickham had paid to Elizabeth Bennet. He recalled too well what Caroline Bingley had said about them both at the Netherfield ball.
Nor did he know what degree of affection Miss Bennet still had for Wickham, though Darcy feared that it might, from her impassioned speech last night, be considerable.
“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. 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.”
Darcy sat for a long time in the chair without moving. At length, he roused himself, and took up his pen again.
I know not in what manner, under what form of falsehood he has imposed on you, but his success is not perhaps to be wondered at. Ignorant as you previously were of every thing concerning either, detection could not be in your power, and suspicion certainly not in your inclination.
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.
Darcy then considered by what other means he could convince Miss Bennet of the truth of what he wrote. He then recalled that she and his cousin Fitzwilliam had been on very good terms during the past days at Rosings, with his easy manners seeming often to commend themselves to her more readily than Darcy’s own attentions. That was an unhappy prospect, but at least he could put it to good use.
For the truth of every thing here related, I can appeal more particularly to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who from our near relationship and constant intimacy, and still more as one of the executors of my father’s will, has been unavoidably acquainted with every particular of these transactions.
Then he added, more painfully,
If your abhorrence of me should make my assertions valueless, you cannot be prevented by the same cause from confiding in my cousin, and that there may be the possibility of consulting him, I shall endeavour to find some opportunity of putting this letter in your hands in the course of the morning.
It was, as he now looked at his watch, a long time since he had begun to write. There were so many other things that he could add, that he doubted whether life without her offered him any pleasure at all, that he had hoped to recreate the happiness that had existed between his own parents in his union with her, that he had more wealth and position than any other suitor would be likely to offer her?
But what was the use of writing any of that, after the sentiments that she had expressed the previous day? If he was to have a chance of passing the letter to Miss Bennet before luncheon, he must end it now, but how?
At last he wrote, as he felt,
I will only add, God bless you. Fitzwilliam Darcy.
With that, he sealed the envelope, and called his man to get his clothes quickly, or he feared that he might be too late.
A few minutes later, he left the house, and walked quickly towards the copse in the park where he had often encountered Miss Bennet during his stay at Rosings.
The weather had continued fine but, after half an hour walking back and forth, he feared that his efforts to see her might be in vain. If she does not come, he resolved, I must go to the parsonage to leave the letter for her there. He was about to do this when, turning back alongside the boundary of the park, he caught sight of her by the gate towards the turnpike.
As soon as she saw him, she halted, and went to turn away.
Before she could do so, he stepped forward, and put the letter into her hand, saying, “I have been walking in the grove for some time in the hope of meeting you. Will you do me the honour of reading that letter?” He paused only to take one last long look as she took the paper, and then quickly walked away.
On his return to the house, Darcy was joined by Fitzwilliam. They had agreed previously to go that day to bid farewell to Mr. and Mrs. Collins and their guests. On their arrival at the parsonage, Fitzwilliam decided to wait on discovering that Miss Bennet was not at home. Darcy, however, paid his respects to Mrs. Collins, made his excuses and returned immediately to Rosings.
The last evening there was tedious to both Darcy and his cousin. Fitzwilliam’s efforts to promote conversation crossed with Lady Catherine’s determination to extract a promise from Darcy to return for another stay within a few months.
Since she did not omit to mention that the prime purpose of her invitation was for Darcy to become better acquainted with his cousin Anne, it was not a suggestion to which he was likely to accede in his current state of mind.
Whatever Miss Bennet had said to him the previous day, she was incomparably more dear to him; and any thought of an alliance to his pale, dull, cousin was unthinkable.
Eventually, in the face of his aunt’s persistence, Darcy reverted to his customary silence, leaving Fitzwilliam to carry on some conversation with Lady Catherine as best he could, and take the credit for their stay in Kent having been nearly twice as long as they had originally planned.
It was with no pleasure that Darcy heard his aunt say that she would be making a visit to town in early June, and he had to speak with unaccustomed lack of certainty as to where he might be at that time.
Lady Catherine then advised him that she was also thinking of making one of her regular visits to Bath, in the hope of some benefit to Anne’s health from taking the waters. She suggested that Darcy might choose to meet them there. He had eventually to remember a pressing need to write a letter to his steward in Derbyshire about estate business, to escape her persistence about this plan.
The following morning, Darcy took breakfast with Lady Catherine, resisting her every attempt to engage him in any further conversation about his intentions for travelling during the next few months. Happily, she took his silence as indicating his melancholy at leaving Rosings and its occupants, and pressed her conversation on Fitzwilliam instead.
Two hours later, the two cousins had said farewell to their aunt and cousin, and were on the road to London.