by Janet Aylmer
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.
15
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.
16
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.
17
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.
