“I understand. However, you must take into consideration that she must come out soon. Perhaps not next Season but the next.”
“Yes . . . soon . . . She is still very young and not inclined to attend balls and parties.”
“She likes nothing that you do not like,” Lady Matlock replied with amusement. “I am not certain if it is her disposition or only her desire to please you.”
I sensed my face frowning. “I always encourage her to speak freely and to pursue what she pleases. It is not my intention to impose my tastes on my sister.”
“Of course not, my dear, do not be so grave. But you must admit that she not only loves you as a sister but also as a daughter might and would do nothing to disappoint you.”
“She never disappoints me. One could never hope for a better sister.”
Nodding to the companion at Georgiana’s side, my aunt said, “Mrs. Annesley seems a very pleasant woman and quite fond of Georgiana.”
“We have every reason to be satisfied with her services.” A sudden lump lodged in my throat as I was reminded of Georgiana’s former companion Mrs. Younge, and her deception . . .
“This is comforting. . . . However . . . I am thinking . . . she might benefit from the company of younger people . . . perhaps a younger companion . . . like a sister. . . ”
I frowned again and said nothing to this.
“Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst are obviously intent on gaining her favour, although in a most cloying manner. Poor Georgiana shows more distress than pleasure from their company. It is transparent how Miss Bingley hopes to win your attention through friendship with your sister.”
“Indeed. Transparent and unrealistic.” And ridiculous.
“Touché I was never concerned in this regard.” She raised an eyebrow at me. “Mr. Bingley is also very friendly with Georgiana. And she looks quite at ease with him.”
“Yes . . .”
“Do you suspect there may be more from this? Would you allow such an unequal union to take place? I know he is your friend, but his father was in trade. We cannot ignore that.”
“Aunt, I value Bingley’s friendship because he is one of the kindest, most honourable men I have ever known. I have no doubts that he shall make an excellent husband for the woman he chooses as his wife. And I would never oppose a match between Georgiana and a worthy man. However, I see no inclination toward any attachment beyond mutual friendship between Georgiana and Bingley.”
“I see . . . well, we often see marriages started from less than a close friendship. . . . It is apparent that you dislike the subject.”
“Dear Aunt, I am not averse to discourse with you, but this matter is irrelevant.”
“Then I shall not persist. However, have you any news for me? Catherine is writing to us weekly, asking of you, insisting of your increased attachment to Rosings. You cannot keep Anne in such uncertainty for too long.”
“I do not keep anyone in uncertainty, Aunt.” I congratulated myself on maintaining my equanimity and yet, I continued. “Anne knows she cannot expect any engagement from me. And I repeatedly told Aunt Catherine that I will always keep Anne under my care and protection, but I have no marital aspirations with my cousin. It is only Aunt Catherine who perseveres.”
“Just like Miss Bingley.” Lady Matlock smiled.
“Quite.”
“But . . . you must allow me: Is there any reason why you are against your marriage with Anne? All the circumstances would be in favour of such a union and I know you have great affection for her. And I never noticed you paying particular attention to any young lady. Might your interest and hopes lie elsewhere?”
I frowned again and my patience betrayed me. I could not bear to speak on that subject any longer. “Dear Aunt, I believe we have spent enough time with a conversation that will lead nowhere. Might I offer you another drink?”
She shook her head, and as I stepped to refill my own drink, I felt my aunt’s gaze. With glass in hand, I took a chair at the corner of the room, grateful to Lady Matlock for not following me.
The music started again, and I gulped my brandy, attempting to calm myself. “You must allow me,” my aunt had said, the words cutting me. “You must allow me . . .” I had said those same words three months before. They were the preamble to my surreptitious fall. The storm that started at the parsonage had ravaged everything. I had no marital interest nor hopes. She had burned them all and only ashes remained.
London was not far enough from Longbourn and her image still haunted my days and nights. I wished for nothing but to depart for Pemberley and leave behind my memories of her. I was obligated to take the Bingleys and the Hursts as I had invited them long ago, but—dear Lord—how painful the recollections their presence brought back. However, I had little else to do but bear it. My consolation was that Georgiana might benefit from the presence of a few guests. After all, I might retreat unto my own company if my guests entertained one another midst the delights of Pemberley.
“You must allow me to tell you how ardently . . .” That confession—my demand to her—still shamed me. Ardently. How ridiculous that word sounded after all these months. What was I thinking? Had I completely lost my reason? I had never named the word before I met Elizabeth, just as I had never associated the word “love” with anyone beyond Georgiana or my parents. How had I spoken those words to the very woman who wished to hear them least? My affection, my love, my passion, my desire—my hand and my heart—were rejected with such disdain, such anger, such horror that I knew I would never forget. Nor offer them again, to anyone, ever.
From so many faces, eyes of all colours and shapes had looked at me shyly or with pluck, pleading or demanding my attention, but none succeeded in catching my interest or stirring my thoughts or emotions. For many years, I had recognised and admired beauty, as I might a painting—from afar—until I fell under the enchantment of Elizabeth Bennet’s eyes. Those fine eyes that sparkled and laughed even before the smile found her lips. She drew me in with a strength I could not defend and discovered myself trapped by a desire stronger than anything I had known before.
This unknown, powerful desire had permeated my senses: to be with her all the time, to hear her voice and her laughter, to speak to her, to touch her hand, to admire her light and pleasing figure. I had been plagued by vivid imaginings: removing her hairpins to allow the heavy locks to fall freely on her shoulders, brushing my fingers over her skin, tasting her lips, kissing her eyelids. . . . To be in her presence, every day, every moment. Forever.
My fascination quickly turned to alarm when I understood I had completely surrendered my desire to her. I could not fight these feelings I barely recognised or admitted. I was powerless. Profoundly aware of the impossibility of any connection between us, I reconciled that all hope was gone. At the Netherfield Ball, even the briefest touch of her hand during our one and only dance was more arousing than any other sensation I experienced with any other woman. Her closeness intoxicated me; her scent made me dizzy. Yet, her family’s appalling behaviour and the prospect of Bingley marrying Jane Bennet—putting me in Elizabeth’s proximity for a lifetime—panicked me. Thus, the very next day I departed Hertfordshire and cowardly allowed distance to contest my longing and sorrow.
I had thought, by detaching Bingley from Miss Jane Bennet as well, that I had been acting in the service of a friend. Alas, I now knew I had erred and was angry and penitent for my disservice.
I prided myself—and declared even in Elizabeth’s presence—that I was a resentful man—that my good opinion once lost, was lost forever. After all my mistakes, after making a fool of myself, I had completely lost my own good opinion and the resentment against my own folly had been relentless.
When I left Netherfield, I was convinced Elizabeth had recognised my feelings and reciprocated them; that she was awaiting and encouraging my attentions. I imagined she was suffering after my departure. From November to April, I blamed myself for the distress I thought I had caused her.
As s
oon as I had received news from Lady Catherine that Mrs. Collins expected guests from Hertfordshire, including a certain Miss Elizabeth Bennet, a single sleepless night was enough for me to decide to leave for Rosings earlier than in other years. I was aware of the tremendous danger, recognising the trap I was setting for myself—but I could not resist the desire of seeing her again—just once more—under the perfect pretence of visiting my aunt and cousin. “Disguise of any sort is my abhorrence.” I had pronounced to her once whilst at Netherfield. What a pretentious fool! I had done nothing but dissemble whenever I had crossed swords with Elizabeth Bennet.
Upon arrival in Kent, all my previous resolutions disappeared. I had taken every opportunity to call on the parsonage, enjoy her teasing nature and her inviting looks. I was convinced she purposely informed me of her favourite walks in the park. She played the piano at Rosings and while my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam turned the pages for her, she used an affected joke to include me in their tête-à-tête. I had no doubts of her contriving little schemes and I was delighted to enjoy them. She referred often to our time in Hertfordshire and in rendering her feelings known to me, my desire for her grew until it conquered any resistance.
I knew I should run away but I could not. My bond to her had become unyielding. I postponed our departure twice to my cousin’s puzzlement. At the first opportunity when I was certain she would be alone, I declared my defeat to her. I proclaimed my love, admiration, and passion were stronger even than my pride, duty, and reason. That no flaws of her family were enough to keep us apart. That I was willing to fight all of society for the bliss of being with her for a lifetime.
“You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
I spoke with determination, with fervour—with all my heart. Then the world collapsed around me.
“…you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.”
“…had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.”
“…your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain…”
In less than one half hour, the gate opened and threw me into the deepest hole. Even to this day, I cannot credit the words we said. She had held me responsible for interfering between Bingley and her sister and ruining their happiness but also for Wickham’s misfortunes! Misfortunes indeed! The sting while witnessing the eager interest she proclaimed on behalf of that rogue was unmistakeable as was the cut of jealousy that only added to my turmoil.
Later that evening, I had made one last gesture of chivalry by writing her a letter, even explaining the sorry business between Wickham and my sister, and hoping to acquit myself of any wrongdoings toward my friend Bingley. Days later, I could not understand what induced me to make such a reckless gesture. I attributed it to my tormented mind and fatigue and that my love was more formidable than my sensibility. When sound judgment finally conquered my resentment, I admitted that I had no motives to doubt Elizabeth’s discretion. She had disappointed me and betrayed my trust in her intellect by believing the most dishonourable of men, but I knew she would not expose to the censure of the world the error of a young girl.
As the days passed, I have come to accept the justice of Elizabeth Bennet’s reproach. Although she had been wrong in some of her accusations, she was justified in others. Her low opinion of me was entirely due to my own poor manners during our acquaintance. Many other women would have eagerly accepted me, placing my situation and wealth above my behaviour. But she had not—and that was a proof of her worthiness; I was finally reasonable enough to accept that. And recognise what I had truly lost.
“Darcy, are you unwell?”
“Pardon?” I shook my head to return from my ruminations and was met by Bingley’s furrowed brow. “I should not have had the second glass of brandy, I suppose.”
Bingley laughed. “I cannot believe that. I have yet to see you affected by any kind of drink. You must be distracted with business matters.”
“Hmm . . . I hope you enjoyed yourself. Georgiana was pleased to see you.”
“As were we to see her. And very obliged to you for including us in your family party.” Bingley continued. “And for inviting us to Pemberley.”
“It was long ago established we would spend the summer at Pemberley together, and I saw no reason to rescind it,” I said, and we chuckled over our drinks.
“True . . . long ago . . . since we were at Netherfield even,” Bingley added in a lower voice.
My guilt cut fiercely and the recollection spoilt my mood again. Expectedly, Bingley was even more affected. Poor fellow. He knew only that his felicity had been shattered and he still suffered for his unreturned affection. I had long planned to confess the whole truth to him at Pemberley, accepting the risk of jeopardising our friendship.
We spoke nothing more—what could be said on that subject between two gentlemen during a party?
“I need another drink,” I said while moving toward the sideboard. “Would you join me?”
“Most certainly.”
* * *
Close to midnight, silence eventually wrapped Darcy House, and I offered Georgiana my arm as we walked together along the hall towards our apartments.
“Brother, how can I thank you for this lovely evening?”
I gently kissed her hand. “Surely you do not intend to thank me, dearest. Or perhaps you should wait until we arrive at Pemberley. There may be a few more surprises waiting for you and you might thank me for all at once,” I quipped. Her clear blue eyes widened in delight.
“More surprises? Oh, you should not have told me, because now I will not be able to sleep. But no surprises are needed, leaving for Pemberley is enough. I am so happy! Mrs. Annesley is all anticipation, and rightfully so. I am sure she has never seen a more beautiful home than Pemberley.”
“I only hope you will not grow weary of the retired pace at Pemberley.”
“Never. I would be perfectly content to live only at Pemberley for the rest of my life. But how are you feeling, Brother? Are you eager for this journey? I see you smiling so rarely.”
“I am pleased to see you happy, dearest. Your joy makes me smile. There is nothing more important to me than you, Georgiana.”
“As there is nothing more important to me than you, dear brother. I would do anything to see you smiling more. I saw you quite preoccupied during the party too. Was it because of Miss Bingley? I know her attention to you is tiresome . . . I wonder how will you bear such a long journey in her proximity?”
“You are very perceptive, my dear. It is quite tiresome, but it is surely not enough reason for concern. And I already planned to travel by horse, thus I will not be in anybody’s proximity.”
Georgiana released a small laugh and I continued, “But is Miss Bingley tiresome for you too? Does she trouble you?”
“Oh no . . . perhaps only sometimes . . . when she insists that I am perfectly accomplished and she praises me exceedingly. I know she is only dissembling to draw your attention . . .”
“Well, I cannot fault her in this matter—you are perfectly accomplished and I could not be more proud.”
“Oh, you are simply partial to me, as a good brother should be . . . but any accomplishments I might have, I owe entirely to your guidance. I confess, besides my playing, I enjoy improving my mind through extensive reading—as you advised me years ago,” my sweet sister replied with good humour.
Instead of smiling, I felt the blood drain from my face as those very words spoken so condescendingly to Elizabeth at Netherfield came flooding back to me. My sister’s distress shadowed across her countenance.
“Brother?”
I cleared my throat and kissed her hand again. “I was only considering that it is very late and we must retire for the night.”
She did not insist further as we continued toward our apartments, but her curiosity—and her concern were apparent. While climbing the stairs, my thoughts became restless. Before my sister entered her room, I suddenly turned to her. “De
arest, would you mind if I left for Pemberley a day early? I remembered I must arrange several things before you arrive. Would it be acceptable for you to travel with Mrs. Annesley and Bingley? I will make all the arrangements to ensure you a safe and pleasant journey.”
Georgiana’s surprise was impossible to conceal and her face paled. I have seen her anxiety too often to miss its significance. “Only if this is acceptable to you, my dear.”
“It is, Brother, if this is your wish. Anything that gives you peace and comfort is acceptable to me. I only wish to see you smiling more.”
* * *
In the middle of July, remaining faithful to my precipitate journey, I left London one full day ahead of my party. I was anxious to leave my anguish behind, inducing me to hurry toward Pemberley. I prepared Georgiana’s travel as promised and included my valet in the servants’ coach. I congratulated myself for the brilliance of travelling alone. Having to bear three days on the road with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst was an ordeal that I happily avoided.
I found contentment to ride alone with nothing to disturb me except my thoughts. During the journey, I stopped at every inn where my party was scheduled and confirmed their arrangements. I rested only as needed, thus, at noon on the third day, I reached the boundary of Pemberley Park.
I hoped, nay, waited to feel the same peace which enveloped me every time I arrived home. The serenity, beauty, comfort, and safety that Pemberley always granted me was what I sought. Perhaps now I would be able to find rest and sleep, then forgive myself, and Elizabeth—and forget. The estate’s chestnut trees dancing in the wind were the proper shelter in which to hide from the reminders of the past.
The splendour of Pemberley overwhelmed me and once again I felt proud to call it my home. However, unlike other times, my restlessness only increased with every step.
My trusty steed, Duke, showed signs of impatience, too, as he recognised the surroundings and I gave him free rein to gallop through the pastures. I took off my hat, allowing the breeze to cool my head—and troubled mind. I urged the horse on as if in a competition with my old self—as I struggled to leave behind the past and the agony.
The Darcy Monologues: A romance anthology of Pride and Prejudice short stories in Mr. Darcy's own words Page 18
