Mr. Darcy Dances: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Sophie Lynbrook

  “You have been noticeably agreeable with Miss Bingley of late,” she observed.

  “I did not wish to quarrel with her while you have the concern of your sister’s illness. More than that, I have realized that this has all been pointless, not to mention undignified. My behaviour has done nothing to change her mind, and it has cost me your good opinion, something which I very much regret.”

  “As to that, my mind is not yet made up. I believe I am still making out your character. Still getting to know you, in fact. I do not know who you really are.”

  “I am still trying to work out for myself exactly who I am, but I believe it is a better person for all that has happened recently. You may hardly credit it, but six weeks ago, I was proud and arrogant, an ideal companion for Miss Bingley in fact.”

  “Is that how you came to be engaged? I always thought that you were very unalike.”

  “We are unalike, but there was a time when I was just as disagreeable as she is. If you had known me then, I think you would have disliked me even more.”

  “I do not dislike you,” she protested. “I was harsh on you from the beginning of our acquaintance, because I was annoyed that you encouraged my sisters. Charlotte said that I was allowing that to prejudice me against you, and I suppose she was right. You were sometimes excessively foolish, but there were other times when I was very amused by things you said, to be perfectly honest.”

  “That reminds me. I am sure you laughed yesterday when you pretended to cough. May I ask why?”

  She admitted the thoughts which had gone through her mind, and now he laughed.

  “You know me perfectly well. That is exactly what I would have said.”

  “You sound cheerful this morning,” came Mr. Bingley’s voice, and their private conversation came to an end. Elizabeth realized afterward that Mr. Darcy had not answered part of her question. How he had come to be engaged to Miss Bingley was still a mystery, and one in which she was starting to feel a very personal interest.

  Back upstairs, she told Jane of this conversation and his recent good behaviour.

  “I can hear in your voice that you do like him better now,” her sister said. “I told you that you would once you knew him better.”

  “It is not like you to be so gleeful about being proven right,” Elizabeth joked, “but yes, I do find that he has improved upon further acquaintance. His thoughtfulness to both of us on account of your illness has revealed that he is not as selfish as I thought, and I am coming to appreciate his sense of humour as well understanding what lies beneath it.”

  Mr. Darcy began the evening still in a cheerful mood, but it was soon ended by unexpected evidence of Miss Bingley’s determination.

  “I was intending to wait for our return to London before settling upon a wedding date,” she suddenly said, addressing herself to Elizabeth, “but I did not think we would be in the country for so long. Since my brother and Mr. Darcy are liking it here so very well, I have decided that I might as well be married in Meryton. That will also have the advantage of having you in attendance.” She turned to Mr. Darcy. “You must speak to the parson about a licence and set a date with him.”

  He did not reply, but Miss Bingley seemed to consider the matter settled. His agreement was apparently not required. “The first week of December will do very nicely,” she added. “We can be married in time for Christmas. I suppose you will want to spend it with your uncle and aunt.” She looked at Elizabeth again. “They are an earl and countess.”

  It was easy to see where her thoughts were tending, but not so easy to find anything to say in response. It was also evident that Mr. Darcy was feeling some distress, but Miss Bingley seemed to be oblivious. From that point, however, the evening became awkward. Mr. Darcy returned to being difficult and argumentative and Elizabeth felt that a great deal of it was directed toward her.

  Even Miss Bingley could not help but observe his growing ill-temper, but she foolishly made the observation that she could not understand why he was behaving so.

  “Do you not?” he said dangerously. “You ought to understand very well what makes me behave like this. Being engaged to me should give you great insight into my character.”

  “I already know you very well. You are an imminently sensible person and one who dislikes arguments.”

  “I think you do not know me at all. I am very fond of arguments. What is your opinion, Miss Bennet?” he said, raising his voice and turning toward her, “Do you agree that I find arguing very entertaining?”

  There was little doubt that he did, but with this bitterness in his voice and a flare in his eyes, she was not finding him entertaining.”

  “I have no idea what you find entertaining,” she said in an indifferent tone, hoping to escape a part in their quarrel, but it was not to be.

  “I had forgotten,” he said angrily. “Miss Bingley is your particular friend. Of course, you will take her side in everything. How very loyal of you, but not exactly fair to me. It is of no matter, however. Our dispute is inconsequential.”

  “If we are to speak of fairness,” she said, “I hardly think it fair for you to call upon me to settle your dispute.”

  “I shall not call upon you for anything more,” he said. “I do not think I have any inclination for company tonight. If you will all excuse me, I think I shall retire early.”

  He left the room abruptly, leaving the others staring at him in surprise. Elizabeth had next to hear Miss Bingley’s complaints.

  “I am sure he would not be in such an ill temper if he were not so determined to be difficult,” she said. “He does not know how to appreciate his good fortune.”

  Elizabeth hardly knew how to reply to this, understanding Mr. Darcy’s position as she did and thinking that Miss Bingley’s best course of action would be to give him up no matter how much she desired the engagement for herself. It could not lead to a marriage which would make her happy either, but none of this could be said. In a short time, she also excused herself.

  As she mounted the stairs, she saw to her surprise that Mr. Darcy was sitting on the top one.

  “I was hoping that you would not stay long in the drawing room,” he said. “I owe you an apology for making you bear the brunt of my discontent.”

  “It did not much matter to me,” she replied, “but I appreciate the apology.” Impulsively, she sat down on the stair beside him.

  “It does matter. I was unfairly blaming you, because you influenced me to behave better, which was probably the cause of her sudden plan. She must have believed that I had resigned myself to the marriage, but I have not. I was intending to make one more appeal to her reason, and to present in the firmest way all the reasons why she should not hold me to an engagement that I have only upheld out of honour. I had hope of yet persuading her to dissolve this absurd engagement, but now I see that will never happen. She does not care anything for happiness. She wants to marry me for my fortune and my connections. I am invited where she is not, and I represent her only chance for raising herself to that echelon which she greedily desires. As long as that goal is achieved, she will not care if she and I are miserable together. You have seen her motivations. Pemberley, wealth, my titled relatives. That is what she wants, and she does not care that I detest her. I believe she has persuaded herself that I will settle to this marriage and learn to think myself fortunate.”

  “Unfortunately, I can confirm that.”

  “I am sorry for drawing you into my misery. I should not have spoken so bitterly to you in the drawing room, or accused you of taking her side. That was not fair. None of this was your fault, and I have behaved abominably, accusing you in the harshest manner. You will be hating me even more, the one person in the world I most want to like me.”

  She caught the implication of this and felt gratitude at knowing herself to be the object of his affections, but the situation was impossible. He should not even be hinting at any feeling for her.

  “If I took any side, it would be yours,” she offe
red him. “I think it wrong of Miss Bingley to continue an engagement which is so obviously not agreeable to you.”

  “She would never think that a reason to give me up. She wants to spend my income and take advantage of my position in society. I was a fool to ever think that anything would make her change her mind. There was only ever one solution to this problem, and I would not take it.”

  “Which was honourable of you.”

  “Not much of a consolation when I am faced with the prospect of a dismal marriage, and a life without the person I love.”

  “You must not say such a thing,” she said. “You cannot speak of it.”

  “I know. I am not free to reveal my feelings, but I assure you that they are most ardent. It is no use talking of what I cannot have, however. You should leave me before I become bitter and rude again. I do not want to say things which we shall both regret.”

  His arms were folded across his knees and he dropped his head disconsolately upon them. Elizabeth rose to leave, but the sight tore at her heart. She sat down again and put a hand on his, not caring for propriety when he was in need of comfort. Nothing more was said, but they sat together in silence until the drawing room door was opened, at which time they each hastened to their rooms.

  CHAPTER 13

  In the morning, Elizabeth felt it wise to take her time going down for breakfast. She and Mr. Darcy ought not to be alone together when there was a risk that more might be said which was best left unsaid. She felt sorry for her tardiness, however, when he gave her a reproachful look. She could see that he thought she was trying to avoid him, so when she saw him walking in the garden later in the morning, she slipped outside to join him.

  “I thought you might have been avoiding me,” he said. “I am glad to see that is not the case.”

  “I did think we ought not to be alone,” she confessed; “however, I do not want you to think I do not trust you.”

  “So you are not here because you could not keep away?”

  “You are falling into bitterness again,” she cautioned him.

  “And you into criticism. No, I should not have said that. You are right, as always. I am being bitter. I have been wandering the garden feeling sorry for myself, which is certainly no evidence of my character being improved.”

  “As a friend, I will grant that you have good cause for your feelings, but I will also say that they will do no good.”

  “None whatsoever,” he agreed.

  “Since a combination of circumstances has led us to share a great many things recently, may I take the liberty of asking how your engagement came to be? It has been puzzling to know of your aversion to it, and wonder why on earth you asked Miss Bingley to marry you.”

  “I did not ask her. In point of fact, she asked me.”

  “And you agreed? Surely you would not have done.”

  “I did not agree. When I say asked, I do not mean that she did so directly. That alone would have been deplorable, but her deviousness was even worse. I mean that she was rambling on about some plan to which I was not paying attention. I was politely agreeing with everything she said while trying not to fall asleep, and suddenly she looked up and announced to the company in the room that she and I were engaged to be married.”

  “Did you not protest that she was mistaken?”

  “I did, but nobody heard me in all the confusion. Everybody stood up to congratulate us, and while they were all shaking my hand, I could not get anybody to understand that there was no engagement. After they sat down again, it seemed rude to then announce that Miss Bingley has been incorrect. That was my first mistake. I should have ceased thinking of good manners and spoken up at once, but I formed the foolish idea that the matter could be resolved without calling too much attention upon her. It seemed ungentlemanly to expose her behaviour, but I wish now that I had ruthlessly done so. She did not deserve my consideration. I could have considered myself absolved from the demands of honour in view of Miss Bingley’s own ruthlessness. She has long been throwing herself at me, with complete disregard for my disinterest. In my lack of attention, she found a cunning opportunity.”

  “I understand now what you meant about her being unladylike. It was an appalling thing for her to do, but I am astonished that you were so inattentive.

  “I was excessively tired with very good reason. I had just travelled to Ramsgate and back again in the space of two days, and I had been extremely troubled by a very upsetting situation. In the corresponding two nights, my sleep was disturbed. Miss Bingley saw my state of exhaustion and used it to her own advantage with cold calculation. On the next morning, I rose with the intention of paying a call for the purpose of sorting things out in a private conversation with her. After that, I planned to have a diplomatic word with those friends who had been present on the previous evening and smooth things over for Miss Bingley’s sake. I was hoping to succeed in encouraging them to keep quiet about the whole affair. She would have been the laughing stock of society if the story was spread around. At breakfast, however, I learned that she was not deserving of my generous consideration.

  “My morning newspaper gave me the most appalling shock by announcing our supposed engagement. Miss Bingley must have sent a servant to the newspaper at a very early hour, and very likely paid a substantial extra fee to have her announcement added at the last moment before the newspapers were printed. This discovery made me very angry, and I made my way to the Hurst’s house in a great temper. My arrival did nothing to help my situation. Miss Bingley was already receiving visitors who had come to offer their congratulations, and my appearance only served to give the appearance of confirmation to a lie. When at last I was able to talk to her, she was not cooperative. In her opinion, I had agreed to a marriage and was bound by that agreement. I begged her to put an end to the engagement, but she insisted that her own feelings were deeply engaged, and that I was only experiencing an attack of nerves.”

  “I assume you are not subject to such attacks?”

  “Certainly not. I enjoy excellent health. I told Miss Bingley so and insisted that the engagement must be dissolved, but she subtly hinted at bringing a breach of promise suit against me. With that, she had me trapped.”

  “You should not have felt yourself obligated to be honourable under the circumstances. Her trickery made her undeserving of that consideration.”

  “Not in the eyes of the world, but there is more to it than that. I told you I have always been very different. I am a man of honour and strong principles and am loathe for it to be known that I have thrown over a lady. This is not just about honour, however. It has more to do with pride, something which I have in abundance. I could not bear to be gossiped about or to bring my family’s name into disgrace. That is what I am faced with now. Their dignity as well as my own, or my happiness. I must choose one or the other, and I have never been the sort of man who would sacrifice dignity or fail in obligation to my relatives.”

  “Do you hold them in great affection.”

  “Hardly at all. They are a selfish and arrogant lot, much like I have been, except for one cousin. He went into the army, which must have been a good influence. I understand it now after making so many friends among the officers. But I digress. The point is that I would gladly pay Miss Bingley any sum of money as compensation, but it is my reputation which is the sticking point and Miss Bingley is well aware of it. She knows what value I place on that.”

  “Is pride not just another form of foolishness?” Elizabeth asked. “You may have your reputation, but what will that mean if you are miserable as the price of keeping it? As to your family, will they really prefer to have her instead of some notoriety which will eventually die down?”

  “They certainly will. You do not know what they are like.”

  “You should not allow yourself to be guided by them. It is within your power to secure the release which you so desperately desire, yet you attach greater value to reputation than to happiness.”

  “I would do it for you,” he
said suddenly. “If you wanted to marry me, I would sacrifice all else.”

  “And eventually regret that you did,” she said. “It is a terrible offer. If you would not do this for yourself alone, you should not place the burden on me to give you a reason for it; moreover, if reputation means more than anything to you, then this is an offer which could only make you just as miserable as you are now. It would only give you cause for regret.”

  “I would not regret anything if I could have your love.”

  “You ask for love? To say this when you are not at liberty to do so is akin to making a most improper offer, which fills me with doubt about you. I really do not know you very well. By your own admission, your behavior has been out of character since we met, and much of it has been concerning. Your treatment of Miss Bingley, whether or not it was justified, did not set any good standard for those gentlemen who observed it. The representation of your character has been false, and you now reveal that pride is more important to you than happiness. All these things persuade me that I should not love you.”

  She left him abruptly, before he could acknowledge the rightness of what she had said. Not that it mattered anyway. He had been in error again and feared there was no making up for it. To have admitted his feelings under his current circumstances was appalling. He continued wandering the gardens and ended up back at the pool where he had determined to do better.

  “I have instead done worse,” he said gloomily to his reflection. “I let my feelings get the better of me and now things are in the most dreadful state.”

  He stood in front of the water for some time and came to a decision. Between pride and happiness, he knew exactly which one to choose. It would be the final casting off of his old life, and embracing of the new. His family could bear the burden, just as he had to do when they made a spectacle of themselves with their overbearing ways. His offense might be the more disastrous, but theirs were greater in number. He might never have love, but he refused to settle into hatred.