Mr. Darcy's Undoing

by Abigail Reynolds

  Elizabeth felt the compliment to herself, but her astonishment was extreme; and she asked herself continually, Why is he so altered? From what can it proceed? It cannot be for me, it cannot be for my sake that his manners are thus softened. My reproofs at Hunsford could not work such a change as this. She would not allow herself to consider the implications of his behaviour; she was engaged to be married, and she knew that he understood and would respect that fact just as she would.

  Darcy was cautiously pleased with how the evening was progressing. Although the degree of shock with which Elizabeth had greeted him had not been promising, she had agreed to dance with him, spoken with him with an air of comfort, and even teased him a little, if he was not mistaken. He had ached for her from the moment he saw her, standing by her sister with her back to the door, and the exquisite pleasure of touching her hand as they danced had only reinforced his desire to win her. He could not quite bring himself to dance with another woman so quickly, so instead determined to demonstrate his attention to her reproofs by conversing with her family. Unfortunately, the only member of her family then available was her mother. Taking a deep breath, he approached Mrs. Bennet, giving her his compliments and enquiring after her well-being.

  Her reception was initially cold and ceremonious, but he persisted in his civility, just keeping himself from rolling his eyes at some of Mrs. Bennet’s ridiculous manners. Soon, however, the compliment of having such a man’s attention outweighed her former anger towards him, and she began to take advantage of the opportunity to tell him all the news of the neighbourhood.

  “My sister Phillips’s eldest son married last spring to Harriet Letsworth, and that was quite the occasion,” she said. With pride, she added her coup, “And you have no doubt heard, Mr. Darcy, of my daughter’s engagement.”

  Darcy’s wandering attention snapped back to her at these words. Miss Bennet engaged? Bingley would be devastated, especially if the look on his face when he danced with her was anything to judge by. This was a disaster; it would certainly make matters more difficult for him with Elizabeth as well. He cleared his throat, trying to mask his reaction, and said, “Miss Bennet is engaged? No, I have not had the pleasure of hearing the news.”

  “Oh, no, not Jane!” replied Mrs. Bennet distractedly, her eyes travelling with satisfaction toward the figure of Mr. Bingley. “No, it is Lizzy who is to marry Mr. Covington—ah, yes, he has just arrived. My daughter Lydia is unfortunately not with us tonight; she is visiting Colonel Forster’s wife in Devonshire.”

  Darcy was struck by a sharp shock of pain and disbelief at her unexpected words. His Elizabeth, promised to another man? It could not be! The possibility had never so much as crossed his mind that she might look on some other man with favour—that she might refuse him again, yes, but marry another, and so quickly? How could this have happened? His eyes sought her out involuntarily where she stood conversing with several acquaintances, and the taste of bile rose in his throat. He forced himself to say, “I do not believe that I am acquainted with Mr. Covington.” But I know enough about him already to wish he had never taken the first breath of life! he thought darkly.

  “Not know him?” cried Mrs. Bennet disbelievingly. “Mr. Covington is master of Ashworth House, and a fine gentleman. Surely you must have met him last autumn, Mr. Darcy? There he is now.” With an embarrassing want of propriety, she pointed across the room to a well-built gentleman perhaps a few years younger than Darcy, with a handsome enough countenance though no particular claim to style, but fitting well into the company at hand. As Darcy watched with bitter jealousy, he approached Elizabeth and greeted her warmly, raising her hand to his lips.

  Darcy’s eyes were fixed on Elizabeth, who welcomed the interloper with a somewhat absent smile, continuing her conversation and apparently including him without particular effort. Elizabeth, he thought despairingly.

  Mr. Covington’s late arrival had not come as a surprise to Elizabeth; she knew he was quite busy at this season, and she was just as happy he had been absent during her dance with Darcy. She could not help but wonder what Darcy was thinking, if he had noticed the two of them together, and whether he was thanking heaven for his narrow escape. As Mr. Covington took her hand for the next dance, she braved a glimpse in his direction.

  One look at his face told her something was terribly wrong. She saw her mother chatting away to him while he appeared oblivious, looking directly at Elizabeth. The realization suddenly hit her that he had not known of her engagement, that this was news to him; and a sudden wave of nausea passed over her. How cruel he must think she had been with her arch looks and teasing during their dances! She might not care for him, but he had been making a pronounced effort to be civil, and he did not deserve to be treated so. And what would Mr. Covington think if he knew she had been dancing with a gentleman who had loved her ardently and wanted to marry her? She felt heartily ashamed of herself, without quite knowing why.

  Mr. Covington noticed her hesitation. “Are you well, Lizzy?” he asked with concern, noting her pallor.

  Elizabeth swallowed. “Yes, quite well, sir,” she said. “Please, let us continue.”

  ***

  It was very late when the gentlemen finally returned to Netherfield. Darcy’s mood was very dark, and he had barely restrained himself from snarling at Bingley and his raptures over the charms of Miss Bennet. He said a curt good night to his host, who was far too lost in his own happy thoughts to notice, and retired to his room where he angrily stripped off his cravat and tailcoat before his valet could assist him. “Some brandy, please,” he told him brusquely. His valet, wondering at this unusual request from his master, disappeared immediately to do his bidding, leaving Darcy alone with his memories of the evening.

  Darcy did not know how he had managed to stay through the end of the assembly. He had hardly removed his eyes from Elizabeth all evening, even when he was mechanically dancing with another woman, and his initial pain and anger had quickly given way to self-blame and loathing. Why had he assumed she would be waiting for him, that she would not catch the eye of some other man? What did she see in Covington that had caused her to accept the man while refusing him? The voice of honesty in him insisted on providing the answer: it would not take much for her to think better of any man than she did of him.

  He had somehow forced himself to approach her once more before the evening had ended. “I understand that I should be giving you my congratulations, Miss Bennet,” he had said, his mouth dry as ashes. She had looked up at him, engaging in that bewitching habit of hers of biting the corner of her lower lip, and thanked him gravely. Glutton for punishment that he was, he had asked her to dance again, telling himself that it was only to show her he was not so mean as to hold the past against her. He knew, though, that his motivation was more that of an addict seeking his opium—he wanted the touch of her hand, and the opportunity to pretend that her smiles were for him. Pathetic! he thought bitterly.

  His mind returned like a vulture to the question of why she had accepted Covington. He gathered that he was modestly well-to-do by Meryton standards, but venality was one sin he could not lay to Miss Bennet’s door, not after she had refused him. The man himself seemed pleasant enough, but he had not struck Darcy as particularly well-educated or witty, but the truth was that if Covington had been the personification of every virtue known to man, Darcy would still have despised him. He had watched Elizabeth carefully when she was with him. The gentleman was clearly overflowing with admiration for her, but Darcy did not notice any signs of particular regard on her part, although she was attentive enough to him.

  What are you trying to prove? he demanded of himself angrily. She has made her choice, and there is no going back. You are too late, if you ever had a chance at all—give it up, man! But he knew he could not—he had tried to walk away from Elizabeth Bennet often enough in the past without success. Well, you will simply have to learn to do so now! he told himself sharply.
There are no miracles waiting to happen!

  He downed several glasses of brandy in rapid succession as he brooded over the prospect of his Elizabeth as Mrs. Covington. He knew that his case was hopeless, but as his mind revolved around the whole question again and again, one salient fact kept leaping out at him: he had to know, for his own peace of mind, whether she loved Covington or not. It could make no difference to the final outcome; that was already fixed, but if he knew that she was marrying out of deep affection, perhaps he would be able to put her memory behind him more successfully. He was under no illusions, however—even if that would be the best outcome for him personally, he knew he had no desire whatsoever for it to be true. He wanted desperately to believe that she did not care one jot for Covington.

  Well, he resolved, I will need to remain here at least a week or two before I can decently make my excuses and leave this place forever—perhaps that will give me adequate time to discover her feelings. Even as he thought it, he knew that he was only seeking excuses to be in her company once more.

  ***

  The next morning, Bingley was all eagerness to pay a call to Longbourn. Darcy, who was feeling rather worse for wear after the combination of too much brandy and not enough sleep, had difficulty persuading him that it would be better to wait another day, since they had, after all, just arrived. Bingley agreed with visible reluctance, and they went out shooting instead. While the activity provided an outlet for some of Darcy’s hostility, his distress was unalleviated.

  The next morning he dressed with unusual care, far more than required for a morning call, and when he realized what he had done, called for his valet with a scowl to fetch some more everyday apparel. Bingley’s impatience to see Miss Bennet worked to Darcy’s benefit this morning—a rapid canter across the countryside allowed him to put his anxiety aside for a short time as he focused on his mount and the uneven ground. No sooner had they arrived at Longbourn, though, that it returned full force. What is there to fear now? he scoffed at himself impatiently. Surely the worst has already happened!

  His eyes flew to Elizabeth the moment they entered the room, watching her as Mrs. Bennet greeted Bingley with an embarrassing degree of civility. To think I once worried about her manners as an obstacle to having Elizabeth as my wife! thought Darcy, knowing he would now tolerate far, far worse if it only meant that she were free for the winning. Elizabeth herself was a mystery, saying as little to either of the callers as civility would permit, and attending to her work with a degree of eagerness which seemed out of character. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, and he wondered what she made of his presence.

  He was not seated with her, and thus was reduced to occasional glances at her as he practiced conversation with her mother and Miss Bennet. Once he caught her eyes on him, her expression unreadable, but she looked away immediately in apparent embarrassment. It was a combination of pleasure and pain to be in the same room with her, the pleasure of being able to see her fine eyes and her delicate profile, and the torture when he thought of her with her fiancé. Does Covington kiss her? he wondered, his eyes resting on her lips. Has he already taken what should rightfully be mine? He did not know how much longer he could bear such thoughts, and firmly pushed them away, allowing himself to pretend just for the duration of the visit that there was no such man as Covington, and that he had the right to admire Elizabeth as much as he chose.

  Such was his state that, when Mrs. Bennet invited them to dine at Longbourn in a few days’ time, he felt a rush of gratitude, and only wished it could be sooner. He chided himself for this as soon as he left—was he trying to arrange for even greater heartbreak?

  As soon as the gentlemen were gone, Elizabeth walked out to recover her spirits. Darcy’s visit had agitated and vexed her. She could not understand his motives; surely he had not come out of a desire to visit any others of her family but perhaps Jane, and that seemed unlikely. He had conversed more than he had in the past, but not with her. His eyes seemed to rest on her a good deal, but whether it was with greater regret or relief she could not guess. Perhaps he simply did not trust Bingley alone at Longbourn—that seemed the most likely answer.

  She could not imagine any good opinion he had of her which had survived her outrageous accusations at Hunsford could remain in face of the news of her engagement. She wondered in what estimation he held Mr. Covington, and why he thought she had accepted him. She could not imagine that Darcy would fail to respect her engagement. Yet if his good opinion of her was lost, or if he thought her lost to him, what had he been doing at Longbourn? She sighed at the seeming perversity of his behaviour. It seemed it was her fate never to understand him.

  ***

  Over the next few days Darcy did his utmost to put Elizabeth Bennet out of his mind, with even less success than usual. Knowing that she was but three miles away was a constant distraction, as he wondered what she was doing and thinking, and more crucially, with whom she was doing it. He had always known that he had a tendency towards jealousy; now he was discovering just how deeply rooted it could be.

  He resolved more than once to think no more of her engagement, and just to consider her as a woman who had refused him and was beyond his reach, but these efforts never succeeded for long. If nothing else, he betrayed his resolution in his dreams, dreams of Elizabeth looking up at him with an arch expression in her lovely eyes, Elizabeth accepting his lovemaking, Elizabeth telling him she loved no one but him. Waking was an unspeakable disappointment.

  He kept himself busy with shooting, reading, and writing letters, but knew he was but marking time until he saw her again. The days until their dinner at Longbourn seemed to stretch into eternity, but finally the day came.

  There was a large party assembled at Longbourn; and the two gentlemen were in very good time. Darcy at first stayed close by his friend’s side; he had not anticipated the size of the party, and once he saw it, he realized that it was not unlikely that Mr. Covington would be a guest as well, and this was a circumstance he was not prepared to deal with. Fortunately, he did not make an appearance, and by the time dinner was announced, Darcy was ready to breathe a sigh of relief.

  When they repaired to the dining-room, Bingley seemed to hesitate. Miss Bennet happened to look round then, and happened to smile at him, and that was enough. He then took the place by her side which had belonged to him in all their former parties.

  Elizabeth, with a triumphant sensation, looked towards his friend. He bore it with noble indifference, and she would have imagined that Bingley had received his sanction to be happy, had she not seen his eyes likewise turned towards Mr. Darcy, with an expression of half-laughing alarm.

  Darcy, however, was no longer attending to Bingley; following his friend’s lead, he assertively took the place nearest Elizabeth. Now that he knew that she was not partnered for the evening, he had no intention of watching her only from a distance; he wanted to be close enough to see her breathe and to admire the sparkle in her eyes when she smiled. As she turned to him to greet him, he caught a light scent of roses.

  “Mr. Darcy, I hope you are well tonight,” she said. He wondered how she could make the most banal of statements sound delightfully arch. God, but she was bewitching!—and the oddest part was that it was clearly unconsciously done on her part. She seemed completely insensible to her effect upon him.

  She engaged him in a somewhat restrained conversation on the books she had been reading. As always, he found it somewhat difficult to keep his attention on the topic when simply looking at her and listening to her voice filled his senses. It was difficult to watch her leave when dinner ended, and he was frustrated by the length of time the gentlemen spent by themselves before returning to the ladies. His disappointment was only to grow when, on returning to the drawing room, he found Elizabeth clustered among a crowd of women at the table with not a single vacancy near her. He wondered if she had done this on purpose, though when one of the other girls moved closer to her tha
n ever and whispered in her ear, she did not seem to be best pleased.

  He walked away to another part of the room, but found himself growing increasingly impatient. Finally, he decided to bring back his coffee cup himself, and he handed it to her in such a way that their fingertips touched for a moment, giving him a sudden flash of pleasure in her touch.

  She seemed to start as well, and cast her eyes away for a moment, making him wonder if she was as insensible of his feelings as she appeared. Of course, if she were sensible of them, he thought, she would not be able to acknowledge it, nor her own response. He had to wonder again what his own impetus was in thus seeking her out, when any further connection between them was impossible, even were she to regret her engagement; but it was as if he were a lodestone and she the North; he could not prevent himself from drawing as near to her as he could.

  When the tea-things were removed, and the card tables placed, he hoped to stay by Elizabeth, but fell victim to her mother’s rapacity for whist players, and in a few moments was seated with the rest of the party. They were thus separated at different tables, though he still had the enjoyment of allowing his eyes to rest on the wayward curls at the back of her neck as she bent her head over her cards, imagining how it would feel to caress them with his fingertips and then his lips. He could almost see the desire that would be in her eyes when she looked up at him…

  All in all, he had to count the occasion a success, both in terms of Elizabeth, who had favoured him with warm smiles on several occasions, and on his own behalf, in that he had by sheer force of will managed to prevent himself from thinking of her future with Covington.