A Man of Few Words
Being an addendum to Pride and Prejudice as told by Fitzwilliam Darcy to Jane Austen and Katherine Woodbury.
Copyright © 2010 Katherine Woodbury. All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Peaks Island Press, Portland, Maine.
This is a work of fiction. The characters and plot are solely the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to the appearance, personality, or actions of any person, living or dead, should be considered purely coincidental.
Introduction
I have requested that Miss Katherine Woodbury record the following in hopes of clarifying certain aspects of the courtship between Mrs. Darcy, née Bennet, and myself found in the account penned by Miss Jane Austen, widely circulated under the title, Pride and Prejudice.
Let me hasten to observe that I find no fault with any part of Miss Austen’s account which records, with commendable accuracy, my behavior towards and conversations with my future bride. However, through no fault of Miss Austen’s, there have arisen many fanciful inventions in connection with her work. These inventions are, I must stress, wholly without foundation.
I speak specifically to descriptions of my person and character that persist in providing me with the gregariousness of Tom Jones, the masterfulness of one “Mr. B” in Pamela, and even, I am sorry to say, the licentiousness of a Restoration rake. I am portrayed as a type of contemporary knight-errant: emotional, hotheaded, and distressingly unorganized.
To be sure, my wife and sister find such depictions amusing in the extreme, and Charles has taken to regaling dinner guests with each and every new derivation that chances across his eyes or ears.
However desirable such a picture of the English gentleman might appear to many, it is precisely my honor as a English gentleman that compels me to attempt to convince the reading public that, in my case, these portraits have no basis in the truth.
It is thus my earnest hope that the following should put to rest the presumptions contained in any and all such conflicting narratives. Miss Woodbury assures me that she has taken my full character into account. If I detect, occasionally, a hint of amusement in her writing, I lay such amusement at my wife’s feet.
One must, in marriage, make some concessions to the impressions of one’s spouse.
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Pemberley
Lambton, Derbyshire
28 January 1814
Chapter 1: Darcy Rejects Elizabeth Without Realizing It
The assembly room was too hot and too crowded. People crowded around the Bingley party and were introduced in turn to Bingley, to his sisters, to Mr. Hurst, and to Darcy.
—and to Bingley, to his sisters, to Mr. Hurst, and to Darcy.
—and to Bingley, to his sisters, to Mr. Hurst, and to Darcy.
—and ad nauseam. Darcy disciplined himself sufficiently not to groan aloud. But he had to wonder why they bothered; he would never remember their names. He was unlikely to spend much time at Netherfield anyway. Bingley would get bored soon and move on somewhere else. Darcy thought sometimes that Bingley only bought an estate because Darcy owned an estate. Bingley knew nothing about estates. Darcy gave the Netherfield experiment six months.
More faces—more introductions. People welcomed Darcy to the district and extolled Meryton, the town in which the assembly hall stood. Women shrieked at him. An over-scented woman cried, “Doesn’t the quartet sound lovely?”
There was nothing to say to that. It wasn’t as if Darcy could hear the music with all the chattering and thumping and unending introductions.
“What beautiful gowns,” another woman shrieked. Darcy managed to detach himself. The women whispered as he edged away. Darcy shook his head. Some of these women carried on as if lace and ribbons were state secrets.
He circled the room, nodding to Mr. Hurst, the husband of the elder Bingley sister. “What an odd company,” Miss Bingley mentioned as he passed her. “Don’t you think?”
Darcy didn’t pause. He’d already danced with her and didn’t need to again—she had plenty of partners. Worthy women could always obtain partners. He started another circuit, looking for Bingley. They’d been here nearly two hours which was long enough. Bingley would make the customary excuses, they’d go back to Netherfield, and Darcy would read and go to bed.
Bingley was ending a dance with a tall, serenely smiling woman. Darcy waited near the edge of the woman’s party. Bingley bounded over to him like a Pemberley pup. Wasn’t this ball splendid? Weren’t all the girls pretty? He was having a wonderful time—
Darcy felt the beginnings of a headache. Bingley appeared puzzled. Darcy knew that look—Why wasn’t Darcy having fun?—and predicted his friend’s deduction and course of action—Darcy would have fun if he danced.
Bingley lived up to Darcy’s expectations. Bingley was going to get him a partner—another Bennet sister, there, behind Darcy.
Darcy turned his head. He caught the eye of a sitting young woman and snapped a negative. Even if they weren’t going to leave early, that didn’t mean he was going to dance with somebody he didn’t know in an overheated room amongst a crowd of people exchanging pointless remarks.
Bingley understood at least that much. He laughed, slapped Darcy on the back, and strode back to the serenely smiling woman.
Darcy’s headache was getting worse.
Chapter 2: Elizabeth Turns Down Darcy, and Darcy Doesn’t Mind
After the assembly ball, Charles insisted that he, his sisters, and Darcy must attend other social gatherings around Meryton. Darcy had hoped Charles would focus immediately on putting his new estate in order, but he admitted to himself that such an expectation was naïve. Charles must exercise his convivial nature.
The Bennet family attended most of the gatherings. Charles tended to gravitate to the side of the oldest daughter—Darcy remembered her vaguely from the assembly ball—where he talked enough for both of them.
The next oldest daughter was Elizabeth Bennet. On more than one occasion, Darcy observed that she had lovely dark eyes. She was a trifle short, her smile a trifle crooked, and she was far from elegant. She wasn’t shrill though, and proved easy to listen to. She made interesting comments. Darcy began to place himself near her at events. He also listened to her sing. She wasn’t as polished or as adept as his sister Georgiana, but the songs were well-rendered.
All in all, she was a pleasing and intelligent young woman.
Sir William Lucas—the owner of Lucas Lodge, a moderately well-managed property—held a party. Charles insisted they all go. Darcy objected less than usual. Miss Elizabeth was sure to be present, and Darcy might engage her in conversation.
Alas, the event deteriorated into a dance. Why in the world did people want to hop around rather than converse on an interesting subject? Darcy sighed and looked around for Mr. Long, hoping they could continue their conversation about tax law from the last affair.
He found himself next to Sir William, who was prattling: “There is nothing like dancing after all. I consider it as one of the first refinements of polished society.”
“Every savage can dance,” Darcy pointed out, but Sir William was making pleasantries, not actual conversation, and Darcy subsided. Sir William began to ask Darcy pointless questions about his dance habits. Darcy glowered, hoping that if he stopped answering, maybe Sir William would go away.
The questions finally ceased. Darcy was ready to move off when he realized Sir William was presenting Miss Elizabeth Bennet to him as a potential dance partner. Darcy held out a hand, but Miss Elizabeth refused. Correctly, Darcy allowed: this wasn’t an appropriate venue for a dance. Still, he bowed and repeated Sir William’s proposal. She was after all, preferable—much preferable—to another five minutes of questions about where and when Darcy liked to dance.
She raised her brows, and her eyes—dark brown with flecks of gold—met Darcy’s momentarily. She was, he was disconcerted to see, amused—by Sir William, he guessed. It occurred to Darcy that amusement was probably a better tactic with someone like Sir William than monosyllabic responses, and he wondered if he should smile back.
But Miss Elizabeth had moved away. He gazed after her, marking the straight line of her back and her dark curls. She turned to pass a remark to Miss Lucas, and he noted again the liveliness of her eyes when Miss Lucas made her laugh.
Miss Bingley approached. She was talking in her rapid, caustic way. Darcy caught the last sentence: “What would I give to hear your strictures on them!”
On Miss Lucas and Miss Elizabeth, Darcy assumed. He had no strictures. He said so: “I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.”
“Which lady has the credit of inspiring such reflections?”
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
She began to tease him about wanting to marry Miss Elizabeth—typical for a woman. Darcy shrugged and occupied himself with watching Miss Elizabeth until the evening ended.
Chapter 3: Elizabeth Comes to Stay at Netherfield, and Darcy Gets All Flustered
Several days after Sir William’s party, Darcy and Charles spent the evening with Colonel Forster who commanded the militia quartered in Meryton. On their return to Netherfield, Miss Bingley greeted them with the news that the elder Miss Bennet, who had come for dinner, was ill.
Charles peppered his sister with questions. “I hope she feels better,” Darcy said and went to bed.
The next morning, he was informed that the local apothecary, Mr. Jones, had been sent for. Charles insisted on giving Darcy a detailed account of what he said to Mr. Jones and what Mr. Jones said to Charles and what Miss Bingley said to Mr. Jones and what Mr. Jones said Miss Bennet said to him and so on and so on. Darcy ate his toast and coffee and waited for Mr. Hurst to finish with the newspaper.
Towards the end of breakfast, the door opened, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet entered. Darcy got to his feet and looked beyond her, expecting Mr. or Mrs. Bennet. But Miss Elizabeth was alone.
He frowned. He hadn’t heard a carriage. “No,” Miss Elizabeth was saying to Miss Bingley, “I walked from Longbourn” which was quite a distance even if one cut across fields which she obviously had. She looked exceptionally well, Darcy acknowledged, her eyes bright and her cheeks glowing.
Charles was shaking her hand and telling her all about what Mr. Jones said. Miss Bingley took Miss Elizabeth upstairs to her sister, and Darcy went to the library to figure out exactly how many miles it was between Longbourn and Netherfield.
Darcy spent the rest of the day with the stable master. Charles came out towards mid-afternoon, agreed with every recommendation Darcy and the master made, and returned to the house. Darcy sighed. Maybe the Netherfield experiment would only last five months. He realized Miss Bennet was a concern, but Miss Elizabeth was more than capable of coping with any contingency.
His belief was confirmed at dinner. Miss Elizabeth answered all Charles’s questions thoroughly and equably, allaying most of his concerns. Now, maybe Darcy could convince Charles to focus on his new property’s easements. After Miss Elizabeth returned upstairs, Darcy retrieved Netherfield’s plans from the library. When he re-entered the dining room, Miss Bingley was holding forth on some subject or other. Darcy unfolded the plans, forcing Mr. Hurst to move his dessert plate.
“You observed it, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley said, and he raised his head. “I am inclined to think that you would not wish to see your sister make such an exhibition.”
“Certainly not,” Darcy said. Georgiana never made exhibitions of herself.
“To walk three miles, or four miles—”
“Three point four,” Darcy muttered.
“—shows a conceited independence, a most country-town indifference to decorum.”
“It shows an affection for her sister that is very pleasing,” said Charles.
Miss Bingley leaned towards Darcy over the table, disarranging Netherfield’s plans.
“Likely, this adventure has affected your admiration of her fine eyes.”
“Not at all. They were brightened by the exercise,” he said and moved himself and the plans further down the table.
Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst fell to discussing the Bennet relations. One of the uncles was an attorney; one was in trade. Charles contended that this did not affect the Bennet sisters’ agreeableness which comment—however true—rather missed the point: relations directly influenced a woman’s ability to marry well. Miss Bingley, for example, would marry well because of Charles. Darcy pointed this out, more or less, but no one seemed to understand what he was saying, so he went back to the plans.
Charles, however, wasn’t in the mood for a discussion of easements. He, his sisters, and Mr. Hurst were going to play loo. He insisted that Darcy join them. Darcy reluctantly agreed and replaced the plans in the library on his way to the drawing room.
They were playing when Miss Elizabeth came downstairs. This meant her sister was feeling better or asleep which was a good sign, and Darcy nodded to her. She didn’t see him, though, as she was selecting a book from the shelves. The others began discussing libraries, and Charles mentioned that he would love to buy Pemberley just for its library. Darcy smiled to himself at the idea and looking up, found Miss Elizabeth near him. She looked quite nice in some blue-greeny gown. She had a book closed on one finger, and she was half-smiling at Charles’s cards.
Miss Bingley said to Darcy, “Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring? Is she as tall as I am?”
Georgiana was five feet four. “She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s height,” Darcy said, “or rather taller.”
Miss Bingley began to discuss Georgiana’s accomplishments and then female accomplishments in general. Charles chimed in, listing typical female accomplishments such as painting and covering screens.
Darcy thought the ability to make things out of paper to be rather useless. Being accomplished didn’t mean producing crafts like a provincial at a village fête; it meant being graceful and talented and having the ability to converse on a range of subjects. Off the top of his head, he could think of six accomplished women: Georgiana, obviously. His own mother, now deceased. Mrs. Reynolds, his housekeeper. Mrs. Annesley, Georgiana’s companion (he never would have engaged her if she weren’t accomplished). His aunt by marriage, Lady Beatrice Fitzwilliam. And Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
He said so, more or less, but he must not have mentioned the part about Miss Elizabeth because she laughed:
“I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your knowing any.”
She had a point, but Darcy had restricted his claim to six because he didn’t know many more women than six—not well, at least.
As soon as Miss Elizabeth went upstairs again to see her sister, Miss Bingley started discussing her. Darcy was getting rather tired of Miss Bingley discussing Miss Elizabeth when Miss Elizabeth wasn’t in the room since Miss Bingley said the same things over and over. Now she was saying that Miss Elizabeth was the kind of woman who put down her own sex in order to make herself look better which completely missed the point of Miss Elizabeth’s remark.
Anyway, as far as Darcy could tell, Miss Bingley did that sort of thing more often than Miss Elizabeth. And he said so, which seemed to shut everybody up. Thank goodness.
The next morning, Mrs. Bennet came to check on her daughter’s health. She was a shrill, garrulous woman, and Darcy wished he could be like Mr. Hurst and wander out of the room. But one didn’t. One was taught to stand and be courteous while this woman went on and on and on about her daughter’s illness and her daughter’s sweet temper and what Mr. Jones thought. They had heard more than enough about what Mr. Jones thought from Charles.
Mrs. Bennet hoped that Charles would occupy Netherfield for a long time. That was unlikely. In fact, Charles started bragging about his spontaneity: he might leave Netherfield quite suddenly! Darcy couldn’t understand how spontaneity could be thought a virtue. It always struck him as rather shallow and thoughtless. Miss Elizabeth had it right when she described Charles as uncomplicated. What one saw with Charles was what one got, which was rather refreshing except for Charles’s penchant for spontaneity: Darcy couldn’t cure that.
“Studying different characters must be amusing,” Charles said to Miss Elizabeth after she called him uncomplicated, and she agreed that studying characters was one of her favorite things to do.
She wouldn’t get many chances in the country, and Darcy said so. She smiled at him and pointed out that people change over time: one could study a single person over many years rather than many people all at once. The idea interested Darcy, and he might have responded, but Mrs. Bennet interrupted with some declaration about the country being better than London. Darcy wished people would stay on topic.
The conversation moved on to a discussion of poetry which topic did interest Darcy. Miss Elizabeth claimed that her sister wearied of a suitor who sent her poetry. Darcy smiled to himself but offered Shakespeare’s opinion: “Poetry, like music, is the food of love.”
“Of a fine, stout, healthy love,” Elizabeth agreed. “Everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away.”
Darcy had to think about that, and the conversation moved on before he could respond.
He was still thinking about literature and the nourishment of sensibility when he wrote a letter to Georgiana that evening. Miss Bingley was talking to him, and he made replies, but he mostly concentrated on asking Georgiana what she thought about poetry and requesting an update on Mrs. Annesley. He trusted Mrs. Annesley, but he had trusted companions of Georgiana before and been disappointed.
He reread the letter and crossed out a few words. Charles was bragging about spontaneity again: his ability to write quickly without proofing. Darcy frowned. There was nothing commendable about acting or reacting quickly any more than there was anything commendable about suddenly changing one’s plans—unless there was a good reason, of course. Darcy said so.
Bingley laughed. Bingley always thought it was funny when Darcy wanted people to say exactly what they meant or when he asked for specific information.
But Darcy couldn’t see how anyone could decide anything without clear facts. What was the point of talking in generalities? Darcy would never change his plans unless someone was ill, like Georgiana, for instance, or unless his steward needed his attention at Pemberley. But he wouldn’t know the reasons until they occurred. How could he say ahead of time—now—what he would do at some later date?
The discussion was becoming an argument. Darcy hated arguing with people. He preferred the exchange of ideas, not wrangling over who was right and who was wrong. If they wanted to argue, they could wait till he left the room. He said so.
Miss Elizabeth’s smile went crooked. He had amused her again. He wasn’t sure how.
She said, “What you ask is no sacrifice on my side; Mr. Darcy had better finish his letter.”
So he did, but Miss Elizabeth’s amusement still bothered him. Was she amused because he didn’t want to argue? Was she amused because she agreed that the argument was pointless? Was she amused because Darcy didn’t like people to change their plans? Was she amused because Darcy had been too curt? He watched her cross to the pianoforte. She was still smiling slightly as she looked through the music books stacked on the lid. She glanced back at him now and again, and he noted that she looked quite lovely in the reddish-brown thing she was wearing.
She’d been wearing a reddish-brown thing at the Lucases’ and for the first time, it occurred to Darcy that her amusement there might have been directed at him, not at Sir William. Perhaps she hadn’t wanted to dance because of Darcy’s attitude, not because of Sir William’s behavior.
He got up, crossed the room, and asked if she wanted to dance a reel. She didn’t respond or look at him. He really didn’t understand this woman. He repeated his request.
She turned to him then. No, she wouldn’t dance with him. She sensed Darcy was testing her good taste, she explained. “I have therefore made up my mind that I do not want to dance a reel at all; and now despise me if you dare.” And she grinned up at him.
Darcy’s heart turned over.
He was not interested in her, he told himself in his room that night. She was intelligent and lovely and quick-witted. She was good company. That was all.
He felt confident of his feelings when he went downstairs the next morning—until Miss Bingley began teasing him about Miss Elizabeth again. Darcy started to worry. Did she think he was pursuing Miss Elizabeth? Did everybody think that? Did Miss Elizabeth? Why would she? He hardly spoke to her.
You asked her to dance, he reminded himself and winced. That was fairly forward behavior. Had anyone noticed? He didn’t even like to dance.
He worried on the matter, missing the rest of Miss Bingley’s conversation.
“Are you looking forward to cards this evening?” she said as they parted.
“No,” he said and went to drag Charles out to meet Netherfield’s land steward. Charles didn’t yet have a full complement of servants, but a land steward was necessary. Darcy wanted to discuss the steward’s recommendations with Charles after dinner, but Miss Bennet came downstairs, obviously feeling better, and Charles bounced over to her and started to chat. About Mr. Jones, most likely.
Darcy picked up A General View of Agriculture, vol. II. The others were chattering. He heard mention of the Netherfield ball and turned a page. He heard Miss Elizabeth’s name and looked up.
Miss Bingley wanted Miss Elizabeth to take a turn about the room. Darcy smiled to himself. This was an old ploy. The ladies wanted to show off their figures or gossip together although the latter seemed unlikely; Miss Elizabeth wasn’t much of a gossip. In any case, Darcy could admire them very well from where he sat. He said so.
Miss Bingley said she was offended. She wasn’t really—Darcy could tell that much. “How shall we punish him?” she said to Miss Elizabeth.
Darcy tensed. Miss Elizabeth had a sharp tongue and a knowing eye, and Darcy amused her for some reason. If she wanted to, she could make him look foolish.
“Tease him—laugh at him,” Miss Elizabeth said.
Darcy tried not to glower. There were people who liked to mock others for the sake of mocking, not because there was anything to mock at. He said so.
“I hope I never ridicule what is wise or good,” Miss Elizabeth said, but admitted that she did like to laugh at “follies and nonsense.” Perhaps Mr. Darcy was without folly?
Darcy considered that he was intelligent, consistent, and dependable, with a good head for business and a strong sense of purpose. He was not lazy, vain, or stupid, which were the sorts of faults that deserved criticism. He was prideful, but that was understandable given his position and duties in life. He tried to make this clear.
Miss Elizabeth cocked her head. The amusement was there but something else as well; she was studying him, and Darcy felt a kind of panic. He didn’t know if he liked being studied, but he didn’t want Miss Elizabeth to form the wrong conclusions.
She began to turn away, and Darcy heard himself say, “I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, very profound.” He wasn’t flexible, like Charles. He didn’t feel sympathy for people of low character nor did he easily excuse such behavior. “My good opinion once lost is lost for ever.”
She didn’t like that. “You have chosen your fault well. I really cannot laugh at it. You are safe from me.”
That didn’t make Darcy feel better. He got the impression that Miss Elizabeth didn’t like people who were safe from her. “Every disposition has a tendency to some particular evil,” he pointed out rather desperately.
“And your defect is a propensity to hate everybody.”
Darcy almost laughed. She was so smug in her playful way, but he had been watching and listening to her since he arrived in Hertfordshire, and he said, “Yours is willfully to misunderstand them.”
She was surprised but not, Darcy was relieved to see, offended. She opened her mouth, but then Miss Bingley disrupted their conversation with a request for music. Miss Elizabeth turned away. Darcy found he was leaning forward in his chair and carefully sat back.
He was not interested in her. He was not foolish like his friend Bertram from college who went and married his landlady’s daughter. Darcy had listened to a thousand panegyrics regarding the daughter’s affectionate nature and lovely face and kind heart. The couple lived separately now, and Darcy believed the affectionate, lovely, kind daughter was being kept by another man.
Forming instantaneous affections was imprudent. It resulted in nothing but misery. Yet many men had been caught by a careless interest. He had been too obvious, too forward in his appreciation of Miss Elizabeth. He must not speak to her again while she remained at Netherfield with her sister.
And he didn’t.
Chapter 4: Elizabeth and Darcy Go to the Netherfield Ball, and Neither Has a Good Time
After the Bennet sisters returned home, Charles insisted there be a ball at Netherfield. He argued that he had promised the youngest Bennet girls as much. Darcy shook his head at the reason but couldn’t censure the result. Charles was now an important personage in the district—even if he didn’t stay long.
Darcy acceded but was not looking forward to it. He hated fancy events. He put them on at Pemberley, of course, but there he had things to do, such as consult with Mr. Talbot, his butler, on where to park any extra carriages. Moreover, he always knew his guests; should things get too noisy, he could always retire to his study.
The Netherfield study wasn’t available because Charles had gone and opened it up for the ball. Darcy stood in the front hall and tried not to look at his watch. He greeted Colonel Forster and several of the officers; Wickham wasn’t among them. Darcy wasn’t surprised. He’d seen Wickham several days earlier with the Bennet sisters and guessed that Wickham, having seen Darcy, wouldn’t attend the ball. Wickham had made his excuses no doubt. He was good at that. Even Darcy had thought him charming and plausible until he proved shallow and deceitful.
The Bennets arrived. Darcy could hear Mrs. Bennet’s voice. He found himself looking for Miss Elizabeth among the family group. He wasn’t interested in her, of course. He was only curious about her well-being.
She wore a pale blue dress. Her dark hair formed ringlets about her face. She was laughing as her eyes searched the company. Perhaps she was looking for Darcy, but he wasn’t interested in her, so he retreated to the wall.
Not being interested didn’t mean he shouldn’t ask her to dance. This was Charles’s first ball at Netherfield; Darcy should help make it a success. He would even dance a few times. He approached Miss Elizabeth during the fourth dance and solicited her hand for the next. She agreed, and Darcy walked off smiling to himself. Apparently, Miss Elizabeth just needed the right venue to agree to dance.
He collected her for the fifth dance. She seemed unusually serious, but part way through the opening steps, she smiled and said, “Mr. Bingley has had good weather for his ball.”
Darcy nodded.
A few steps later, “It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy,” she told him.
“I will say whatever you want me to say.”
That amused her, which was rather a relief. She liked to talk, and he had no problem with her chatting if she wanted to. Instead she said thoughtfully, “Conversation ought to be so arranged that couples have the trouble of saying as little as possible.”
That remark was aimed at him. He’d never been good at small talk, but she needn’t copy his example. He said so.
Miss Elizabeth raised her brows and assured him that they were very alike. Neither of them would say a word unless it could impress others.
She was not describing herself. Was she describing Darcy? Did she think he gave his comments special weight? He worried over her insinuation through the next few moves. He didn’t think he was a pompous man—
Miss Elizabeth’s next remark stopped his train of thought. She said, “When you met us the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance.”
Wickham, she meant, and Darcy tensed. He had intended subtly, carefully, to warn her against Wickham, to say something like, “Not all of the officers in Meryton are of equal worth.” She was bright; she would understand his point.
Instead of him warning her, she was challenging him. He said slowly, “Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may insure his making friends; whether he may be equally capable of retaining them is less certain.”
But Mr. Wickham had lost his friendship, Miss Elizabeth pointed out, and Darcy felt his temper rising. He should have guessed that Wickham was already spreading tales about their relationship. Why did Darcy never see it coming? He hadn’t seen it coming when he was a boy. He hadn’t seen it coming with Georgiana. His father hadn’t seen it. For intelligent men, they had both been remarkably stupid about Wickham.
It was happening again. And with Miss Elizabeth who was bright and intelligent and kind and ready to believe anything that was said to her in a plausible manner.
“The orchestra is performing well,” he said to change the subject.
Her mouth went crooked which meant she was amused. Darcy was too upset to be charmed. He needed to say something about Wickham; he needed to warn her. They were standing across from each other, waiting to join hands. He would take her hands and say—and say—
Sir William interrupted his thoughts. As expected, Sir William had stopped to comment on the dancing. He mentioned “a certain desirable event” with a glance towards Miss Bennet and Charles and praised Miss Elizabeth’s bright eyes. On and on Sir William went, talking about nothing. Finally, he bowed and strolled away, leaving Darcy to Miss Elizabeth, and Darcy realized that he wouldn’t be able to say anything about Wickham—to Miss Elizabeth or anyone else. They would question him. They would want to know his reasons. Miss Elizabeth especially would never accept a denunciation without explanation.
He prepared himself to ask a question about books. To his surprise, Miss Elizabeth blurted out, “You are very cautious, I suppose, as to your resentment being created?”
“I am.”
“And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?”
“I hope not. May I ask to what these questions tend?”
She was trying to make out his character, she told him, and there was no amusement in her voice. “I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly.”
Wickham again. Darcy could imagine—he knew—the sorts of things Wickham would say about him. She shouldn’t take the word of one man about Darcy. He tried to say this, but she cut him off lightly: “If I do not try to understand you now, I may never have another opportunity.”
She said it as if they were barely acquainted. Darcy felt like he’d known her for years. He’d been forward with her. He’d told her things about himself. They were more than barely acquainted.
The dance ended; they separated. Darcy strode into the dining room, wishing he could go riding or help the gardener move rocks or shoot something. He leaned his head briefly against the doorframe and tried to block out all the noise and chatter.
Someone was speaking near his shoulder. A prim-looking man with flaccid hands was introducing himself to Darcy. Darcy had no idea why. Darcy wasn’t the head of the ball; this wasn’t his house.
The man’s name was Mr. Collins. He was a clergyman. He had the honor of holding a position at Hunsford. He humbly begged Darcy’s pardon, but he could assure Darcy that Lady Catherine, Darcy’s aunt, was in good health—on and on and on the man went. Monosyllabic responses didn’t stop him. Darcy waited for a pause and moved away.
He remembered, as he sat at one of the supper tables, that his aunt had written him about finding a clergyman for the rectory in her parish. Darcy had never responded; apparently, she had found someone on her own. He remembered too that Miss Bingley had mentioned a Mr. Collins in connection with the Bennets—a cousin of Mr. Bennet’s. If anyone had asked, Darcy would have named him a cousin of Mrs. Bennet’s: their unending chatter was so similar.
He could hear that unending chatter now. He’d sat at the same table as the Bennets, diagonal to Miss Elizabeth. He tried to catch her eye, but Miss Elizabeth was busy shushing her mother.
Good luck, Darcy thought. The mother was nattering about her daughter’s upcoming marriage. Darcy felt a qualm until he realized Mrs. Bennet was talking about her oldest daughter, not Miss Elizabeth. He hadn’t known the elder sister was engaged; surely, Miss Bingley or Charles would have told him.
With a dragging sense of shock, Darcy realized that Mrs. Bennet was talking about her oldest daughter and Charles. Charles? Charles wasn’t interested in Miss Jane Bennet; he was friendly towards her, yes, but that was Charles’s way.
Except—Sir William had mentioned “a desirable event,” and the lady to whom Mrs. Bennet was speaking seemed to agree that the engagement existed.
Ridiculous. Charles wasn’t interested in Miss Bennet or Miss Bennet in Charles. She’d hardly shown Charles the same interest that, well, Miss Elizabeth had shown Darcy.
Darcy suddenly felt ill. His stomach hurt. If these people had decided that Miss Bennet was going to marry Charles, what had they decided about Darcy and Miss Elizabeth? Was he going to have to set matters right? Talk to people about his feelings? Since Darcy had no idea what his feelings were regarding Miss Elizabeth, he couldn’t think of anything more dreadful.
No. It was nonsense. Nobody had behaved improperly—except for Mrs. Bennet. Charles was not interested in any Bennet daughter. Darcy and Miss Elizabeth had not crossed the lines of decency. These assumptions were the ravings of a mad woman—not lunatic, maybe, but extremely silly.
Except—her friends and neighbors believed her.
Charles and his sisters were going to have to leave Netherfield. Soon.
The music hour began. Young ladies exchanged places at the pianoforte. Miss Mary Bennet massacred “The Lass With the Delicate Air” in her weak, reedy voice, but all Darcy could think about was how to convince Charles to leave the area. Charles would tire of Netherfield eventually but not in the next week or so, and engagements could be formed in less time.
Mr. Bennet’s voice interrupted Darcy’s thoughts: “You have delighted us long enough. Let the other young ladies have time to exhibit,” and Darcy saw Miss Mary blush and scurry back to her seat. He frowned. No father should humiliate his own child. What kind of parents were these Bennets—publicly exposing their children right and left?
Avoiding Miss Elizabeth, Darcy left the supper room. Charles was going to have to leave—and not come back—before the Bennet parents exposed their oldest daughter, both their oldest daughters, to neighborly ridicule.
Charles did leave Netherfield, alone, the next morning to go up to London. He had to speak to his solicitors there about some of his father’s stocks. Darcy rode with him to the Meryton junction. He watched Charles ride on, Charles waving his hand in a casual salute and shouting, “Look for me in a few days!”
Darcy wished suddenly, desperately, that he could talk to Miss Elizabeth about Charles. She knew what Charles was like. She knew her sister wasn’t interested in Charles. She could solve this problem. She was good at problems. Darcy was not good at problems, not these sorts of problems anyway. He could figure out tax problems and weather problems and dirt problems and horse problems. But everything else he left up to people like Mrs. Reynolds.
Like when the second housemaid got pregnant by Jarrad, one of the stable hands: Mrs. Reynolds talked to the girl and to Jarrad, Darcy approved the marriage, and the couple moved to one of the cottages. They were hard workers; Darcy liked them; he was glad not to lose them. He was very glad Mrs. Reynolds had done all the talking. Darcy surrounded himself with people who did all the talking. Right now, all he had was Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, but presumably they loved their brother and wanted the best for him. He rode back to Netherfield and asked their advice about Charles and Miss Bennet.
They were as horrified as Darcy at the idea of the engagement—which was a relief. He hadn’t liked to think he was overreacting. But no, the sisters were stunned. What an inappropriate connection! Those parents! Miss Bingley started to say something disparaging about Miss Elizabeth, caught Darcy’s eye, and said instead, “The three younger sisters have no discipline,” which was true. Miss Mary had no musical discipline and the two youngest flirted with the officers: Darcy had noticed the flirtations although not as much, it appeared, as Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. No matter. They all agreed that any connection should be severed.
“Does Miss Bennet care for Charles at all?” Darcy asked.
Of course not, they assured him. She was their friend, not their brother’s.
They would all leave Netherfield at once. They would go up to London and inform Bingley of the change in plans. Darcy went to his room to pack. He considered sending a note to Miss Elizabeth, then shook his head at the thought. They were not on such intimate terms.
Darcy, Miss Bingley, and the Hursts arrived in London, loaded down with trunks. Darcy would stay another few weeks, then depart for Pemberley. He didn’t need to be there as often in the winter as the rest of the year, but he liked to check in with his house and land stewards as well as Mrs. Reynolds, and it was a good excuse to get away from London. From Pemberley, he would visit the Fitzwilliams and then Lady Catherine.
Charles looked at him blankly as Darcy explained his itinerary. “I thought you would come back with me to Netherfield,” he said finally.
“I think you should stay in London.”
“Why?”
Darcy was alone with Charles. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were upstairs unpacking. He said, “The families there seem to think you and Miss Bennet are engaged.” He tried to laugh, then wished he hadn’t. Charles wasn’t laughing. He got up and wandered over to the sitting room windows.
“Is that so bad?”
“It isn’t a suitable match, Charles.”
“She is—”
“She and Miss Elizabeth are genteel young ladies. But the family, Charles, is not what you should aim for.”
“I’m from trade.” Charles said to the curtains. His back was rigid.
“I’m not referring to the Bennet’s relations. Though your father did hope better for you.”
“Like owning an estate.” Charles was as caustic as Charles could be. Darcy winced and was silent. “I’m not good at that sort of thing,” Charles went on. “You know that.”
Darcy took a deep breath. “What do you want for your children, Charles? The Bennet father does not tend to his family or to his estate. You would not be so lax.”
“She isn’t like that.”
“Perhaps not. But you inherit the family when you marry and the family’s legacies. Charles, you can do better.”
He shook his head.
Darcy said, “If you return, you will encourage the rumors and hurt her chances for a suitable match.”
“She expects me to return.”
Darcy almost smiled. “I don’t think her attachment to you is that strong,” he said as gently as he could.
Charles hunched his shoulders.
Darcy said, “Has she teased you? Flirted with you? Commented on your character?”
Charles said stiffly, “We discuss many things.”
“Personal things?” Darcy had never heard Miss Bennett ask Charles about his faults.
Charles came back from the curtain and collapsed into a chair.
“No,” he said.
“She has no expectations, Charles. Only her mother and neighbors do. You haven’t hurt her.”
Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst came down then and reiterated everything Darcy had said with many more examples and expostulations until Darcy rather wished they would leave Charles alone.
But at least the matter was settled. In January, shortly before Darcy left for Pemberley, Miss Bennet visited the London house. She was staying with her uncle and aunt in Cheapside, Miss Bingley informed Darcy. “But of course, Charles needn’t know.”
No. It was better that Charles not know. The issue was over. The Bennet sisters were in the past. They could all move on with their lives.
Chapter 5: Darcy and Elizabeth Meet at Rosings, and Darcy Makes a Huge Miscalculation
Darcy hardly thought of Miss Elizabeth over the next four months. Perhaps, he remembered one of her sly quips now and again. Perhaps, he retained a clear image of her fine eyes. Perhaps, he even mentioned her to Georgiana once or twice—without suggesting any kind of attachment, of course. But he was sure when he arrived at Rosings with his cousin, Colonel John Fitzwilliam, that, given a few more months, he would mostly have forgotten Miss Elizabeth.
Lady Catherine greeted Darcy and Fitzwilliam in her usual way: condescension mixed with pleasure.
“The Collinses have the oddest visitor,” she said at the dinner table. “A friend of Mrs. Collins from before she was married. I can’t speak to modern manners, but the friend seems a very forward sort of person. Of course, she claims to know you, Darcy, but I can’t believe—”
Mr. Collins had married Charlotte Lucas: Darcy knew that from letters he had received from the Bingleys. Charlotte Lucas was friends with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He set down his knife and fork and concentrated on his aunt.
“—and very self-assured which I’m sure is not entirely proper for a young lady, even a young lady of twenty—”
Would she never state the visitor’s name?
“—and all five sisters already out.”
It was Miss Elizabeth. Darcy’s stomach felt odd, and he realized he had no more appetite.
“Five sisters,” John was saying in his mild humorous way. “Good heavens.”
“Astonishing, isn’t it,” Lady Catherine said without hearing John’s irony; she never did. Had Miss Elizabeth tried to laugh at her? If so, Darcy couldn’t imagine the encounter had been a success.
“Do you remember this Miss Elizabeth?” John asked on their way to the drawing room to play cards.
“Yes,” Darcy said.
“A bit more entertaining than our aunt?”
“Yes.”
John was all for meeting the two single ladies—Mrs. Collins’s sister was also visiting. The next morning, they headed to Hunsford, encountering Mr. Collins in the lane. Mr. Collins bowed and reminded Darcy of their last meeting and apologized for forcing Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam to walk all the way from Rosings without his companionship. Darcy decided that Miss Elizabeth’s current living situation must provide her with a surfeit of follies and nonsense.
He entered the parsonage parlor after John. “Hello,” John said, striding up to Miss Elizabeth. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Darcy turned to Mrs. Collins. John could bypass such courtesies; no one ever noticed. Darcy sat besides Mrs. Collins, who seemed pleasant enough; he remembered her from Hertfordshire as a calm, intelligent person. Mr. Collins was rather lucky in his choice of spouse.
John was discussing the countryside with Miss Elizabeth. She smiled and responded, glancing occasionally at Darcy. Their last conversation had been at the Netherfield ball. They had discussed Wickham. He could hardly raise that subject now. He could ask her about poetry, but no, that was too complex a subject for this brief meeting. John had already asked her about the countryside. Darcy could ask her about her travels to Hunsford, but no, John had covered that topic too.
“How is your family?” Darcy said.
Miss Elizabeth broke off a light remark to John and turned to him.
“They are well,” she said. “My eldest sister has been in London for several months. You didn’t see her there?”
He’d known Miss Bennet was in London. He hadn’t seen her. The correct response was “No,” except the question implied knowledge of Miss Bennet’s whereabouts, not just an actual meeting. But if he said, “Yes,” Miss Elizabeth would want to know how her sister appeared, and he couldn’t answer that, so, “No,” he said.
She cocked her head slightly, and Darcy felt a sudden qualm, but he could hardly explain his thought process at the current moment.
“Very nice gel,” John said as they left the parsonage, and Darcy nodded. She was indeed.
He spent the next few days closeted with the house steward going over the household books. Lady Catherine had a tendency to underpay her land servants and lower house staff while vastly overpaying her upper house staff. The house steward made some rather pleading suggestions, and Darcy agreed to effect certain changes. He would simply tell Lady Catherine that the changes had been made. She would respond with long rants on her servants’ habits—which rants Darcy never listened to—but she wouldn’t counteract Darcy’s decisions. Until Darcy left, anyway. He told the steward this, and the steward agreed, looking depressed. But Rosings wasn’t really Darcy’s responsibility.
Every evening, John and he took a walk to view the grounds: Rosings was a lovely estate. During these walks, Darcy learned that John was spending almost every day at the parsonage. John would report on his visits: “Miss Elizabeth is very clever,” he would say, or “Miss Elizabeth agrees that Evelina lacks sparkle,” or “Miss Elizabeth is quite the walker.”
She was clever. She had interesting opinions about literature and people and other such things. She was quite a walker; in fact, Darcy could tell John—but he decided, No. John might not understand about Miss Elizabeth walking over three miles to see her sister; he might put the wrong interpretation on Darcy remembering the incident. Darcy thought of Miss Elizabeth’s dark eyes and glowing cheeks and friendly smile and kept his thoughts to himself.
He saw her at church where they all sat through a rather rambling sermon on the importance of respecting one’s betters. He thought about speaking to her—he could ask her about—about—
She was already gone, her arm linked with Mrs. Collins’s.
“I’ve invited the Collinses and their guests for a small party,” Lady Catherine announced that evening, and Darcy felt a wash of relief. He would have a whole evening to come up with a conversational gambit.
John got Miss Elizabeth’s attention first, of course. Darcy was stuck listening to Lady Catherine’s critique of Mr. Collins’s sermon while Mr. Collins listened avidly. Darcy watched John question Miss Elizabeth about Kent and Hertfordshire and poetry: “What do you think of Scott’s latest?” Miss Elizabeth answered his questions with her usual ease, laughing occasionally.
John could be droll.
“—and of course, Fordyce is always an excellent resource,” Lady Catherine was saying.
John was a younger son, of course, with little money. He had good prospects; he was a good dependable man. But Miss Elizabeth couldn’t afford—
Darcy frowned at his train of thought. She was just being friendly. There was nothing personal about her conversation with John. Darcy was making untenable assumptions. He was getting as bad as Mrs. Bennett.
Lady Catherine ended her critique and shouted to John: “What are you telling Miss Bennett? Let me hear what it is.”
John turned, brows raised. His eyes met Darcy’s, and he winked. Darcy felt a sudden chill. Surely, John and Miss Elizabeth’s conversation had been general, impersonal. One couldn’t have intimate conversations in drawing rooms—
One could actually, as Darcy knew.
“We were talking of music, ma’am.”
Darcy let out a breath.
Lady Catherine proclaimed that she loved music. “If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient. And what of Georgiana and her music?”
“She is quite accomplished,” Darcy said. He had seen Georgiana before he visited the Fitzwilliams. He had been impressed at how far she had come in both her singing and playing. She had a clear mezzo-soprano and had mastered several Haydn sonatas. He said so.
“Pray tell her from me,” said Lady Catherine, “that she cannot expect to excel if she does not practice a great deal.”
Georgiana practiced constantly, Darcy explained, trying not to snap. Snapping never made any difference with Lady Catherine. She hardly heard him now.
“I have told Miss Bennett several times that she will never play really well unless she practices more.”
Darcy glanced at Miss Elizabeth, expecting an acerbic rejoinder, but Miss Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap and looked demure. Darcy felt himself tense.
Lady Catherine tapped his arm to regain his attention. “She is welcome, as I have often told her, to come to Rosings every day and play on the pianoforte—”
That was a kind offer, and Darcy looked again at Miss Elizabeth, hoping to see a smile of appreciation.
“—in Mrs. Jenkinson’s room. She would be in nobody’s way, you know, in that part of the house.”
Darcy winced and stared at the carpet. He hoped Miss Elizabeth would still play and sing tonight despite his aunt’s rudeness.
She played at John’s request. She chose an adagio, and Darcy sat back, relaxing as she began.
“Of course, Anne much prefers pieces by Charles Avison,” Lady Catherine said, and Darcy stiffened, annoyed. He hated people interrupting performances, musical, theatrical, or otherwise. He got up abruptly and walked across the room, so he could listen better.
And Miss Elizabeth spoke to him, directly to him: “You mean to frighten me, Mr. Darcy, by coming so seriously to hear me. But I will not be alarmed though your sister does play so well—”
So she had attended to his comments about Georgiana. Darcy smiled.
Miss Elizabeth continued, “My courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me.”
That was true, only she wasn’t really afraid of Darcy. She knew he would never try to discomfort her; she knew him pretty well, in fact. She was teasing, pretending alarm she didn’t feel. He said so, and she laughed, and Darcy felt himself relax. This was the kind of camaraderie they had had in Hertfordshire.
Miss Elizabeth was telling John that Darcy knew her real character, and she could expose Darcy’s character if she wished. Darcy wasn’t worried. John already knew his character pretty well, and Darcy had learned that Miss Elizabeth was never as critical in her judgments as she threatened.
“I am not afraid of you,” he told her.
John laughed and asked for particulars. Miss Elizabeth lowered her voice to a scandalized murmur: Did he know, could he comprehend—the first time she’d met Darcy he had only danced four dances “though gentlemen were scarce; and more than one young lady was sitting down in want of a partner.”
It took Darcy almost a minute to realize she was speaking of that first ball in Hertfordshire—when he had refused to dance with any one but Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. He had refused to dance with a young lady suggested by Bingley.
He had refused to dance with Miss Elizabeth.
He flushed. He hadn’t noticed the imbalance of men and women. He had barely noticed who Bingley recommended, but Miss Elizabeth had noticed and remembered; all this time, she had thought him uncivil, deliberately rude.
He said, “I am ill-qualified to recommend myself to strangers.” She must understand that. She knew him well enough.
But she was shaking her head. Darcy said desperately, “I have not the talent of conversing easily with those I have never seen before.” She must have noticed that.
She was still shaking her head. She took the time to practice the piano, she pointed out. Surely, Darcy could take the time to be sociable.
She didn’t practice that much. But she did practice enough to give pleasure to her friends and family. Darcy was the same although he admitted that sometimes even his friends and family were a little confused by his behavior. He would have to try harder. He said so. “Neither of us performs well to strangers.”
She grew serious again, her amusement dimming as she eyed him. Lady Catherine approached, and Miss Elizabeth began to play. Darcy sat down near the pianoforte, feeling confused. Miss Elizabeth hadn’t mentioned the first ball when she stayed at Netherfield. But then she had been occupied with her sister. On the other hand, she and Darcy had had a number of conversations there—Darcy could remember all of them, nearly verbatim. She had never seemed angry with him. She’d asked him questions and smiled and bantered with him.
She smiles and banters with John.
She didn’t study John. She didn’t ask John about his faults. Darcy glowered at the fireplace and hardly noticed when the party broke up.
The next morning, he left Rosings early, without John, and went to the parsonage. He would visit Mrs. Collins and Mrs. Collins’s sister, and perhaps, Elizabeth would be there, and he could make sure she bore him no ill-will.
She was alone. Darcy paused on the parlor threshold, confused. He wasn’t prepared for a tête-à-tête. He didn’t have his thoughts ordered. Mrs. Collins was supposed to be there to carry the conversational ball: that’s what married ladies did.
He sat slowly. Miss Elizabeth asked after the occupants at Rosings. Darcy replied. He’d started to get his bearings. He hadn’t expected a tête-à-tête, but he wasn’t sorry for it. He sat in the parlor’s armchair and watched Miss Elizabeth at the desk. She was dressed in something soft and bright. Her hair was informally arranged, and Darcy found he liked it better than a formal arrangement. He realized she was watching him, amused, and the anxiety in him lessened. Their relationship was back to normal—to the way it had been in Hertfordshire, to the way things should be between them.
The way they should always be. Darcy realized he had forgotten he was not interested in Miss Elizabeth. There was no point denying it: he was interested.
They discussed Netherfield and whether Charles would let or sell it. They discussed the parsonage and Mr. Collins’s marriage to Mrs. Collins.
“It must be very agreeable to her to be settled within so easy a distance of her own family and friends,” Darcy said. Miss Elizabeth was surprised. “Easy distance” for Miss Elizabeth apparently meant “in the same neighborhood of.” Miss Elizabeth blushed when Darcy said so, and Darcy’s heart beat a little quicker.
This was marriage talk: how far a distance a woman wished to live from her family. Miss Elizabeth had never seemed like someone who wanted to spend her married life a hop, skip, and a jump from her parents’ door. He couldn’t think of anything more frustrating than trying to manage a household with Mrs. Bennet’s interference. Pemberley, at least, was a long way from Hertfordshire.
“You are not that attached to Longbourn,” he said, leaning forward.
Miss Elizabeth looked surprised, and Darcy retreated. He was being too forward, making assumptions; he was hardly prepared to—to—
To propose?
He left the parsonage in a state of utter bewilderment. She was too genteel, too intelligent, to assume an offer where none was made, but she must know—she was so good at reading people—how Darcy felt. She wouldn’t be surprised if he proposed.
Which put the decision back on Darcy. He’d decided she was wrong for him. He’d decided that in Hertfordshire four months ago. Why would he change his mind now?
He had, he admitted to himself, thought about Elizabeth often over the last four months. He’d saved up things to tell her, things he could actually never tell her unless they were engaged. He’d spoken of her to Georgiana.
He couldn’t marry her. It was not an appropriate connection. He sat in his room, head in hands. He had expected to marry a woman of his own status with a similar background—someone to be chatelaine of Pemberley, who could handle the work involved and be a role model for Georgiana.
Elizabeth was an excellent role model, but with Elizabeth came her family. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were not acceptable role models for any young person. Nor did they supply an appropriate environment for a future Mrs. Darcy. That Elizabeth could manage a household, Darcy had no doubt, but she’d had little experience with well-run estates. Longbourn was less than half the size of Pemberley, and Mr. Bennet ran it at less than full potential.
If only she was a member of his set. If only she had a stronger pedigree. His father had married Lady Anne Kenway from a family of ancient Anglo-Saxon heritage. Darcy’s mother had brought money and stability and worth to the Darcy line.
The line didn’t need more money, but Darcy thought it could use stability. The incident with Wickham had shaken his sense of security. Georgiana would not make the same mistake again—he hoped—but she was young; she needed good examples.
Elizabeth is a good example. But her sisters weren’t—except Jane, Jane who Bingley had wanted to court. Darcy had told him the connection was a bad one which was true. What would Bingley think if Darcy married a Bennet sister?
Elizabeth would understand Darcy’s conflict. Darcy had seen her blush at her parents’ behavior. She knew what they were like. She knew what Darcy was like.
But he couldn’t discuss the matter with her—not unless he made an offer. Once she accepted, she would ease his mind.
If he offered. If. If. If.
He visited the parsonage several times over the next few days; he watched Elizabeth talk and laugh, listened to her good sense, observed her manners with John and Mr. and Mrs. Collins. He took her expressions and witticisms and occasional smiles at him back to his room at Rosings where he replayed them in his mind.
He shouldn’t propose.
But he would.
He was going to get married.
What an absolutely astonishing thought.
Chapter 6: Elizabeth and Darcy Have a Fight, and Darcy Tries to Explain Himself
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