Page 5 of It Taught Me to Hope
S hock was no fit description of what roiled in Elizabeth’s breast upon seeing Mr. Darcy for the first time in six years. That his eyes remained fixed on her in the ensuing moments ripped any sense of comfort from her and returned her to those days at Netherfield when she was certain they hated each other, and the days in Kent when he had confused her.
The thought of Kent directed her mind to the scene in Charlotte’s parlor, the astonishing proposal, the fury on the heels of that bewilderment when he had confessed to separating Jane from Mr. Bingley, the further amazement when he had defended himself by letter, and the growing certainty that she had judged him more harshly than he deserved. Elizabeth could still remember with exact detail how he had looked the last time she had seen him in the woods of Rosings, the paleness of his cheeks attesting to a sleepless night, his rough voice when he pleaded with her to read the letter, and the deep-set pain in his eyes, the agony she had only recognized upon reflection in the following days and weeks.
Yet he was here before her now, the longer his gaze fixed upon her the more uncomfortable she became. It was a look she well knew, for Mr. Darcy had worn it many times in the weeks he had been in Hertfordshire. At the time, she had taken it for disapproval and the man’s attempt to catalog her faults, real or imagined. Now, however, seeing his intensity as he regarded her, she knew it had never been a judgmental regard but one of utter fascination that he could not suppress. It was that captivation that had led him to propose to her, by his own testimony against his every reasonable attempt to dismiss his inclination. While Elizabeth was no more pleased by his words now than she had been six years earlier—for what woman wished to hear all her deficiencies as a potential match pointed out to her in excruciating detail? —she understood him better. The man’s mother had been the daughter of an earl, after all; was it not natural for him to expect the same?
Mr. Darcy’s steady regard became unnerving, prompting Elizabeth to look away, where she noticed Charlotte watching her with interest. Then Charlotte’s mysterious words to her returned, the force of realization akin to the kick of a horse. A frown replaced Elizabeth’s confusion, and she glared at her friend.
“You knew of Mr. Darcy’s presence, yet you did not tell me! What game are you playing, Charlotte?”
“You are correct to suspect me, Lizzy, but you are wrong about the timing. I only learned of Mr. Darcy’s presence in the neighborhood yesterday when my father visited to invite him to the party.”
Elizabeth considered this, not mollified in the slightest. “Did you not think to come to Longbourn to inform me of his presence?”
“Why should I do that, Lizzy?” asked Charlotte. “What could his presence in the neighborhood mean to you?”
For that, Elizabeth had no answer. Other than her dearest sister Elizabeth had told no one, for she did not wish to endure the mortification sharing the account would entail, to say nothing of the inadvisability of spreading it about. Though Elizabeth had never been certain, she did not think Charlotte’s maid had so much as mentioned Mr. Darcy’s presence that evening to the master or mistress of the parsonage. Had she done so, Charlotte would have been obliged to tell Mr. Collins, and Mr. Collins would have confronted her on the subject. She did not think even Mr. Collins would have conceived of the notion of Mr. Darcy proposing to her, but he would have wished to know why the gentleman had visited her alone on a day when he was supposed to be in the company of his aunt and her guests, Charlotte and Mr. Collins among their number.
“In truth,” said Charlotte when Elizabeth did not reply at once, “I expected your reaction to Mr. Darcy’s coming to be rather instructional. It has been, though I will not scruple to suggest it has not raised far more questions than it has answered.”
“What can he be doing here?” asked Elizabeth, more to herself than her companion.
When she risked a glance back at the gentleman, she noted he was still speaking with Sir William, little though he appeared to enjoy his position. It was fortunate she had looked at him at the exact moment when his eyes had strayed from her, allowing her to look away again quickly without revealing her scrutiny. It would not do to allow him to suppose he affected her.
“Lizzy,” said Charlotte, her tone chiding, “you know that I always suspected Mr. Darcy of partiality toward you. That he has returned now even after so many years coupled with his fixed gaze on your person since he entered the room leaves me with several surprising conclusions. Will you not share something of your history with him? I suspect there is more than you told me.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw Mr. Darcy extricate himself from Sir William and knowing his next destination would be her side, now was not the time to canvass this subject.
“Not now, Charlotte. Come to Longbourn and I shall do my best to explain.”
Charlotte nodded but said nothing, for Mr. Darcy was almost upon them. Gathering her courage about her like a cloak, Elizabeth turned to face the approaching gentleman. Mr. Darcy was both as tall and as handsome as she recalled, the years seeming to have little affected him; his eyes were bright, there were no discernable lines about his face, and his hair was still dark and wavy, stained with no hint of gray. There was still an air of dignity about him, something in his bearing that she had never understood, but spoke to his confidence or cognizance of his worth in the world—Elizabeth was aware she had always considered it arrogance, and while she thought that was part of it, she now knew it was not so intrinsic a part of his character as she had supposed.
For the first time, Elizabeth noticed a young lady accompanying him. Whereas Mr. Darcy was dark, she was fair of face and hair, the resemblance striking, proclaiming her the infamous Georgiana Darcy of whom Miss Bingley had spoken with such artful praise. The woman was tall, perhaps Jane’s height, and possessed a light, willowy figure, coiffed and attired in a fine dress of excellent quality. An echo of Mr. Wickham’s comments of this woman, long forgotten, resonated in Elizabeth’s head; as everything else he had told her had proven false, Elizabeth was certain that he had been no more truthful about Miss Darcy than he had been about the rest.
“Miss Lucas. Miss Bennet.”
Mr. Darcy stopped before them both and bowed, his voice containing the slightest hint of a rasp which was more pronounced when he spoke Elizabeth’s name.
“How do you do?”
“We do very well, Mr. Darcy,” said Charlotte, answering for them both.
“My sister has expressed a desire to make your acquaintance if I might beg leave to introduce you.”
“Of course,” said Charlotte. “We should be happy to accept.”
As Mr. Darcy did the honors, confirming Elizabeth’s conjecture about the identity of his companion, she felt the fog of shock at his entrance give way. Though she had presented herself as a simpleton unable to speak, rational thought returned, and she determined to greet this man and his sister as if nothing had happened. Any notion of the reason for his return she quashed for the moment. Elizabeth Bennet steeled herself for battle and stepped into the breach.
––––––––
I T WAS AS IF A BEACON shone on Miss Bennet, for Darcy’s eyes found her the moment he entered the room. There was no way he could not have noticed her at once; the luminosity shining from her face and form rendered everything else around her dull and drab as if she possessed the only color in a world mired in shades of gray.
Had Darcy any notion of such things in that perfect, sublime moment in which he caught sight of her, he might have understood his entranced state the instant his eyes found her face. Then again, Darcy had been lost in the wilderness for the past six years since her refusal of his suit, rendering him the inhabitant of a dreary world devoid of color or interest. Darcy could not say when it had begun, for he had been in the middle before he realized it, but he knew his enchantment at her hands predated his ill-fated proposal to her at Hunsford. Though he had told himself otherwise, he was now aware his reason for departing Hertfordshire and preventing Bingley’s return had proceeded from his desire to escape her allure.
That he had been a fool to suppose he could escape had never been more apparent than it was at that moment when he realized anew how powerful his attraction to her had always been. Miss Elizabeth Bennet had been a pretty and captivating young woman of twenty, her features in some ways secondary to the light of her person, her playful manners and intelligence an intrinsic part of her allure. Now, enhanced by the maturity gained in the years since he had last seen her, Darcy found her no less than beautiful, bewitching, and irresistible; had Darcy found the courage to approach her again in the intervening years, he knew he would never have had the will to depart from her again.
The excessive civility of Sir William Lucas distracted Darcy for a time, and he exchanged a few pleasantries with the man though he did not know what he said. When Sir William turned to welcome another guest, Darcy seized the opportunity to lead Georgiana away.
“Is that her?” asked his sister when she noticed the vision in pale green standing next to Mrs. Collins.
“It is,” said Darcy, the hitch in his voice making it difficult to speak.
“Then there is no time like the present, Brother.” Georgiana’s remark was both gentle and supportive, and Darcy drew strength from her presence. “Will you introduce me to the ladies?”
Darcy nodded and led her thither, seeing Miss Bennet say something to Mrs. Collins before turning to face them. Again, Darcy spoke by instinct rather than design, though what he said must have been acceptable, for the ladies did not exchange amused glances, snickers, or even outright laughter at his stupidity. Darcy managed the introductions and then took a metaphoric step back, allowing them to greet each other.
“Miss Bennet, Mrs. Collins,” said Georgiana in her quiet way. “I welcome the opportunity to make your acquaintance, for I have heard much of you.”
“As we have heard of you, Miss Darcy,” replied Charlotte when Miss Bennet appeared incapable of responding.
Though still reticent, Georgiana cocked her head to the side as she regarded Mrs. Collins. “Is that so?”
“Miss Bingley had much to say of you,” said Mrs. Collins, “though most of those comments she made to my friend here. My intelligence of you came from your aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who was my late husband’s patroness when he held the living at Hunsford.”
“Oh, of course,” said Darcy, startled to action by her comment. “Belated though it is, please accept my condolences for your husband’s passing.”
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” said Mrs. Collins with no hint of censure. “Mr. Collins departed several years ago, and I have recovered from his loss.”
Darcy nodded, though distracted. “I will own that I had heard something of it, though my last visit to Rosings was several years ago.”
“Yes,” replied Mrs. Collins with a look he thought more knowing than it should be. “I will own that Lady Catherine said something of the situation to Mr. Collins before his death, which he did not hesitate to share with me.”
“Are your aunt and your cousin well?” asked Miss Elizabeth.
A glance at her revealed her recovery from the silence that had beset her. Now she regarded him with the measure of frankness and pluck he had always attributed to her.
“My aunt is well so far as I am aware,” replied Mr. Darcy. “My cousin, however, passed on about two years ago.”
“I offer my apologies, Mr. Darcy,” said she, appearing crestfallen.
“Not at all, Miss Bennet,” Darcy hastened to reassure her. “You could not have known, considering you have no more connections in the neighborhood.”
Miss Elizabeth drew herself up, nodding her thanks for his absolution.
“It has been some time, Mr. Darcy,” said Mrs. Collins. “As I recall, I have not had your company since the Easter two years after you stayed with Mr. Bingley at Netherfield Park.”
“That is correct,” said Darcy, uncertain what else he should say. “For several years after my last visit, my cousin the viscount shouldered the duty of visiting Lady Catherine. Since Anne’s passing, my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam has been the proprietor of Rosings Park, for Anne left it to him in her will. I dare say his presence has kept Lady Catherine from withdrawing from the family; her grief for her daughter was most acute.”
“The news of Colonel Fitzwilliam is excellent, Mr. Darcy, though it is unfortunate that his good fortune resulted from Miss de Bourgh’s demise. As I recall from a particular conversation I had with your cousin, he has no more need to marry an heiress with a fortune of fifty thousand pounds. Though he received his inheritance through tragedy, I cannot but suppose his current prosperity is a matter of much pleasure to you all.”
Georgiana could not stifle a giggle at Miss Bennet’s comment. “Had I any doubt you had made my cousin’s acquaintance, you have now put it to rest. Anthony used to jest without ceasing about his need to preserve his style of life by marrying an heiress.”
“I understand he was your joint guardian with your brother,” said Miss Bennet. “It must be agreeable to be of age and free of such stern guardians.”
“Not at all, Miss Bennet,” said Georgiana. Darcy could see that she was warming to Miss Bennet with more alacrity than he supposed. “I owe much to my cousin and my brother, for they are the best men of my acquaintance.”
“To answer your question,” said Darcy, not wishing to speak to excess about such things, “Anthony has adjusted to his position at Rosings, such that he rarely sues for my assistance anymore.”
Miss Bennet laughed, and Darcy realized how much he had missed the simple pleasure of listening to her mirth.
“As I recall, you came to Netherfield for a similar reason, Mr. Darcy.”
“To be of use to Bingley,” said Darcy with a nod, though he wondered if this was not dangerous territory.
“And how are Mr. Bingley and his sisters?”
Darcy shook his head. “Of Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, I have seen nothing in several years, though Miss Bingley is now Mrs. Powell. Bingley is well so far as I am aware, though it has been some months since we last met.”
Miss Bennet appeared to understand Darcy did not wish to speak of Bingley and changed the subject. “At this time of year, I might have thought you would be in London, Mr. Darcy. The season is now in full swing unless my information about the higher sets is mistaken.”
“Given what you know of my character,” replied Darcy, “you cannot suppose the loss of the season is any loss to me.”
“Yes, I suppose it must be so.”
Beset by some thought that altered her mood yet again, she fell silent. The burden of conversation fell to Georgiana and Mrs. Collins, and while his sister was still reticent, though having gained confidence as she matured, Mrs. Collins appeared equal to the task. Darcy inspected Miss Bennet, though he attempted to appear complacent with his company, uncertain though he was about his success. Her amazement for his appearance he marked at once, proving his supposition that she had known nothing of his coming. What that presaged Darcy could not say, but he saw nothing in her manner to give him pause. Perhaps it was not apropos to the situation, but the mere sight of her provoked such hope as he had not entertained since that awful day in the parsonage.
“Oh, yes, of course,” said Miss Bennet, her attention caught by a comment of Georgiana’s. “As I recall, not only did Miss Bingley extol your expert performance on the pianoforte, but your aunt also alluded to it.”
“If you recall,” said Darcy, desperate to have his part in the conversation with her, “Lady Catherine asked after Georgiana’s propensity to practice.”
“Amid boasts of her taste and imagined proficiency had she ever learned,” added a wry Charlotte.
Darcy laughed along with his sister, noting that Miss Bennet shared in their diversion. “That is a near likeness of Aunt Catherine, indeed!” exclaimed Georgiana. “Might I assume you are not exaggerating?”
“Not at all, Miss Darcy,” said Miss Bennet. “Given your acquaintance with your aunt’s frankness, you must be aware of her ability to speak on any subject, regardless of the extent of her knowledge.”
“Aye, that I do,” agreed Georgiana.
“Then shall we not speak of music? I am not much more than an enthusiast, but it is among my favorite subjects.”
“Do not allow Lizzy to mislead you, Miss Darcy,” interjected Charlotte. “Her playing is as fine as anyone in the district, which you shall judge later when I open the pianoforte.”
“Is that so?” asked Miss Darcy, regarding Miss Bennet with interest.
“Charlotte often overstates my abilities for some mischievous purpose of her own,” said Miss Bennet. “It is true there are few in the district who play, so my sister and I often share our meager talents with the company.”
“Then I am eager to hear you,” assured Georgiana.
“Shall you also favor us?” asked Miss Bennet. “Though I ask at the risk of allowing my neighbors to compare my poor playing with a proficient, I will own that I am no less than curious.”
Georgiana hesitated a moment, a vestige of her lack of confidence and unwillingness to put herself forward. While she had grown much these past years and now entertained in many companies in which she found herself, she was not eager. A moment later, she answered as Darcy had known she would.
“I cannot say if my playing is so much finer than yours, Miss Bennet. Should you wish it, I am happy to play for the company.”
Thereafter, the ladies fell into a discussion about music, in which Darcy had no part; interested though he was in the subject, his knowledge was not so great, allowing him the excuse to listen and observe. Miss Bennet comprised the largest part of his scrutiny, of course, but that did not mean he did not watch the other ladies too.
Georgiana was perhaps the easiest of the three to understand, and not only because of his long association with her. The acquaintance of Miss Bennet had been Georgiana’s wish since she had induced him to share something of his history with her. Though she had grown more confident as she matured, there was still a part of Georgiana that hesitated and craved the approval of others; the friendship with a young woman as confident and open as Miss Bennet would do wonders for his sister. Mrs. Collins was practical and intelligent, a good sort of woman though Darcy did not find her especially interesting. That she had married the oaf Collins to find a situation for herself was no mystery to Darcy, though he supposed in the end that she had not found that stability she sought. It was an unfortunate situation, though not one uncommon.
As much as he focused on his sister and Mrs. Collins, however, his attention was on Miss Bennet tenfold. A part of Darcy could not believe he was in her company all these years after he had last quit it. In watching her, he thought he caught a sense of her discomfiture, though she recovered from it at once. The impulse to give her all his attention, to make her love him as he loved her, and to fall at her feet and beg her to marry him swelled in his breast, but Darcy held himself in check. Not only would he make an utter fool of himself, but he knew without a hint of doubt that she would not accept him any more than she had at Hunsford.
After a time, they drifted apart to other parts of the room, other partners for conversation. While Darcy remembered several people he had known when he had been in Hertfordshire with Bingley, he had cared to make few acquaintances and had paid little attention to these people. Perhaps he should feel regret at having little to say to them, yet such had no hold on him. If he spoke much, he would be less at liberty to follow Miss Bennet’s progress throughout the room. Darcy remained aware of her exact position throughout that evening, unable to tear his attention away from her.
Darcy knew something of her current situation and understood her ownership of Longbourn and the exact manner in which it had happened. He also knew all her sisters were now married, save the youngest of whom his informant had made no comment other than to say they were no longer in contact. That she had inherited Longbourn meant less than nothing to him—Darcy had wished to have her as a wife when she had possessed little dowry, so her greater consequence now was an interesting bit of information and nothing more. Should he persuade her to accept his suit, she could manage the estate herself from Pemberley, he could assist as she wished, or she could gift it to one of her sisters for all he cared.
That thought was, of course, premature in the extreme, for she had left him in no doubt of her sentiments the last time he had seen her. Time had a way of dulling stronger emotions, such that if she still disapproved of him—though Darcy had sensed nothing of it—he suspected the immediacy of her affront had long since dispersed. The passage of time benefited Darcy’s suit, for he did not wish such matters to continue to fester between them. They would need to speak of it to put it behind them, but Darcy did not wish to rush anything.
One fact of which Darcy remained painfully aware was his inability to retreat now that he had dragged himself to Meryton. For many years he had considered her without cessation, almost resolving many times to seek her out and test her to know if he had any hope of persuading her. Darcy was a confident man in every aspect of his life, for he rarely allowed indecision or lack of confidence to rule him. The matter of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, however, had defeated him all these years, for the manner of their parting had left him uncertain and bereft of courage.
Yet Darcy could not now retreat, could never do so again. Perhaps coming to Hertfordshire had not been at all wise, but Darcy could not repine his presence now, not when he had sampled again the pure opium that was Miss Bennet’s allure. There was little choice but to make the attempt he had never brought himself to make, for there was no way in which he could prevent himself. For good or ill, Darcy was now there, and he would not rest until he secured Miss Bennet’s affections for his own. Or until she informed him of her unwillingness to allow him power over her. Should she send him away, he would go, though it would break his heart forever. Yet he would not do so until she told him without disguise of the impossibility of his wishes.