Page 19 of Sketching Mr. Darcy

He was convinced that she understood his feelings, and was waiting for his attentions.

Every time she spoke to him, there was a mixture of sweetness and archness in her response.

He never knew whether he should feel offended or admire her for wit.

Her soft lips were always twitching in a most tempting way, her eyes sparkling, and her eyebrow deliciously rising in challenge.

However, he knew that Elizabeth Bennet could not be more than a pleasant memory to him—one he would remember his entire life.

Her family, her connections, her situation in life forbade any further plans of a serious nature.

Therefore, not wanting to trifle with her or her feelings, he had decided to avoid further attentions to her that could raise expectations impossible for him to fulfil. And in the end, he left.

But her memory did not leave him for a moment, and the sleepless nights at Netherfield continued when he returned to London—together with the guilt he felt for Bingley’s poor state of mind and heart.

More than once, he questioned his judgment of Miss Bennet’s feelings.

Did he advise Bingley to leave the neighbourhood in an honest desire to protect his friend, or was it polluted by his selfish need to stay away from Miss Elizabeth?

Fate had decided for him, placing them both in circumstances that allowed few choices.

He had run from Elizabeth Bennet, and he was now forced to return.

No—not forced. Fate only gave him an excuse to ignore old convictions and the demands of duty that had trapped him for so long.

He made the decision to propose to her, but with great shame, he now admitted to himself that he weakly hid his own desires behind a mask of honourable intentions.

He began the journey to Longbourn with an easy heart and high expectations, even more so when he found that the Matlocks were ready to accept this marriage.

It was one less fight on her behalf. He was convinced that Georgiana would love Elizabeth in an instant, so it seemed everything was in his favour.

With God’s will, before the year ended, Elizabeth would be his wife.

And he was certain that, once he put aside the consideration of her family’s behaviour or her lack of connections, Elizabeth herself, with her character and her spirit and her brightness, together with her generous, friendly nature, would be the perfect choice for him, for his family, and for everyone in his care.

He had expected her to be surprised for a moment and then to show joy and happiness in her sparkling eyes.

He had been prepared to tell her that he planned to stay in London for only a little time after the wedding and then leave for Pemberley.

He had been certain—still was certain—she would love Pemberley.

Then he had arrived at Longbourn to confront the first shock as he talked to Mr Bennet.

That gentleman with five daughters and very little dowry for them, and with his estate entailed to his cousin—was not pleased at all that a man of his fortune had asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage.

He was polite and considerate, and he appreciated Darcy’s concern, but he was rather incredulous and cautious in responding to Darcy’s request. He declared that the only one who could decide was Elizabeth, and again Darcy was certain that he could anticipate her answer. And he was wrong again.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet had refused his marriage proposal, and even worse, she seemed convinced that they had never been friends, that he always disapproved of her and her family, and she could not believe his intention to marry her.

She seemed more inclined to confront the damage of the rumours than to marry him.

Could he accept that? He had no doubts that, once she gave her word to him, she would surely be a wonderful sister for Georgiana and a perfect mistress for his estates.

But what about him? Could he bear to know that she would accept marital intimacy out of duty?

Should he marry her, knowing she had no affection for him, or live far away from her, yearning for her in the years to come?

He filled another glass of brandy and paced the room, staring out the window.

The streets were still animated, and he spotted a few officers, wondering whether Wickham was among them.

For a moment, he considered searching for Wickham and confronting him—but to what purpose.

He would surely deny any involvement like the coward he was, and besides, the damage was done.

Darcy was sure that Wickham never intended the tale to grow to such an extent, nor was he the one implying that Darcy and Miss Elizabeth had been involved in anything improper.

Wickham would likely attempt to make fun at Darcy’s expense and speak of it to James who recklessly repeated it—two idiots making sport during drunken card games.

Even killing both, as Robert suggested, would not change the situation—were he certain that he actually wished to change it.

Darcy remembered Elizabeth’s answer when he asked her whether she had any personal reason to refuse the marriage.

At least he had no fears that she might feel affection for that scoundrel.

He knew she had been honest as she had been honest in everything she said to him—honest and rational.

All her arguments were correct—even her mention that, had she respected him less, she would have accepted his proposal without delay.

She was right. In truth, she reacted exactly as a woman of sense, education, and character would react when she received a proposal from a man whom she believed to be indifferent to her and for whom she felt little affection beyond gratitude and consideration.

The problem was that he was not at all indifferent to her, and her gratitude and consideration were far less than he desired from her.

Around midnight, the colonel returned and knocked on his door, asking whether he was awake. Darcy was tempted not to respond, but then he admitted that the bottle of brandy would be easier for two people to finish, so he invited his cousin to enter.

“Are you still upset about Miss Elizabeth’s answer? Did you finish half of that bottle alone?”

“I am not upset. I want to sleep. I am quite tired.”

“Darcy, I know you well enough to guess your feelings. I never saw you so affected by a woman as you are now, and I should be worried about this situation had I not trusted your judgment. If you came to admire Miss Elizabeth and wish to marry her, there must be something special about her. You will find a way to accomplish it—you always do.”

“Robert, I do not wish to speak about this.”

“Forgive me. I will not insist. It is just that… To be honest, I believe her refusal speaks highly of her character—and of her courage. I wonder whether any other woman in her position—or even in a much better one—would consider refusing you.”

“Robert!”

“Very well, I will speak no more, but I have to ask: How is it possible that you were so certain of her acceptance? I mean—you already admitted that you had long admired her, and I can easily understand why. And I was under the impression that she was aware of your admiration and welcomed it. If that is so, why would she reject you?”

“Apparently, she was not aware of my admiration—quite the contrary. She believed I disproved of her and only looked at her to find a blemish. It seems that my manners were not as eloquent as I thought.”

“Your manners? Really? Have you ever thought your manners eloquent?”

“I am glad you are amused, Cousin.”

“Yes, I am. It might be the brandy. Darcy, even you must realise that there is much room for improvement in your manners. I can easily imagine a young woman being frightened by the prospect of marrying you. Even I am startled by your manners sometimes, and I have known you since the day you were born.”

“You should go to bed. It is very late,” Darcy said coldly, and the colonel laughed again.

“My point exactly,” he said, gulping the rest of the brandy.

“Now, I do not want to trouble you further, but spending two hours with the younger Miss Bennets and their mother can be quite enlightening. Is it true that, the first time you met Miss Elizabeth, you refused to dance with her and called her ‘tolerable and not handsome enough to tempt you’ ? And that you never spoke more than a few words with anybody, including the Bennets, during your two months’ stay at Netherfield?

And when you did speak two words, one was an offense to someone nearby?

The entire family seemed shocked that you danced with Miss Elizabeth once and that you escorted her home when she fell in the pond.

How on earth could you believe that she was aware of your admiration and would welcome your proposal? ”

The colonel’s amusement increased while Darcy turned white—too stunned to even be angry with his cousin.

Did all of Hertfordshire know that he offended Elizabeth at the Meryton assembly?

Had she heard him and known all that time?

And what did they mean that he offended everyone?

Surely, that was another exaggeration of Mrs Bennet.

“Well, at least you can be sure that the gossip was not started by the Bennets. They would never imply that you and Miss Elizabeth were involved in an improper relationship. Good Lord, they would laugh themselves to death if they were told such a thing.”

“The younger Miss Bennets and their mother speak too much nonsense. They will never learn decorum. You can take none of their remarks seriously.”