Page 36 of The Power of Refusal

A fter some disambiguation in the familiar streets of Alton, they had arrived at last at the pretty parsonage of St Lawrence. For most of the journey, Elizabeth had stared unseeing at the cloudy sky and damp countryside. She had dreamt the prior evening would mark the beginning of an understanding with Mr Darcy. Instead, it had devolved into a gargantuan misunderstanding. Or worse.

The carriage lurched to a stop, jolting Elizabeth from her thoughts. The door opened, and a figure emerged to greet her. As she stepped from the carriage, Elizabeth schooled her features to avoid showing her shock at the appearance of her younger sister. Mary was as big as a house. Her midsection strained even the limits of her smock-like garment. Elizabeth was certain Mary had been far less expansive when she delivered little Frances two years ago. Alarm raced through her.

On closer inspection, Mary’s face was also swollen and drawn with exhaustion. The sisters embraced awkwardly, the protrusion of Mary’s midsection preventing close contact.

“Thank the Lord you are here, Lizzy,” Mary said in a whisper. Her voice was thin and strained.

Elizabeth stepped back and, taking Mary’s hands, peered into her eyes. She did not wish to be intrusive or alarmist, but she could see fear in her sister’s face. It was a look she had never seen before, and it chilled her to the bone.

"Are you well, Mary dear?” Elizabeth asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Mary avoided her eyes. She looked down at the ground, her shoulders slumping. “As well as can be expected, I reckon,” she said softly. “Do come in and get settled. I have tea ready for you in my sitting room. Mr Couper is visiting a parishioner who is poorly. He will return anon.”

Elizabeth followed Mary into the house, her mind reeling with questions and concerns. She had thought at Alton she might escape her own troubles, but now her sister was facing a crisis.

As they settled into the sitting room, Elizabeth studied her sister’s face. She longed to ask about her condition, but Mary remained quiet, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. They spoke of inconsequential matters and caught up on their news. Elizabeth spoke nothing of her own troubles in the face of her sister’s distress.

The following morning, Elizabeth sat in the pew, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.

Mr Couper’s voice rang out from the pulpit.

“Unto the woman he said, I will greatly multiply thy sorrow and thy conception; in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children; and thy desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee.”

Elizabeth glanced at Mary beside her. Her sister’s face was pale, her brow damp with sweat. She wiped her face with a handkerchief, her hand trembling slightly. Surreptitiously, she dabbed at her eyes. Mary’s terror radiated to Elizabeth like a wave of heat.

Elizabeth tamped down a surge of rage rising within her. Mr Couper’s words, a literal interpretation of the Bible, were a cudgel to ignore Mary’s suffering. He doted on little Frances, he called Mary his darling wife, yet he seemed blind to her pain and fear.

The midwife, Mrs Danvers, had interrupted their tea the day before. She clucked her tongue, shaking her head as she observed Mary’s condition. She met Elizabeth’s gaze, canting her head towards the door.

Elizabeth leant close to Mary, keeping her voice low. “I shall see Mrs Danvers out, Mary. You must rest.”

Mary nodded, her eyes closing. Elizabeth rose and walked the dozen steps to the front door, ensuring their voices would not carry back to the sitting room.

M rs Danvers wasted no time. “I dunna like the look of yer sister.”

Elizabeth’s heart clenched. “What is wrong? What can I do?”

The midwife shook her head. “There ain’t much you can do. She needs a physician. A real, trained doctor. Sometimes they can move the babe along, get matters started. Mrs Couper is full of water—too much water, too much blood. I have been delivering babies since before you was born, and I have seen this go bad. Convulsions, sometimes. It’s a terrible business.”

Elizabeth’s stomach dropped. She had suspected she was out of her depth, but Mrs Danvers’s words confirmed her worst fears.

"What does Mr Couper say?” Elizabeth asked, dreading the answer.

Mrs Danvers scoffed. “He says ‘the Lord will provide.’ I dunna think the Lord is going to send a doctor. I want no part of this mess, but I shall not leave Mrs Couper alone. She is a good woman. See if you can talk some sense into that man.”

The midwife threw on her cloak, her movements brisk. She opened the door, the cool air rushing in.

Elizabeth stood in the doorway, watching as Mrs Danvers disappeared down the path. She would not let Mary suffer, not if there was anything she could do to prevent it. She must try to make Mr Couper understand the gravity of the situation.

Elizabeth finally caught Mr Couper after lunch, whilst Mary retired for a rest. He was, as usual, in his study, absorbed in composing a sermon.

“May I speak with you, brother?” she asked. Mr Couper was hardly the man she might wish for as a brother, but at his insistence, she was to address him thus.

“What might I do for you, sister?” he said, looking up with an aggrieved expression.

“I am worried about Mary. She seems unwell,” Elizabeth began.

Mr Couper shook his head immediately. “She is well able to bear the suffering her condition brings. She must do so to bring new life into the world. It is God’s will.” Elizabeth was struck by the distant, rigid expression he bore, as though the subject might only be discussed as part of a sermon.

She hesitated, trying to determine an approach that might fit with the man’s views.

“I understand there is suffering, but I worry about her condition. She is far, er, larger than she was with Frances, and her discomfort grows. Might you consider consulting a physician?” Elizabeth cringed, hoping she had taken the right tack with Mr Couper.

“Dame Nature is the best accoucheur!” he proclaimed. “Interfering in the natural process ordained by God is wrong. What is more, I will have no man examine my wife. It is unseemly.”

Elizabeth was beset by despair. How could she counter so many wrong-headed beliefs?

“Of course, you want the best care for my sister Mary, would you not? Perhaps there is something that could be done to prevent any harm coming to her or your baby?” Elizabeth was out of ideas. Would he not at the very least consider her sister’s life?

Mr Couper fixed her with a glare. “The Lord will provide,” he snapped, then looked pointedly at the door, dismissing her.

∞∞∞

The carriage pulled up outside Matlock House, a handsome townhouse in a fashionable part of the city. Darcy alighted and made his way up the steps to the front door. He hesitated for a moment before raising his hand to knock, his pride warring with his desperation. He raised his hand to knock, then lowered it, then raised it again, performing a peculiar dance of indecision that would have mortified him had he been aware of it.

The door swung open, and the butler immediately announced him to a surprised Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Darcy!” he exclaimed, his eyebrows raised. “What brings you to my doorstep at this hour? Good God, man! You look like you’ve been dragged behind your horse from Pemberley.”

Darcy took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation and fixed Richard with a stare. “I need your help,” he said, his voice as urgent as if he were announcing an impending French invasion. “It’s about Elizabeth.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam’s eyes widened, but he stepped aside to allow Darcy to enter. “Come in, come in,” he said, ushering his cousin into the house. “You look like you could use a drink. Or several.”

Darcy followed Colonel Fitzwilliam into his study, where a fire crackled merrily in the grate. Colonel Fitzwilliam poured two glasses of brandy and handed one to Darcy before settling into a chair opposite him.

“Now,” he said, fixing Darcy with a penetrating stare, “tell me everything. And please, try to use actual words, not just anguished sighs and meaningful looks.”

Darcy took a gulp of brandy, then, haltingly at first, he began to recount the events, gesticulating wildly and occasionally lapsing into what could only be described as lovelorn mime. He told Richard about his conversation with Elizabeth, about the way she had reacted to his words, about the hurt and anger in her eyes.

As he spoke, Richard listened intently, his brow furrowed in concentration. He asked Darcy to repeat his exact words and listened intently. When Darcy had finished, the colonel leant back in his chair and let out a low whistle.

“Well, cousin,” he said, a wry smile playing about his lips, “you have a knack for putting your foot in it, do you not?”

Darcy bristled at the words, but he could not deny their truth. “You do not know why she was so angry?” Richard asked.

“No, I am unable to account for it at all. She seemed so open, so welcoming earlier when we were in company,” Darcy said.

“Darcy, I want you to think hard on this. Try to put yourself in her place. She has barely been in your company for years, then you suddenly reappear. You dined together, but surely you paid her no special attention before you learnt she was unmarried.” He fixed Darcy with a hard look.

“Of course not. I treated her with respect, as a married lady. As indifferent acquaintances.”

“Correct. Then you learn about her unmarried status and appear in a disreputable condition at her brother’s estate, and promptly fall ill. She cared for you during your illness, did she not?”

“As far as I can recall. I have never been so indisposed in my life,” Darcy said.

“So, shortly before this disaster, you took the liberty of summoning her to your bedchamber,” Richard said.

Darcy cringed. “I was in the sitting room adjoining my chamber. Not my bedchamber proper,” he said defensively.

“Subject to interpretation, that. But there, at your prompting, she confessed she had never married, and rather than seize that opportune moment to confess your affection, you told her you were happy to hear it.”

“Because I was! I had to be certain she was indeed unwed.”

“For what purpose?”

“To marry her, of course!”

“And she knew this how? Did you court her? Pay her compliments? Ask her opinions? Suggest a leisurely stroll through the gardens? God help me, dance with her and not speak at all? Or did you, perchance, simply stand in her general vicinity gawping at her, hoping she might develop the ability to read your mind?”

Darcy bristled “Well, there was little opportunity. We were in company with the Bingleys and their neighbours. I conversed with her, we danced once, and we got on well.” Darcy searched his mind for a compliment he had paid to no avail. There was that one walk when he arrived, but he had been nearly hallucinating at the time and had no memory of what he may have said.

Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head. “So, without preamble, you addressed the lady after dinner just before she was to depart. Let us review carefully all your words that day.”

Darcy was silent, recalling the precise statements. After a moment, his shoulders fell. Something was missing, what could it be?

Richard sighed. “Again, please put yourself in her position. You are aware of her several refused marriage proposals. You have expressed your delight at her unmarried state. Now, you offer her a ‘solution’ as you so eloquently phrased it, which would, God help you, ‘benefit you both.’ You told her you were thrilled she had not married, then offered her a ‘mutually beneficial arrangement.’ And you are still confused about why she’s angry?”

“Precisely! I thought she’d be overjoyed! She would love Pemberley. I could give her everything she desires!” Darcy saw dismay reflected in Richard’s eyes. He made a herculean effort to take Elizabeth’s view, to offer her the life she deserved. How had she so thoroughly misinterpreted him?

Richard broke into his reverie with a laugh. “Oh, Darcy,” he wheezed, shaking his head. “You magnificent, clueless fool.”

Darcy’s brow furrowed. “I fail to see the humour in this situation, Richard.”

“Of course.” Richard chuckled. “Tell me, in all your eloquence, did the words ‘love’ or ‘marriage’ cross your lips at any point?”

Darcy opened his mouth, then closed it again. He repeated this fish-like motion several times before admitting, “I... may have neglected those particular terms.”

“Right,” Richard said, grinning. “So let us review. You, a wealthy widower, addressed a single lady of little fortune, expressed delight at her unmarried state, sympathised with her relative penury, then offered her a ‘situation’ that would ‘benefit you both.’ What exactly did you think that suggested?”

Darcy’s brain went through a series of emotions—confusion, dawning realisation, horror, and finally, utter mortification. “Good God,” he whispered. “She thought I was offering a— that she— oh my God...”

“Mistress, you leatherheaded nincompoop,” Richard finished for him. “She thought you were offering her carte blanche. You phrased it as a business proposition. Elizabeth Bennet is a single woman of little fortune, one who has turned down several proposals of marriage. You commended her for still being a maiden. She has all but confessed she cares for you. You are a wealthy, well-connected man of nearly forty, widower to nobility, with no wife. You offered her a ‘situation.’”

Darcy shook his head. His heart was racing. Impossible. He would never be so disrespectful. He loved her!

“Blast it, Darcy. She had every reason to think you wanted to make her your mistress, you bird wit!” Richard boomed.

Darcy stood to object, blanched, shook his head, then fell into his chair. How was it possible he had done worse on his second proposal to the woman he had longed to marry for a decade? Richard was correct. He did not speak the words of a proposal. He did not repeat his declaration of ardent love and admiration. He was silent for several minutes, then spoke.

“But that’s preposterous! She thinks I asked her to be my mistress? That is why she was so angry? I would never— I mean, Elizabeth is the most— I love her! I do not know what to do, Richard,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “I love her. I cannot lose her again.” Darcy leapt to his feet, nearly upending the brandy decanter.

“Yes, well, it seems you forgot to mention that rather crucial detail,” Richard said dryly.

Darcy collapsed back into his chair, looking as though he’d been hit over the head with a large, blunt object. “What am I to do, Richard?” he moaned. “How can I possibly fix this?”

Colonel Fitzwilliam’s expression softened. He leant forward and placed a hand on Darcy’s arm. “You will not lose her, Darcy,” he said, his voice firm. “We shall figure this out together. Put that debacle from your mind and let us begin again.” Darcy sighed heavily. “I know not where to begin.”

Richard’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “First things first,” he said, moving to the small lady’s slipper chair. “I’ll be Elizabeth. You start from the beginning, and I’ll offer suggestions. And Darcy?”

“Yes?”

“Try to remember you’re proposing marriage, not negotiating a business transaction.Now, tell me how utterly besotted you are with the lady.”

Darcy nodded solemnly, squaring his shoulders as if preparing for battle. Richard struggled to keep a straight face, and Darcy’s ire rose at his cousin’s amusement. Could he bring himself to act out a proposal with his irritating cousin? The cousin who would lay down his life for him, and vice versa? Yes, he could, and he would, for Elizabeth. He paced the room as he was wont to do.

“Halt!” came the commanding voice of the army officer. Darcy turned to look at Richard.

“What?” he asked.

“Take this seat,” Richard demanded. Darcy obeyed. Richard commenced pacing the room, his steps firm and determined, his posture erect.

“Imagine you are half your size, you are a petite lady, and this behemoth is pacing in a leonine fashion before you, towering six feet in the air. How do you feel?” Richard walked right up to Darcy, looming over him from a standing position.

“Not good,” Darcy muttered.

“It feels like you are being hunted. I have seen generals take a similar tack. Men are made to sit on the ground, and the officer struts before them. It is intimidating. It is designed to create a sense of discomfort in the subordinates. Communication is not only the words you say, but also what your movements convey as well.”

“Well, what should I do then?” Darcy demanded. “I am beset by this nervous energy.”

“Calm yourself. As you would with a new filly. Project a feeling of serenity, of confidence. You are gentling the lady, not commanding her.” Darcy gulped, recalling Elizabeth’s words. “You will not command me like your horse, Mr Darcy.” That was precisely what he had done, to his great shame.

Richard resumed his place in the chair, making as if to smooth his skirts. Darcy glanced around, then found a chair, which he drew to the side of Richard’s. He sat, taking deep breaths, willing himself to be calm.

“Much better. There is some new notion of kneeling before a lady, but I will not require it. As long as you bring your great height down to her level and do not force her to wrench her neck looking up at you.” Richard’s eyes twinkled as he smirked at Darcy.

“You have my attention. I will allow you to dispense with taking my hand for the exercise, but it might be a useful gesture with an actual lady,” Richard said.

Darcy cleared his throat. He had to get the words out; he had to communicate so much to his lady. Where to begin.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he croaked. Richard looked at him with a raised brow.

“Are you addressing Parliament, perhaps? A clerk reading the charges to a criminal? How do you think such a formal address would sound to a lady? Where is your sense of romance, man?” Richard asked.

Darcy blanched. How could he, a man of sense and education, be such an utter dolt? “How will I face her again after this debacle?”

“With your chin up, your heart on your sleeve, and possibly a written script.” Richard chuckled. “Darcy, you have it in you. Just remember you are not negotiating a lease or buying a horse. You are asking the woman you love to spend her life with you. Speak from your heart, not your ledger book. Think, man. This calls for a sonnet, not a property assessment. Why do you wish to wed the lady?”

He attempted to conjure up a romantic opening. He recalled that awkward day when he unwillingly eavesdropped on Hal’s proposal to Georgiana. His words were sweet and apparently quite effective. “ My darling girl, I have utterly lost my heart to you.” Now, that was a romantic opening. But he needed to say her name. The syllables had ever been like music on his lips. He longed to use her Christian name.

Darcy cleared his throat, pushed aside the absurdity of addressing his rugged, thoroughly male and far from delicate cousin in such terms, and said, “Dearest, loveliest, Elizabeth.”

Richard pushed him on the shoulder and roared, “Now, we are getting somewhere!”

Emboldened, Darcy continued, “I have loved you for years, even when I thought it was hopeless. I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy, if you would have me.”

There was a moment of silence, then Richard applauded. “Bravo, Darcy. I’m almost tempted to accept your proposal myself.”

Darcy’s face flushed crimson. “Do shut up, Richard.”

By the end of the conversation, Darcy had a glimmer of hope. He had a plan now, a way forward. He knew it would not be easy, but he was determined to win Elizabeth’s heart, no matter what it took.

As he stood to leave, Darcy clasped his cousin’s hand in a firm shake. “Thank you, Richard,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I do not know what I would do without you.”

“Probably propose to the poor girl with a contract and a recitation of the deficiencies of her connections,” Richard quipped. Darcy grimaced at the familiarity of the words.

“Do remember, Darcy,” he said, “somewhere within you, you must have a hint of the Fitzwilliam charm. Or we could try something like Twelfth Night . I could be Cesario and woo Countess Olivia on your behalf.”

Darcy shook his head, a small smile playing about his lips. “Not on your life,” he said. He knew he could never be as charming as his cousin, but perhaps, with Richard’s help, he could find his own way to win Elizabeth’s love.

“Just try to remember that ‘I love you’ sounds far more romantic than ‘Your association would be most advantageous to the prosperity of my estates.’”