Page 7 of The Riches of a Life Well-Lived
T hey were not long in Meryton before the two youngest Bennets eagerly strode forward, proclaiming that they spied Mr. Denny and a handsome stranger with him.
Miss Elizabeth blushed and Mr. Collins commented that one’s exterior displayed nothing about one’s piety. Darcy hesitated for a brief moment before reminding himself that if he was going to ensure Wickham avoided the Bennets rather than joining their party (or bamboozling Bingley), he would have to go over there.
And so, with leaden footsteps, he walked towards Wickham. As was becoming the norm, a rush of rage drove through Darcy. How dare Wickham travel about, pretending respectability, when Georgiana had confined herself to Darcy House (and now Matlock House)! How dare he be so unhampered and unfettered when she was nearly destroyed through Wickham’s actions! The man exuded no remorse, no sense that he was even conscious of how deeply he had injured Georgiana—a girl he had purported to love as a little sister for years.
Darcy’s hand tightened into a fist at his side, and only the fact that Miss Elizabeth was on his other arm prevented him from punching his former companion. Instead, he contented himself with glaring daggers at Wickham. To his surprise, Wickham paled. Eventually, under Darcy’s steady glower, Wickham excused himself.
When the group resumed their walk, Mr. Collins joined Bingley and Miss Bennet.
“Are you well, Mr. Darcy?” Miss Elizabeth asked.
Darcy fingered his sleeve. “Truly, I do not know, Miss Elizabeth. Today has been rather trying.” He hesitated for a moment before deciding that an apology was necessary to resume the easy flow of converse between them. “I apologise for my incivility.”
Miss Elizabeth’s eyes widened as though she could scarcely believe her ears. “I suppose we all have days where we are not at our best,” she said tentatively.
“Indeed.” He cleared his throat. “Would you expound further upon your view of duty and pleasure?”
She started. “You wish to hear my view?”
“You always have a unique perspective when we engage in conversation.”
“I do?” she said slowly.
Darcy frowned. “Yes. It is why I enjoy our debates so thoroughly.”
“You enjoy our debates?” Miss Elizabeth asked, her eyebrows shooting up.
Darcy’s frown deepened. Why else would he take the time to converse with her? Had she not also enjoyed their debates? He had spent the entirety of her time at Netherfield waiting to hear whatever her next (unexpected) opinion was. “Of course. I would not engage in them otherwise.”
“I see,” she said, her tone conveying something like scepticism (which did not make sense at all). She studied him for a moment. “You appear to believe that duty and pleasure are mutually exclusive, do you not, Mr. Darcy?”
“Quite frankly, Miss Elizabeth, I have never had the leisure to consider the matter.” For a moment, he hesitated, trying to decide how much he ought to share. Then again, what was the likelihood that she would remember this conversation anyway? “My mother died when my sister Georgiana was born, and my father never recovered from her loss. Five years ago, he joined her. Duty—the duty I owe to my family name, the duty I owe to my sister, the duty of running my family estate—all of these leave little time for pleasure. And were I to abandon duty in the pursuit of pleasure, many whose livelihoods depend upon me would be harmed.”
“I had heard you were in possession of your inheritance, but I had not considered what that entailed,” Miss Elizabeth said hesitantly. “I am sorry for the loss of your parents.”
“Thank you. I did not share my circumstances to engender pity but rather to explain my position,” he said stiffly.
Miss Elizabeth reared back as though he had struck her. “I believe ‘compassion’ is the word you are searching for,” she said icily.
Darcy suppressed a sigh. He had offended her, and he did not know how or why. “Compassion then. Regardless of terms, my point was that duty has swallowed up my life. There is little time for anything else.”
“But duty does not have to be opposed to pleasure. The joy of watching a sunrise encourages one to arise early, does it not?”
Darcy nodded. “Yes, the beauty and stillness of the morning often give me the strength to fulfil my duties throughout the day.”
“And I would imagine that you take time for some things you enjoy, even if they are only an excellent dish or a morning ride.”
“I do.”
“What else do you enjoy, Mr. Darcy?”
Miss Elizabeth had already mentioned a morning ride. And she was correct that he preferred certain meals over others. But he had never been the sort of person who indulged in pleasure. He was not even sure what else he did enjoy. He enjoyed talking to her—which was something he would not say, regardless of whether she would remember the conversation. It was too close to a declaration of love and a betrayal of all he held dear. He enjoyed his time with Bingley and Fitzwilliam and his aunt and uncle and, of course, his time with Georgiana. He also felt immense gratification when the day’s work was completed satisfactorily. He liked reading.... Perhaps he enjoyed more things than he had realised.
“Many things. Riding through the countryside. Spending time with those I love. Reading.”
“You are a difficult person to make out,” Miss Elizabeth said, studying him as though he were a puzzle.
“Oh?”
“Suffice it to say that I have yet to sketch your character satisfactorily.”
Darcy was glad of the interruption of reaching Mrs. Phillips’s house, for he was not quite sure what to say in reply to Miss Elizabeth’s statement. Should he say that he would certainly assist her whenever she wished to attempt it? Or that he was hardly a complex character? That he was certain she would succeed eventually?
He both longed and feared for more time spent in her presence. Being with her today had only emphasised the danger he was in. A day without consequences—a day where he could simply bask in her presence and ask her any question he wished; he was not certain that he could sufficiently control himself. What if he went so far as to raise expectations among the neighbours or in Miss Elizabeth, and then tomorrow finally came? It was too easy to slip into behaving as though tomorrow would not come.
And so, he avoided Miss Elizabeth entirely when he and Bingley attended her aunt’s dinner. He did not sit near her. Nor did he provide more than minimal responses to her attempts at conversation, even though she spent much of the night studying him, as though attempting to sketch his character through sheer force of will.
Bedtime came and went and he remained sleepless, staring out the window in his room, wondering if tomorrow would ever come. Thus far, he had been entirely preoccupied with the events of the day and had assumed that this strange phenomenon would resolve itself (or had hoped it would do so). But what if it did not? What if he was trapped in this day for the rest of his life? Would the day end only with his death?
Did he not have a duty to attempt to resolve the situation?
And yet, for the first time in forever, he could simply be. The estate’s success or failure did not hinge upon his actions today. His family name would not be affected by today. It was as though he could finally take a deep breath. Perhaps he could afford to wait another day or two, to allow himself to, dare he say it, take a respite.