Chapter Eight: "…your reproof so well applied…"

Elizabeth scarcely spoke a word over supper. Jane knew something was wrong, but knowing it to be a lost cause in prying it from her lips, she abandoned before she begun. There was not a doubt among the sisters, including Lydia even, that Elizabeth was out of sorts. She was never this quiet! Lizzie almost always had something to say, but this night she seemed absentminded.

Jane and Elizabeth said their good nights, but Lizzie remained awake, pondering all meanings. Could Colonel Fitzwilliam mean another? How could he, as Mr. Darcy's only friend on the ship was Mr. Bingley? And he was right. Bingley would get into a scrape of that sort. As she drifted into an uneasy sleep, she vowed to herself to confront Mr. Darcy on the morrow.

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Lizzie woke the following morning tired, and ill at ease in her mind. She was more cheerful than she had been the previous day, although it was for Jane's sake alone. She set to writing a reply to Charlotte, while the others had gone to breakfast. She was sure she couldn't stomach anything anyway. She was just penning the greeting, when the door burst open to reveal the very man who had troubled her sleep; Mr. Darcy himself.

She rose from habit, and curtseyed.

"Mr. Darcy! Surely you would be at breakfast?"

He did not reply to her. He seemed very disturbed, and was pacing the rug, wringing his gloves through his hands as if they were drenched with water. At last, he stood still, and addressed her. "I cannot bear it any longer! In vain have I struggled! It will not do! You must allow me to tell me how ardently I admire and love you."

Time seemed to freeze at that instant. Elizabeth felt heat rising in her cheeks, unable to understand that these words were directed at her. It seemed so ludicrous, so absurd, that she could not say anything. Her blush seemed sufficient encouragement for her suitor, and he went on to describe his emotions, his love for her, the length of his regard. It was all well-spoken, yet there was little pieces, barely riddled in that did not express love. He spoke of her inferiority of birth, his position well-over her, and her father.

No matter how she disliked him, she could not go without acknowledging the compliments that his proposal gave, and though steadfast in her answer to him, felt at first regret for what she must tell him. This, however, roused a much stronger anger in her being than the pity she might feel in refusing him. She made efforts then, with a patience often unheard of in herself and composed a civil refusal. When he was finished, he stood there confidently, despite having previously spoken of apprehension and anxiety.

"It is in such cases as this, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments spoken of, however unequally they may be returned. If I could feel gratitude right now, I would thank you, but as it is I cannot. I have never before cherished the desire of your good opinion, and you have given it most unwillingly. I am deeply sorry to ever have caused pain to anyone. Please believe me when I say it was most unconsciously done. I have hope for it to be of a short duration, however, for the feelings which you speak of that have hindered your regard, should help you in the in overcoming them."

The pause which followed was so unexplainable, so intense that Elizabeth could not describe it. As she watched the expression of his face, the clearly angered and confused countenance which he supplied, she could not decide upon satisfaction or irritation as her emotion. But as undecided as she was on these two, she was at least decided on one, and that was her own anger and hurt. The first ball, Jane, Mr. Wickham. She had more reasons to refuse him than any other did! How could he even begin to entertain this idea, that she would gratefully and happily accept him? After all the unkind deeds he had done!

With obviously forced calmness, he said, "And this is the reply which I am to have the honor of expecting! I might, wish to know why, with so little endeavor of civility I am thus rejected. But is of small importance." She saw him change at his last sentence. She could not put her finger on it, but if it were to come to any emotion, she would say it was most like sadness. Regaining herself, she came back with,

"I might as well inquire that with the distinct design of insulting and offending me, you chose to tell me you liked me against your will, your reason, and even against your character? Do I not have some excuse for incivility if I was uncivil? Were not my remarks just? But I have other provocations. You must know that I do."

"What could these be?"

"Do you think anything could tempt me to accept the man who has ruined the happiness, perhaps forever, of a most beloved sister?

"I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No matter what your motive was, nothing can excuse the unjust part you played in the separation of my sister and your friend. You cannot dare to deny it, that you have been the principal, if not the only means of dividing a young couple who loved each other, of exposing one of them to censure from the world for caprice and instability, and the other to disappointed hopes and misery of the acutest kind."

"I cannot deny it, and do not wish to. I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your sister., and I rejoice in my success. Towards him I have been kinder than myself."

These last words did not go unnoticed by Elizabeth, who could not help but wonder at them. Shaking herself mentally, she returned to her censure.

"This is not the only instance either. Do you honestly think that I did not hear what you had to say about me the second night on the ship? At the ball? I was seated just behind you."

Mr. Darcy's face froze. It seemed as if this realization went unknown until this moment, and as he recalled his harsh words, his stomach knotted, and he winced. Pain Elizabeth had not known she had felt from this remark released inside her. She pressed on tearfully.

"But these two things are not my only complaints with you. Your character was unfolded days ago, from the recital I heard from Mr. Wickham. What can you have to say for this?"

"You take and eager interest in that man's affairs," Mr. Darcy said.

"Who that know what his misfortunes have been can help from feeling an interest in him?"

"Oh, yes his misfortunes have been great indeed," he spat full of contempt.

"From your own infliction. You have reduced him to poverty, withholding advantages that had been planned for him by your own father! He has been deprived of his best years due to your treatment of him! You have done all this, and yet you can treat him with such ridicule and disdain?"

"This is your opinion of me! I thank you for explaining it fully. According to you, my faults are heavy indeed. But perhaps, you could have overlooked these, had your pride not been hurt by my honest confession of the scruples that have prevented me from forming any serious design. I am not abashed by the feelings toward you that I have related. Did you really expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections?"

" Mr. Darcy, you are extremely mistaken if you think that the mode of your declaration has affected me in any other way than it spared me from any concern I might have felt for you upon your refusal, had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner. There is not a way you could have made me the offer of your hand that would have induced me to accept it."

It was apparent that he was simply dumb-founded by her words, once again. She closed by saying, " From almost the first moment I met you, you impressed upon me arrogance, conceit, and selfish disdain for the feelings of others. My further acquaintance with you has only proved my beliefs, and was the groundwork for my immovable dislike of you. I had not known you a week before I felt as if you were the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry."

He could not stand it any longer. He had never heard such a view of himself before, and it was quite startling to hear it from someone he cared so much for. He hurried towards the door, and said to her, "You have said enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend you, and beg forgiveness for taking up so much of your time. Please accept my best wishes for your health and happiness."

As soon as the door shut , she collapsed on the couch in sobs. Wretched man! Wicked rouge! How could he even think upon coming to her and asking for such a thing! He could not have possibly thought that she would accept him. What could have made him think such a thing. All the emotion poured from her heart, as she soaked her sleeves with tears. She heard the door, and looked up to see her sisters, in apparent alarm. She got up from the couch, and left for her bedroom, shutting the door, and clicking the lock behind her.

Later that night, she related the whole of it to Jane. Jane held her, and cried with her. She even went to her suitcase and pulled out a package of chocolate that Bingley had given "them", (which obviously meant her). "Oh, Jane. I just do not know what to do. That is, I think, what is ultimately bothering me. That I don't know what to do about it. There is, in actuality, nothing to do, because I have refused him, and that is that. But there's not closure. I feel as if somehow, this is not over!" Jane comforted as best she could but, as Lizzie said, there was nothing to be done. Nothing.