Chapter 43
In preparing for her visit, Elizabeth considered everything she knew about her hostess, Miss Darcy. As Mr. Wickham's accounts were now completely untrustworthy, she turned instead to those of Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy, even attempting to recall the raptures Miss Bingley had indulged in at Netherfield. From all accounts save one, the young lady was a dutiful sister, a devoted musician, and very accomplished. The multitude of these praises was quite formidable, and as she and Mrs. Gardiner were led to the sitting room, Elizabeth felt a strong desire to shew herself worthy of whatever praises may have been given her, but quite unprepared to do so.
The room was charming, with a decor both rich and tasteful, and at its heart stood the much lauded Georgiana Darcy. She was quite tall, and of a graceful, womanly figure, but only accompanied by the lady with whom she lived in town. Her brother, to Elizabeth's surprise and small relief, was not present, and his absence soon explained due to the necessity of performing some business in his study; he would join them once it was completed.
Miss Darcy greeted them civilly, although in a low voice and short manner that might have prompted Elizabeth's sensibilities, had she not formed a resolve to be charitable, if not due to the lady's own merits, at least in gratitude to her brother's. To that end, she answered the greeting with warmth, echoed by her aunt, and once they were all seated, a short pause existed as the tea things were exchanged.
Elizabeth looked upon her hostess carefully, and thought she observed in the downcast of her expression and short smile a person at least as nervous as herself, encouraging her to find some way to draw the young lady into conversation.
"It is a great pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Miss Darcy," she began, attempting to use the same methods as had worked on the lady's brother to encourage her. "I have heard such good reports of you, as made me quite fearful of the meeting; but I am most glad to see that the table arrangement is not quite centred, as I would have then been certain of your perfection and my lack."
She had expected to find as acute and unembarrassed conversationalist as ever Mr. Darcy had been. With astonishment did she instead see alarm fill Georgiana's features, and a short monosyllabic apology to her guests. Quickly did Elizabeth and Mrs. Gardiner attempt to assure her of their satisfaction with the arrangement, and Mrs. Annesley, a genteel, agreeable-looking woman, quickly turned the conversation to a subject always prone to excite her charge's interest, music.
The topic proved successful, and between herself and Mrs. Gardiner, with occasional help from Elizabeth, the conversation carried on. Miss Darcy was gradually encouraged to enter a few short sentences, which all proved to her young guest that rather than excessively proud, the lady was beset by an exceeding shyness. This knowledge helped alter her tone of speech, and she managed to eventually coax a smile from their hostess with a polite, unaffected mention of Mr. Darcy's admiration of his sister's talent.
No sooner had the man been mentioned than he arrived, and further introductions were made. Mrs. Gardiner at once spoke in admiration of her childhood home of Derbyshire, which provided a steady means of unencumbered discourse, since Elizabeth could make many inquires of this unknown territory, and both brother and sister were so fond of their home as to answer all of them without hesitation. More than once did Elizabeth feel her aunt's gaze rest on herself and the gentleman, but she determined to be perfectly easy and unembarrassed as she described, in response to a question from Miss Darcy, some of the delights she had discovered while visiting Rosings Park.
The mention of that place caused Mr. Darcy to grow more withdrawn, and Elizabeth now felt his scrutiny as acutely as all others in the room. There seemed a ready suspicion of something about the room, which she did not care to name, and so she kept to the subject of conversation with only thought to be as pleasing and friendly as possible. Her success was perhaps predestined, for Georgiana was eager to encourage someone who had not only merited such high praise from her brother, but was also so open and amiable a companion. For his part, Mr. Darcy had been quite certain of his sister's care in the company of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and was now filled anew with admiration for a performance beyond what he had hoped.
Soon the tea was put away, and an invitation extended for the guests to take a tour of the house. Mrs. Gardiner expressed a great interest in seeing it, and as Elizabeth had no objections, the party set out. While her brother took a commanding role, Miss Darcy, at the urging of both Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth, was drawn to speak as well, and they passed from one room to another in congenial companionship.
Though interested in all there was to see, Mrs. Gardiner eventually expressed fatigue. Elizabeth offered to leave, but her aunt insisted she continue without her, as Miss Darcy was quite willing to accompany her back to the sitting room.
"I do hope you will not mind my abandoning you, Lizzy," she murmured. "But do continue, please, and tell me all about it after you join me."
There was no art to Mrs. Gardiner's words, but Elizabeth felt a situation so exposed that she nearly begged her aunt to remain. Feeling foolish for her anxiety, though, she soon agreed and set to enjoying what remained of the tour. Darcy spoke warmly of the house, and she responded in kind, so that there was no change in their manner from when they had been a party of four. At last they came to a small alcove at the end of a hall, which displayed some portraits in contrast to those of the main parlour.
One particularly caught Elizabeth's eye, well-placed as it was in the light from a small window, of a very handsome young woman she thought bore some resemblance to Miss Darcy. "Pray, sir, may I take the liberty of inquiring who the likeness is?"
"It is my mother, in her youth."
The admission was the most private, not withstanding his vague letter, that had passed between them, and Elizabeth now realized how little she truly knew about him and his family. As she returned to studying the picture with renewed interest, she was aware of a deep curiosity to know more, to ask how he felt about certain subjects, and to discover what it was that made him now such a deep and fascinating subject. If she had never thought so before, she now knew that she could very well feel an attraction towards the gentleman, if she allowed it.
These troubled thoughts quite absorbed her, so that she did not even think of Darcy's presence until his words drew her notice back to him abruptly.
"Miss Elizabeth, please excuse the directness of my address, but I must be allowed to speak to you. I have struggled these many weeks to repress my feelings, or to find some means of properly applying their attentions, but in vain. It will not do."
He paused, gazing upon her in a manner she was painfully aware of. "You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."
The words themselves brought high colour and a severe agitation to Elizabeth, but the sentiments they expressed could no longer be considered a complete surprise. In vain had she attempted to catalogue his feelings as mere nobility of character, and then as that of an attentive friend. Everything, from his offer of the carriage, the tumult of his feelings at the time, the attention of his letter and later addresses, spoke of an admiration she had long begun to feel, if not acknowledge. Now, though, came the decision she had been dreading since their meeting three days ago, and the confusion of her own feelings threatened to chase reason completely from her grasp.
"I quite understand your hesitation," he continued, after waiting a few moments for a response. "It is a circumstance not at all to be expected, either by my family or your own. I do not lightly brush these concerns away, and have studied them in the hopes of abating my ardour. You can not imagine, you do not know how close I was at Hunsford to forming just such an address, and only the nature of your father's health was of a cause sufficient to check my intentions. I thought it a godsend, to allow me time to overcome such a complete frustration of all the hopes applied to my future, but have been unable to refrain from thinking on you, wondering at your condition, and wishing to be more at your side during your time of trouble than ever before. I ought to have returned to Pemberley by now; instead I have delayed, weeks even, hoping to find some means of meeting you again. These last three days have shown me I am completely unable to resolve this matter except in extending my desire that you would, in spite of the certain censure that must result, accept my hand in marriage."
The nature of his words was enough to deliver Elizabeth from speechlessness. She was at once elated, depressed, honoured, and mortified. That he could excite her to feel a degree of kinship and admiration heretofore reserved to perhaps Jane and her father, and just as soon produce a great anger at his incivility toward herself, her family, and especially her own father's memory, was such a contrast that she was in greater despair of finding an answer to his addresses than before. However, this state did not prevent her forming a reply to his tone; instead, it tempered her to combine truth and civility as far as she could.
"In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned. I do so now, fully, both for your many kindnesses and for this particular condescension. However, it is clear that it is condescension on your part, in all senses of the word. Though you have given much to gratify myself, I can not be insensible to the manner in which you have spoken of my only remaining family, who are dear despite their many faults, as I am sure you hold yours in equal esteem. I have no wish to occasion pain to anyone, least of all yourself. I must therefore beg leave to consider your proposal before trusting myself with an appropriate answer."
Mr. Darcy, who had stepped forward eagerly on hearing her first soft words, seemed to catch them with a look of bemusement that grew as she spoke. He mistrusted, paled, and coloured. Elizabeth steadfastly kept her eyes fixed on him, with all the presence of mind she could draw on, but felt a distinct sympathy for him as he confusedly walked to the small window, looked at her, and back out. He had all the appearance of a young man caught in a state of complete bewilderment, which was so complementary to her own feelings that she could not be unaffected. She kept her peace, though, waiting for him to speak, and wondering whether she would see the warm nature she knew now to exist within him, or the cold reserve he used so well.
He at last turned back to her, composed and calm in expression, if not completely in manner. "And this, then, is your one reservation? The one thing you wish resolved?"
"You mistake me, sir, if you believe there is but one action that can be taken on either of our parts that would then assure the fulfilment of all I am sure you hope for. Please, sir, do not press me further, I must have leave to consider whether I may accept or not."
"If you wish to discuss the terms," he challenged, a coldness seeping into his manner, "I am sure that can be arranged as soon as you wish."
"The terms?" Elizabeth responded with equal fervour, annoyed both by his unbending resolve and her own irresolution. "I have no wish to discuss terms before acceptance, something you forget you still lack. You are quite mistaken if you think that I can be compelled to disregard your carelessness with only the cold comfort of property or wealth to guide me."
Her temerity nearly gave way to shame, and she struggled to find the necessary words to express herself. "The qualities that most affect me are not to be found in such attainments. Were I to accept you, it would be for your deep honour, generous nature, and kindly way I know you to possess, despite your appearance to the contrary at times. It is your attempt to hide such a spirit that troubles me most, for I can not discover its motive or reason, and is the one thing I can have no respect for in anyone, let alone someone as genteel and good as yourself."
Her courage used to its full, she vacated the room quickly, not daring to look up into the eyes of someone who, despite all her brave words, could in fact offer through his position the security her family most dearly needed. Upon reaching the hall she forced herself to breath deeply, refusing the tears that threatened to fall, and attempted to wait for her host with the very reserve she had so recently abused.
She had not long to wait, and he rejoined her after some moments' time. His manner, though, was in complete contrast to before. It held no longer any feeling of coldness, nor even bemusement, nor of that earnest attention which had struck so forcibly in its feeling. What was left was a complete absence of self-consequence such as she had never seen, an openness marked for its quiet contemplation. He looked unsure of his beginning, but at last said in a forthright, unaffected tone,
"I apologize if I have been unkind or insensitive in the manner of my address. You are of course correct to deliberate before answering, and must excuse my disinclination to only the basest of reasons. Were a man not to extend the same courtesy to my sister, I would immediately dismiss his suit and never accept him."
He paused, turning and walking a pace away. "As for what else has passed between us, I do not know quite how to answer you. Certainly I believe I have a just case to protect my holdings, my family, and all who look to me in my choice of association. Honour and duty require it. Yet—" here he turned back, looking upon her as if seeing her for the first time. His words were soft, almost wistful. "That is not why you have challenged me, and I find, I can offer no true defence. I can not deny that I have long admired in you a trait I lack, a gracious, lively spirit of expression. I respect, revere, and even covet, but have made no attempt to imitate, even now, when I was most desperate to impress. Others have mentioned this deficiency, some have chided, and many have dismissed it as perfectly acceptable; but none have ever asked me why. And I find, in the asking, that I have no answer that can satisfy your just demands."
They were quite close now, as his words had prompted her forward to hear him, and he had likewise returned to stand before her; closer, perhaps, than propriety should allow, and not conducive toward discouraging either person's attention from the other.
"I can make no other suit, offer you nothing more, than to sincerely seek that answer."
In their small exchange of glances, in his searching, open look of quiet promise, Elizabeth knew her heart decided. Her father had demanded she both esteem and love her husband. This man did not yet command her full respect, nor her complete inclination, but the rare bearing of his heart gave her the belief that together, they could achieve both.
Without quite thinking through her actions, she took his hands in hers and forced herself to smile bravely. "May I then be allowed to start my reply anew, Mr. Darcy? I am most honoured, and do humbly accept your hand, nay, your entire personage, and property, and family, and whatever else you may be."
His attention had become fixed as she took his hands, and as she spoke he gazed with a return of that sharp attention which softened into mirth at her closing, producing a rich laughter that she joined as he brought her hand to his lips. "I do not think you quite understand all you have just proclaimed yourself ready for," he stated in an almost jesting way, which provoked another peal of laughter from his companion.
"No doubt I do not, and will need much instruction on the matter. But it is only fair to warn that you are perhaps not prepared for what you have asked, either." A slight touch of alarm in his eyes, coupled with a twitch of his mouth in suppressed humour, increased hers, and she took his arm gaily. "But really, we must first return to my dear aunt, so I may tell her of all the wonders that your house entails. I suppose I will have to proclaim its master the finest adornment."
"Only saving its future mistress," was his response, and so they returned together.