Part XII.
Bingley was not surprised by his friend's arrival in Netherfield, as Darcy had promised him that he would arrive in the evening, and the matter of his being a few hours earlier than expected made no difference at all. Indeed, he was not even there to welcome his friend, having left to spend another day at Longbourn as soon as was decent the hour.
Darcy held back the smile that would have formed upon his face as he heard this piece of news from his friend's butler, who greeted him when he arrived several hours earlier than expected at said estate. Knowing that as deeply as he would like to join his friend at Longbourn, he had not been invited, so he instead tried to console himself with the knowledge that he would be able to visit on the morrow.
His valet installed his belongings upstairs, leaving Darcy free to explore the house, which he did, walking, not to the Library; his usual retreat in any house, having always had the knack to find such a room, however it might be avoided by the family in general, as he knew his friend's would be stacked of virtually anything but books; but to the Billiard Room, where he could be reasonably assured of finding the table which gave said room its' name. He needed something with which to occupy his mind during the hours until his friend's return, some other occupation apart from riding his horse around the estate, which inevitably would see him arriving upon the drive of Longbourn. A game of Billiards,* though by no means an adequate substitute, would have to suffice.
Carefully he divested himself of his jacket, laying it upon a nearby chair. He fished the three balls out of the pockets, and placed them on the markings on the green surface. Then he fetched a cue from the rest in one of the corners of the room, and rubbed the narrow end with a piece of chalk. Then he bent over the table, the cue beneath him, and slid the wooden device between his fingers until the end touched the cue ball. He slid it back for a second, then forward once more, with speed, sending the ball down the surface of the table, until it ricochet off the other end, and hit the red ball. He stood upright, the cue in his hands, the end almost touching the floor, waiting for the cue ball and red ball to come to a halt.
The white stopped soon after it had hit it's intended target. The red shot off into one of the six pockets.
A stray memory flickered in Darcy's mind as he moved to place his cue on the white ball again, aiming to hit the other, white spotted ball, which remained on the table. Of an unexpected visitor to his last game of Billiards at Netherfield, at about this time last year. Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He smiled as he lined up the cue, his mind recalling how pretty she had looked in her gown for dinner, having come down from her sister's sickbed. He also remembered the vigorous denial he had placed upon himself to acknowledge that she looked beautiful. And how stupid he had felt later for doing nothing more than just bowing in her presence.
The cue hit the white ball, which struck it's intended second target, sending it close, but not in, the right corner pocket. Darcy let the white ball come to a stop, then moved to take his next shot. This achieved the desire result, clearing the table of all but the white ball. He picked that up and placed it back on it's mark, before retrieving the rest.
Thus he managed to occupy himself until his friend returned home.
To his utmost surprise, Darcy found himself to be quite calm and resolved, both in mind and body, when he and his friend arrived at Longbourn the next day.
Bingley had returned from his fiancee late in the evening before, and his contentment was such that any deviation in topics of conversation from Miss Bennet and all that their engagement entailed, was impossible. Such a circumstance Darcy had been grateful for, as he had no wish to inform any one of his plans until he knew for certain whether they had any hope of succeeding. After dinner they had retired early to their rooms, whereupon Darcy had occupied himself in a book which had travelled with him from London, until his mind was exhausted enough to let him sleep.
Now, he was walking behind his friend, who was following the housekeeper, as she showed them into the sitting room whose windows faced full west. That fact of information was not upon his mind however, as he sought, found, and fixed his gaze upon Elizabeth, who had risen, like the other occupants of the room, in greeting at the moment of their entrance.
To his immense relief, before they even were offered a chance to sit down, Bingley proposed a walk to the room at large, obeying the undeclared wish of his best friend. Mrs Bennet was not in the habit of walking, and Miss Mary could never spare the time, so the remaining five of them set out of the house together.
Bingley secured himself a place beside his angel, and allowed Darcy with the two remaining Bennet daughters to soon outstrip them. Darcy cast one glance at Elizabeth, but found her gaze to be on the horizon, so silently made himself wait and hope for an opportunity to arise which would find them alone.
They walked towards the Lucases, as Kitty informed them of a wish to call upon Maria. When that was accomplished, and they were left to themselves, Elizabeth, to Darcy's surprise, opened their conversation.
"Mr Darcy I am a very selfish creature; and, for the sake of giving relief to my own feelings, care not how much I may be wounding yours. I can no longer help thanking you for your unexampled kindness to my poor sister. Ever since I have known it, I have been most anxious to acknowledge to you how gratefully I feel it. Were it known to the rest of my family, save my father, whom I understand you met with during this affair, I should not have merely my own gratitude to express."
Darcy was astounded by these words. He not intended for her to speak first, and when she did, her first sentence had been enough to almost dash his hopes. But as she continued, and he realised that she knew of what he had done for her, he felt them return to life, if not as strongly as before. He wondered now, horribly, if this had had an impact on her response to his Aunt, then resolutely brushed all doubts away as he sought to form a reply. "I am sorry, exceedingly sorry," he said, "that you have ever been informed of what may, in a mistaken light, have given you uneasiness." He paused, silently rebuking himself for such a formal manner of reply, before adding softly, "I did not think Mrs Gardiner, or your father, so little to be trusted."
"You must not blame my Aunt or my father. Lydia's thoughtlessness first betrayed to me that you had been concerned in the matter; and, of course, I could not rest until I knew the particulars. My father carried a letter from my Aunt back with him, which informed me of everything, and then he added some of his own views concerning your motives. Let me thank you again, in the name of all my family, for generous compassion which induced you to take so much trouble, and bear so many mortifications, for the sake of discovering them."
Her face was turned towards him, and Darcy could not help gazing back at her. He saw the gratitude reflected upon her face, but could detect nothing else, so it was with some uncertainty that he replied. "If you will thank me, let it be for yourself alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you, might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe I thought only of you." He paused, and realised this was the moment. It was time to risk everything once again. "You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections, and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me upon this subject forever."
It was shorter than his first attempt, but a complete contrast from those words which he had since regretted ever uttering. Desperately he hoped that she understood that he still felt ardent admiration and love for her, and wished for them to unite.
"My feelings," Elizabeth began, after a moment of silence which was agonising for her companion, "my feelings are... I am ashamed to remember what I said then. My feelings are so different. In fact they are quite the opposite."
They had come to a halt a long time ago, or so it seemed, at the moment when he had revealed his true motive for his actions in London. Now Darcy felt himself truly still, as he heard her words. And wonderful words they were. Forgetting himself, he smiled, then took her gloved hands in his own, leaned forward, and placed a tender kiss upon her lips. He felt her brief second of hesitation, then she was kissing him back, and he found himself desiring the moment to go on forever.
Part they must however, if only for a while. There was so much to be thought and felt, and said. Gently he removed his lips from hers, savouring their taste, memorising the moment forever. Then keeping hold of one hand, he led them on, further up the path.
"When I said to you that I ardently admired and loved you, I had little idea just how deeply the emotions ran. It was only later, that I came to understand my heart, and realise how long it had belonged to you. I have wanted, so many times, to tell you how I felt, as each time we met, how the feelings grew in both power and longevity, despite all the events which tried and failed, to throw obstacles in our paths. In Derbyshire particularly, I wanted to tell you, to take you in my arms and comfort you, to take the grief away which I saw in your eyes, and share it with you. But I had no idea of how much you felt for me, and so I kept my distance."
He paused, to steal a look at her, seeing her quiet, but content smile, then continued. "I never intended you to find out about my actions in London, indeed I never intended for your father to do so either. I though I would only be able to deal with your uncle, though I did wonder if my level of acquaintance with him would allow me to.
"But when I saw him come to tell his brother's butler to let me in, and saw the worry upon his face, I realised how I would have felt in Ramsgate, and so I began. As for you, I did not want your gratitude. I wanted your love, though I know it was rather selfish of me to think of such a thing as I did. But I could not get that moment in Lambton out of my mind. I wanted so much to wipe that grief from your face."
He smiled, and then, feeling the need for a new topic to be undertaken in view of their recent agreement, added, "you know, we are indebted for our present understanding, to my Aunt, whom I understand came to see you a few days ago. She paid call on me through her return to Kent, and relayed to me what had occurred during her meeting with you, dwelling emphatically on every expression of yours, so much in fact that I could imagine hearing your beautiful voice saying them. She looked for assurances from me, which you had failed to give. Unluckily for her, I refused to give them as well."
He paused, then continued. "It taught me to hope, as I had scarcely ever allowed myself to hope before. I knew enough of your disposition to be certain, that, had you been absolutely, irrevocably decided against me, you would have acknowledged it to Lady Catherine frankly and openly."
Elizabeth coloured and gave Darcy the chance to hear her laugh as she replied, "yes, you know enough of my frankness to believe me capable of that. After abusing you so abominably to your face, I could have no scruple in abusing you to all your relations."
"What did you say of me, that I did not deserve? My behaviour to you at the time was unpardonable. I cannot think of it without abhorrence. Your reproofs, so well applied, I shall never forget. 'Had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner.' You can not know how much they tortured me."
"I had not the smallest idea of their ever being felt in such a way."
"I can easily believe it. You thought me devoid of every proper feeling, I am sure you did. The turn of your countenance I shall never forget, as you said that I could not have addressed you in any possible way, that would have induced you to accept me."
"Oh! do not repeat what I then said. Such recollections will not do at all. I have long since been ashamed of what I said."
"You need not be. I needed such reproofs, though I did not realise until long after that evening was over. Before we met at Pemberley I had learned to give them justice and credence, and changed my manner to everyone. There, I was so anxious to prove to you that I had changed, that all other matters were ignored." He paused, his thoughts recalling other remembrances. "My letter," he began. "Did it, soon make you think better of me? Did you, on reading it, give any credit to its contents?"
"At first, I confess, I was too insensible to give any of it credence. But then I read it again, and I realised how much was true, indeed almost all, from your point of view. I knew Jane rarely showed her emotions, Charlotte had even commented upon it, but I had ignored it until then. The more I read and understood it, the more my former prejudices of you were removed."
"I knew that what I wrote must give you pain, but it was necessary. I hope you have destroyed that letter. There was one part especially, the opening of it, which I should dread your having the power reading again. I remember some expressions which might justly make you hate me."
"The letter certainly shall be burnt, if you believe it essential to the preservation of my regard; but, though we have both reason to think my opinions not entirely unalterable, they are not, I hope, quite so easily changed as that implies."
"When I wrote my letter, I believed myself perfectly calm and cool, but I am since convinced that it was written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit."
"The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness, but it did not end so. The adieu is charity itself. But think no more of the letter. The feelings of the person who wrote it, and the person who received it, are now so widely different from what they were then, that every unpleasant circumstance attending it, ought to be forgotten. You must learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure."
"No, I have been a selfish being all my life. As a child I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Such I might have remained but for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth."
She looked up at him as he finished this speech, for the first time since they had last kissed, and her look was such that Darcy could do naught but bring them to a stop, pull her gently into his arms, and show her just how grateful he was for her entrance into his life.
1. Billiards: 'A family of table-games played with various numbers of balls and a cue. English billiards is played with three balls plain white, spot-white, and red and six pockets. Players score by pocketing a ball other than their cue-ball, by their cue-ball going in a pocket off another ball, and by cannons, that is, striking the other two balls with the cue-ball.' Source is The Oxford World Encyclopaedia, ifinger edition.
