A/N: One last short introspection chapter, and then some NOT-introspection. Wade
≈ Lizzy, you will never understand your father until you can imagine in your mind, in every particular, an intellectually brilliant but socially naïve young man being thoroughly outclassed by an uneducated barrister's daughter; thus, ending up marrying great beauty but living with silliness. You will never understand your mother until you can imagine in your mind, in every particular, a woman who got everything she ever thought she wanted in her young life; but ended up with a husband who ignores and belittles her, whilst not lifting a finger to actually help her. Further that example by imagining a woman who thinks she was supposed to bear a son, but got five daughters for her trouble, and none of which seem willing to get themselves out from under her roof, according to her understanding of how the world should work. ≈
Uncle Gardiner's intervention with a headstrong and stubborn fifteen‑year‑old Elizabeth who had just had a screaming fit with her mother about 'coming out' to try to 'capture a husband', had soothed her feathers enough to make her think things through just a bit more. She still never quite agreed with her mother on everything; but she at least eventually mostly understood her.
The conversation had shown up in her mind almost immediately after she pulled her body, weary from a night of tossing and turning in her bed at the inn, into the coach for the trip to the Haddon estate, via the small village of Sudbury. She had been told that Sudbury was similar to Meryton or Kympton. Mrs. Wythe told her that they had some shopping there that would be quite enjoyable, as the proprietor carried some goods that were not French, and definitely not smuggled, but otherwise fascinating.
As the craggy hills and boulders of Derbyshire rolled by the side of the carriage, Elizabeth wondered if good sense was only taught to tradesmen, because she thought if she could get Uncle Gardiner's ghost to talk to the Wythes, they would have a wonderful conversation for hours or days.
Mr. Wythe's advice from the previous evening had been cut from the same stock as her uncles of five years previous.
≈ Well, Lizzy – and I thank you for the privilege of calling you that – when an interaction was confusing to me, my father would tell me to imagine the entire thing in my mind, like a play, and then replace all the actors with myself or someone I know well, and then see if I perceive the scene any differently. ≈
Elizabeth imagined her two favorite men in the world (or at least two of the three) having a discussion, and then decided she needed to really think about what she knew about Mr. Darcy. Not what she thought. Not what she felt. Not what she assumed. What she knew.
Elizabeth felt certain that when she eventually met the gentleman again, as seemed inevitable, she would be overwhelmed with emotions, sensations, disturbing thoughts, and the detritus of their shared history and misunderstandings. Even worse, after what seemed like a week of tossing and turning in her bed the night before, she finally understood that there was a very real chance that she would also be distracted by what she had to eventually, reluctantly admit, was some real attraction to the man. Once she let that particular cat out of the bag by thinking the thought, she could not seem to stuff it back in or forget it. That thought made her wonder if her determined dislike of the gentleman might pass as protesting too much. Charlotte had at one point thought it a real possibility, and Elizabeth had learned, much to her chagrin in Hunsford, that Charlotte's opinions were not to be dismissed out of hand.
Elizabeth's sense of fairness (belatedly) insisted that she try to see where her and Mr. Darcy had gotten off to such very different trajectories. It had all started with the slight at the assembly, so that seemed a logical place to start.
She tried replaying it over and over in her mind, with herself cast as a rich and titled heiress, hunted by every dissolute rake and bankrupt estate owner in England, appearing at a neighborhood assembly. Rumors of her wealth would have been readily audible. '10,000 a year and her husband will inherit half of Derbyshire', followed by twittering or sniggering. Could she in good conscience think she would not be justified in being cross and short‑tempered.
Then she imagined she did not want to go to the infernal assembly at all, but Charlotte Lucas dragged her there by trading on their friendship and civic duty. She would have gotten even more cross.
Then she imagined being introduced to a man with five sons, who immediately started blatantly sizing up her estate and fortune and throwing the sons willy‑nilly at her. She would absolutely be seriously cross.
Then, for the coup de grace, perhaps Charlotte might come find her in her corner being cross and chastise her for failing to dance with one of the many five sons, and keep nagging her until she exploded and… and… and… well, to be truthful, if Charlotte did something that disagreeable at an assembly, Lizzy would almost certainly match her tit for tat.
Despite sitting in the corner in the Wythe carriage, talking to nobody but her various ghosts (who were at least being polite enough to appear one at a time that day), Elizabeth blushed bright red, stared down at the floor, and admitted that yes, perhaps, maybe, possibly, Mr. Darcy just might not have been the most ill‑mannered cretin that ever lived. At the very least, he could claim to be second‑worst, since Mr. Collins had done far worse within the first hour of his visit. In fact, nobody who was acquainted with Mr. Percy Long could think Mr. Darcy to even be in the dozen most ill‑mannered men in Meryton, let alone the world. No, in the end, though Elizabeth could not completely absolve Mr. Darcy of bad manners, neither could she convict him.
The next four hours passed in quiet contemplation, and occasional discussions with the Wythes, who were most helpful, followed by Mr. Wythe Senior's technique of asking as many questions as she could think of, and answering either as lightning‑fast as she could, or as slowly and thoughtfully as possible.
Did a man look repeatedly at a woman to find fault? It was hard to believe it to be true. She certainly did not spend any excess time looking at men she did not find admirable.
How did he act when Sir William thrust her on him yet again at Lucas Lodge? He very politely asked her for her hand, thus saving both her and Sir William embarrassment. What did he do when she very churlishly denied the request? Bowed and accepted her verdict. And when she denied his somewhat awkward request for a reel at Netherfield? With polite acceptance. And when she finally quite churlishly accepted his third request at the ball? He was quiet and solemn, but certainly not ill‑mannered – until she started attacking him! At that point he was not only not the most ill‑mannered person in the world; he was not even the most ill‑mannered person in that couple.
And the oddest of all in retrospect – how did he react to her teasing at Netherfield, or their discussions of literature, or Caroline Bingley's less than subtle attacks on everyone and everything? The gentleman was unflinchingly and unfailingly polite, but more importantly, he also gave her the respect of treating her like a rational being. In fact, the most diversion she had ever experienced in his presence was within a long‑winded and somewhat heated debate over literature. At the end, she did not know if she wanted to cut him into pieces and bury him in the front lawn; or lock him in her father's bookroom and feed him bread and water because Mr. Bennet would have loved his companionship.
At the end of the whole exercise, though she was reluctant in the extreme, her honor demanded that she acknowledge that almost everything about Mr. Darcy could be quite readily explained by a combination of shyness and social awkwardness (like her father), pride (like her mother and {cough, cough} herself), wariness (like Mr. Bingley would have if he had a lick of sense), and perhaps a bit of overconfidence (like Mr. Long). Nothing truly vile was required or even sensible.
Even his proposal, as awful as it sounded, could (with a substantial stretch of her sense of charity), be interpreted as him telling her the depth of his regard to show his steadiness, by telling her what he had to overcome to make her an offer. Of course, that was roughly akin to showing the depth of his desire to be the best swimmer in the world by trying to swim to India and drowning, but it was at least understandable.
Finally, around ten o'clock, Elizabeth fell asleep, and for the first time, dreamed of a tall and handsome gentleman who did not raise her hackles and did not make her want to beat him with a stick.
It was most disconcerting.