A/N: Sorry about the evil cliffy last chapter (I need an emoji for crossing my fingers behind my back), but in my defense, I will tell you that I moved the very first sentence of this chapter away from being the very last sentence of the previous chapter, so I feel virtuous enough. ;)
At any rate, I decided to defer the chapter you've all been begging for to chapter 57… NOT!
I am going to borrow some Jane-Speak from the 1995 BBC series (the best).
Fun Math Fact: We all hash and rehash what we consider the key parts of Awesome Jane's text, (think I could make AJ a thing?) over and over, but the proposal scene in canon is a whopping 1,496 words start to finish. Jane really knew how to pack a punch. By contrast, I don't have a single chapter in this story that small. My average is 3,050 for this story and 2,700 for all stories. This one's a whopping 5,600 words, so I'm nowhere near as terse as Jane, so strap yourself in and start taking bets on the outcome. If you nailed it, or even came close, make a review with some shameless bragging.
Wade
Elizabeth was sitting on her knees examining the dollhouse, when the doorbell rang again, and much to her surprise, once again, in came Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Darcy alone.
Somewhat startled, she came to her feet with as much grace as she could, which all things considered was not that elegant. She dropped a curtsy and tried her best not to sound startled when she greeted him with, "Mr. Darcy!"
The gentleman stalked into the room. Elizabeth could not really come up with another word for his manner, as he was showing some emotion she had never seen before. His brow was furrowed in… something. Elizabeth thought it might be nervousness on another man, but immediately discarded the notion, leaving her with nothing but confusion.
As he crossed fully into the room, he looked surprised to see pasteboard boxes scattered all about, and curious about the dollhouse that was in the center of the mess. He stared at it for a moment, before finally recollecting himself enough to offer the basic courtesies.
"Miss Bennet, I heard you were ill and thought to check on you."
The very concept of Mr. Darcy, of all people, walking a half mile to check on a lady who complained of naught but a headache seemed odd at the very least.
"I am well, Mr. Darcy. It was only a headache, and I am fully recovered."
The gentleman seemed flummoxed, and finally replied, "I am happy to hear it."
He seemed confused, and kept glancing at the dollhouse, so Elizabeth said, "I see you are intrigued by my gift, Mr. Darcy. This only arrived within the hour from London. What do you think of it?"
Much to her surprise, he leaned over and at least pretended to observe the construct. Even more to her surprise, he leaned down onto one knee and inspected it closely, then asked, "May I examine the underside of the roof structure?"
Caught completely by surprise, Elizabeth paused, and finally said, "Be my guest, Sir."
He lifted up the roof structure, and looked at the underside for a moment, before setting it gently back where he found it, while replying, "As I thought! This is a Jameson, is it not?"
Elizabeth was a bit surprised by the question, but said, "I believe it might be. Do you know about those?"
He looked up at her a moment, and said, "Yes, I know a bit about them, thought I am not an expert. They are made by a man who would have been around a decade my father's senior, with the odd name of John Jonah Jameson. He is considered a bit eccentric among the ton because he will not make a dollhouse for someone he does not respect. My sister Georgiana has one at Pemberley that my father bought for her just after she was born, but Lady Catherine is still fuming to this day that he would not sell her one for Anne."
Not knowing quite how to respond, Elizabeth said, "I am all astonishment at your knowledge of dollhouses, Mr. Darcy."
He nodded, not really looking at her, and said, "Well, I have been my sister's guardian these five years, so that might seem the most likely reason, but it would not be entirely correct. In truth, Mr. Jameson Senior sent his son to Cambridge, with the hope that he might buy an estate one day. His son was three years behind me, so I did not know him well, but he is quite a good fencer and we sparred from time to time. I probably should admit he beat me far more often than the converse. It is also possible we may have shared a glass or two of port on occasion."
Curious, Elizabeth asked, "And what do you think of him?"
Darcy finally looked at her with another confusing expression, and said, "I thought well of him. I have not spoken to him in several years, but I believe he may well be on his way to his purchase."
Elizabeth thought she should ask her soon to be brother about that, as Jane had completely neglected to mention any of it. It was so odd that Mr. Darcy would know Mr. Jameson. Elizabeth wondered if she should enlighten the gentleman on the connection, but eventually decided to let sleeping dogs lie.
Darcy leaned down to look more closely at the dollhouse and ran his fingers along the edges of the maze. He said, "I believe the shell of this house was made by the father, Mr. Jameson Sr. It would be quite valuable."
Surprised, Elizabeth asked, "Valuable, Sir?"
"Yes, there are collectors that want one very badly, mostly as a matter of pride. Most of the purchasers do their best to abide by the senior Mr. Jameson's guidelines, so they only sell to the more respectable families. Some of the less respectable would like one to satisfy their vanity, and the more respectable would pay handsomely to keep the legacy intact. It makes for a bit of a competition, that drives prices up."
He looked closer, pointed at one of the maze walls, and said, "See the walls here, though. The style is different. This maze was added later, in fact, quite recently I would say. It does not look quite like the father's work, so I would speculate it is the work of the son. He is good, very good in fact, but not as good as his father. Of course, it is not his principle trade so that seems reasonable. He is more of a merchant and importer, I believe. I may even have a share on one of his ships, if I am not mistaken."
Elizabeth was quite surprised both by the information, and that she was getting it from Mr. Darcy. She was also uncomfortably aware that he had been here for quite some time without a chaperone, and it behooved her, for both of their sakes to get him out the door.
"Mr. Darcy, I thank you for the information. I find it very useful, but I am certain you did not come here to discuss dollhouses, and well… well… we are unchaperoned, Sir, and I would have a care for our repu…"
The gentleman sprang up from the dollhouse, as if he were suddenly reminded of an urgent task that he needed to get on with. He stalked over to the fireplace and proceeded to pace back and forth a few times in a circle, while she looked on in confusion.
Starting to become a bit concerned about the entire enterprise, Elizabeth started to ask, "Mr. Dar…", but was again interrupted by the man starting to speak quite forcefully.
"In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."
Elizabeth's astonishment was beyond expression. She may have thought she was prepared for whatever Mr. Darcy thought to throw at her, but this was quite beyond anything she had considered in her carefully laid analysis. She stared, coloured, doubted, and was silent. What in the world could she possibly say to such a declaration, delivered so abruptly without the tiniest, most minute, hint preceding it? This was not how courtships were performed.
At the first avowal, Elizabeth felt something that was both quite foreign to her sensibilities, and extremely surprising in its intensity. She felt a huge thrill that this man had managed to generate such feelings for her. She felt a momentary sense of belonging, of being a part of something important, of being at the beginning of something. It was a feeling she thought she might like very well indeed once she got over her shock. None of her careful thinking, fretting or analysis had prepared her for that burst of pure feeling.
Of course, being a rational creature, she was aware that she was no more in love with him than she had been ten minutes previously, nor was she likely to be in love with him anytime in the very immediate future. However, for the first time, she could imagine, both in her mind and her heart, that she could, given sufficient encouragement and time.
Elizabeth was sensible enough to know she was feeling a sort of infatuation, or perhaps it was just a letting down of her guard to allow a feeling previously hidden to see the light of day, but it was… it was… profound, disturbing, exhilarating and disconcerting.
Unfortunately, as the man continued, she felt that tiny flower of hope wither and die, much like the thin sort of inclination being starved away by one good sonnet. He spoke well; but there were feelings besides those of the heart to be detailed; and he was not more eloquent on the subject of tenderness than of pride. His sense of her inferiority–of its being a degradation–of the family obstacles which had always opposed to inclination.
"In spite of all my endeavors, I have found it impossible to conquer my feelings for you. I have had the highest regard for you almost from the first moment. In declaring my feelings for you I am going against the wishes of my family, my friends, and my own better judgment. The situation of your mother's family, though objectionable, is nothing in comparison to the total want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly betrayed by herself, by your younger sisters, occasionally even by your father. I know your family is inferior—our social situations are vastly different. I am well aware of the family obstacles; they have always opposed my inclination to you. I am so much in love as to wish to marry you in spite of all my objections. I hope that now I will be rewarded by your acceptance on my hand. Please, consent to by my wife."
By the time he finished, she was fighting between the contrary desires to rail and cry. She wanted to rail at the fact that she had yet another awkward conversation to deal with, this time her own. She wanted to rail at the injustice of the declarations, whilst simultaneously wanting to cry for the forlorn death of hope, like flower seeds falling on rocky soil. She wanted to cry that she had ever even allowed them to be planted in the first place. She was surprisingly short on the one emotion that such a declaration should produce. She was not angry, but she was… disappointed… profoundly disappointed, and the feeling was very disconcerting.
When the man finally quite speaking, Elizabeth was barely able to function rationally, so she tried Mary's advice – do some arithmetic… any arithmetic. She settled for proportional scaling, something simple enough to be accomplished in a few seconds to restore her equilibrium.
She imagined Mr. Darcy's proposal, such as it was, to be an hour. By that standard, roughly the first 9 minutes and the last 6, a mere quarter of the total time, had been dedicated to things that could be considered in her favor. Yes, he loved her, admired her, etc., etc., etc., as was common for any proposal. Even poor deluded William had managed to say some of those in his ill‑advised proposal in Longbourn. The almost proforma and perfunctory asking for her hand was standard fare, so really, only about 15% of the words were of affection, with 10% dedicated to required forms, and the remaining 75% some form of derision.
Elizabeth was torn about what to do. Before Mary's tutoring, and Jane's rage, and her deep thinking, she thought she well might have been so angry as to lash out with the strongest language she had. She had an instinctive aversion to that path, because something told her that the strongest language Elizabeth Bennet was capable of might be very strong indeed. That outcome was still a possibility, but she was limited by that first flash of… well, perhaps proto-love, or affection, or anticipation, or desire that she had felt in the beginning. That feeling of lost possibilities stayed her hand and cooled her temper.
Once she thought about her lack of anger for a moment, she also had to look very hard at her well-established conclusions, and how they fit into this new situation. She eventually worked out that she did not want to hurt this man! No matter how awkward his application, or disagreeable his disdain, or unacceptable his suit may be; she owed it to him to answer honestly, but with kindness.
She noticed she had been silent too long, and saw the gentleman standing there with a look she could not quite place. He had spoken of uncertainty, but he did not have the look of a man expecting anything save acceptance. In his mind, he probably reckoned that she had been flirting with him for nearly half a year, and what lady in her right mind would turn down one of the richest men in England, and a handsome one at that.
With a sigh, Elizabeth finally said, "Please sit down, Mr. Darcy. You are half a foot taller than me, and I am sitting. This will be hard enough without you towering over me."
His face took on a look of chagrin, and he said, "Of course, forgive me. I should have thought of that."
He sat down, and his face for the first time started to show some signs of uncertainty. Elizabeth thought it almost without doubt that he had come here with the express purpose of making his declaration and leaving shortly with her consent. She doubted very much that he had even thought about any other possibility.
"Mr. Darcy, this is difficult to say, so please do not interrupt. I very much appreciate your address. You have my deepest and profoundest gratitude, and I am acutely aware of the honor you bestow me by asking. However, I am afraid I must decline. I am sorry to have occasioned pain to anyone, especially you. In reviewing our association, I believe my manners may have been at fault. If I have given you an inaccurate impression, I deeply apologize. If I have caused you pain, I can assure you that it has been most unconsciously done, and I dearly hope will be of short duration."
She cautiously peeked up at him, and saw his face go momentarily into what could well have passed as anger, but then it almost immediately fell to something more akin to despair. Despite a mad urge to ease his pain in some way, whether it be touching his hand or his arm, or even wrapping him in an embrace, Elizabeth sat still without moving a muscle.
The gentleman did not seem very inclined to say anything, so Elizabeth whispered, "You are a good man, Sir, and it wounds me to give you pain, but it must be done. I am so very sorry."
Elizabeth felt her gut clenching in agitation, and felt a few tears leak from her eyes, but steady to her purpose, she simply wiped them off with the back of her hand, foregoing elegance entirely. She was surprised to see what looked like tears growing in the gentleman's eyes as well, but apparently, he had been trained to suppress them better than she had.
He heaved a great sigh, and said, "Very well, Miss Bennet. I must accept your judgment, as much as it pains me. You should not censure yourself. Your manners have never been the slightest bit at fault in the entire time of our association."
Elizabeth had no idea what to say, so said, "Still, Sir, I am so very sorry. I know this must be very difficult."
He looked at her eyes momentarily, but then looked back down at her hands quickly, either to keep his composure or allow her to keep hers.
He asked in a timid voice, "Like yourself, I would not like to cause pain for anyone, most particularly you, but would you be willing to tell me where I went wrong? Have I rival?"
"No, Sir. My situation is improved by having one sister married and another recently betrothed, and my brother in law has engineered a small dowry for me; but otherwise, I remain as I have always been."
He nodded sadly and said, "So, you are not bound for another… just… just…"
He took a heaving sigh, and continued, "… just not for me."
"I am afraid so, Sir."
He looked at her sheepishly, and asked, "If it is not too painful, might you tell me why? I hate to burden you, but I fear I know myself all too well. I will brood about it for months, imagine every possible fault in my character, and believe all of them simultaneously; even if some of them are contradictory and mutually exclusive."
Elizabeth couldn't help a sad little giggle, and very much appreciated that the gentleman was willing to make a small joke to ease the pain of what must be done.
"Mr. Darcy, in my family, I am known as the mistress of awkward conversations. This will be my third awkward matrimonial intervention. I can stand it if you can. Are you certain you wish to know?"
"Yes, if you can bear it."
Elizabeth sighed, clasped her hands together tightly to keep them from shaking, and began.
"To be honest, both your scruples and mine come back to the same source – my mother."
"Your mother!", he said with a surprised expression.
"Yes, Sir. My mother, although it will take some explanation to make sense."
"Please proceed, if you are still willing."
Elizabeth took a deep breath and began.
"To begin, Mr. Darcy, let me say that I will only speak on my reasons that have some effect on our discussion today. I will not bring up trivialities like the fact that you slighted me before you even met me. Those are all minor annoyances, water under the bridge."
Darcy looked shocked by that reminder of that first night, so Elizabeth clarified, "I only mention it, Mr. Darcy, because that incident made it very difficult to sketch your character at the beginning of our acquaintance, and I detested you for quite some time. I have long since quit whingeing about it, and I did not want it to ever come up again."
Darcy nodded, and said, "Well, factor or not, it was terribly ungentlemanly behavior. I sincerely apologize, Elizabeth."
She noticed the use of her Christian name, but let it pass.
Finally drawing a breath, she said, "Mr. Darcy, there are three reasons I cannot accept your hand, though of vastly different magnitudes. The first two are not insurmountable, but they did affect me in some ways."
"Understood."
"The first is the matter of Mr. Bingley. He is your good friend, and he treated my sister very badly. He courted her, by any acceptable definition of the term, for six weeks, claimed to leave for a few days, and never returned. I understand you had some hand in that…"
She saw him straightening up, possibly ready to speak, so held up her hand and aid, "Please, Mr. Darcy. Wait until I finish."
He nodded, and she continued.
"From something your cousin told me, and by the way you should teach him to keep his gossip to himself, I surmised you had some hand in convincing him to abandon Jane. Now, before you become vexed, please listen. Jane and I both have examined our family's faults in detail, and our entire family has made corrections. Except for my parents, who are as they ever were, you would not recognize my sisters. I cannot blame you for steering Mr. Bingley away from Jane after the spectacle my mother made at the Netherfield ball. I did a mental exercise just yesterday where I reversed the roles, and I found I would do the same when faced with such a mercenary. Therefore, I do not hold you to blame for that aspect of the debacle."
She looked to be sure he was listening. He was staring intently, so she took a deep breath.
"However! If you were going to interfere, you should have done so properly. Mr. Bingley could have abandoned her but told her of his intentions, or lack thereof, in a hundred ways. He could have acted like a grown man instead of a frightened little boy and came to tell her to her face. He could have written to my father. He could have sent secret messages through our servants. You could have explained it to my father. It was badly done, Sir!"
Darcy stared at his feet, and said, "Yes, when you force me to see it from your perspective, I can agree. "
Elizabeth pointed at the dollhouse, and said, "That was what the dollhouse was for, Mr. Darcy. I used an analogy of boxes and houses to teach another gentleman how to see the world from another perspective. I used the same technique on myself to look at the world from your point of view, and that was the only reason I was prepared to give you a chance tonight."
Darcy looked up sharply at that, and said, "You mean I was not doomed from the start?"
Elizabeth blushed furiously, stared at her hands, and said, "No, Sir, you were not. You were by no means assured of success, or even an easy path, but you were not doomed."
"What changed?"
"I will get to that with my third reason. To finish the topic of Mr. Bingley, perhaps I should show you the darker side of my character. My sister would have been grievously wounded by that boy's abandonment, had I not manipulated her."
Looking puzzled, he asked, "How so?"
"Well, Sir… Some say love and hate are two sides of the same coin. Jane could not think clearly, so it was my duty to do so in her stead. I convinced her to flip over the coin."
Darcy nodded, and said, "Love to hate… understandable enough."
"Yes, Sir. I fed her rage mercilessly, and she burned out all her emotions about the man in a single rage filled day, whilst chastising my parents nearly to death over our failures as a family. It was quite intemperate by any standard, and triply so for Jane. However, I imagine the fact that she could actually succeed in forgetting him so quickly makes your point for you. If she truly loved him, she would not have been able to dismiss him in such a short time."
"Do not make excuses for me, Miss Elizabeth. You say this hurt my chances, but was not the death knell?"
"No, Sir. But it is something I only recently, and after a lot of reflection was able to let go of. Though it was not what makes me decline your hand, I thought you should know that all of our interactions here at Rosings have been tainted by the past, and viewed through that lens."
"Very well. I shall examine that part of my character and try to amend it. You are correct. I could have done more or insisted Bingley do more. I failed both your sister and my friend."
"If you must do so for your own benefit, feel free. I do not demand it. If you would like some advice, I would suggest you let Mr. Bingley start making his own mistakes."
He sighed, and replied, "Yes, that is good advice. My 'help' was in service of a friend, but it was badly done and probably counterproductive. Shall we move on to the second reason?"
"The second is somewhat minor, but it was something that caused me a bit of grief, although, as I said, I was over it long before this conversation, and even before coming to Hunsford. It is the matter of Mr. Wickham."
Darcy growled, "What about Mr. Wickham?"
Not intimidated in the least, Elizabeth stared at him and said, "You knew he was a scoundrel, and I gave you the perfect opportunity to appraise me of his character, and you did nothing. At the time you left, I stupidly admired the man, and you just left me to him. You warned nobody, not even me. I have forgiven you for it because Lydia worked out his nature a few days after you left, but it took some effort."
Darcy stared at his hands, which were clenching each other hard enough to turn his knuckles white, and said, "That man has been the bane of my existence all my life. I had reasons for keeping my tongue, but they were mostly rationalizations around my pride."
Feeling sorry for his distress, Elizabeth just barely managed to stop herself from touching his hands to get him to stop.
"As I said, Sir, a minor point. It is just something that bothered me at one point, but I had already resolved it."
Darcy relaxed his hands, and said, "Something tells me you started with the easy things, because you still have not gotten to the real reason, and you feel it will either anger or pain me."
"You are correct. It will do both, and I have been prevaricating."
"I understand."
Elizabeth sighed, and said, "Well, Sir, we now come to the crux of the matter. I…"
The lady sat for a moment gathering her scattered thoughts, and said, "Well, Sir… It was your proposal… well, not the proposal per se, but the underlying sentiments it exposed. You see, Sir…"
She paused to gather her thoughts, and said, "Well, Sir, it is the 'scruples' as you called them, that prevents me from accepting your offer. You see, Sir, nobody wants to be considered inferior. Nobody wants to be second best, barely tolerable, less than ideal, good in a pinch, any port in a storm, adequate and so forth. Nobody knows more of the defects of my family, especially my parents than I do, but they are my family and will remain so. My connections are what they are, and frankly, if they are insufficient for a Mrs. Bingley, they are far-far-far from adequate for Mrs. Darcy. I will not…"
Elizabeth paused for a moment, feeling tears pooling in her eyes, but this time she just let them fall.
Darcy sighed, and said, "I did not mean…"
Elizabeth stared at him with tear filled eyes, and said, "Of course you meant them, Mr. Darcy! You could not help yourself if you tried. You said it yourself. You have struggled for months to overcome your scruples, to decide if I was good enough to be Mrs. Darcy. I never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. I do not blame you for that. You are what you are, and I am what I am. I will marry a tradesman, or a squire like a less lazy version of my father or a soldier or a clergyman; and I will be perfectly happy. They will see me as the best thing that ever happened to them, not something that is barely adequate and only acceptable in the throes of ill advised infatuation."
"I do not…"
Elizabeth stared at him until his words ran out, and she continued.
"You see, Sir… In the end, in an odd way, as I said before, I cannot marry you because of my mother – but not for the reasons you might think."
Looking quite perplexed, he asked, "You mother?"
"Yes, Sir… my mother. I am certain you remember her."
Darcy nodded, afraid to say anything.
Elizabeth said, "Do not fear saying what you are thinking, Mr. Darcy. Every one of my sisters including Jane has said far worse than whatever came into your head these last five months. But you see… well, you see…"
She took a deep breath, and said, "Sir, as you no doubt noticed, she is a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper. When she is discontented, she fancies herself nervous. You saw her in full flower at the Netherfield ball. We both remember the conversation, I am sure."
Having no idea what to do, but wanting to do something, Darcy handed her his handkerchief.
"Thank you. Well, Sir… I shall explain. Do you believe my mother was born that way?"
"Of course, not."
"No, of course. It may surprise you to know she was not way that as a young wife and mother. Lady Catherine likes to ridicule us because we never had a governess, but we all turned out well enough in the end. When I was small, my mother was not as she is now. That only came later… much later... after… well…"
Darcy held his breath in anticipation.
"… well, after she, in her own view of the world, failed to produce a son, as if producing five live and healthy children was not enough for any woman. As the years without a son piled up, she became nervous about the entail, because, simple as it is, it just does not make sense to her. Instead of patiently explaining it to her often enough, my father started teasing her about it. Instead of taking his daughters to hand, he just left them all to my mother to raise. Instead of laying money aside for dowries, he wasted it on expensive books."
She dabbed her eyes a few times, finding an odd comfort in using his handkerchief for the last time.
"You can rightfully blame her for her mercenary tendencies, but as awkward as she is, and as narrow minded as she is – well, Sir… she is doing her very best, and she is right about what her daughters need. Marriage is the only route to security for a woman of my class and standing."
Elizabeth stared at her feet hard, and said, "My parents are very mismatched, Sir. I am sure they loved each other at least somewhat when they were young, or at least liked each other. But they were not well suited. My father came to resent the fact that he married a woman inferior to him, and he made her suffer for it… for decades."
She looked back at Mr. Darcy and stared at him hard.
"I am not supposing you would do anything so terrible, Mr. Darcy. Frankly, I cannot believe it of you. I do not claim to understand your character, but I cannot imagine you acting as my father did and still does. You would however, go into a marriage believing in my inferiority. I have to use mathematics to make sense of the world, so think on this. You spent well over 80% of the words allocated to your proposal speaking about your struggles, your considerations, your acceptance of my family, my connections, my inferiority. In what should have been the most important speech of your life, this is what you chose to focus on, with nary a thought for how I might receive the words. I do not blame you. Nothing you said is wrong. You should not marry below you when you have all the choices in the world. You would not mistreat me, I am certain of that, but I will not be second best, for you or any man. I would rather be best for a man a tenth or a hundredth of your consequence."
Darcy looked like he was about to start crying again, so Elizabeth decided it was time to end this debacle.
Boldly, she finally reached across and grasped his hands.
"Mr. Darcy, please… please… please… listen to me. You are not wrong to think of your family legacy. Two hundred years from now your family will still be well known and important, while mine will not. That is as it should be. Your ancestors fought for centuries to establish your place. It is in your blood. It is in your upbringing. You can no more change your nature than a dog can change its desire to hunt. Do not fight it, Sir."
She squeezed until he looked at her and said her last piece.
"Mr. Darcy, you have been hiding from the women of your own kind for a decade. I refuse to believe they are all terrible empty-headed flirts with mercenary mothers. Perhaps you need to look to the younger and overlooked sisters, or the intelligent but less beautiful ones, or better yet, the older ones; but there is a woman out there that will make your heart sing who is of the right station. I just know it."
She stood up, pulling him with her, because it was well past time for him to be gone. She took his elbow and led him over to recover his hat and coat.
She walked him to the door, and as he turned to go, she faced him.
"Mr. Darcy, please do not despair. This is a setback, not a calamity. Tomorrow, or in a fortnight you will see that I am right. Might I offer one last parting bit of advice, Sir."
Much to his embarrassment, Darcy sniffled a bit and had to wipe his eyes, before asking, "I would be honored."
"Find the woman you can marry without apology."
