While settling this point, she was suddenly roused by the sound of the door-bell, and her spirits were a little fluttered by the idea of its being Colonel Fitzwilliam himself, who had once before called late in the evening, and might now come to inquire particularly after her. But this idea was soon banished, and her spirits were very differently affected, when, to her utter amazement, she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the room. In an hurried manner he immediately began an inquiry after her health, imputing his visit to a wish of hearing that she were better. She answered him with cold civility. He sat down for a few moments, and then getting up, walked about the room. Elizabeth was surprised, but said not a word. After a silence of several minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner, and thus began:

P&P Chapter 34

"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."

"Mr. Darcy, I thought we agreed to say exactly what we mean. I can only conclude that you and I have very different definitions of the word 'love', which is, I suppose, understandable enough due to the facts that my position in life is decidedly below your own and my family has a very different concept of propriety than you do."

"I believe I can resolve that ambiguity if you will hear me out, Miss Bennet. My intentions are honorable, and I intend to ask you for the honor of becoming my wife –but– I will first have to explain some things about how our acquaintance has proceeded."

"I believe we can skip that exercise, Mr. Darcy. I have no intention of becoming Mrs. Darcy. None whatsoever. Had not my feelings decided against you – had they been indifferent, or had they even been favourable, do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?"

"Will you momentarily take me at my word that the happiness of your most beloved sister is safe in my hands and soon to be restored if she has not moved on already? Bingley truly did have something very important to do last November. We both did, along with the Colonel. In fact, at this very moment, he is in the middle of the Atlantic finishing the job. His intention is to return to Netherfield and make amends as soon as he returns to England."

"Because?"

"Because your sister is there! If she is somewhere else, then Bingley will go wherever she is."

"You are very perplexing, Mr. Darcy, but I cannot imagine anything you can say that will do any more than reduce my antipathy towards you."

"To be honest, Miss Bennet, I would consider an antipathy reduction a success for the day."

"Very well, Mr. Darcy. Make your case."

"Miss Bennet, do you have any idea what a bladerunner is? Or a replicant?"

"To use your own language, Mr. Darcy… I have no goddamned clue."

"Replicants are artificial beings, created in a factory we have searched centuries to find, using a process nobody knows or understands any more. They are almost entirely malevolent. The vast majority of them have spent centuries creating mayhem, mostly through starting and encouraging wars – although starting plagues is also a favorite tactic. The Black Death, for example, was started deliberately. Bladerunners are men who hunt down replicants and retire them."

"Back to language, Mr. Darcy. What exactly does 'retire' mean?"

"We kill them, or the replicant analog of killing, anyway. Then we burn them, melt them into bronze ingots and dump them into the ocean. That's where Bingley is right now. We had a couple of what are known as 304 Mayhem Bots start a rebellion about 200 miles from here that killed 1,000 people and could have escalated into a civil war if we had not intervened. It still might. That is what we do."

"Who is 'we'?"

"We had significant help from the militia, but 'we' in this case was mostly the colonel, Bingley, me, and five other bladerunners."

"All right… I suppose that explains his abandonment of my sister."

"Partially."

"If you would finish the explanation…"

. . . . . .

"Bingley and I did not come to Meryton by accident. When we first met, I had reason to believe you were a replicant. The most advanced model ever created. They are called Elizabots. They are very rare, and most bladerunners doubt they even exist."

. . . . . .

"So, our interactions have been?"

"They have been tests."

"And if I had failed those tests?"

"Either you or I would be dead… and based on what I know about Elizabots, most likely me. They are formidable."

"And now?"

"And now, I have determined I was in error. It is the biggest error of my life, as I have fallen completely in love with you, and I can only hope that our earlier interactions have not poisoned the well forever."

. . . . . .

"You have explained my sister, but I am not entirely certain she will just blithely accept your friend if he comes back. She liked him back in the Autumn, but she prefers her men more… err… constant."

"He is that. Bladerunners must make tough choices, just like soldiers. Without his help, hundreds, or thousands more would be dead. Even with his help, there were over 1,000 deaths. Without our need to attend that debacle, he would not have left her hanging except… well…"

. . . . . .

Gasp "You cannot be serious! JANE?"

"Yes, Jane. It was both of you or neither! I had to be sure."

. . . . . .

"And what about Mr. Wickham? Is there any truth to his accusations?"

"None whatsoever. He had a long and sordid past, but he finally went a step too far. He joined a 304 mayhem bot in an attempted insurrection and got a bullet from my own gun for his troubles. His body is nothing but ash, now. While he was alive, he was a profligate liar and a cheat. Everything he told you would be close enough to the truth to sound right, but with just one fact omitted. For example, he frequently says I denied him a living, when he asked for and received £3,000 pounds in lieu of it and wasted it on gambling and fast living in 3 years. There is worse, but I won't belabor the point."

"Fair enough. I will take you at your word."

"I thank you. I know I did not give a good first impression… but I was doing what was necessary to make a determination."

"I don't know if that is forgivable, Mr. Darcy."

"I won't give up easily."

"Perhaps… what are your intentions, Mr. Darcy?"

"My intentions are to try to make you my wife. I know that you are wise and sensible. I have even imagined in my head what any woman of sense and education would say if I were to propose after our current shared history."

"This should be good! Perhaps you could give me a rendition of what I might say if you had the poor sense to propose today. Show if you have any imagination, which at the moment, I doubt."

"I imagine it proceeding something like this: 'From the very beginning–from the first moment, I may almost say–of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form the groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.'," and who knows what would precede or follow that.

"Hmmm… The first part is entirely accurate. The latter though… the last man… the last man… the last man… Perhaps, not the very last man, Mr. Darcy, but I fear there are in fact, quite a few in front of you."

"I see. Is my case hopeless?"

"It is… perhaps, not quite dead, but gravely –probably mortally– wounded."

"You cannot forgive our beginning?"

"I cannot imagine living my life with a man who seriously considered killing me. Dead is dead, for any creature whether born of woman or factory. I do not think it unreasonable to expect my husband to have taken murder off the table right from the beginning."

"I… I… I…"

"Come, come, Mr. Darcy. You must see the difficulty. What happens if in ten years you decide you were wrong? Will you get out your knife and finish the job?"

"To be honest, Miss Elizabeth, a knife, or even my rifle, against an Elizabot would not do the job. A canon maybe… but I digress. The answer is an emphatic 'no'. I am DONE! I have made my determination with absolute confidence. Your traits and history that made me suspect you were just coincidence, the unusual education you got from your father, and bad luck. You are most definitely a lady… the most fascinating lady I have ever met."

"Let me ask you this, then. If you had never suspected that I was one of these –what did you call them– Elizabots? If I had been just plain old Elizabeth Bennet, no dowry, no connections, entailed estate, a silly mother, a lazy father, a ridiculous cousin, and at least three silly sisters… would you have paid me any attention? Would you have even danced with me? I will call on your word as a gentleman that you will answer correctly."

. . . . . .

Sigh "Probably not."

"So, you see, Mr. Darcy… you don't love me. You just want what you cannot have."

"How so?"

"You are handsome, rich, in possession of your inheritance, and have what you obviously think is an important, and dare I say, glamorous occupation. You have spent your life convincing yourself you can take a wife of your choice at your leisure. You're only fascinated with me because I'm unavailable."

"Is that an immutable fact, Miss Bennet? Are you someone I cannot have?"

. . . . . .

"I… I… I believe so."

"So, when Bingley returns to Netherfield, and I return with him, we have no chance at all?"

"I will not speak for my sister. Mr. Bingley probably has a chance. You… I am sorry… I just cannot see it."

. . . . . .

"You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of how I have treated you. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness."

"I wish the same for you, Mr. Darcy."

"Miss Bennet, one more thing. When Bingley comes to Netherfield to try his luck with your sister, will you allow me, or do I ask too much, to introduce my sister to your acquaintance during our stay. Would I even be welcome, or would that hurt Bingley's chances with your sister?"

"So, you would give up any ephemeral chance with me to promote Mr. Bingley's interest?"

"Certainly… his problems with Miss Bennet are entirely my doing. The fault is mine, and so must the remedy be."

. . . . . .

"Very well – your sister will be welcome at Longbourn, as is Mr. Bingley…"

. . . . . .

Sigh "… as are you, Mr. Darcy. Do not expect much, but you will be welcome, so long as we understand each other."

"I thank you with all my heart. I will see you in the summer, Miss Bennet."