Chapter 7
Repentant though still daft, Darcy began to pen his letter. Change is not the work of a moment dear reader. In the event one truly repents of a character trait, they often know not how to act in its absence. The repentant find themselves thus, knowing what they ought not do, but not knowing what they ought to do in its stead.
So Darcy began, committed fully to the truth, sparing not himself, nor his neighbors, desperate for the right course of action. He wrote the one person he could trust, who would neither gossip, nor be too kind to censure him. Who would not scruple to tell less than the whole truth for the sake of sparing his feelings. Darcy trusted his cousin would recognize avoiding pain for the moment would cause a worse episode in the future. Richard, Darcy could trust, respected another man enough not to deliver him the indignity of answering sincere questions with less than sincere answers. Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, a man of excellent manners but marginal looks, was a man of strategy, but also a man of action. He would know how to act, thought Darcy.
Richard,
`Be not alarmed, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any ill news as to the welfare of myself or Georgianna. I can assure you, we are both well in health, though I cannot claim the same for my spirit. I write without any intention of imposing myself on you or humbling myself, but merely for the wish of your just and generous, though I beg of you, honest, assessment of my character and steady council as to what is to be done. For the happiness of both myself and those in my care, I cannot be complacent on the matter of the reproof, or series of reproofs, I was recently given.
As you have long jested at my behavior in company, I suspect you are well aware of the depth to which I am in need of correction, and with very little effort on your own part I suspect, will easily, arrive at the truth of the matter and be able to guide me to the right course of action.
I pray you would not spare me the full and unadulterated report of that which is found wanting within my character, as you have known me best throughout my life, both my successes and my failures. I am placing my trust in you to deliver the whole, and unmitigated truth. Had not my character required a thorough mediation on such allegations, as I suspect some of what was said was said in jest, with the intent to mock me, the allegations would have been easy to discard. But you must know, jest or not, I found them not to be entirely unjust. I daresay, I now find myself ashamed of my own demeanor and behavior, and seek, therefore, to better myself. Pardon the freedom with which I demand your complete honesty; your feelings, I know, will bestow it unwillingly, as you have always been jovial in nature, but I demand it of your justice. Let me not be robbed of my future, cousin, because I failed to see to the reproofs and act.
Several offenses of a very different nature, and by no means of equal magnitude, have over the last few days been laid to my charge.
The first was, that, with a selfish disdain for the feelings of others, I insulted a young woman at a ball simply to spare myself the discomfort of dancing. It was pointed out to me, by the said lady, that it would be a grave depravity if a young woman had suffered ill effects in both her confidence and at the hands of society, had my words been aimed at a woman of less fortitude. I reflected on the consequences of my words had they been heard by one of a similar temperament to Georgianna, and I cannot but concur. You must wonder, at this point, what had been said, and though I am ashamed to admit it, I cannot in good conscience request an honest character assessment from you while withholding pertinent evidence against me. I declared, at a public assembly (no less), without moderation in tone, (though truly I knew not that she could hear me, I cannot, in all honesty, say that it would have halted my discourse, therefore it is most right to say not caring the lady could hear me), and with no thought to the consequences, she would bear for my actions, declared that she was tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me. I then proceed to say that I had no intention of giving consequence to young ladies slighted by other men. At the time I thought little of doing so, though I now admit it to my eternal shame.
Which leads me to the scene where I first became aware of my own failure to act appropriately, previously thinking my own behavior was fully justified by naught but my own irritation. A few days hence, the same lady rejected me as a dance partner, preferring to sit out. I thought nothing of the matter, supposing her shoes must be giving her discomfort. That same night, I had the opportunity of hearing her in several unguarded moments, one of which, I now know, was with a very dear friend.
Her friend attempted to rebuff her for her refusal to dance with me but the said lady would not hear of it. It was then I came to learn the slight to myself was intentional. Though I thought at the time she was a fool for failing to see the compliment to her person, she proceeded to explain to her friend that my behavior slighted all women, not merely her own vanity. She pronounced a well-argued judgment, then and there, that only a debauched libertine would publicly announce a woman's value as a dance partner was in her appeal to his baser instincts, as well as that it was fluff and nonsense that her consequence could only come from her dance partners, despite her reputation in the community. She pronounced I had not the sense to be ashamed of myself, and in truth, I did not yet feel the humiliation of my own actions. She, therefore, went on to argue no one was justified in such pride, and that a Gentleman, to be justly called such, ought to be held to some standard.
Though some of the conclusions she drew were incorrect (for I am no libertine), I daresay they are not entirely unjust, I urge you, therefore, not to acquit me on a technicality, and took to the deeper truth in the justness of this young lady's reprimand.
Though angry at first, through the night I came to realize my behavior was not what it ought to be. I then proceeded, (or at least intended) to act the gentleman, and prepared myself to apologize. I thus called on Mr. Bennet, who I now realize must have thought the whole debacle a fine joke, though I recognized him at the time as only being a touch odd. With the benefit of retrospect, I can quite clearly see he well knew his daughter was well and able to handle the arrogant fool that I was.
I now see the absurdity and lack of sincerity in my own apology, fueled primarily by a desire to defend my own character. I called at Longbourn (her father's estate) to prove her lack of understanding and instead proved my own. As her father prompted her to muse why a man would behave in such a way (I again suspect for his own sport) she expertly argued that my behavior could only attract the mercenary, and as educated as I am, that must be my wish. At the time, I accused her of a flight of fancy, but I daresay her argument bested me by the time I arrived at my destination, just a few miles away. Both by careful consideration of those who approach me in society, and the lack of encouragement by said lady's mother to pursue me, it has since occurred to me that her assertions were indeed correct. The lady's mother in a shrill and undignified manner, (as she suffers under the burden of neither sense nor decorum), announced to those assembled the income of all our party, prior to us even fully crossing the threshold of the assembly. Having later witnessed, in spite of her desperate circumstances, her lack of desire to connect one of her daughters with me, I was thus forced to see the justice of her daughter's statements.
And now we come to the crux of the matter, whatever I have intended with my less than civil speech, I cannot fault her with being anything other than fully accurate as to the depiction of the fruit that my incivility has borne. It is for this reason, primarily, that I appeal to you, though I wish not to leave any censure I still require unaccounted for. I have, therefore, at last finally learned to repent my behavior in the public sphere. However, truthfully, as my character has so long been fixed, I dare not act without thought, lest I give rise to expectations that I am unwilling to fulfill.
It has, at last, become quite clear to me though, that I cannot continue on as I have in the past. I wish for a better life for both myself and Georgiana. I now know my prior behavior will prompt only the most savage fortune hunters to wish me as a connection. This is a faithful narrative of every event which she has justly called me into account, though she is naught more than a casual acquaintance, and before the world in every way insignificant to me, I daresay, if I can see to her reproofs, it's to her I'll owe my every hope of future happiness, though she herself will likely never know it.
May God in His Mercy Help You to Guide Me, I know not to whom else I may appeal.
Sincerely, Your cousin,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Fearing he would suffer a loss of resolution and fail to address his shortcomings, Darcy sealed the letter and sent it express, without so much as a second glance.