"Yes." Darcy offered a small, hopeful smile which Elizabeth felt unequal to return.
With her realization, everything which had been confusing made perfect sense and everything which had been certain was called into question.
Elizabeth knew that Mr. Darcy had thought himself in love with her just days ago when he proposed. Even while enduring his insults to her family and situation, she was sensitive to the complement of his acknowledged affections. She had never, however, given credit to their depth or power. He had spoken of his feelings in so selfish a manner that "love" seemed an ill-applied word. Infatuation, perhaps, or attachment even, were better suited to Mr. Darcy's situation. Love, or at least the version of it which Elizabeth desired in a future partner, had been too generous, too vast to describe a feeling within Mr. Darcy's emotional capacity.
She reminded herself that it had been mere days since he proposed, that whatever tender feelings he may have had for her might have been heightened by her near death experience, and that given time and some sleep, he could realize that he did not care for her so much as he thought he did. That he could not only love her, but love her in a genuine, unyielding sort of way, seemed out of the realm of possibility. She had been certain of this, had never considered an alternative. Yet every look, gesture, and action coming from the dimpled man across from her deviated from what she knew to be true.
Mr. Darcy's face changed into one of curiosity as he observed Elizabeth observing him, and she flushed at having been caught staring. She felt that somehow he could guess the direction of her thoughts and scrambled for a means to distract him.
"And how did you respond, Mr. Darcy?"
Darcy, wondering what could be going on in Elizabeth's head to cause her face to change shades so quickly, was startled back to the conversation.
"Respond, Miss Bennet?"
"To Lady Catherine's accusations."
"Ah, we are back to my dear aunt. Richard and I enumerated the many flaws in her premise and reminded her ladyship that you are a gentleman's daughter, that your conduct has been without censure, and that you deserve every respect and accommodation that is in her power to offer you."
Elizabeth tried to picture the conversation. She could easily imagine the Mr. Darcy she thought she knew giving such a detached, rational answer. In light of her new revelation, however, she wondered at the ability of a man in love to behave with such equanimity.
"Thank you for that defense of my character . . . Mr. Darcy, I am curious, was your conversation with Lady Catherine conducted in such a calm manner as you are speaking now?"
"No. It was not. I confess I was not in command of myself during that encounter, I had just returned with you from the park and perhaps should not have attempted to confront my aunt during that moment."
Elizabeth's theory was confirmed. She pictured the scene again, this time with a passionate Mr. Darcy who protected his beloved's reputation. The image was distressing, as it did not at all agree with her understanding of him, and yet she somehow felt that it was the most accurate character portrait she had yet sketched. She felt all the discomfort of one whose foundational truths had been deeply shaken, and could not help expressing a bit of it on her face.
Mr. Darcy mistook the source of her discomfiture as stemming from concern over his encounter with Lady Catherine.
"Miss Bennet, despite our argument earlier, you must know that I greatly respect both you and your reputation. I was cognizant of the impact my reactions would have on Lady Catherine's actions towards yourself, and while I was not in control of my temper at first, after that interaction I made every attempt to conceal my feelings to put my aunt at ease. I believe I have been successful, at least with her, and she no longer expects partiality on my part." He said this matter of factly, trying to quickly allay Elizabeth's fears, not realizing that he was adding onto her vexing image. Now Mr. Darcy was not only passionate, he was caring. Elizabeth continued her experiment by filling the gaps of Mr. Darcy's sparsely decorated history with her own imaginings.
"Mr. Darcy, you said you were successful at convincing at least your aunt that her story was false. Do you imply that someone else might suspect it to be true?"
"I think no one except my Aunt could craft or believe such a story. Although your cousin Mr. Collins was only too willing to corroborate it."
"He is a most doting servant to his patroness."
"Indeed." It was difficult to determine in the dim lighting if Mr. Darcy sported a grimace or a smile at Mr. Collins' expense. "I do not think anyone would genuinely suspect you of indecency, Miss Elizabeth."
"While I appreciate that, Mr. Darcy, I feel as though there is something more. You did not directly answer my question."
"You were correct in pointing out that I was less successful with others. I meant that I was less successful at convincing them of my impartiality towards yourself. I believe some people were able to perceive my care for your well-being as a particular regard."
"Oh."Elizabeth remembered with a pang how Mr. Darcy claimed to detest deception. She thought of the effort it must have taken him to pretend to be indifferent towards her these past few days, especially convinced as she now was of his deep feelings towards herself.
She noticed again Mr. Darcy's relatively bedraggled appearance. Judging by the too-deep circles under his eyes, she suspected he had not eaten or slept much during the past few days. To have such feelings, to endure so much, was torment enough, and yet still he suffered more by guarding himself and bearing the effort of pretending those feelings did not exist. He would not even have had the comfort of acknowledging her. Elizabeth shuddered at the thought of having to keep distance from an injured Jane, of not being able to be a presence by her side. She remembered too that Mr. Darcy had been sleeping outside her room and felt the sentiment and desperation of such a situation. With all the composure of spirits and voice of one who has been so deeply moved can be expected to have, she asked an honest question before examining its consequences.
"Mr. Darcy, there is one part of this story I do not understand… you said that 'disguise of any sort is your abhorrence'."
"It is." Darcy leaned closer, as confused as he was curious about the direction of her thoughts.
"And so when you do undertake to pretend something, it must take some effort?"
"You are correct again."
"And if you, well if you, liked me, as you said you did- then these past few days must have been a trial for you."
"Indeed." The severity of the understatement brought a wry smile to his lips.
"Then I have to wonder why you worked to conceal your feelings at all? You must have been upset, that is, and I do not understand what would motivate you to take on the additional labor of feigning indifference, especially when it would seem that it would have better served your purpose to share what you felt in my regard?" Elizabeth did not add that Charlotte would suggest he share more than he felt, though the thought crossed her mind.
Darcy felt rather than knew where this was headed, and responded with caution.
"I do not have the pleasure of understanding your meaning."
After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Elizabeth mused, "Perhaps your feelings were still as distasteful to you as they were before? Or perhaps you recognized that if I had died, which seemed like a probability, you would have earned the censure of your family for nothing by revealing yourself?"
Darcy, struck silent, felt eerily similar to the night of his proposal. Once again he was abruptly made aware of Elizabeth's true opinion of him. With a sad smile, he whispered to himself, "You must think me devoid of every proper feeling."
Elizabeth started. She had merely been trying to sketch Mr. Darcy's character, had wanted to understand his actions under the light of the realization that he did, in fact, have feelings.
"No. I do not- I did not mean to cause offense. Indeed, I am struggling to understand how you came to such a conclusion."
"I can easily believe that. You are too generous to knowingly inflict pain on anyone."
Though Mr. Darcy spoke gently, smiled even, Elizabeth felt with anxiety that she had injured him. "I do not understand. Please forgive any harmful thing I said, I know not what it was, indeed I am not myself tonight."
"There is nothing to forgive; your wondering at the cause of my actions merely gives me greater insight into your opinion of me." His focus returned to the carpet and his absent circles. "With no forethought or ill intention you readily supplied that I withheld my feelings for you because I was calculating the possibility of your death, that I was weighing the potential harms to myself. The man who could do that in such a situation would be strategic, selfish, and rather heartless. That my actions were caused by a consideration of your wants did not even cross your mind. I do not know why I am surprised on hearing this. I should not be, it is consistent with what you told me plainly just days ago."
It had not crossed her mind that he could have taken on the unpleasant actions for her sake. Nor had it seemed out of character that he would weigh the possibilities and act in his own interest. Indeed, it would seem to align with his past actions, though not, perhaps, with the man she met in the hallway tonight. Just as she started to apologize, he interrupted.
"There is no need. I am sure I have earned your opinion of me."
They sat for a moment, Elizabeth anxious,Darcy reflective, until the latter silently gathered the contents of the tray. He stood and assisted Elizabeth to do the same. Standing so close, Elizabeth felt that she may not get the chance to speak openly with Mr. Darcy again, and she needed him to know that her opinion of him was not so low, or not entirely. In truth she knew not what it was; it seemed as illegible as the pages of the letter he carefully folded and placed in her hand.
"Mr. Darcy-"
He continued to gather her things and rest them in her arms. Here the blanket, there the pillow.
"Mr. Darcy?"
As he pushed the candle holder into her free hand, he acknowledged her long enough to ask if she could manage everything she held.
"Yes. Mr. Darcy, I-"
"Then good night, Miss Elizabeth."
He dipped his head, gathered the tray, and disappeared, leaving Elizabeth standing in the hallway alone, save for her armfull of blankets and perplexing thoughts.