A/N: I just want to thank you all very, very much. I have been blown away by all the support you have given me, and I am so glad that you're all enjoying this fic. I wish that didn't make it so difficult to reply to comments. I do not want to bother everyone with PMs. However, please know that I read and appreciate every single comment. Again, thank you all so much, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story!
Fitzwilliam Darcy stood stiffly, eyeing the door of the drawing-room. He did not know what his family wished to discuss. All he knew was that his Aunt had announced it in a way that brook no opposition.
He was no fool. He could see that they were worried about him - they would not be here if they weren't. Still, why should he confide in them? There was nothing they could do. Only one person had the power to mend Darcy's broken heart, to heal his shattered spirit - and she despised him.
The remembrance of Elizabeth's vitriol very nearly made him retreat. Perhaps he could tell his Aunt that he felt unwell. Surely, she would release him from whatever obligation had crossed her mind. But, no, Darcy could not do that. There was a chance that the discussion pertained to the estates, either Pemberley or Craigspeak. If that was the case, he could not ignore the problem. Even in his miserable state, he would not become an indolent, apathetic Master.
With a fortifying breath, he gripped the door handle and entered the room. As his eyes moved from person to person, Darcy's stomach twisted. Not only were his Aunt, Uncle, and cousins present, but so was his sister. Why would she be there? He studied their expressions; there was worry, pity, sympathy...What did they wish to speak about?
Lady Penelope watched as her nephew entered the room. Though he hid it well, she could sense his disquietude. She saw his questioning gaze linger on Georgiana. Undoubtedly, his sister's presence in the room betrayed the pretense that their discussion would relate to usual business.
"Please sit, Fitzwilliam," Andrew urged, gesturing towards the chair opposite the rest of the party.
Darcy swallowed and obediently did as requested. "Is something the matter?"
"Indeed," his Aunt spoke. She hesitated briefly, wringing her handkerchief. She would not beat around the bush. "We must apologize, for we have failed you most miserably. I fear we have been poor relatives."
Darcy started at her words, utterly flummoxed. "I do not understand, Aunt. Has something happened? Did you do something?"
"It's more what we did not do," His Uncle interjected, placing a comforting hand over his wife's.
Darcy squeezed the arms of his chair at the sight of the gesture. This reaction did not go unnoticed by his family, who, with their new-found knowledge, now understood such behavior. It distressed them to see him suffer so.
"Yes," Penny agreed, her visage one of compassion and pity. "We have not been clear in our expectations for you."
"Expectations?"
"We want you to marry for love and love alone."
Penelope, forthright woman that she was, had once again chosen not to mince words. However, upon viewing the etiolation of her nephew's face, she began to think she had chosen wrong.
Had Darcy actually eaten breakfast, he was certain he would have lost it then and there. His stomach - already twisted - knotted, and the knife in his chest dug deeper than ever before. Inundated with dread, he simply sat there, oblivious to the world around him. No one made a move to speak, as his family feared he would drop dead at the quietest of sounds.
Then, at a speed which shocked the room's occupants, Darcy lept from his chair and stalked to the window. He pressed a shaky palm against the cool glass, willing himself to stay upright. He could not speak. What was there to say? He had worried for nothing. Darcy thought that, had Elizabeth actually accepted him, he would have at least had to convince the Fitzwilliams of her worthiness. Now, here they were, telling him that they did not even hold the abhorrent ideologies he had so moronically expressed in his proposal.
They would have accepted her.
They would have loved her. How could they not?
The Fitzwilliams sat in stupefied silence. This was not the reaction they had been expecting. They expected his anger - had they not failed him? They expected his elation - had they not just given him their acceptance of the woman he loves? But there was none of that - no anger, no happiness. Instead, Darcy looked distraught...hopeless. What happened? Had they misread the situation?
Knowing something needed to be done, though hardly knowing what to do, Penny quietly walked to her nephew and placed a gentle, comforting hand on his shoulder. She could feel his muscles tense at the contact but made no effort to remove it. When she realized he would not willingly turn around, she asked, "You love her, do you not? Miss Elizabeth Bennet?"
Darcy spun at her words, staring at his Aunt with wide, unbelieving eyes. How did they know? He was certain he had not mentioned her. Had they asked Bingley? No, Bingley would never reveal such a thing. Had Caroline said something to his Aunt? No, Aunt Penny would never believe the words of Miss Bingley. Every explanation came up short. How could they possibly know?
Sensing her brother's thoughts, Georgiana spoke. "You mentioned her in your letters."
His letters? Oh, God...his letters. He had forgotten about those. Was he really so easy to read? Had his sister perceived his interest even when Elizabeth had not?
"Do you love her, Fitzwilliam?" His Aunt asked again.
There could be only one answer. "Yes."
"And that is why you have been so listless lately? You did not think we would approve of her?"
Darcy turned back to the window as a new wave of dread washed over him. He had thought that, yes, but it was not the reason for his despair. No, his despair was of his own infliction. How was he to explain his abominable behavior to his family? How could he tell them that his insufferable pride had driven away the only woman he would ever love?
Andrew, unable to read minds - though such an ability would certainly aid him in Parliament - took his nephew's silence as confirmation. "My dear boy," he stated, rising from his chair, "we simply want you to be happy. Could this woman make you happy?"
Darcy almost laughed at the question. Elizabeth Bennet was the only woman who could make him happy - and he told them so.
"Then why do you not offer to her?" Andrew asked.
At this, Darcy did laugh - a rueful, hollow laugh, which he could not contain. What was the point in hiding it? He deserved their censure. He deserved to feel the consequences of his actions.
And they deserved to know.
Without facing them, he responded. "I did."
Startled by the news, Andrew and Penny looked at each other, vacillating between shock and confusion. The other members of their party fared no better, each unsuccessfully grappling with the statement. It was Richard who reached the undeniable conclusion first.
"She refused you?" He asked cautiously, eyeing his cousin.
"Vehemently."
The room went silent. It all made sense now. Darcy had been rejected. His desolation came not from being unable to make an offer but from having said offer refused. Horror dawned over each of the room's occupants - there was nothing they could do about that. They could hardly kidnap the lady and force her to wed.
Georgiana watched her brother closely, and her heart broke at the sight of him. Even with his back towards them, she could sense his despondency. He was miserable. No. No, this would not do. There had to be some sort of mistake. There had to be something they could do to fix this.
With renewed resolve, she asked, "What happened?"
Finally, Darcy turned to look at his family. He could not hide the doleful look in his eyes and, thus, made no effort to do so. They could already see how broken he was.
"That," he remarked, "is a long story. And you will think very ill of me by the end of it."
"We could never think ill of you, Fitzwilliam," His Aunt replied, giving him a small, encouraging smile.
Darcy shook his head. "Oh, you do not yet know of my behavior. It was poor from the very beginning."
"Well then, let us start from there," his Uncle suggested.
Turning back to the window, Darcy buried his head in his hands and took a deep, stabilizing breath. The mere thought of reliving those fateful months in which he had lost his heart seemed an insurmountable task. Though they replayed incessantly within his mind, speaking of them aloud was another matter entirely. As of now, the salient points were known only to himself - he had not mentioned the events to another soul. Bingley, he knew, had a slight notion of his regard for Elizabeth, though Darcy doubted his amiable friend knew how deeply his admiration of the lady truly ran.
How would his family react? Would they scorn him? Rebuke him? Or would they seek to comfort him? Neither outcome was desirable - for Darcy did not deserve their consolation, but he did not feel as though he could withstand their derision.
"We want to help you, Fitzwilliam," his Aunt murmured, silently praying that he would finally confide in them.
"I know," Darcy responded quietly, "but I fear there is very little you can do."
"Let us try," his Uncle encouraged.
It would be painful - that much Darcy knew - and it would likely be pointless...but he would tell them. They deserved to know the truth. With a deep breath, he started from the very beginning.
"As you know, I was not thrilled at the prospect of accompanying Bingley to Hertfordshire, given...recent events." At this, he cautiously eyed Georgiana, who, much to his surprise, only smiled sympathetically. "I made little effort to hide my displeasure, both from Bingley and the local populace. I am afraid I ostracized myself almost immediately. Not a week after we arrived, our party was invited to an assembly in Meryton, the closest town to Netherfield. I, of course, had no desire to go, but Bingley would not hear it."
Andrew, deciding to begin their correction of Darcy's behavior posthaste, commented, "You know very well that your absence would reflect poorly on Bingley, Fitzwilliam."
Darcy nodded regretfully. "Indeed, I do. I knew it then, too, but I had arrogantly decided that their opinions were no concern of mine. And, of course," he continued, mortification growing with every word, "I assumed that my income and station would make up for any behavioral deficiencies."
Penny was tempted to rebuke him for the sentiment, but his contrite tone already spoke volumes. It was clear that he now saw the fault in such a belief, and his obvious self-recrimination was enough to keep her silent on the matter.
"I assume you met Miss Elizabeth at this assembly?" Elinor surmised.
"Indeed, I did," Darcy responded, the slightest of smiles gracing his face at the memory. "I must admit, she caught my attention almost immediately. She was standing in the corner with her sister and Miss Lucas - now Mrs. Collins - and she was laughing."
"Laughing?" His Aunt questioned. She noticed his faint smile and glassy, unfocused eyes as if he were reliving the moment in his mind.
"Oh, yes, she has the most enchanting laugh. For a moment, I could hear nothing else. Looking back, I believe she was laughing at us."
"Laughing at you? Whatever for?"
"I am sure our small party looked ridiculous - all but Bingley, of course. We walked in, noses held high in a glaring display of unwarranted pride. We had not spoken a word before we thought ourselves above them. Elizabeth, clever as she is, likely perceived our disdain immediately, and she could not help but laugh at the absurdness of it all."
"And did you speak to her?"
The question shook Darcy from his reverie. He blinked a few times, regaining his focus as he was filled with remorse once again. "No, I did not. I did not speak to anyone. Rumors of my income quickly began to circulate, and I resorted to stalking about the outskirts of the room, glowering at anyone who approached."
"You did not dance?" Elinor questioned, remembering what Richard said about Miss Elizabeth's comment.
"I danced only two sets - one with Miss Bingley and the other with Mrs. Hurst. I could hardly escape that obligation."
"That is all? You did not dance with any of the local ladies? Surely, Charles encouraged you."
A new wave of dread washed over Darcy as he remembered his cruel, thoughtless words towards the woman he loved. Good Lord, how was he to tell them what he said? His throat constricted, and he swallowed thickly, running his hands through his hair.
"Bingley did encourage me. I told him that it would be insupportable for me to dance at such an assembly and that it would be a punishment for me to stand up with any of the local ladies."
At this, Penny could not conceal her mortification. "My God, Fitzwilliam! You actually said that? Out loud? They could have heard you!" She could hardly believe her nephew capable of thinking such a thing, much less saying it aloud amongst company.
Darcy let out another hollow laugh, running his hands along his cheeks. "Oh, it gets much worse, Aunt. I proceeded to tell Bingley that he was dancing with the only handsome woman in the room - a woman who happened to be Miss Jane Bennet, Elizabeth's eldest sister."
He paused here and took a long, drawn-out breath, face already red with shame. "And now I must tell you of my most flagrant faux pas of the evening. After praising Miss Jane Bennet, Bingley pointed out Miss Elizabeth, saying that she, too, was very pretty. He offered to have Miss Bennet introduce me to her so that we could dance...and I refused his offer in the worst possible way. I told him that Elizabeth was tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me - I said that I was in no humor to give consequence to ladies who were slighted by other men, as she had been sitting out for the last two dances. And so you see...that was her first impression of me."
Darcy could not bear to look at his family's reaction to his admission, and it was, perhaps, a good thing that he did not - the relative mix of mortification and disappointment may very well have broken the already fragile man. They were, of course, right to react in such a way. In truth, his family could not quite believe it. They knew him to be reticent and cold amongst strangers, but this...this seemed almost cruel. And to say such a thing aloud…
Georgiana was the first to break the silence, asking, "Did...did she hear you?"
"I believe so. Not ten seconds after I uttered it, she walked straight past me, laughing. I am sure she told Mrs. Collins and her sisters about it, as there were many times throughout the remainder of the evening where they looked at me and started giggling."
Penelope had a difficult time imagining that this Miss Elizabeth truly found the situation diverting. She could understand laughing at the ridiculous - it was a favorite hobby of hers, after all - but this went beyond ridiculousness. In all likelihood, laughter served as Miss Elizabeth's defense mechanism in this situation.
"That," Penny finally commented, "is hardly an auspicious beginning."
"Indeed it is not," her husband agreed.
"I am hesitant to say that my behavior improved after that," Darcy continued, still facing the window. "We saw the Bennets several times in the following weeks, but I barely said a word to them. I was, however, quite fascinated by Elizabeth, and I spent every moment I could listening in on her conversations."
"Yet you never joined them?" Richard asked.
"Not once. In fact, I did not speak to Elizabeth until a gathering at Lucas Lodge, the previous home of Mrs. Collins, which took place several weeks after the Meryton Assembly."
"And did this interaction proceed more favorably?" Penny asked cautiously, hoping that her nephew had presented himself in a good light at least once.
"I did not insult her," Darcy huffed, "but I cannot say that it went well. Sir William Lucas was speaking to me about the merits of dancing when Elizabeth walked by. He stopped her and offered her to me as a desirable partner. She resisted, but I leapt at the chance and told her that I would be quite happy to stand up with her. Despite the insistence of both myself and Sir William, she refused. Looking back, she likely thought me insincere, simply asking because I was following the dictations of decorum. In truth, I did want to dance with her. I had spent so many hours listening to her speak with others, and I was quite eager to do so myself."
"You must find her quite interesting," Elinor commented smilingly.
Darcy looked down with the smallest of grins. "It would be difficult not to. She is extremely intelligent and witty, and she possesses the most singular power of making even the dullest, most hackneyed of topics seem engrossing. Rarely have I seen a person - much less one who was not afforded the opportunity of attending school - speak on so many subjects and remain well-informed on them all. I've heard her discuss everything from crop rotation to philosophy and politics. I even heard her speaking in Latin with the local rector and her sister, Miss Mary."
"That is quite remarkable," Penny replied, glancing at her husband. "But she never spoke with you?"
At this, Darcy's small grin disappeared, and he brought his hands up to his face once again. "Not at Lucas Lodge, no. We did, however, have quite a few debates when she came to stay at Netherfield. You see, while I had taken to Elizabeth, Bingley had become quite enamoured with Miss Jane Bennet. For reasons entirely unknown to me - although I doubt her intentions were pure - Miss Bingley decided to invite Miss Bennet to take luncheon at Netherfield. However, after arriving on horse in the rain, Miss Bennet came down with a fever and was forced to convalesce at Netherfield for about a week. Miss Elizabeth came to see her sister immediately, having walked all the way from Longbourn. Bingley insisted that she stay until Miss Bennet was well again."
"She walked the whole way? Why not take a carriage or go on horseback?" Lawrence questioned.
"All three miles," Darcy grinned. "She enjoys walking very much and will do so at every opportunity. You should have seen her when she arrived. Miss Bingley commented on her muddy petticoat, but I could only notice her bright eyes and flushed cheeks. She looked rather like a wood nymph, emerging from the forest to aid her sister."
She must love her sister very dearly," Elinor opined, silently wishing that she had any siblings who cared so much for her.
"I believe she loves them all greatly," Darcy replied, sending a small smile towards Georgiana. "However, she and Miss Bennet seem to share a very special bond. Rarely have I seen two souls so in-tune with one another."
With this, melancholy overcame him once again. How dearly Darcy wished for Elizabeth to share such a bond with him...not one of a sisterly nature, of course, but one of equal - if not greater - strength. What he would give to experience such a connection!
Penny could sense her nephew slipping further into his own despondency, and she thought it best to pull him out before he sank entirely yet again. They could not help unless they knew the full story. Clearing her throat, she asked, "And how was Miss Elizabeth's stay at Netherfield?"
Darcy blinked a few times, regaining his focus. Now was not, perhaps, the best time to dwell on such thoughts, and he was, unfortunately, nowhere near finished with his harrowing tale. Swallowing the bile that had built up in his throat, Darcy continued, saying, "Knowing what I know now, I imagine that she finds no pleasure in the remembrance of her time there, but I must admit to looking upon it fondly. We spoke often and had many spirited debates. She proved to be quite a formidable opponent - I can scarcely remember the last time I had so enjoyable a discussion, and I daresay she could contend with any number of my old Cambridge peers. I delighted in every moment we spent together and, oftentimes against my will, sought her attention. I even asked her to dance a reel. She refused, of course, but at the time, I thought her refusal came only out of concern for her sister and the desire to return to her side. It never occurred to me that she disliked me. I had...I had even considered her almost a friend by the end of her stay."
Here, Darcy paused, letting out a derisive laugh. "Of course, my behavior spoke nothing of friendship. Looking back, I showed nothing more than cold civility, so frightened I was by the prospect of paying her too much attention. It is a wonder she deigned to speak to me at all."
Andrew looked at his nephew incredulously. "Why would you be afraid of showing her too much attention?"
Darcy's cheeks reddened at the question, and he tugged at his hair in frustration towards his past-self. "I did not want her to hope that I had any designs on her or that I would make her an offer. Although I enjoyed her company immensely, I became convinced that nothing could come of it - our relative stations in life were too different, and such a match would be viewed as a degradation upon the Darcy name." He halted, letting out a large breath. "What a fool I was! Not only for holding such a sentiment but also for believing that she harboured any such hopes in the first place. In all likelihood, her greatest hope was that she would never again have to reside in the same house as me."
The Fitzwilliams could hear Darcy's throat thicken with every word. When he went silent once again, they were unsure as to whether they should follow suit - giving him time at the risk of allowing him to slip too far back into his own despair - or if they should encourage him to continue.
Andrew decided on the latter, asking, "And what happened after she left Netherfield?"
Darcy stayed quiet for a moment longer before turning around. He glanced over the visages of his beloved family, taking in the relative mix of pity and disappointment until his gaze finally landed on Georgiana. Could he tell her about Wickham? Although he felt that she deserved to know, he did not want to incite any painful recollections.
"Georgi-," he began, only to be interrupted.
"Brother," Georgiana said with conviction, having already read the hesitancy upon his face, "I assure you that I can handle anything you wish to say."
"I do not wish to upset you."
"I will only be upset if you refuse to tell me the whole story. I am no longer a child, and I dearly wish to help you."
The last sentence came out almost pleadingly, and Darcy knew that he could deny her nothing. He swallowed thickly and, taking a deep breath, continued. "A few days after the Bennets left Netherfield, Bingley suggested that we ride to Longbourn to ask after Miss Bennet's health. However, as we were riding through Meryton, we happened to see four of the Bennet sisters speaking with some of the officers who had recently been installed in Hertfordshire. As we approached, I noticed that one of the men they were speaking to was…" Darcy paused, glancing once more at his sister. "Wickham."
The concurrent gasps elicited by this statement may very well have seemed comical to any possible onlookers, but the room's occupants could find nothing diverting about it.
"Wickham!" Richard barked, shooting out of his chair. "What the Hell was Wickham doing in Hertfordshire?"
"He accepted a commission and found himself encamped there."
Before Richard could reply, Georgiana broke into the conversation, voice full of panic. "You said something, didn't you?"
"To Wickham?" Her brother asked quizzically.
"No, to the Bennets! Or anyone in Meryton! Surely, you warned them?"
Darcy's face coloured, and he looked away. "I...I did not know what to say. I could hardly mention Ramsgate."
"You did not need to mention Ramsgate! You did not need to mention me at all! You could have just said that he was a rake and a gambler and not a man to be trusted! Even if they did not believe you, he would have eventually proven your assertions correct."
At his sister's passionate outcry, Darcy turned away, shame on his face and dread in his stomach. Why in God's name hadn't he warned anyone? Georgiana was right - there was no need for him to mention his sister. He just needed to claim a previous acquaintance with the man and put the people of Meryton on their guard. Wickham would undoubtedly out himself as a reprobate at some point, and the least Darcy could do was ensure their safety until then. Had he truly become so proud that he would not suffer even the smallest of tasks for the sake of an entire town? And a town so close to his Elizabeth, no less! Good God, what must she think? Her disapprobation must be even greater than before! He could have - should have - said something.
Georgiana watched with apprehension as her brother leaned against the window. She had not meant to upbraid him so - she just couldn't stomach the thought of another person falling victim to that deceitful debonair. She knew her brother meant well, misguided as he was in his attempt to preserve her reputation.
With a deep breath, she approached him and grabbed his arm. "I am sorry to cause you more pain, Fitzwilliam. I do not blame you. But, please, write to someone in Hertfordshire - anyone. Tell them to watch Wickham with a keen eye."
Darcy placed a hand over his sister's, sending her a remorseful smile. "I will do so before the day is out. I am only sorry that I did not do it sooner." He glanced at her, then, trying to ascertain her thoughts. "Does it not pain you to speak of Wickham?"
Georgiana smiled at her dear brother, always so concerned for her well-being. "No. As much as I regret my own foolishness in the matter, I can safely say that my heart is not - and never was - his. I remember how father used to speak about mother...and I see how you speak of Miss Elizabeth. That is not what I felt for him. He flattered me - made me as though I was an adult - and I believe that my attachment formed from there. It was my head, not my heart, which was engaged. Truth be told, if I were to pass him on the street, it would be with impunity. I do not think of him, and when he is mentioned, my feelings remain unaffected."
To the amazement of everyone in the room, a genuine smile spread across Darcy's face. For perhaps the first time since April, the smallest vestiges of happiness could be found in his heart. He knew he had his Aunt and Uncle to thank for this development. They had spent so much time with Georgiana after the incident, and he was certain that her healing was greatly hastened by their unwavering support. He could not help but be proud of his sister, and he sent a silent thanks to God that her heart was untouched.
Georgiana rose on her toes to kiss her brother's cheek. "I am well now, brother. It is you we are worried about. Will you not finish your story?"
The smile on Darcy's face disappeared, and the brief lightness of his chest dulled into a heavy darkness once again. He watched as Georgiana returned to her seat, staring at him with imploring eyes. The rest of his family did the same, sending him encouraging smiles. Lord, what had he done to deserve them? The fact that they were still willing to listen, much less help him after everything he'd already said...it amazed him. If they could listen, he could talk.
"A few weeks after our surprise meeting in Meryton, Bingley held a ball at Netherfield. I, of course, was quite displeased at the prospect and spent most of the evening stalking about the outskirts of the room. However, I was determined to dance with Elizabeth. Twice she had turned me down, and both times I was convinced it was circumstance - not herself - which bade her refuse me. After some hesitancy - which I mistook for pleasurable surprise - she accepted."
"And how did you fare?" Lawrence questioned.
"About as well as you imagine," Darcy replied with a wry smile. "I had been so eager to speak with her, but as soon as the dance started, my mind went blank - I could not think of a single topic worth discussing. For a moment, I was quite content to dance in comfortable silence and simply enjoy her company, but she obviously did not share the sentiment. She teased me for my reticence and told me that we must speak about something. I asked the first thing that came to mind - if she and her sisters often walked to Meryton. She seemed to take that as a challenge and responded by saying that they had recently made a new friend on one of their walks. She was, of course, referring to Wickham." Darcy paused for a moment, bringing his hands to his face. "I should have warned her then and there. Instead, I said something of how he is adept at making friends but bad at keeping them. Why I chose to be enigmatic, I do not know. She gave me the perfect opportunity - had I simply been forthright, I imagine I could have spared us both much pain."
"And after that?" Elinor asked.
"She told me that she had heard such different accounts of me as to puzzle her exceedingly. So maladjusted was I by the conversation, I requested that she not take my likeness at the present moment, as the performance would reflect poorly on us both. She proceeded to walk away, and she did not even spare me a glance the rest of the evening."
As much as she sympathized with him, Penelope was beginning to wonder how her nephew had not perceived Miss Elizabeth's distaste for him sooner. These were not the actions of a woman in love.
"For the rest of the evening," Darcy continued regretfully, "I watched her family and, unfortunately, made many baseless assumptions."
"Her family," Penny cut in, "What are they like?" She recalled Georgiana commenting on Darcy's dislike of Miss Elizabeth's family, and she was quite interested in what he had to say on the matter.
Darcy's mouth went dry at the question, and he tugged at his hair, trying to sort his thoughts. His opinion of them had undergone great change within the last month - so much so that he himself was unsure of his exact feelings. His initial impression had spoken far more of his own character than of theirs, and he felt the unfairness of it acutely.
"There are five Bennet sisters," he began. "The eldest - Miss Jane Bennet - is, as Bingley puts it, a perfect angel, and I can honestly say that I've never harboured an ill opinion of her. Elizabeth is the second eldest. You are, of course, aware of my feelings towards her. The youngest three, however…" Here, Darcy paused, fidgeting with the signet ring on his little finger. "At first, I thought them ridiculous. Miss Mary routinely embarrassed herself at the pianoforte, and she showed very little humility. She seemed to be full of conceit and thought herself quite superior in mind to those around her - an ironic opinion for me to form, I know."
"Miss Catherine and Miss Lydia," he continued, "were raucous mendicants, who seemed determined to flirt with every man in red. I thought them all histrionic and pettish, clamoring to see who could make themselves appear the most foolish. Truthfully, there was a time when I had nothing good to say about them."
"And now?" Andrew questioned.
"Now…" Darcy hesitated, raking his hands through his hair. "They certainly have their faults - that I will not deny. Miss Mary is parsonic, oftentimes obnoxiously so. Yet, there is a quiet tenacity about her that I cannot help but admire. She is extremely well-read and possesses a very philosophical mind. Miss Catherine and Miss Lydia are boisterous, to be sure, but their spirit is to be commended. I imagine that, if channelled into something more productive, their exuberance and love of life could do much good in the world. The more I reflect on their behavior, the more I come to realize that their failings lay chiefly with their parents, not them."
"You dislike their parents?" Lawrence asked.
"Had you asked me that a few months ago, I likely would have replied in the affirmative," Darcy replied, pinching the bridge of this nose. "However, I now believe that it is unfair to say that I dislike them. I certainly disagree with much of what they do, but they are not bad people. Still, they have provided for their daughters a home with little parental affection. You know as well as I do how detrimental it can be for children to grow up without the constant warmth of supportive parents - siblings can only do so much. There was a time when I considered Mrs. Bennet to be the worst offender of the two. She is clamorous and prone to hysterics, and she appears, at first glance, to be quite avaricious. She is not the least bit subtle about her desire to find wealthy husbands for her daughters."
"So," Penelope interrupted, "she is very similar to the matrons of the Ton."
"I...can see why you would say that," Darcy admitted, letting out a small huff. Now that he thought about it, her behavior wasn't terribly different. He could certainly see the similarities. Mrs. Bennet was, perhaps, a bit more brash and conspicuous with her intentions than was generally fashionable amongst the first circles, but her actions were very much the same. Her motives, however…
"No," Darcy finally responded, "she is not. Her deportment is similar, but her motives, I admit, are far purer. While staying at Rosings, I learned that Longbourn, the Bennet estate, is entailed away from the female line. As a family with no sons, they are faced with an unfortunate reality - when Mr. Bennet dies, they will be turned out of house and home. With this fact to colour her actions, I cannot say that I blame Mrs. Bennet for her desperation. She seems to be the only one who takes the threat seriously."
"Oh, dear…" Penny murmured, twisting her handkerchief. She could not imagine how dreadful it would feel to know that you were one accident away from losing everything. Mrs. Bennet, obstreperous as she may be, was likely doing what she thought she ought to do.
"Still," Darcy continued, "While I understand her unease and sympathize with her situation, I can not say that she is an excellent mother. I'm afraid that her anxiety has engendered in her a general disregard for the feelings of her daughters. She plays favorites, and I have seen her denigrate them more than once - Elizabeth and Miss Mary, especially. I fear that the Bennet girls, save for Miss Lydia, receive little love from their mother."
"And what of their father? What of Mr. Bennet?" Andrew inquired.
"Mr. Bennet," Darcy responded with some rancor, "is, I believe, largely to blame for the tribulations of the Bennet family. He is an indolent, apathetic father and, I can only assume, landlord. In the months I was in Hertfordshire, I saw him only twice. The first was when he came to Netherfield to welcome Bingley to the neighborhood. I did not notice it then, but it is clear now that much of what he said was mentioned only to make sport of his family. The second time I saw him was at the Netherfield Ball. He did not stand up with his wife or any of his daughters - in fact, the only time I saw him truly interact with any member of his family was when he was persuaded by Elizabeth to stop Miss Mary from singing another song. He did so in the worst possible way, humiliating her in front of a large crowd of people. Is that how a father is to behave? What are his daughters to think? Furthermore, while I cannot blame him for the entailment, I can only assume that he has done nothing to assuage his wife's concerns."
Darcy huffed, burying his head in his hands. "Again, I do not think he is a bad person. He certainly isn't malicious. But I do believe he is a poor father and husband. From what I've witnessed, the two eldest Miss Bennets bear the brunt of responsibility in their family - responsibility which should fall to their parents. When their younger sisters act out, they are the ones to reprimand them. When one of their sisters require comfort, they are the ones who provide it. Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth are the only ones who consistently check their family's behavior. How is that right? How is it right that a father be so uninvested in the lives of his children? How is it right that a mother be so unconcerned with the feelings of her daughters? I am used to such behavior in the Ton, cruel as it is, but this...this bothers me to a degree I cannot quite describe."
Andrew watched as his nephew's aggravation intensified. He could not blame him - he, too, found the situation to be frustrating. An indolent father was often the only thing needed to bring unhappiness to a family. Add to that a fretful but misguided mother, and you had a recipe for disaster. Still, Andrew could not help but be impressed by the two eldest Bennets. It was not easy to manage difficult family members. Thankfully, he only ever had to deal with one - his sister, Catherine. Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth were forced to contend with five, two of which were their own parents. The young women were to be commended for their efforts.
Darcy, for his part, found himself growing increasingly worried. Elizabeth loved her family very much - that he could not deny - and he knew that they loved her, as well. But love and support were two different things. You could love someone without offering support when they needed it. Did Elizabeth have the support of her family? She was fiercely independent, to be sure, but everybody needed somebody. Were they there when she needed somebody? Jane, in all likelihood, was. He imagined that they relied on each other for almost everything. The others, however, Darcy was unsure about. Elizabeth's father, while well-meaning, was likely too torpid to offer much in terms of assistance. He might extend some comforting words, but whether or not he would actually act was questionable. Elizabeth's mother made no effort to conceal the fact that Elizabeth was her least-favourite daughter, so Darcy did not expect much but histrionics from her. Miss Mary likely offered advice from Fordyce or Scripture, and - although he was a devout Christian - Darcy realized that such methods were often unhelpful. Finally, Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia seemed far too self-absorbed to even notice when others were struggling; he also doubted that their "help" would be particularly useful.
Was that truly it? Was Miss Bennet Elizabeth's only consistently reliable means of support? He recalled her speaking quite fondly of her relations in trade, but they were, to his understanding, often in Town. Additionally, Mrs. Collins now resided nearly thirty miles away. One could only do so much from such a distance.
The thought that Elizabeth was often forced to carry her burdens alone tore at Darcy's heart. He dearly wished that he was in a position to help her - to be her support and her to be his. He remembered how his parents would turn to each other for help with even the smallest of things. To have such a relationship with Elizabeth…
"Fitzwilliam?" Georgiana asked, effectively shaking Darcy out of his stupor. "What happened after the Netherfield Ball? You returned to Town soon after, did you not?"
"I...yes, we did," Darcy responded, turning towards the window yet again. "I made a grievous error in judgement, and I fear that I caused great pain to my closest friend."
"Bingley?" Penny asked in astonishment. "What happened with Bingley?"
Darcy hesitated briefly, biting his tongue. "He had fallen in love with Miss Jane Bennet. Anyone with eyes could see his regard for her...but I could see no sign of affection within the lady herself. She was always perfectly polite, perfectly serene, and I could sense no passion. Of course, she was only behaving as she thought she ought. Still, I became convinced that she did not feel strongly for him and was only pursuing the match at the insistence of her mother."
At this, dismay descended upon the only other unmarried man in the room, bile rising from the back of his throat. Surely, this was not… No. No, it had to be. The story sounded too familiar, and Miss Elizabeth's reaction during their walk at Rosings was far too great a coincidence. Richard was now forced to confront the fact that he had likely further sullied his cousin's chances with Miss Elizabeth.
"So, you persuaded Bingley to retreat from what you thought an unsuitable match?" Richard asked, voice uncharacteristically soft. "Good God, Darcy...I am so sorry."
Darcy eyed his usually loquacious cousin cautiously, greatly unnerved by his contrition. "Whatever do you have to be sorry for?"
Richard swallowed nervously, avoiding the inquiring eyes of his family. "At Rosings, I could see that Miss Elizabeth did not hold you in a favourable light. Of course, I knew nothing of your shared history, but I sought to raise you in her estimation, if only slightly. So, I told her of your unflappable loyalty towards your friends. I...I told her how you had recently saved a friend from an unequal match, in which you had some very strong objections against the lady. I would not have said anything, Cousin, had I known that the lady you were referring to was her sister! I am truly sorry, Darce."
Darcy was silent for a moment, almost chillingly so. His face remained unreadable, and Richard wondered briefly if his cousin was going to break into tears or, perhaps, simply throttle him. He could not say that he found either response particularly enticing and was very much praying for the execution of an unforeseen third option.
Thankfully, his prayers came to fruition. Darcy merely let out a rueful laugh and rubbed his face, leaning further into the wall. "Do not concern yourself, Richard," he finally said. "I doubt it made a difference. I am the one who did the deed, and I imagine that Elizabeth already suspected my involvement in the whole affair. She was right to be upset. Who was I to judge Miss Bennet's feelings? Me, who proposed to my love without her having the slightest notion of my regard. Who was I to meddle in Bingley's affairs? It was not my place. I should not have interfered."
"I know you had Charles' best interests in mind, but-"
"No, Aunt," Darcy interrupted. "This was a selfish act. I knew myself to be in love, and I was terrified. I do not know when it happened. I do not know how it started or where it began. But I was in love and utterly frightened by it. I convinced Bingley to leave with me, taking advantage of his trusting nature and lack of self-confidence. In doing so, I injured not only him, but Miss Bennet as well."
"Worse still," Darcy continued, "were my actions in London. Miss Bennet came to Town not long after our removal from Netherfield. She called on Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, and I...I hid her presence from Charles. Caroline and Louisa did the same, even going so far as to tell Miss Bennet that Bingley knew she was in London but was too busy to call on her."
Darcy paused and closed his eyes, resting his head against the window. Of all the actions prior to his execrable proposal, this was the one he regretted the most. Being a naturally kind man, Darcy was not often one to cause pain to others. He prided himself on his selflessness - which was, he realized, quite ironic - and he doubted he would ever forgive himself for this interference, which had caused pain to so many. He should have told Bingley that Miss Bennet was in Town. Lord, he shouldn't have even convinced him to leave Netherfield in the first place.
Penny could not help but be shocked at her nephew's actions. It was so very unlike him. She could, she supposed, see the reasoning behind their initial egression from Netherfield, much as she agreed that it was not Darcy's place to make such a decision. He cared deeply for Bingley and would not want to see his friend in a loveless match. But to hide her presence in London...that was unpardonable. What must Miss Bennet think? To be subject to a man's constant attentions and then told that he suddenly has no interest in her...the poor girl! If anything, her coming to London was a sign that she did like Mr. Bingley.
"I would tell Bingley of my interference," Darcy commented quietly, "if I was certain he would be welcome back in Hertfordshire. But it has been so many months, and I do not know if he would be warmly received after such an abrupt departure. I do not wish to cause him more pain."
Andrew gave his nephew a sympathetic smile. "Let us worry about Bingley another time. He is to arrive in only five weeks' time, you know, and we can weigh our options then. For now, I bid you continue with your story."
"Very well," Darcy conceded, determined to trudge onward. "I was in love and trying desperately to forget it. Of course, nothing worked. I longed to be back in Elizabeth's company - to hear her laugh and listen to her delightful badinage. I found myself comparing every woman I met to her, and none of them could measure up. They lacked her beauty, her wit, her intelligence - and every passing day I did not return to Hertfordshire was becoming torturous. For perhaps the first time in my life, I was relieved to find myself heading to Rosings. Aunt Catherine would surely prove a suitable distraction. Or so I thought."
"You see," he continued, "not ten minutes after our arrival, Aunt Catherine informed us of the Collinses' guest - a Miss Elizabeth Bennet from Hertfordshire. Of course, Lady Catherine had nothing good to say about Elizabeth - she thought her impertinent, headstrong, and obstinate - all of which served only to raise her in my estimation."
"Any lady that Aunt Catherine dislikes must be very admirable indeed," Lawrence joked, only to be silenced by a gentle slap to the shoulder from his mother.
"Quite," Darcy returned, attempting to ignore the look his Aunt gave her husband when he chuckled. "Throughout her weeks in Kent, I spent as much time with Elizabeth as I could. I would arrange to meet her on her daily walks, and I would visit the Parsonage as often as possible. I delighted in all her visits to Rosings, enjoying how well she dealt with Aunt Catherine's scathing remarks. It was...strange. When I was near her, I felt warm and light. I was happy. When I was forced away, I felt oddly empty, as if something was missing. I was more than eager to be reunited with her - to feel whole again. Is it not odd that one's entire mood would shift based on the comings and goings of a single person?"
"That is called love, my dear," Penny answered, sending him a warm smile. There could be no doubt of her nephew's feelings. In her momentary happiness, she nearly forgot that the story did not have a happy ending.
"It did not scare me this time," Darcy continued, his heart many miles away, resting where he guessed his Elizabeth was. "I do not know why. I don't know what changed. I was just...desperate. Desperate to ensure that we would not be parted ever again. Desperate to keep her by my side. The thought of having to leave her was agonizing. One day, when she did not come to Rosings for tea, I just...went to her. I do not even remember what excuse I gave Aunt Catherine, if I gave any at all."
"And that is when you proposed?" His Uncle guessed.
Suddenly, the light in Darcy's eyes, bourne of pleasant memories, disappeared. He looked more miserable - more despondent - than ever before. His anguished turmoil begat so miasmic an atmosphere that even the most durable of the room's occupants found themselves affected by it.
Darcy put as much distance between himself and his family as he could, burying his head in his hands. Lord, he did not want to tell them what he said. He did not want to repeat it. He did not want to remember Elizabeth's response. At that moment, he wanted nothing but for the Earth to swallow him whole, leaving no signs of his existence. He wanted to melt to wax and slip beneath the floorboards, utterly forgotten by the world. Of course, that did not happen - the world was not so forgiving. He was still in the drawing-room, being looked at by expectant family members who dearly wished to help him.
"I did propose," he finally responded, voice shaking. "And I said some of the most vile, abominable things...I told her that I ardently loved and admired her - and, in doing so, was going expressly against the wishes of my family, friends, and even my own better judgement. I told her that our relative stations in life made the connection reprehensible and that I, too, regarded it as such. I told her that I felt for her a passionate admiration and regard, which, despite my struggles, had overcome every rational objection, and I begged her to be my wife. At first, she responded with more kindness than I deserved. She told me that she had never desired my good opinion and that I had certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. She said that she was sorry to cause pain to anyone, but it was unconsciously done, and she hoped it would be of short duration."
He paused here, and Penny swore she could see him tremble slightly. "For a moment, I could not breathe - all rational thought left me in my disbelief. She was actually refusing me. I should have stopped there. I should have apologized. I should have asked for a second chance. I should have left. But I did not. I only dug myself deeper. I asked her why I was rejected with so little an endeavor at civility. She, in turn, asked me why with so evident a design to offend and insult her, I chose to tell her that I liked her against my will, against my reason, and against my character. Was that not some reason for incivility? She then told me that she had every reason in the world to think ill of me. How could anything tempt her to accept the man who had ruined the happiness of a most beloved sister? I did not deny the part I played. I even told her that I did everything in my power to separate Bingley from her sister and that I rejoiced in my success."
Again, he paused, and no one in the room could deny that there were now tears in his eyes, try as he might to conceal them. "But it was not just that on which her dislike of me was founded. It was Wickham who had first turned her against me. I do not know exactly which lie he told, but she was quite certain that I had wronged him. And how can I blame her? My behavior did me no credit - she had no reason to suspect Wickham and every reason to think ill of me. She blamed me for reducing him to his present state of poverty and was further disgusted by my conceit and ridicule."
Now, Darcy was shaking. His entire family went as still as stone, fearing that his emotions were bubbling too close to the surface and that any attempt to calm or comfort him would result in a breakdown. Darcy was not a man to give in easily to maudlin, but the act of repeating what was, perhaps, the worst moment of his life was proving to be too insuperable a task. He could not keep his composure.
"I thanked her," he continued, unable to stop now, "for explaining her opinion of me so fully. I told her that these offenses might have been overlooked had not her pride been hurt by the honest confession of the scruples which had long prevented my forming any serious designs on her - had I concealed my struggles and flattered her. I asked her if she expected me to rejoice in the inferiority of her circumstances - to congratulate myself on the hope of relations whose condition in life was so decidedly below my own."
At this, he finally turned to his family, and his face was the very picture of despair, agony, and heartbreak - red eyes, wet cheeks, shaking limbs. His heart was being torn further out his chest with every word. "I shall never forget her reply," he said weakly. "She told me that I was mistaken - the mode of my declaration merely spared her any concern she might have felt in refusing me had I behaved in a more gentlemen-like manner. She said that I could not have made her the offer of my hand in any possible way that would have tempted her to accept it. From the very beginning, my manners impressed her with the fullest belief of my arrogance, my conceit, and my selfish disdain for the feelings of others. She had not known me a month before she felt I was the...the last man in the world she could ever be prevailed upon to marry."
The last sentence proved to be too much. For perhaps the first time since the death of his father, Darcy allowed himself to weep in front of others, unable to keep it in. He wished he was stronger - he wished he could fight it - but the past two months had sapped away what little remained of his strength. There was a painful emptiness in his chest, and it soon spread to the rest of his body, leaving him hallow - a shell.
He was tired.
Silent sobs racked through his body, and he knew himself to no longer be in control. He was full of shame. Full of anger. Full of despair. And all of it directed towards himself. Lord, he was such a fool - a proud, arrogant fool. In Elizabeth, he had a means to everlasting love and happiness...and he had thrown it away. He wondered if she knew how similar they were - how well they would complement each other...how happy they could be together.
No, of course she didn't. Elizabeth did not know him. She knew only that proud fool she had met in Hertfordshire. The one who insulted her. The one who belittled her. The one who scorned her loved ones. That was the man she knew. And she hated him.
She hated him.
The Fitzwilliams and Georgiana watched as Darcy finally broke. They did not know what to do. They did not speak. They did not move. They did not make a sound. The air of malaise settling in the room was quickly becoming unbearable, threatening to suffocate each of the room's occupants.
Surprisingly, it was Georgiana who approached Darcy first. She did the only thing she could think to do - the very same thing that her brother had done for her after Ramsgate. She embraced him.
For a moment, Darcy was still. The contact had shocked him, and he wondered, momentarily, how she could still think well of him.
But she did. She did think well of him.
She loved him.
With that in mind, Darcy returned the gesture, almost crushing his sister in his arms. He had always been grateful for her, but never more so than right now. He was once again struck by how undeserving he was of his family. How many people would have mocked him for crying? How many would have called him weak? How many would have refused to even listen to his woes?
They did none of this.
They did not mock him. They did not think him weak. And not only did they listen, but they actively sought him out. They wanted so badly to help him, and they went out of their way to do so. Darcy was certain that there was no better family in the whole of England.
For the first time since entering the room, he was calm.
He sent a small smile toward his concerned relatives, and, seemingly all at once, the tension in the air disappeared. There was peace.
"We can fix this," Georgiana whispered into her brother's chest. "I know we can."
"I gave Elizabeth a letter the day after I proposed," Darcy explained quietly. "I attempted to explain myself - defend myself. I told her that I thought her sister indifferent. I told her about Wickham."
"Everything?" Georgiana asked, looking up at him.
"Everything."
His sister was silent for a short time before she nodded. "If you trust her, so do I."
"I do," Darcy responded. "With all my heart."
"Do you think she believes you?" Penny asked softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Do you think your letter changed her opinion of you?"
"I do not know. I must confess, there is a part of me that hopes she did not even read it. I was so angry at first. The letter was written with bitterness and acrimony. I did not apologize for my actions or words; I merely explained them. I desperately wish I could rewrite it and illustrate to her my sorrow and depth of feeling."
Penny watched as her nephew closed his eyes and let out a large sigh, still holding his sister. "What are you thinking, my dear?" She asked gently.
"I love her," uttered quietly, almost reverently.
"We will fix this, Fitzwilliam," His Aunt replied, determination and resolve colouring her voice. "Do not lose hope. We will think of something."
"I hope you are right, Aunt. I truly do."
