MEASURE OF A MAN

Part XIII: Fortune

"When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,

I all alone beweep my outcast state,

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,

And look upon myself and curse my fate,

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,

Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,

With what I most enjoy contented least;

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,

Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

(Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate;

For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings

That then I scorn to change my state with kings."

Sonnet 29

BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

It was a quiet Thursday afternoon that Fitzwilliam Darcy met with one of the Governors of the Foundling Hospital. For the better part of an hour, the two men discussed some of the challenges of funding the institution and discussed strategies to stretch their resources further. It was after this discussion ended that the secretary, Mr. Smith, invited the men to stay for tea.

"I could not possibly," Mr. Hall stated firmly and he departed to attend to his own affairs. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Smith walked the Governor across the open courtyard and out the front gates of the hospital. Mr. Darcy, however, chose to remain to speak with Mr. Smith further and readily accepted the invitation to tea. On their way from the front gates to the courtroom, Mr. Smith motioned towards the open doors of some of the school rooms where pupils sat in rows to receive instruction.

"As I explained on your initial tour, these are the rooms used for our students' education. The students are right now in lessons until five. The schoolmasters teach the children their reading, writing, and accounts according to the system of Dr. Bell," Mr. Smith explained. "Some of our subjects are taught by teachers in the employ of the school. Other, more practical, skills are taught by volunteers who graciously give of their time and expertise to invest in our young ones."

He motioned to the various doors they passed, mentioning what lessons were currently underway within. The third door they came to opened suddenly to allow one of the foundlings to exit. Darcy caught a glimpse inside and he had to look a second time to ensure his eyes were not playing tricks on him.

In hindsight, Fitzwilliam Darcy should not have been surprised to cross paths with Miss Bennet at the Foundling Hospital. It was only logical, after all, that Captain Hayward should have directed more than just errant masters of estates into patronage of the institution. However, this thought had never crossed Darcy's mind and thus he was entirely taken aback when he came across the familiar figure of Miss Bennet in one of the schoolrooms of the institution. Surrounded by an ocean of black-frocked, white aproned girls, Miss Bennet sat in the center in a rose hued day gown. Her familiar work basket sat at her feet while her hands flew back and forth with a needle and thread, her voice softly chiding her pupils over their seams and instructing them how to keep a straighter stitch. The door closed again, muffling the voices within and barricading the occupants from his sight.

"Ah, that would be Miss Bennet. Whenever she resides in London, she is one of our most faithful instructors. She attends to our foundlings every Thursday to teach them basic domestic skills such as sewing and mending and knitting. Some other members of the gentry also attend us each day to expand the skills of our young ones. Ah! Mr. Jones has finished! Come, let me introduce you."

A stout, well-dressed man with a very red mustache emerged from one of the alcoves and crossed the courtyard to greet them, most enthusiastically.

"Mr. Jones teaches music to some of our blind or physically disabled foundlings. Those unfortunate children will most likely remain with us at the hospital for their entire lives. We try to find some means of generating income as they are able, however slight. Mr. Jones has volunteered a great many hours teaching the pianoforte and violin."

Mr. Jones was only too willing to make a new acquaintance. He began to regale his companions with a series of boisterous anecdotes involving an unruly horse and an ill-equipped carriage and he did not complete his tales before they reached their destination. There, a pair of women sat in wait for them. They rose and curtsied before sitting to pour the tea.

"Ah, meet Mrs. Verne, our schoolmarm and Miss Fairfax, another of our volunteers," Mr. Smith continued. They exchanged pleasantries before they were interrupted by the entrance of another person to join their party.

"Miss Bennet, there you are! I was about to come and search for you and tear you away from your pupils!" Miss Fairfax exclaimed. She rose to warmly greet the newcomer and motioned for her to take the empty seat beside her.

"Miss Bennet, allow me to present Mr. Darcy, of Pemberley in Derbyshire," Mr. Smith said with a respectful nod in Darcy's direction. "He has proved himself an invaluable addition to our hospital in recent months and he most generously came to assist one of our Governors this afternoon. We are most delighted to have him join us for tea."

"We have met before, sir," Miss Bennet informed the secretary. She curtsied neatly before casting Darcy a small, somewhat bashful smile. "Mr. Darcy, how do you do?"

"Quite well, Miss Bennet, I am pleased to see you again."

"As am I, sir. It has been some time since we last had the opportunity to meet."

"Ah, the world is a much smaller place than even I imagine!" Mr. Smith said. "Tell me, how is it you two are acquainted?"

"We met in Hertfordshire, some years ago," Miss Bennet answered succinctly. Far too succinctly.

"Indeed. It is due to Miss Bennet's influence and connections that I sought out the Foundling Hospital and became acquainted with your institution."

"And here I was, boasting of your many good deeds and charms to a man already well-acquainted with them! Well, so much the better! Come, let us take our tea!" Mr. Smith said.

She appeared every bit the same as the last time he had met her. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright with health. Her complexion glowed with its unmarred uniformity, only enhanced by the rose-colored fabric of her gown. Darcy felt his pulse quicken as his mind filled with all the words he had stored up since their last meeting, in anticipation of just such an opportunity. Yet, in the company of so many others, separated by the length of the great table, he knew it would not be possible. He reverted into his habitual quietness and listened to the conversations flow and ebb around him. Miss Bennet fell into easy, familiar conversations with the rest of the party -inquiring after the health of Mr. Jones' wife and Miss Fairfax's sister and the health of Mrs. Verne's pupils. In their turn, the others asked after her young cousins and the fate of a recalcitrant black hen which had caused quite the tumult in her household the previous week. The conversation flowed with such an ease of familiar discourse that Darcy immediately felt as the outsider, the one who was intruding on an established, amiable gathering. Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones asked him frequent questions and sought to invite him into the conversation whenever he sat too long in silence and yet he found himself far more comfortable observing and listening than taking part.

When tea finished and the company parted ways, Miss Fairfax, Mr. Jones and Miss Bennet all made their way across the vast courtyard to the main gates. Darcy trailed along behind, at least, until Mr. Jones slowed his steps and continued to overwhelm him with tales from his trials with the London dust that morning. It was only after they had passed through the gates and walked down the length of the street that they each went their separate ways again.

"Miss Bennet, I see Harold is already trailing behind you," Mr. Jones gaily remarked with a wide wave of his arm. "Good man! You look after this gem or by Jove, I will have your head by this time tomorrow!"

A footman increased his steps and bowed to Mr. Jones in answer. Then, he decreased the distance between himself and Miss Bennet in order to shadow her steps the rest of her journey. A maid accompanied him, her arms full of packages.

"Till next week, then, good ladies! Do not forget you promised to attend our first little concert, next month!"

"With you reminding us weekly, how could we forget?" Miss Fairfax remarked. She turned and disappeared into a nearby shop, leaving Miss Bennet and Mr. Darcy together.

"Where are you heading to, Miss Bennet?" He inquired.

"My aunt and uncle's house. Gracechurch Street. It is just under two miles from here. It is a pleasant walk and will not take long," she answered.

"May I accompany you, at least part of the way?"

"You do not have your carriage here?" She asked in surprise.

"The presence or absence of a carriage has little impact on my offer to escort you to Gracechurch Street. It is a fine evening and I could use the exertion."

"You are most welcome, then," she answered and she easily accepted the arm he held out for her to take.

The sun was quickly creeping towards the chimney tops and the streets were overflowing with the bustle of carriages and vendors and passersby. For the first half a street, Darcy stumbled internally over just how to begin. Politeness dictated he ought to inquire into her family and acquaintances, but he had no wish to waste this opportunity on such matter. Despite his urgency to speak, the words he wished to say escaped him entirely. He was relieved when it was Miss Bennet who spoke first.

"Oh, Mr. Darcy, I am glad to have come across you again!" She burst out; her eyes wide in sincerity. "I apologize for my forwardness… it is only… Oh, there is too much! Where to begin? Mr. Darcy, after that afternoon in Hyde Park and then…"

Seeing his opportunity, Darcy interjected before she could continue. "I must apologize to you for my display that afternoon, and my ungentlemanly exit. I should not have imposed on you as I did nor should I have disappeared without taking my leave. It was all poorly done of me."

He felt a gentle squeeze on his arm and he looked down to see her looking up at him, her eyes fairly dancing with the myriad of shades of colors and depths of emotions they contained. "Oh, there is no need for apologies, sir! Is there any understanding the mysteries of grief or the strength of emotion such loss entails? All leave a wound which never seems to heal – as if a limb has been amputated and we are ever after left with a limp. No, you need never apologize for loss of composure when under such fresh wounds… and in the company of… a friend."

His heart protested but he could not explain the true error in his ways or the underlying impropriety in his thoughts. He must content himself with apologizing for the outward show of poor manners.

"Then," she continued, before he could speak again, "your letter to Captain Hayward was most unexpected. I thought… I assumed you had known… but I suppose I should not have assumed you knew it was Mr. Wickham. Still, your offer of assistance to Oliver was very kind and your apology most unexpected… and most gratifying."

"It was far too little, too late, I am afraid."

"See, that is why I wished to speak with you! You carry such a weight of responsibility on your shoulders, Mr. Darcy! While I cannot help but admire the care you show to those fortunate enough to be included amongst those you call your own, you cannot hold yourself responsible for the poor behavior of those you cannot control. Mr. Wickham's actions were his own."

"I ought to have checked him, said something, sooner."

"We all ought to have checked him and spoken sooner. We all ought to have checked Lydia and intervened in her behavior before it was too late. None of us did as we ought and yet regret is a poor substitute for wisdom. Still, here we are. You chose to apologize to our entire family and, more so, you offered to remedy your perceived error. Your strength of conscience is admirable, sir, as is the weight of your convictions. For whatever little it may be worth, I wished to extend whatever forgiveness or atonement you seek on behalf of our family. For the weight of years upon your conscience I know it may mean little, but I do hope to lift some of your burden."

"I am grateful for your absolution, Miss Bennet," he said. "Truly… but I am afraid the apologies I owe you in particular flow even deeper."

"Whatever can you mean?" She asked.

"For all I have prided myself on my abhorrence of deceit in the past, I have proved myself the greatest of hypocrites. When you came to London, in the year twelve, I intentionally hid your presence from Bingley. I deceived him so he would not know you were here. It was beneath me and I ought not have done as I did, but there it is. The guilt for my actions has only grown in the years that have followed and I ought to have apologized upon our first reunion in Kent. Even then, I proved myself a coward and failed to do as I ought." He could hardly dare to meet her eye and yet, when he did, he was surprised to find her smiling rather than glaring at him.

"Oh, you were forgiven for that nearly as soon as I first heard of your deception!" She answered.

"You knew, then?"

"Yes."

He exhaled the breath he had been holding and shook his head. "Since when?"

"Long before we met in Kent."

"I see."

"You wished to aid and protect a friend. I cannot find fault in your motivation, even if the methods you employed were less than honorable."

He released a wry chuckle. "Such words from you are reproof indeed!"

Her cheeks flushed and her footsteps faltered for a moment. "Do not take my meaning wrongly! It is not my intent to reprove you!"

"Of course, it is not. It does not follow that the reproof is undeserved…. Or that your mercy is not twice as potent a weapon upon my conscience as your anger would have been."

They fell silent again, though the streets around them proved anything but soundless as they walked. Darcy mulled through the throngs of questions he still wished to ask her, dismissing one after another as too forward, too improper, too personal. Yet, he did not wish to see her walk away without gaining that sense of closure or completion he always found lacking whenever they parted ways.

"Perhaps, at one time, I might not have understood your intervention. These days, however, I am no longer surprised when my presence is hidden or my connection deemed unsuitable for common knowledge. Lizzy often chides me for thinking far too well of people, for seeing them as they could be rather than as they are. I am far too ought to believe everyone in the world thinks and feels as I do. I must grant space for human differences… for feelings and motivations that are beyond my comprehension or impulse. I admit I have tried to remedy this error, but I do not believe I will ever fully repent of it."

"Perhaps that is as much a strength as a failing," he responded.

She sighed and gazed off into the far distance of the cobbled street.

"I once believed my pride to be under good regulation, that I was entitled to believe myself superior to those around me because I was inherently better. I have since realized how very wrong I was. I behaved poorly in Hertfordshire."

Her eyes flickered back up to meet his and she fought back a knowing smile. "Oh, you were not so terrible…," she began.

He interrupted her before she could continue. "Oh, do not minimize my faults or patronize me! I was abominable."

She laughed, then, and clasped his arm a bit tighter. "You are quite incorrigible, Mr. Darcy! You prefer to wallow in mires of guilt and self-reproach and will not permit me to say a word in your defense! What manner of friend am I to stay silent under such conditions?"

"An honest one," he answered.

"Oh, it is not fair! You wish me to hold an opinion that is not my own - but since it is the opinion you hold, then it must be the only honest opinion! I will not stand for that! I will speak my mind, even if my opinions are in opposition to yours."

He threw back his head and laughed. Then, he reached out to clasp his hand on hers. "Fine. I yield. By all means, excuse my poor manners and conceited disdain for the feelings of others!"

She shook her head, the creases of her smile leaving dimples in her cheeks. "Back then, there are far too many lapses in propriety amongst all our Meryton society for me to hold any of your errors against you. Let us declare a truce. Let us say, none of us behaved as we ought and hope we can all do better in future."

"Except for you… you never erred."

"Now it is my turn to chide you for minimizing faults!"

"I am in earnest."

"It matters little, now, whether I behaved as I ought or no back then. All was different then. Circumstances are what they are and I am held to account for the behavior of others," she replied, her expression turning fragile.

He felt again the sting of uncertainty over her circumstances. He wished to inquire further, ask more of what the intervening years had held or what she saw in her future. However, all too soon, they reached Gracechurch Street. With one last protest of her absolution, she bade him farewell. Her footman and maid accompanied her the rest of the way to her uncle's home and Darcy left to return the way he had come.

Despite saying all he had planned to say, somehow, it still was not enough and he wished there had been more time.

When Darcy returned to his townhouse that evening, he discovered Bingley settled in his study, comfortably waiting for him. It was a common enough occurrence. Whenever Mrs. Bingley sought an evening diversion without him, he retreated to Darcy House until he was welcomed to return to his wife's domain. Yet, this time, Darcy felt distinctly ill-at-ease at Bingley's presence in the room.

"There you are!" Bingley said, briefly looking up from his newspaper. His coat lay draped across an armchair and his cravat hung loose around his neck. He held a glass of port aloft and cast an easy grin at his friend. "How fared you trip to the Hospital?"

"Quite well. The meeting with the Governor was profitable," Darcy answered. He collapsed inelegantly in a nearby chair and thumbed through his accumulated pile of correspondence on his desk.

"Good, good," Bingley responded, half-distractedly. He returned to his newspaper. The pages crinkled loudly as he turned them and he made brief exclamations and commentary on each article as he read. Normally, Darcy found this habit of Bingley's as irritating as it was endearing. This evening, it only served to increase Darcy's discomfort. Finally, after a half hour had passed in this manner, Darcy cast his pile of opened letters back on his desk, poured himself his own glass of port, and spoke out loud the subject consuming his thoughts.

"I came across Miss Bennet today," Darcy said, his eyes carefully watching Bingley for his reaction.

"Oh, indeed? Is she well?" Bingley asked, without looking up from his newspaper or faltering in his movements.

"Quite well."

"She is not married, then?"

"No."

"Pity, that. She was quite the lovely, affable woman. I am surprised she has not wed."

Bingley did not inquire any further, at least, not until he caught Darcy's assessing, lingering stare. He looked up and arched a brow in question.

"You do not wish to know more?" Darcy pressed.

"More of what? Oh, of Miss Bennet, you mean. Is there more I ought to know?"

"I do not know. I suppose. You believed yourself quite attached to her at one point… I assumed… I do not know what I assumed…"

"That was years ago! As you and Caro pointed out, the attachment was all on my side, and it proved as transitory as you feared it would be. Rest easy, man. I have not lost anymore sleep over Miss Bennet than I did over Miss Harriet, Miss Lucille, Miss Bertram, or any of the others. If there is any truth to the rumors Caro heard, it is a pity that Miss Bennet's circumstances are as they are and I wish her well with all my heart, but no more."

It was Darcy who broke eye contact first and he dropped his eyes into the amber liquid in his glass. Bingley recalled his focus when he began to speak again, his voice taking on a somber, weighty timbre.

"I have often thought of your apology, that spring I sought you at Pemberley," Bingley mused. "I feel I ought to thank you – well, you and Caro. While I cannot condone your methods, you both know me too well to doubt what my actions would have been. There is little doubt I would have continued on as I was and would have thrust myself headlong into marrying Miss Bennet.

"Oh, I have sometimes wondered what path my life would have taken… if I had chosen differently… however, Miss Bennet was not the first maiden I walked away from, nor was she the last. You knew me well enough to question me. I was far too prone to allow myself to be carried away by my emotions rather than my sense."

"You believe you would have regretted tying yourself to Miss Bennet?" Darcy asked.

"Oh, not, perhaps, on my own account. No, truly she was an angel. If I only had myself to think of, I have no doubt we would have been quite happy. However, my entire life, I have been subjugated to the whims of my relations. My father raised me to fulfill the dreams he never managed to accomplish. He worked and saved his entire life so I could achieve what he could not. When he died, he left my sisters in my care. Caro has never been as happy as she is now. Louisa, too, is thriving. Andrew and Victoria have added a fullness and completion to our lives and our family circle. They have brought us into greater felicity in our family circle than we have ever known before. Our children will grow together, side-by-side in estates we own and will bequeath to them when they are grown.

"I married to please my family. They are well-pleased and that gives me a certain amount of satisfaction with my choice. I married above my station to a beautiful, accomplished woman who raised my standing in Society. I am very conscious of my good fortune.

"Sometimes, I wonder what would have happened if I made the choice solely to please myself. You see, Miss Jane Bennet had the unique ability to see me both as the man I was and the man I could become. She held both in her hands, as clearly as if they were both present before her. Yet, in her eyes, they were not contradictions, but two sides of the same coin, and I have no doubt that in her hands and under her gentle tutelage, I would have sought to grow into the man she already believed me to be. Yet, that was not the man my family – or Society- would have admired. I would have been torn. I would have been forced to choose. How could I deny my sisters or face their displeasure? Yet, how could I let down my wife?

"No, if I wedded Jane Bennet, I would have been forced to choose and it would have torn me apart. How could my sisters ever reconcile themselves to my bride? Miss Bennet was a magnificent creature, yet she would not, could not, please my sisters in the same way that Victoria does. Her desires and theirs could never align. With Miss Bennet's sweet, gentle nature, this would have continued as a source of grievance to her. I could not be pleased with such constant tension and underlying conflict.

"Then, the situation of Miss Bennet's family would have materially decreased Caroline's chances at a good match and if I had not married Sir Andrew's sister, Caroline's standing would have been hampered further. No, I did what was best for my family – what an honorable man ought to have done…. In my current circumstances, all are at peace and pleased with the outcome."

"What of you, Charles?" Mr. Darcy asked. "Are you reconciled to your choice?"

"Ah, my friend! I have not the liberty you have to flounce traditions and societal expectations! You can cause offense to all and still be welcomed back into Society the very next day. The son of a tradesman is not so fortunate. I wish to be the sort of man my children will be proud to claim as their own and I believe my decisions make me that man."

Darcy sighed and leaned back further into his chair. He was torn between wishing to chastise Bingley and congratulate him at the same time. Yet, neither sentiment was truly apt.

Bingley rubbed his hands over his temples and cast the newspaper onto the nearby table. He drank down what remained in his glass and poured himself another.

"Darce, you know I am not prone to melancholy or holding onto the past. It is not in my nature to keep grudges or question past decisions."

Darcy nodded. He knew his friend's character only too well.

"Victoria and I have not had an easy time of it. I will not deny it. She wished to salvage her reputation and avoid ruin. She was desperate and I was not the man she hoped to marry. It was not just my connections to trade. It was my manner, my comportment. She sometimes thought I was too free with my words and actions. She felt I was too unrestrained in my emotions, and she wished I would not be so free in my friendships. Yet that is my nature. To change would be as if I were transforming from a hound to a fox.

"However, we have come into more of an understanding, lately. You must have noticed the difference?" At Darcy's assent, Bingley continued. "It was due to your influence. After that day we toured the Foundling Hospital together, Victoria was so quiet. She hardly spoke the entire day. When we returned home that evening, she locked herself in the nursery with our son in her arms and refused to let him go. She wept so loudly; the housekeeper nearly sent for the doctor. When I went in to inquire into her welfare, she continued to rock the babe in her arms as he slept. Then, she confessed all to me. Darce, she told me everything."

"You mean…?" Darcy began and Bingley nodded.

"I do not wish to break her confidence, but it is enough to say truths were spoken which sorely needed to be attended to and apologies made, on both sides, that were long overdue. She has gained a truer appreciation for me and a fuller knowledge of herself. For all her faults… and mine… we have come to some manner of accord."

"I am glad of it," Darcy responded.

Darcy had noticed there were depths to Mrs. Bingley he did not fully understand. Victoria Bingley kept a storehouse of storm clouds hidden behind her perfect smiles and flawless manners and they only emerged late into the night when her defenses were dulled by fatigue. In the end of Bingley's disjointed explanations, all Darcy could surmise was that there had been a bent gold coin, a promise made and then broken, and a heart torn asunder. There was innocence lost and experience gained and a woman desperate enough to marry beneath her station and so maintain her respectability. There was a union between flawed, imperfect individuals who formed a new family and so protected the honor and reputation of both their families.

Most importantly, there was a child beloved who need never know how close he came to not belonging.

Bingley made an honorable choice. While Bingley was reconciled to his choice, the fact that he so easily accepted it left Darcy more unsettled than he could fully express. Some dark, unfathomable whisper in Darcy's heart cried that Bingley had made the wrong choice... but he did not yet have the words to explain what was 'wrong' about it.

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