MEASURE OF A MAN

Part XV: Pearl

Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto a merchant man, seeking goodly pearls: Who, when he had found one pearl of great price, went and sold all that he had, and bought it.

Matthew 13:45-46 (KJV)

"Mr. Darcy, I do not believe your mind is currently engaged playing chess."

Mr. Darcy started from his reverie and glanced up to the bemused face of Lord Stevens. He held Darcy's rook in his hands and slowly placed it on the growing pile of lost pieces beside the board.

Darcy chuckled. "You are correct, Lord Stevens. I am afraid my thoughts are otherwise occupied this evening. I do believe you may claim this game as already your own and I will return to Darcy House for the night."

Lord Stevens arched one bushy eyebrow and then reached out for Darcy's king. He retrieved the game piece and with a dramatic flourish, he brought the king to his mouth to kiss the top. He carefully placed the king alongside the rest. Then, he stood up and bowed.

"I will take my victories where I am able, Mr. Darcy. Until next time, do not forget, two out of three belong to me."

Mr. Darcy bowed in response, though he exaggerated the movement just enough to display his amusement at Lord Stevens' pronouncement. While Darcy meant to remain at his club until late in the evening, he proved himself as poor a conversationalist as a chess player and he had no more interest in discussion on the recent parliamentary debates over the abolition of income tax than he did in besting his old rival at chess.

From the moment he left Miss Bennet's company, his mind had turned into the noisy chaos of a bees' hive. The thoughts flew against the confines of his head in every which direction, humming and buzzing and sending him into distracted circles. He thought an evening at his club would quiet his crowded head, but Lord Stevens was correct. The bees maintained their precedent and Darcy was of no use to anyone.

His study at Darcy House proved a blessed refuge. At least there, in the quiet of his favorite room, he could fix his eyes solely on the flames of the candle on the mantle and pace the length and breadth of the carpet. Back and forth he walked, his attention turned inward to sort through the cacophony inside.

He paused in front of the miniature portrait, still framed on the wall by the eastern bookcases. It was his mother's profile and while he drank in the lines of her face, the familiar crinkle of her eyes, it was as if he could still hear her voice in the room with him now, as it ever had been, chiding him for his habit of pacing.

"You will wear a path through the carpet with all your walking about the room," she exclaimed in exasperation. "Sit down and settle yourself!"

He tried to do as she asked, but his posture of seated repose only lasted so long. For a time, he could focus on disciplining his form into rigid stillness. Once his mind wandered back to whatever task or puzzle had previously occupied it, then, up again he stood. Without his conscious notice, he returned to pacing the length and breadth of the room, his thoughts keeping time with his footsteps.

"I cannot think without my feet!" He tried to explain to his mother. "If I am not moving, the thoughts will not come. If you wish me to complete my sums, then I must pace!"

This restless manner of his feet was a habit he carried with him into adulthood, however he had grown enough to reserve the motion for the solitude of his study and during his times of repose. It was as if each series of steps helped to pry the thoughts from his mind, the emotions from his heart, and the motivations of his will. Each of these were intertwined with the motion of his body until he could settle the chaos, like sediment collecting in the bottom of a pool, until the muddied waters ran clear again.

When he was a child, he always admired Richard and George for their quickness of mind and clarity of thought. It was the matter of a moment for them to recognize the disparate motivations in a social setting and determine their own internal and external response to the parties in their vicinity. If delighted by a gift, they easily expressed their delight and charmed their audience with their properly exuberant response. When grief came upon them, it was a loud, tumultuous affair which invited all around into the moment and then just as easily mended again. While their tempers could flare like an inferno, in the next moment, they could burn through all their kindling and return to calm again. It was the work of a moment to recognize their emotion, explain its cause, and identify the proper course of action. Then, they moved on.

Darcy never could understand how they did it. When an incident occurred, Darcy would experience the expected emotional response, but he did not know the names or causes of the emotions. He would just as quickly lock the rush of feelings into a chest, only to bring them out later, when he had the presence of mind to analyze them from all angles, create lists explaining all possible reasons why they occurred, what they meant, and finally, what he should do about it.

It was as if he was made up of a series of interlocking boxes. Each part combined to make the whole of himself, but the parts did not always connect or exchange information with the others. When he felt himself unsettled, he would have to retreat into isolation. Then, he carefully open up each box, empty its contents, and put it all back together again in its proper box, with its proper labels. Only then could he understand himself and his circumstances and how he related to the people within his sphere. Once this process was complete, then he could be settled again. His heart, mind, body, and soul were tied back together to make a single man rather than one formed out of a series of disjointed and incongruent pieces.

This meant he often had a very delayed response to stimuli. It could take months before he could identify anger versus disappointment, fear versus insecurity. Then, it would take even longer to recognize the source cause, distinguish if his emotions were valid or the whim of a moment, and then address the problem accordingly.

George always teased him for this. "You are like a teapot set to boil. No one even remembers why you are cross by the time you begin to whistle about it. Speak your mind, man! Say what troubles you as soon as it occurs and then move on, like the rest of us! Why bring up your offenses half a year after they have passed?"

It was not that Darcy was opposed to the notion… but he did not know how to do it. He always spoke his mind… but it was a slow, laborious process to identify how the various parts of himself were connected to his mind in order to accurately speak it.

Richard blamed the disconnect on Darcy's overemphasis on his mind and will. "When it comes to matters of business and Pemberley, you are as clear-headed and rational as any man I have ever met. You easily discern what must be done and do not rest until you have completed your object. Yet, when it comes to matters of the heart, you are as tentative as a mole leaving his burrow and even more blind to what is around you.

"You are too used to playing at master of all things, Will! You think human emotion is something that can be avoided or directed through the exercise of your infallible will-power and self-control. Thus, rather than developing greater sensibilities and learning to proper responses, you would rather deny them as if all human passions are innately in error."

Thus, with any strong emotional response, Darcy's ability to recognize and categorize his reaction appropriately took far longer than anyone around him. His apologies and professions of reactions were often so delayed that those to whom they were due were taken completely by surprise by the time of their revelation. His gratitude, while deeply-felt, would take months to accurately express. His times of mourning progressed as slowly as his recognition of affection for new acquaintances.

This also meant that his feelings, once identified, accepted, and given voice, ran far deeper and in longer duration than in some of his fellow men. George's passions were as fleeting as they were easily inspired. He was as the dandelion – easily blown by the wind, planted in a day, and withered by the next week's summer sun. Darcy's sentiments followed more after an acorn. Few that fell from the old oak would sprout, but the one that was cherished and watered and nourished would grow into a grand old tree that would last for centuries- established and unchanging.

He had known, for some time, that an internal chaos was brewing, but he had not yet been ready to face its underlying cause. He was entirely unsettled now and he knew he would pace miles and miles of floral carpet before dawn broke over the London rooftops. Truthfully, the contents of his many interlocking boxes had been warring between themselves for some time. Now, he must tumble over each and every box and see what he could discover in the mayhem. Then, once properly labeled and sorted, he could settle himself. He would leave his study as a coherent creature again – tied together into the semblance of a man rather than the chaos of a bee hive.

It was the pronouncement of Jane Bennet's upcoming departure from London that served as the catalyst for his unrest this day and so that was where he began.

You must not leave!

These words had nearly burst forth from his mouth during their conversation that afternoon. It was his initial reaction and one that was entirely irrational and improper. Who was he to make such a demand on an unrelated gentlewoman of his acquaintance? No one at all.

More than that, why shouldn't she leave? If this transition into a position as a paid companion was something Miss Bennet wished for, then he should be glad for her. Yet, he could not be. On the contrary, the strength of his emotional response to the very idea left him staggering.

Perhaps, he was concerned over her safety? Afterall, he held her in high regard and thus felt invested in her well-being. Who were these people she would soon live with? He knew nothing of her circumstances. He could not rest easy knowing Jane was leaving all her friends and family to dwell amongst strangers. Such a woman – without father or brother nearby – well, it did not take much imagination to determine what could go wrong. This must be why he was so unsettled! Perhaps, if he learned more of her position and those who offered it, he would rest easy.

Yet, it was more than this. To take a position as a companion meant a sort of surrender to circumstances, an admission of vulnerability that Darcy found deeply unsettling. Her circumstances were such that she was required to leave all those she loved to earn a salary from those she had never met in order to financially benefit her own family. This also hinted that Jane Bennet was accepting her fate as a spinster; she was surrendering her hopes for future marriage prospects on the altar of pragmatic necessity.

Yet, this thought did not do justice to Jane Bennet's strength of spirit or sensible fortitude. Rather than passive acceptance of her circumstances, this decision could be her embrace of independence. She no longer wished to be carried along by the whims of others, reliant on their goodwill and decisions. In this manner, she earned her own way, determined her own path, and sought to make the best out of her circumstances. He should applaud her for her courage in her decision. Afterall, he had no doubt she would prove herself a most capable and invaluable companion.

However, he still could not accept it. Something within him revolted at the idea and it was not due to her unsuitability for the task before her. It took another quarter hour of pacing and replacing the candle on the mantle before he could gain any clarity on the matter. Yet, the words that echoed in his mind were not his own, but a memory of the words of Mrs. Jenkinson.

"She would make an admirable wife and mother. Seems a waste to leave her wandering around the countryside, dependent on this relation and that for her bread."

This was what troubled him, he thought to himself. When he considered Jane's gentle spirit and affectionate heart, he felt she was much better suited to the life as wife of a gentleman, the mistress of a modest estate, and as a mother of her own children than floating through the nation, caring for the relations of others for low pay. Why, any estate would be amply rewarded with such a mistress! How could any man help but benefit from such a caring, capable wife?

However, with her circumstances and limited acquaintance, there would be few opportunities for her to marry, even without the tarnish of her sister's fall or her lack of dowry. He had little doubt her relations had exhausted their own circles of acquaintances to find her a husband, or else they would not accept her decision to take employment.

Perhaps, this was a way he could be of assistance to her. If he introduced her to an appropriate man and recommended her for her many merits, possibly he could convince her to delay such a hasty decision. Yet, this must be all folly and nonsense. Why should he bother himself to play matchmaker for the eldest Bennet daughter? She was a sensible, fully grown woman who could choose to live her life as she determined. It may very well be that she had no desire to wed. Who was he to assume her wishes or motivations? He had obviously erred in this office in the past and could not claim any more expertise now.

Yet, she should at least have the choice, and this is what he helped deprive her of in the past. It must be his lingering sense of guilt speaking to him, he thought. In the past, he had known her pursued by an admirable, honorable man of good fortune… one nearly on the point of making her an offer… and he had deprived her of that choice. This was a means he could use to right that wrong. He could expand her circle of acquaintances rather than hiding her away. He could recommend her for her virtues rather than heralding her drawbacks.

Even as he told himself this, he began to catalogue all the gentlemen of his acquaintance who were in want of a wife. It should not be so difficult. After all, Jane Bennet was by no means a woman without virtues or charms of her own. The scandal of her family and the lowness of her circumstances was not of her own making and, if anything, proved to advantage her strength of character. Yet, he must be the right sort of man to recognize the weight of her personal merits over the disadvantages of her circumstances.

The man must not seek aggrandizement or the approbation of Society through his choice. The woman, herself, must be prize enough. To give such a woman a dowry in hopes of increasing her prospects was akin to wrapping a priceless pearl in a skein of rough wool in hopes of increasing its value to a prospective buyer. No, Darcy could not decry her lack of fortune. It was, as Jane herself had mentioned once, as if the challenges of her circumstances were a "refining fire" to reveal those around her with great strength of character and loyalty of heart from those not worth retaining a connection to.

Even a marriage based on her physical charms alone would not do. Upon his first introduction to Meryton society, Jane Bennet was praised as the beauty of the country. Darcy himself had immediately recognized and admired her handsome features and well-formed figure. Yet the Ton suffered from no famine of beauty and the charms of one's person and grace of deportment was not enough to ensure a felicitous union. No, it must be a man with enough sense to recognize the true worth of a woman of such excellence. This made him consider his acquaintances again – no longer considering them for their prospects or fortunes, but for their strength of character. The list rapidly shrunk to only those Darcy held in the highest respect and esteem.

He thought more over how he would approach such an introduction… Which aspects of Miss Bennet's character were her strongest - her gracious manner, her generosity of heart, her compassion for the feelings of others? He had never seen her treat another with anything but kindness and patience. Even when surrounded with the small dramas of Longbourn, the spiteful artifice of Netherfield, or the glitter and grandeur of a London theatre, she had remained exactly the same. In the suffocating desperation and derision of Rosings to the humble, thankless toils of the Foundlings Hospital, she shone for the gem she was. She presided over her circumstances with all the elegance of a queen. Yet, she commanded the respect of those around her not through force of will or harsh directives, but through gentle affection and sacrifices for the benefits of others. It mattered little – whether prince or pauper, rake or saint, she treated everyone with the same gentle dignity and patient respect. She made those around her wish to grow to deserve the high opinion she already held them in. Even when they failed, her forgiveness knew no bounds.

Yet, as he considered, he finally realized the quality he considered her most admirable. It was the great and irresistible beauty of a heart willing to love – with a genuine, selfless, boundless affection.

It is a pity Richard has already wed, Darcy mused. Afterall, Richard was the very best man Darcy knew and he remembered Richard's praise for the second Bennet sister – she "is a woman worth more than a duke's daughter or a rich heiress any day." "Beauty has its place," Richard had attested, "but there is more to a wife than that…give me a woman as plain as a dandelion if she is willing to stay by my side when I am cursing and spluttering from a bullet wound and proves herself a steady force during a crisis." Jane Bennet was just such a steadying force and Richard would not have been able to help but admire her.

Yet, Richard had married and was pleased enough with the outcome and so it would profit no one to consider further. Yet, Darcy's imagination had already conjured an image of Miss Bennet as the wife of his cousin… and Darcy nearly burned with a rush of a powerful emotion which tasted so like jealousy that he stopped pacing and collapsed into a nearby chair.

Jealous? That could not possibly be the correct label for the surge of emotions threatening to overpower him. Yet, what else could it be? He determined to test the idea further. He began to imagine Jane alongside any of the other men he had conjured for a potential introduction. He imagined her lovely form, held on the arm of another man, her eyes fixed on him in adoration. He thought of the woman he had seen behind closed doors at Rosings or on quiet walks through London – those moments away from ballrooms and morning calls and drawing room politeness, there, he had caught glimpses of the woman who dwelt beneath. He imagined how she must be in the freedom of her own home, unrestrained by Society, with the full range of her emotions unbound. There she sat, alongside a hearth fire, the familiar work basket at her feet. He heard her one hand picking out a tune poorly on her pianoforte while her other hand held her child, her head thrown back in merry laughter at their joint mistakes. He heard her gentle voice telling stories, late into the night. He thought of the light in her eyes when she spoke of those she cared about, the fierce loyalty she bestowed on those she loved, the overwhelming weight of her fixed attention. All of this he saw in the home of another man, all of this granted freely for another man's felicity.

The very idea propelled him to his feet again, quite unconscious of his movements and yet entirely compelled to motion. As he moved, the previously discombobulated threads of each of his many inner boxes finally coalesced into something that resembled a coherent whole. They crystalized together in such a perfect unity that it nearly took his breath away.

No, Jane Bennet must not leave London to take a position as a companion in Norwich.

Because she ought to marry.

Him.

Of course, Fitzwilliam Darcy was in need of a wife. Pemberley was in need of a mistress. Jane Bennet was in need of a husband. It was all so simple, he could have laughed out loud. Yet the very simplicity of the logic belied the depth of complexity hidden beneath.

Darcy did not want a wife to display to the Ton and wear on his arm like a badge of honor. He did not wish for a social climber who would strive ever higher for position and admiration from the rest of Society. He wished for someone he could sit alongside the hearth fire and find contentment in the small society of Derbyshire. He wished for a wife who enjoyed his presence and did not decry his taciturn nature. More than anything, he wished to be loved and admired for the man he was – not merely tolerated as an extension of Pemberley.

Pemberley required a mistress who came to pour her own life blood into building it, rather than one who came to feed upon its bounty as a parasite. Pemberley required heirs born - not to gain power and influence but to establish the estate for generations through wisdom and sound decisions. The mistress of Pemberley gained a position in which she impacted the lives of the entire community. Her voice would carry, her deeds would be emulated by those around her, and her character set the precedent for many.

What man would not benefit from such a wife? How could Pemberly not benefit from such a mistress?

He sat as a man stunned, as if a bolt of lightning had struck him where he sat. He had never, not once in all their years of acquaintance, considered Jane as a possible wife. The idea had never even crossed his mind.

For Darcy, matters of the heart were the very hardest to recognize and categorize and label into the appropriate boxes. He felt the initial stirrings of attraction and admiration and these were such terribly strong responses that he felt it far safer to flee than to face such an onslaught. Then, by the time he could recognize his own emotions, he was so far caught in the throes that he forgot the simple notion that the other party involved may not be caught up in the same whirlwind as himself.

In past years, he had never doubted the reception his object of affection would grant his proposal. He was Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley. What woman would refuse him? Well, recent years had taught him the foolishness of such arrogance. He could not assume.

He had once been relieved by Miss Bennet's lack of flirtation and her apparent disinterest in him as an object of pursuit. As recently as this very afternoon, he had assured himself of her lack of expectations. What a fool he had been! What if she truly was indifferent, or, worse, found him entirely intolerable as a suitor? He could not blame her. Some of his greatest social blunders had occurred in her society and he had done very little to redeem himself or show himself at advantage.

Even worse, what if she had truly loved Bingley? Had he contributed to a broken heart? While Bingley's malleable heart had easily recovered, he did not know how deeply her own heart had been touched. Darcy had been convinced of her indifference. Yet, that was back when he thought he could read her through her countenance alone and before he learned that it was in the expression of her eyes and not those of her features where her emotions could be betrayed. He had not known her at all, then. He had assumed, based on his unwavering reliance on his own flawed judgement.

Now, well, how could he believe her to have been indifferent? When, in all their acquaintance, had Jane ever maintained perfect indifference to those regularly within her society? He knew the sincere affection she held for her family and friends, despite their many weaknesses, and how high the regard she held for those who truly earned her favor. There never was a heart so warm, so generous, so willing to love as Jane Bennet's and Bingley was a man only too easy to inspire affection. Of course, she must have loved him.

Another flame of jealousy spiked through Darcy at this thought. Never in his life had he felt self-conscious next to Bingley before, but he suddenly felt every inch the disparities between them. He knew his friend was a handsome, amiable man with great charm to the fairer sex. He never failed to capture female interest or acquire the hearts of those he sought. Indeed, he was universally admired by all who met him. He managed to overcome the most rigid and proud of socialites with his ease of manner and sincerity of address.

Darcy had always assumed his superiority over his friend due to the differences in their births and fortunes. It was Bingley who was indebted to him for his attention, his friendship, his knowledge. Yet, had he not already learned the lessons of his overly inflated self-importance and unrestricted pride? If he was honest, he had to admit that Bingley was his better in many ways.

Assuming Miss Bennet would find Darcy superior to her lost beau only due to his rank and fortune was absurd. He desired for her to admire him for his person, his character and not the establishment he could offer her. Yet, every aspect of his character was so vastly different from Bingley's. Perhaps she only admired gregarious, affable men who could put all company at ease. Perhaps, she could never learn to admire Darcy for his own merits.

The thought of her possible refusal caused a sharp, stabbing pain to burn through him, as if all the oxygen had been sucked from the room, leaving him gasping for breath. He could not bear it. Yet, when he woke this morning, he had no more considered pursuing Jane than he had taking up a career in piracy. Now that the revelation had struck him on the head, he could no more shake it than he could sail a ship. The light of hope this notion conjured had already worked its way through each and every part of him, setting every single one of his inner boxes to collude together, informing him of the same truth from a thousand different angles.

He was not entirely sure when it had begun or how he had missed the progression, but this truth was entirely irrefutable and he could only just now recognize it for what it was and label the emotion that had slowly and entirely conquered him.

He was in love with Jane Bennet.

He thought of the myriad of ways their paths had crossed over the last five years and he wondered if it were not caused by something more than coincidence. Each time they met, he learned something new, grew in a way he had not before, became someone he had not been. He must attribute the role of Providence in ensuring they continued to meet, over and over again, until Darcy finally overcame his obstinate idiocy long enough to recognize what should have been obvious from the very first.

He remembered the time in the theatre when he had compared her to gold – as soft and malleable and perishable as the elegant metal. Now, he realized he had been wrong. True, she may have gilded fastenings that caught the light and reflected beauty, but she was not made only gold. The gold was only the setting for the pearl she was made of, the pearl he only later recognized. All of life's irritants- the griefs and hardships and follies- these she swallowed up and wrapped in layer upon layer of durable abalone. Soon, all that remained was something beautiful, something precious, something that reflected light back to those around her until they could not remember it began as a bit of trouble.

As with the discovery of any great treasure, he knew what he must do now. He would be a fool not to at least try. With a heart such as hers, perhaps she could learn to love him, if he could only convince her to give him the opportunity to earn her regard.

His feet finally stopped their relentless pacing by the study window. He stared out the glass and watched as the sun rose, first peach and then gold. The street outside was already bustling with carriages and footsteps and the morning song of birds.

He turned, then, and his eyes drank in the room around him. This time, they searched through the past and not the present, cataloguing the various conversations that had occurred in that hallowed sanctuary, reminding him of the avenues of fate forged within those walls. It was in this manner, he heard Georgiana's voice. It was that day during her Season when she sought his advice on marriage. She had paced the room just as restlessly as he was wont to do and her voice had been so passionate, her face so animated, her stature so much that of a grown woman. She had been so beautiful, he remembered.

She had shared her concerns for his well-being. "Who will keep you company and remind you to smile more?" She had said. Then, she pried from him a promise that he would wed.

"I will, Georgie. Afterall, I promised. Do not fret. All will be well," he told her. The words came out of his mouth in a whisper and filled the empty room around him. Georgie was not there to hear him in the flesh, but he thought, perhaps, she still heard the words, all the same.

Yes, it was nearly time Fitzwilliam Darcy returned to Pemberley. It was time Fitzwilliam Darcy took a wife. He only hoped he was not too late.

Oooooo

We are nearly there, now. About two chapters and an epilogue left.