During the remaining days of the Bennet girls' stay at Netherfield, Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth did not speak once.
They only shared the same space briefly during meals, and then during the evening when Elizabeth came to the drawing room.
Darcy's chest ached when he watched her.
She was quieter than he was used to, even when her sister had recovered well enough to come downstairs, and he perceived that she was always aware of where he was, by the simple fact that she would never, except maybe when he looked away from her, glance in his direction.
There had been some strong mutual feeling that had developed between the two of them, and now that had to be gone. It needed to be gone, because as Darcy had said, it was impossible for him to marry her.
I have never doubted, not once, that my father loves me dearly.
Darcy felt as though some great certainty that had always been part of his life was dissolving. He'd always thought, beyond anything else, that his father had been an excellent father. Papa had mismanaged Wickham's education — though part of the failure in that case was that breeding will out. But he had been an excellent, if a little too cold, father for his blood children.
And suddenly he was not certain.
He at least knew now that when he had children… and his mind insisted on imagining those children with Elizabeth's eyes and hair, he would no longer take his father as a model. He not merely would not but could not.
Elizabeth's words had ripped open an old wound that had never healed.
He remembered how much he had struggled, how his whole life had been solely about trying to make Papa proud. And how he'd always thought he failed.
Except when Papa died, and he gained mastery of the estate, and guardianship of Georgiana, Darcy had believed that as an adult he had finally become what Papa wanted him to be. A gentleman of worth.
And then he failed again.
If he was such a failure, was any of the suffering he'd experienced with those endless days when he focused upon his studies, worried over samples of the estate ledgers given by his father, fagged himself at Greek and Latin, and done everything for just a small smile from his father — what was it all worth if he had still failed to protect Georgiana.
And what of Georgiana? Much of her character was in place already when Papa died.
Papa had failed them both.
Fitzwilliam Darcy was less certain than ever about who he was.
But he missed Elizabeth.
He dearly missed the easy comradery they were developing, and the way they could speak upon the matters deepest to his heart. He enjoyed her conversation. That was what he liked most about her.
And that beautiful woman who had looked at him with glowing eyes and cheeks now turned aside with an unhappy frown when she noticed his gaze upon her. She then, inevitably, found an excuse to leave the room and not return.
During the morning that the Bennet sisters left Netherfield, she finally spoke to him again. Finding him at his morning walk, she waved to him and hurried up across the mossy cobblestones.
Darcy silently offered her his arm to stroll with him, but she shook her head and stepped a little back. "No, I must return to our preparations with my sister. But I could not leave without apologizing."
"Apologizing?" Darcy asked with some surprise. What had she to apologize for? He had acted in a most ungentlemanly manner and spoken of her in a way that was both rude and inexcusable.
"Yes. I must. For the last words I left you with — I was angry, but I threw back a private pain you had shared with me in a way that there could never be any just cause for. I was wrong. No matter what my feelings were then."
"No. You have no cause for regret."
"Then you did not take what I spoke seriously? I—"
"I think I have rarely taken anything spoken to me so seriously, but it does not follow that you should not have spoken. I am the one who spoke in a wholly unacceptable manner. I apologize for that. I only wish I could have explained better."
"What was there to explain?" Her intelligent eyes seemed to see through him and lay his every motive bare. "My aunts and uncles are beneath you. Beth, my dear niece of seven years who has determined that I am her favorite and who sends me letters twice a month to practice her writing is to be disdained because her father lives in sight of his own warehouses."
Her eyes judged him, and they found him wanting, but for a reason wholly opposite to the one that made his father's ghost judge him.
The two of them stared at each other. The chilled November air chipped their cheeks. Her dark eyes were as deep as a frozen well that a boy might fall into and drown within. His stomach and chest ached to look at her. He was pierced by a desire that he must suppress.
"I truly did not desire to insult you." He pressed his hand against his mouth. "It makes me unhappy to know that I carelessly did."
She looked down. An angry red flushed her cheeks. "Then why did you say — oh, but I understand you! And that is what I hate. After all, you said nothing false. It all was true. That I understand! So let us not talk about it. Let us not — oh, God bless you, Mr. Darcy."
She ran off without allowing him to speak to her again.
The next time Darcy saw her was when the inhabitants of Netherfield Hall accompanied the Misses Bennet to their carriage which had at last arrived to convey them back home, nearly an hour after the time that had been appointed for its arrival.
He watched her and tried to imprint her image on his mind. The sharp cold air made everything clearer than it usually was. The way her hips subtly rocked side to side as she walked, the way her pelisse was wrapped around her neat form, the white skin of her face, and the dark color of her hair. The pink ribbon of her bonnet, and the utilitarian brown of her shoes.
Darcy had a mordant certainty that he'd remember how she looked this morning until he was an old and dying man.
And once Elizabeth was gone, it seemed to Darcy as though there was little to interest him in his life or in his ordinary habits. He spoke little to the other denizens of the manor over the following days, pretended to read oftener than he actually read, and he stared out the window of the library — imagining Elizabeth there, her eyes flashing, her cheeks angry, again and again.
While Darcy was in this state, Bingley positively settled the date for a ball to be held at Netherfield, whose first suggestion had come, as close as Darcy could pinpoint it, from the prompting of Miss Lydia Bennet when she came with the rest of the Bennet ladies to visit her convalescing sister.
Darcy had not been present for the conversation, as that had been during the two days when he actively tried to avoid Elizabeth's company out of a tangled mixture of delicacy, fear of his own longing, and a little resentment towards her, though he'd never been able to precisely pinpoint what he resented her for, except maybe that she was so beguiling without possessing a fortune equal to her worth.
However, Miss Bingley had complained sufficiently often about the deluge of Bennets when Elizabeth and Miss Bennet were not in the room, for Darcy to have become informed of the essentials.
After the printed invitations had been produced and delivered by the printer (who also served as one of the four booksellers, two circulating libraries, three bookbinders and the chief purveyor of fine chocolates in Meryton), Bingley looked through the fine gold lettering on heavy card paper with satisfaction, and he spent twenty minutes dripping the wax to seal them one by one with his ring himself.
Afterwards he shuffled while smiling through the list of addressed envelopes. He collected them all up, and said, "Let's start by delivering them to our friends down Meryton way." He grinned boyishly. "Darcy, time I'd say for us to call on Miss Bennet to see how she does after her flu — not that there can be any question. An angel like her must be flourishing. But best to check and deliver in person — and we'll also toss them to all the families who live in Meryton proper as we go through."
"Is it really necessary to deliver these invitations immediately, and in person to the Bennets?" Miss Bingley said. "I rather think you do them too much honor."
"Hardly!" Bingley clapped Darcy on the shoulder. "You are coming. You've been too morose and indoors of late. Lovely sunny day. Stop thinking about your sister. Let's go."
With a little shock, Darcy realized that he had barely thought with concern about his sister for the past week.
Thoughts of Elizabeth had wholly supplanted her.
Darcy immediately rose to join Bingley on the excursion. He needed no excess of encouragement, even though he knew that seeing Elizabeth would do little for his long-term composure. It was not wise to dangle such a tempting object in front of himself.
The road was fine, and even though the date was now closer to December than October, today was one of those lovely late autumn days that could be as warm as a cold day in summer. A bright sun, piles of leaves neatly raked up. A blue, blue sky with hawks circling high up. The future roast beef of England wandered placidly in the fields, munching on the last of the dried growth from summer.
The center of Meryton consisted of lovely timber framed buildings, the main beams of the trees forming big Xs and squares, that were filled around with white plaster to form the main walls. It was a small place, and Darcy had always loved little country market towns. They had enough size for a man to pick his own friends without being forced to know everyone in the vicinity, while they were small enough to be understood and encompassed by a single mind. Even a middling city such as Derby had more complexities than a bubbling human brain could properly contain.
After making their three calls on the gentry families of the neighborhood who were resident in and around Meryton to deliver their invitations and make a fifteen-minute call — the entirety of which Darcy experienced with a sense of unfamiliar eagerness to move on — they mounted up again. But when they turned down the road towards Longbourn, they found the Bennet sisters walking in a small column themselves into town. Elizabeth was accompanied by a heavy set man with a flabby face who wore a black coat and a white clerical collar.
He spoke constantly to Elizabeth, but it seemed as though she only half attended to him.
Her eyes were drawn by the sound of their horses, and she looked direct at Darcy.
It was like he'd been stabbed in the stomach.
Bingley and Darcy both dismounted and hurried towards them. As they did Bingley called out to Miss Bennet, "We were just on the road to Longbourn to inquire after your health. But I can see for myself that you do very well."
Miss Bennet smiled softly at him, and replied, "As you see."
"As I see. As I see. You look very well indeed. Might you introduce me to your friend?"
Elizabeth took the honor of making the introductions upon herself. "Our cousin, Mr. Collins. He is our father's heir, and a clergyman in Kent. Mr. Bingley, of Netherfield park, and Mr. Darcy of Pemberley."
"Oh!" Mr. Collins's eyes went wide at the introduction to Darcy. "Mr. Darcy, my dear Mr. Darcy. It is a great piece of good luck that we have met! I have the honor to inform you that your esteemed aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and her daughter, Anne de Bourgh, were both well and full of health Saturday last."
"Oh," Darcy replied. "I am glad to hear it."
"I have been so blessed, beyond any expectations that I might have had of ever possessing good fortune, to find myself under the patronage of Lady Catherine. It was she who appointed me to my present post as the vicar of Hunsford. And now that I have been established in life by her kindness and preferment, I am in such a blessed position that I can properly seek to provide amends to my kind cousins for the situation which will send their estate to me upon the decease of Mr. Bennet."
Upon saying that he looked meaningfully towards Elizabeth, who looked back at Mr. Collins with a smile that did not go to her eyes.
What did he mean?
"Oh, also," Bingley exclaimed as soon as Collins made that speech. "We've settled a date for that ball I promised you—" He looked towards Miss Lydia as he said that. "I've brought the invitation with me." He handed the letter with the engraved invitation to Miss Bennet. Then Bingley said to Mr. Collins, "If you are still present with your cousins one week from today, on Tuesday, twenty-six, the invitation of course includes you. Delighted, I'm always delighted to host everyone."
"That is very kind of you. I shall then attend, as it is my intention to remain with the Bennets until the Saturday following, when I shall return to Hunsford. Lady Catherine would not approve of it were I to find a curate as substitute for more than one week at a time. Further, as I consider it to be keeping with my dignity as a clergyman to dance, I shall take this opportunity to ask my fair cousin for the honor of the first two dances of the night." He said this bowing to Elizabeth and smiling at her.
She glanced at Darcy, with an expression in her eyes that was intense, and which he could not interpret. Then she smiled back at Mr. Collins, "I then consider myself promised to you."
A growl of an ugly feeling towards Mr. Collins clawed its way up Darcy's spine, one vertebrate at a time.
Bloated face, bloated words, and a favorite of Aunt Catherine's.
Upon Bingley inquiring of Miss Bennet what had drawn them to Meryton, the group of them continued together towards Elizabeth's aunt, Mrs. Phillips, who they'd intended to call on. Darcy put himself in a line of three, with Elizabeth in the middle, and the puffing, puffy faced Mr. Collins on the far side.
Before Darcy said anything, Mr. Collins began to speak about Lady Catherine, peppering every sentence with praise of her, praise of Anne de Bourgh, and a reflection upon his good fortune in life.
When they reached the two-story building which served both as Mr. Phillip's offices and house, Mrs. Phillips shouted down from the window, "Hullo Lizzy, Jane, all — come with friends? You are all welcome come up. Come up."
This was the residence of one of her close blood connections! Being faced with her beauty again had caused Darcy to begin to forget the considerations that spoke against pursuing her hand, but the hovel in front of him forcefully reminded him.
Yes.
It was a hovel. And if he married Elizabeth, this shouting middle-aged woman would be his aunt as well.
He needed to focus as hard as he possibly could upon how much he disliked this location, because otherwise he would forget himself. Mr. Collins's obvious admiration of Elizabeth triggered a deep jealousy in Darcy. However, Mr. Collins's conversation soon relieved Darcy's anxiety on that account: The man was a fool, and there was no doubt that Elizabeth saw that as clearly as he could.
Bingley begged off the offer to come upstairs and visit, as he still had a stack of other invitations that it was incumbent upon him to deliver today.
That did not stop Mrs. Phillips from delivering a shouted invitation to them to attend a card party that night, as she was sure there would always be ample room for another fellow or two.
Late that afternoon Darcy saddled Aristotle to ride back into Meryton with Bingley.
Such a card party, in such a house! And all hosted by a small country lawyer. The event was beneath him.
But it was impossible for him to stay away from Elizabeth.
And it was particularly impossible for him to stay away from her while he knew that her cousin would be there with his simpering sidelong looks at her body.
Upon their arrival, Darcy and Mr. Bingley were shown up the narrow staircase by the maid — perhaps Mr. Phillips did not keep a manservant.
The room itself had a floral wallpaper and a mix of wooden furniture. Chairs and tables arranged for cards, with lamps in the middle of the tables, and several others mounted on the walls. The screens in front of the fireplace had a natural scene that was roughly painted in a way that gave the impression that they'd been done as an amateur offering by a not overly talented child.
When Darcy entered the room he found Mr. Collins speaking to Mrs. Phillips while Elizabeth stood next to him.
"This room is so well furnished that I could imagine myself in the small breakfast parlor at Rosings," Mr. Collins said to his hostess.
"Excuse me?" Mrs. Phillips replied in a huff.
"Oh! Surely you do not mean to think that I intended anything but a compliment. Rosings is the great estate of my patroness, Lady de Bourgh! In one of her drawing rooms the chimney-piece alone cost eight hundred pounds, not to mention the glazing on all the windows — of which there are very many."
"Ah, I now understand," Mrs. Phillips replied. "A very great house."
Elizabeth watched this scene with a small light in her eyes that was distinctly delighted. She seemed to enjoy the absurdity of the conversation.
"One of the greatest in England," Mr. Collins replied to Mrs. Phillips, and then he turned to Darcy, "Mr. Darcy, you can confirm, as it is the estate of your noble aunt. Is there not no greater compliment that can be played to a place, than to compare it to Rosings?"
"You are here?" Elizabeth exclaimed.
"As you see," Darcy replied quietly.
Her eyes danced side to side, as though she wanted an escape.
Mr. Collins said, "Miss Elizabeth, you will also, I am sure, one day be able to confirm what I say about the grandeur of Rosings."
"Ah, excuse me," she replied. "I must speak with my sister upon a small matter."
Darcy found himself trapped by politeness into describing his impressions of Rosings, and how it compared to the room he was presently in for the next few minutes. However as soon as Mrs. Phillips left the conversation to greet a new guest, Darcy immediately walked towards where Elizabeth spoke with several other persons.
Before he could reach them, she bowed to everyone with a false smile, and once more begged a need to go elsewhere. Darcy found himself in a conversation he cared for not at all with Charlotte Lucas and Mr. Long.
What made the matter worse was that Elizabeth left this conversation to go to Mr. Collins's side. She spoke to Mr. Collins with smiles and a little liveliness. But it was clear to Darcy, as a keen observer of Miss Elizabeth, that there was a falsity and flatness to her manner, and that she did not really listen to his long speeches.
When the card tables were brought out, Elizabeth arranged matters so that her set at whist was already filled. Mr. Collins was her partner and Miss Lucas and a girl whose name Darcy had forgotten filled the other pair.
He found himself seated next to Lydia Bennet at a game of speculation. Miss Lydia determinedly talked and carelessly let him see her cards.
As a gentleman, Darcy made his best effort to not take advantage of the information garnered in that way, and in fact he actively tried to lose the game. Even though they played for low stakes, his fortune was so much vastly greater than that of anyone else at the table, that it would be almost rude, in his view, to augment it in such a way.
Lydia Bennet played badly enough that she still lost nearly as much as she won.
Half the night passed in this way.
The whole time Darcy kept looking over at Elizabeth as she smiled and sometimes laughed with Mr. Collins. And the longer he did, the more filled he was with disgust.
When the first round of cards broke up, cheap refreshments in the form of mediocre wine and baked cheese on toast were brought in, carried on wide silver trays by the maid and Mrs. Phillips.
Elizabeth still avoided him.
She walked herself and Mr. Collins over to the corner of the room where she listened with a faux attentive expression to his constant stream of words.
At a certain point such a provocation cannot be ignored.
Darcy marched over to the two of them, and he said with a tight voice, "Mr. Collins, I beg your pardon. I realize there is a matter upon which I wish to speak privately with Miss Elizabeth."
"Mr. Darcy! Of course! Of course. I could deny nothing to the nephew of my splendid patroness. Cousin Elizabeth! What great honor he is showing to you. Mr. Darcy himself!"
Then the clergyman stood there smiling, as though Darcy would begin speaking about the private matter in front of him. He no doubt thought that as a man of the cloth he was a safe receptacle for any information that anyone in the kingdom might possess.
Darcy glared at Mr. Collins.
He did not take the hint.
So instead, Darcy took Elizabeth's arm and walked her to the opposite corner of the rather small drawing room.
With a glance to make sure there was no one else close enough to overhear them, Darcy hissed at Elizabeth. "What are you about!"
"Whatever do you mean?" Her color was high.
"Mr. Collins."
Elizabeth flushed deeper, and he could see embarrassment in her eyes, but she stood straighter and angrily faced him directly. "He is an honorable man."
"He is the worst fool I've ever had the misfortune of ever speaking with."
From the flattening of her face, it was clear that he'd offended Elizabeth again.
"Come now," Darcy said, "He is your relation, and he is my aunt's clergyman. I'll honor him in both capacities — though a man who can abase himself so far that my aunt approves of him has a streak of base servility that is not fitting in a gentleman, or any freeborn son of England. But he is not—"
"You do not like your aunt?" Elizabeth interrupted him crossly. "That is a pity as I am like to spend many evenings across the card table from her, and—"
Darcy felt pale and icy cold wash down his face. "It is decided? You are already packaged and sold to that toad?"
Elizabeth's face went a deep crimson. "You have made it clear to me that it is no business of yours, and—"
"Tell me, once for all, are you engaged to him?" As Darcy spoke in his imperious tones, he heard an echo in his own voice of his aunt, Lady Catherine.
The glare with which Elizabeth answered his question made clear her view of his impertinence. But Darcy did not care. He needed to know, and for reasons that he both could and could not articulate. If Elizabeth married Mr. Collins, it would solely be wrong.
At last, she sighed angrily. "I am not."
"And will you promise me never to enter into such an engagement?"
"No, Fitzwilliam Darcy, I will make no promise of the kind." Rather than shouting, her voice turned icily cold. "I am only resolved to act in that manner, which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, without reference to you, or to any person so wholly unconnected with me."
"You cannot marry him. How could it possibly constitute your happiness to marry such a creature?" Darcy's voice was almost confused. "You are not so mercenary that—"
"I listened to you. What was the effect that you expected your speech upon my father's imprudence, and the mercenary nature of sensible gentlemen such as yourselves? You made it clear that no sensible gentleman would ever deign to marry a woman in such a condition as I am. Then who is but insensible gentlemen? Mr. Collins will serve admirably in that role."
"You cannot marry him, not you. No." The imperiousness was gone out of Darcy's voice. He was deflated.
This was his fault. That damned speech, a damned speech which really was about himself.
"Is there some other gentleman you know who might make me a better offer? — No? I thought not."
Elizabeth roughly walked away, ignoring the arm that Darcy reached out towards her.
Darcy jealousy watched Elizabeth talk to Mr. Collins for the remainder of the night. She appeared to always be cheerful and in high spirits, but there was something in how she oriented herself that told Darcy that she always knew that he was watching her, and that she was performing an appearance of happiness far more for his benefit than for Mr. Collins's.
The next morning, Darcy knew he needed to see her. He could not admit why he wanted to see her so much to himself, but deep down, he knew that he meant to make an offer to her. His plan had been to go out and speak to her during one of her long walks… speak to her about… something.
Over the next few days, Darcy tried to find an opportunity to talk to Elizabeth privately, but fate seemed to conspire against him. The weather remained uncooperative, and the constant rain made outdoor encounters impossible. As the days passed, his anxiety grew, fearing that he might soon hear of an engagement between Elizabeth and Mr. Collins.
He was being a fool.
By the time Darcy had determined he would simply call on the Bennets and force a chance to speak to her again privately, the day of the ball had come.
While the morning continued wet, in the afternoon the clouds finally opened up and the sun shined out, and it turned into an unseasonably warm day, more like the first week of October than the last week of November.
The roads were still all mud, but that did not stop the crush of carriages which came as the short winter day was ending up the drive to Netherfield.
As Darcy watched eagerly for the first sign of the Bennet carriage, he noted almost absently that Bingley seemed to be equally eager in watching for some particular carriage — and that Bingley perked up, like Darcy did, upon seeing the sight of the Bingley's conveyance coming up the gravel drive.
As he waited to see Elizabeth once more, Darcy lived in terror of the possibility that he would hear during the course of this evening the announcement that an engagement had in fact been formed between Elizabeth Bennet and her worthless clerical cousin, Mr. Collins.