Fitzwilliam Darcy reflected that the only thing better than a good meal shared with a lovely woman might be the promise of many such to come. They both took a rest from the previous discussion, but he suspected she was thinking as hard about things as he was, so their actual conversation fell into books, but it would be considered half-hearted at best. He knew they were probably in the discussion of their lives, and honestly had no idea how it would end.
He reflected that being effectively called her best friend could be interpreted several ways, not all of them good.
In the best marriages, couples became their own mutual best friends, but they rarely started as such. Most came together through a combination of happenstance, suitability, connexions, mutual interest, commonality of purpose, and, it must be admitted, attraction or lust. Once the register was signed, they had a choice to come together, drift apart, or muddle along—and he had known many examples of each.
It was rare in his experience for eligible men and ladies to be friends. There was the obvious problem that marriage was always an awkward subject, and any two eligible people of opposite sexes would have to at least think about it, and if not, their relatives and friends would be certain to perform the office for them. Had he attempted being friends with Elizabeth back in Meryton, Mrs Bennet would have been all over him within days.
On the negative side of the ledger, friendship was something a lady could offer when she thought well enough of a man but would not marry him absent some distress. For example, in the fall, Elizabeth could easily have been good friends with Bingley because he was off the market, so to speak, but had he not been attached to Jane, he felt certain Elizabeth would have liked him well enough but would not have married him unless she had to.
Contrarily, the biggest stumbling block to their happiness were his manners and her lack of trust. Being called one's best friend must be an improvement, no?
Fortunately, just when such distressing thoughts had twisted his mind into a confused muddle, he was rescued by Cecil, who knocked on the door and bowed quite properly, but then ruined the effect by demonstrating his age and yelling, "Mr Darcy… Miss Lizzy… WE HAVE PIE!"
The boy's enthusiasm took both members of the couple out of their brooding, which to be honest was doing neither of them any good, and celebrated the news the same as they would an end to the wars—which naturally obliged Max to howl outside the door just for the sheer joy of it.
As promised, the pie was less than an hour from the parsonage oven, and it was accompanied by milk, tea, Jane and the colonel. Elizabeth was starting to feel pained, so she asked Darcy to surreptitiously amend hers with brandy.
The group had a rowdy discussion about some nonsense Richard dreamed up for half an hour, then with the sun perhaps an hour from setting, everyone left to allow the interrupted discussion to continue.
"Where were we?" Darcy asked.
"In Mirror-Land, I believe," she replied nervously. "I think we have laid your officious interference to rest, agreed?"
"It seems as restful as it is likely to get. Perhaps I might point out that you are the one who is ill, while Jane has taken up the impertinence yoke."
Elizabeth chuckled. "She makes a better patient than me."
"I wish you would not do that," Darcy said softly but sternly.
"Do what?"
"I like and admire Jane a great deal in a platonic way, but I sometimes think you take your mother's poison more seriously than you think. Jane is not a bit better than you in any meaningful way, but you give her more credit and yourself less than any objective observer would account… unless of course, you are using the Mirror-Land reversal to assert that you are a vastly better patient than your sister, in which case, I withdraw my objection, although in Mirror-Land, my objection should be treated as confirmation. Having said that, in all honesty, since I am always wrong in Ordinary-Land, and thus always right in Mirror-Land, I will calmly assert that you and Jane are different but equal, so therefore according to the symmetric property of equality, you would be equal whether in Mirror-Land or not."
Elizabeth laughed gaily. "I had no idea you replaced Mr Collins in Mirror-Land. Well done!"
"Perhaps you are the taciturn one while I am the teaser?"
She chuckled a bit more, then turned serious. "I have two other mirrors to discuss, if you do not mind. I have saved the most painful for last."
"I am ready," he replied gently, recapturing her hand.
She sighed again, took on a serious expression, looked down to their joined hands, and gave a squeeze for strength.
"This time, it is YOU who are desperately trying to pretend something VERY hurtful, and only partially true, was said."
Darcy flinched, though whether it was because he felt her pain or his own was far more than he could sort out in the moment. He could only surmise that his lady had delt him a hand that he had to play, as wishing for better cards accomplished nothing.
"I wondered how we might discuss that, particularly since Mrs Buxton gives a reasonable chance you would forget it."
She looked both rueful and wistful a moment, then stared down at her lap in deep thought, which Darcy did not have the nerve to disrupt.
"Funny stuff, Laudanum… an odd mixture for certain! Sometimes it brought me blessed oblivion… sometimes horrific hallucinations —"
She seemed to stop to think a moment, and Darcy replied, "Lady Matlock told me of the ants and serpents."
She chuckled slightly. There was no humour in it, but Darcy judged her level of tension had decreased—or at least she was making less effort to dig a hole through his hand with her fingernails. The only thing saving him real pain was they had kept the nails as short as possible during her convalescence.
"If JANE got snakes, it is probably best to leave the subject without discussing what you got."
Darcy chuckled, and she relaxed slightly. "Pray continue."
She thought a bit more while Darcy studied her intently.
"Sometimes… … it brought me intense, vivid… visions, I suppose you would call them. Sometimes, I thought I had worked out all the secrets of the universe, only to have lost them upon wakening. Sometimes, I would later remember what had seemed so… so… sublime, I suppose—and I would then recognize it was nothing but stupidity."
He squeezed her hand. "Perhaps there was something in your ruminations that was both true and beyond explanation. For example, your fears about Miss Lydia turned out to be prophetic."
"I suppose, though you probably could have predicted that as reliably as a tidal chart, had you bothered when you left, so I doubt it was some particular insight."
Darcy flinched slightly at that but could not contradict her assessment. He knew what Wickham was and left Meryton to his depredations without a backward glance.
She seemed uninterested in that topic, as she just carried on as if he had not interrupted, which suggested further interruptions ought to be avoided.
"Sometimes… sometimes… it felt like I could run my entire life right before my eyes, move forward and back in time, change something, and see what happened. Often the hallucinations were so intense I underreported my pain and just endured it, because I found pain preferable to terror."
Darcy just stared, not daring to interrupt again, but feeling as if his heart was being clenched by a giant's fist.
"Sometimes I wanted to feel the pain… sometimes I thought I deserved it… sometimes I knew I should cut down the medicine but lacked the fortitude… sometimes I wished I would just die, since I was likely to anyway and it would end the torment."
Unable to say anything, he simply continued rubbing circles on the back of her hands, which he had started reflexively.
She sighed raggedly and reached over to clasp his hand in recognition of his efforts but continued without pause.
"Then of course, there is the issue of memory. Fever hurts memory, and Laudanum makes it worse. How could I know at any given time if a memory was real, or just something I dreamed up? For example, I can remember every single word, inflection, and nuance in that tirade about the last man in the world, but there have been times when I questioned whether I said it or only imagined it. In fact, it featured prominently in one of my… what shall I call them… alternate scenarios, different paths, roads not taken?"
"Were any of those visions useful?"
"Once again, the memory plays tricks. My mind has been clear for a week or more, and I think I have sorted what happened from what I imagined, but I will never be certain. How would I know? I did, however, remember enough for that stern lecture I gave Lady Matlock," then looked to him for his nod.
She sighed again, and looked down, "So now you know."
He took a shuddering breath. "May I make an observation?"
"You must! I believe I understand my own mind, but if I were mad, or still on the opium, or just mistaken—how would I know?"
"You know more than you think, and I believe you should trust yourself."
"Thank you."
He thought back through the conversation. "May I presume I am no longer the last man in the world."
"I doubt you ever were. Remember, I started this segment asserting those words were as untrue as those you hurled at me at the Meryton Assembly."
"Ahhhhhh… While I hate to dispute with you, I do not believe those were actually untrue. Had I proposed before this incident, you could have said all of those with a clear conscience and accurate assessment, as I would have deserved every word."
"Probably," she said, then stared pensively a moment. "I will not dispute if you were the last man, or within the last dozen, or even the bottom half. It seems pointless, aside from the fact that I said those hateful words after the incident. I presume you know in vino veritas?"
"I discussed that exact subject with Jane. I was feeling terrible, and well-believed the vino-veritas theory. She disputed me by telling a story about Sir William."
Elizabeth flinched, showing she knew what he was talking about, and whispered, "Perhaps you were both partially right."
"Who can say, but might I make an observation?"
"Pray, do so."
He gave it his full attention for a minute or so as she repaid his rubbing of hands with her own.
"During your convalescence you staked out two wildly different positions with similar outcomes. You vacillate between I am not good enough for you, and you are not good enough for me, with a few in-between?"
She did not appear to enjoy the stark language but shook her head as she was unable to dispute the assertion.
"Am I correct that you ended this experience thinking more about your ability to be a proper mistress?"
"Not quite. I would put me closer to the middle of the spectrum. Are you willing to indulge a rather uncomfortable exercise?"
"Certainly," he said, though his enthusiasm was suspect.
"Let us play what if. This will sound far-fetched, but anyone who heard our actual story would find it equally so."
"Agreed."
"What if Lady Catherine did not meddle with Charlotte's grocery order. More specifically, what if Charlotte had not run out of ginger the day the colonel told me about your interference. She is with child, which causes upset stomach. Ginger is a good remedy, but she had none with her tea, so she was feeling queasy. Had Lady Catherine left well enough alone, Charlotte would have joined me in dissuading Mr Collins from pestering me to attend Rosings that evening, and you would have found yourself without my company."
"It sounds like it might have much to recommend it for you, less so for my cousin and me."
"Perhaps… perhaps not. I spent at least a day believing that had happened in fact—and I went through it in my mind several times. It was… instructive. As I said, sometimes I thought the combination of Laudanum, fever, time, and attention gave me what seemed to be good insights, and I thought that one of the better instances."
"I am intrigued."
"By your own admission, you were close to proposing, yes?"
"Yes."
"Let us suppose that I stayed back. You had been 'accidentally' meeting me on walks for a week. You had discussed my attachment to Longbourn and the ease of travel for people with money like you. Now that I think about it, you strongly implied I might stay at Rosings on my next visit, which frankly made me wonder if you either had gone mad or were suggesting a partiality on the colonel's part. You were due to leave in a couple of days?"
"That is all correct."
"You would have found yourself the choice of listening to Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh yammering with my cousin or sneaking over to the parsonage for an impromptu proposal. Are you certain you would have resisted the temptation?"
"Now that I think about it, it seems likely. It would have seemed a Heaven-sent opportunity."
"Now, let us further presume that, according to your own testimony, at the time you thought me quite below you? Do not try to deny it."
"I would not dare," he said, looking down in embarrassed chagrin, unable to form a coherent reply.
"You are tongue-tied at the best of times, and in a situation like that, I cannot imagine you would not have made a complete mess of it. In my dream, you spent far more time talking about my inferiority than your affection, though that obviously did not happen."
"The way I was thinking at the time, I well might have," he replied grimly.
"Now, remember that I was two or three hours from learning of your perfidy with Mr Bingley, and I was still in thrall to Mr Wickham and his supposed misfortunes, which you had never taken the trouble to correct. Couple that with the fact that I had to forcefully reject Mr Collins three or four times, and finally beg my father for relief. I would tried to be polite, but I imagine I would have torn strips from you."
Darcy sighed. "So that is where that ah…"
She helpfully said, "… diatribe… do not be afraid to speak the truth."
"That… diatribe… came from."
"Yes. In my imagination, I extracted vengeance for all Jane's hurt over four months, three months of my mother blathering on just making Jane and I feel worse, years and years of parent's indifference—I do believe it all might have come due on your account."
"It seems plausible."
"Now you understand, but I bring this up for a reason. I do have a method to my madness, so bear with me."
"Of course."
"Let us say you proposed in all your arrogant glory that I understand now but would not have then. Let us further suppose I gave you the response you had the dubious pleasure of hearing a couple of weeks ago, or worse."
"Sounds fun," he said with a grim chuckle, trying desperately to make the discourse less distressing.
She leaned back, though she never quite let go of his hand.
"Then what?"
"Pardon?" he asked in utter confusion.
"Then what? I would be hurt, angry, and entirely unable to even speak about the issue. You would have been similarly hurt and angry. What would we have done? Think about it and be honest!"
He did just that, while she surreptitiously took a rather unladylike swig from a brandy flask she kept in the bed for emergencies.
He finally sighed. "I like to believe I would eventually have been properly humbled. That I would have taken your reproofs to heart and tried to become a better man, but that process would take months or years. In the immediate aftermath, I cannot imagine I would have entered the arena again, but I suppose I might have written you a letter. I believe my pride would have demanded you understand my actions with Bingley, my undiminished affection would compel me to warn you about Wickham, what little charity I was feeling would compel me to leave a blessing at the end—then I would have abandoned the field."
Elizabeth found tears running down her eyes, and Darcy was quick to dab them, though his were not doing so well either.
She finally blew her nose and continued. "Now, suppose we met later by chance. Perhaps at a ball in London, perhaps Mr Bingley might grow a spine and return to Meryton. Perhaps something as far-fetched as stumbling on you in Lambton when I toured with my aunt and uncle. What then?"
"I like to believe I would have shown you, with every civility at my disposal, that I had taken your reproofs to heart and was a changed man. I would have had no qualms about using Georgiana to extend our acquaintance, inviting your uncle to shoot or fish, inviting you to stay at Pemberley, and anything else I could think of—if you would have given just a bit of hope."
"I believe you," she said wistfully. "And it probably would have worked too, except in this scenario, Lydia would probably have already ruined us."
"I like to think it would have worked, and I like to think Miss Lydia would not have done so," he said, unable to add much more.
"Now we come to the crux of the matter. I have had a lot of time in this bed, and done a lot of thinking, with and without the laudanum. Let us say that, in one of those scenarios, I did in fact give you a fair chance. Not necessarily a clean slate, because that would stop me from being aware of all I had learned about your character, both good and bed, but a fair chance."
"That would have been generous, and I would have tried to make the best of it."
"Now is where it gets hard," she said, with the tears falling again. "What if, after all that, I calmly, rationally, with a thorough examination of my heart and mind—decided I did not want to spend my life with you, or that I liked you well enough, but you would not make a good enough husband for me? What would you do then?"
For a moment, Darcy felt the giant who had been relentlessly squeezing on his heart stopped toying with him and simply drove him into the ground with his fist. He thought he might die on the spot or run from the cabin and up the hill to find the nearest poor excuse for a cliff in Kent to throw himself off.
He finally answered honestly, "I should have had to release you, and hope you were happy."
"Exactly! And now, we are to what I said both earlier and to Lady Matlock. Love cannot be selfish. If you truly loved me, you would have to do what is best for ME! Anything short of that is not love, it is possession."
Darcy sighed, though he still had trouble breathing, and that pesky giant had taken to thumping his head hard enough to make a megrim.
He made off with Elizabeth's flask far less surreptitiously and took a swig far better suited to a sailor than a gentleman, which had two positive effects.
The first was that the brandy hit him like a hammer, but fortunately on the opposite side from the giant, so they cancelled each other out.
The second was that it made Elizabeth giggle in a way that suggested her own sip was even farther from usual ladylike standards than expected.
She hiccupped. "The analogy is only vaguely appropriate. Better would be if I fell in love with a penniless soldier."
"You missed your chance," Darcy laughed, beginning to wonder about the advisability of the brandy.
"My father asserted you were twice the man he was, but it would still be galling to spend my life not living up to expectations, when I could just as well lower the bar in the first place."
"I do not like it."
"I do not expect you to like it. I expect you to hate-hate-hate it. I do, however, expect you to agree if you want to learn Mirror-Land's last little joke on us."
Darcy felt the squeeze again, but he knew in his very soul, that every decision made between the two of them depend on him honestly, coming to her way of thinking. He despised having to decide something that might well be either heroic or defeatist, depending on how you looked at it—and that was without even considering the mirrors.
He finally admitted defeat. "You win this point, Elizabeth. If you wish to be released from my affections, I will do so and will not pester you again. You have my word, for what it is worth."
"That is worth considerably more than you seem to think, William. It means everything! I could NEVER even consider a life with a man I could not trust. Women are given far too little power in this world. The ability to say 'no' is one of the very few, and we only get to use it once."
"I hope you realize that what the law says and what I believe are very far apart?"
She stared hard. "If I did not believe that with all my heart, we would be having a very different conversation, and you would not find it the least bit congenial."
With such a heavy commitment made in good faith, and absolute certainty he would abide her decision if she decided against him, he felt relieved. Naturally, she had left him one little loophole. Whatever his aunt thought, she had all the time in the world to make her choice. He would have no qualms eschewing London society for as long as it took. Georgiana seemed content at Longbourn, and he was content to leave her there for years if required.
He finally smiled and held out his hand like he would for a business deal, and they shook in all gravity and seriousness.
"I do reserve the right to try to convince you right up until the time of decision," he said.
"That is only fair, and I reserve the right to pile on as many requirements as eventually descend from this addled mind."
"Agreed!"
They were both inordinately relieved to FINALLY, after so many months, and so many conversations, and so much interference, and so much pride and stubbornness, be in accord.
Elizabeth looked at him carefully, but with more nervousness than he expected.
"If you have no objection, may I make use of our poor abused mirror one last time, before we put it away for good?" in a tone seriousness enough to make Darcy nervous again, to which she added, "You need not fear—simply take this as an even more extreme example of opposites than you assuming poor Mr Collins's role. This time, we are dealing with the exact opposite."
"I anxiously await."
She looked at him hard enough he would not be surprised if he burst into flames before speaking.
"I HATED you last fall."
