A/N: Onward.
Darcy's Struggle
Chapter Three: Character and Apology
That evening, after his valet, Steele, left his room, Darcy sat on his bed, his head in his hands. He sighed and looked up, not toward the door but toward one wall.
Miss Elizabeth's room was next to the last room on the other end of the hallway, past the top of the staircase. She might still be by her sister's bedside or in her room, asleep — and again he pictured her in her bed, her hair down, but this time asleep, her eyes closed.
The thought of her so near after a day of rather feverish daydreaming did not bode well for his rest. His nighttime dreams. The barriers, at least the physical barriers between himself and Miss Elizabeth seemed almost permeable to him, as if they could not keep him from her or her from him.
He stood up and gave himself a frustrated shake, head and shoulders, trying to establish the reins on his hungry imagination. Instead of picturing her abed, hair disheveled, he forced himself to remember and to reconsider her comment to him in the library, after he had awkwardly confessed the need to regulate his passions. I am proving it even now. She had not only remembered the location of a Rambler quotation on resentment, a peculiarly apposite one, but she had expressed her surprise that the particular passion he confessed to was not pride.
Her comments had struck him dumb. To engage in banter with Miss Bingley was one thing, Darcy had known her for a long time and felt nothing for her beyond a common concern due to his best friend's sister, but to banter with Miss Elizabeth felt beyond his powers. It had taken him only a few encounters during the day to realize that when she was near, he seemed to be able to manage only to stare, to blurt or to be silent. Perhaps tomorrow I will do better. He had, at least (in fairness to himself) offered a few worthwhile general remarks on the Rambler.
Miss Elizabeth's surprise that he had not mentioned pride made him almost certain that she had heard what he said to Bingley at the assembly. He squeezed his eyes shut in regret and annoyance. Recalling that moment led him to recall all his behavior at the assembly, and he realized that Miss Elizabeth would not have needed the additional evidence of his comment about her to accuse him of pride and to hint that she thought his pride improper.
He sat down on his bed again, his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands.
He wondered again at the trace of self-consciousness in her eyes when she talked of resentment. More proof, he assumed, that she had heard him at the assembly, and a tacit acknowledgment of how his stupid remark had affected her. She resented him for it. He thought of her severe frown beneath her bonnet in Meryton. Resentment kept her from meeting my gaze. And she must have told her sisters; that would explain Miss Lydia's tongue. But Miss Elizabeth had, in the library, agreed with Johnson's characterization of resentment, and had admitted that no resentment was proper. — So perhaps there was hope that she had overcome it, or was struggling to overcome it.
He needed to apologize. He would apologize. All he needed was a moment with her, alone.
The thought of being alone with her spurred his imagination to slip its reins again and spread her unpinned chestnut hair once more upon her white pillow.
He sighed.
As he blew out his candle, he finally understood what she had meant about 'nicely' having many shades of meaning.
How can a woman I am so behind be so beneath me?
The Netherfield darkness offered no answer.
Thursday, November 14, 1811
The next morning Darcy stared glumly over his coffee, exhausted from a restless night. Bingley stared back, looking equally glum and exhausted. Darcy suspected that each of them had spent the night in thought on the opposite end of the upstairs hallway, Bingley in Miss Bennet's room and Darcy in Miss Elizabeth's.
The breakfast parlor was silent. Miss Bingley and the Hursts had not yet come down.
Bingley roused himself enough to send a servant upstairs to check on Miss Bennet's condition. After the servant left, Bingley turned his tired eyes to Darcy.
"You did it again, you know, Darcy."
"Did what?" Darcy asked, not in the mood for Bingley's uncharacteristic indirectness.
"Acted stupidly. What was that odd conversation with Miss Elizabeth? Does a gentleman talk about passions with a lady, even in general, much less offer particular confessions in mixed company?"
Darcy shifted his eyes from Bingley to the remains of his coffee. The word 'stupid' now seemed to be trailing Darcy doggedly through Hertfordshire. "I was making conversation. I did not intend to talk about that aspect of Johnson. It just came to mind."
"And you mentioned resentment, I assume, because of Mr. Wickham?"
Darcy frowned and sipped his coffee to shield his dismay from Bingley. When he put his cup down, he admitted it. "I cannot forget what he has done; I cannot forgive it."
Bingley nodded, and Darcy felt relief that he had decided to share the whole Ramsgate affair with him. He had resisted it at first, loathe to share so private and painful a matter, loathe to risk his beloved sister in any way, even by entrusting the story to his best friend. But it had been too great a burden, too great and bitter a betrayal, to hold it close and secret. He had shared it with Bingley and no one else except Colonel Fitzwilliam, her co-guardian.
Wickham! I have the fortune but he always seems fortunate, able to escape to torment me afresh. A cat that lands on its feet.
Darcy knew, though it had never been discussed between them, that Bingley had asked him to Netherfield not only to advise him about the house and the lands but in a bid to turn his thoughts from Ramsgate and Wickham, to interrupt his incessant brooding on how close his sister had come to being ruined.
My fault, all of it my fault.
For years, Wickham had been a malevolent presence on the edge of Darcy's consciousness, periodically stealing into the center only to sink Darcy into pain and shame. A smiling villain, on the friendliest terms with all the vices, Wickham knew how to turn virtues into liabilities. Again and again, he had used Darcy's honesty and justice as weapons. It happened in Ramsgate. After talking Georgiana into an elopement that Darcy narrowly prevented, Wickham used her tender feelings for him as a shield against the consequences of his action. Darcy could not bring himself to punish Wickham as he should while his sister still believed herself in love with him. Darcy had let the snake wind away instead of stomping on it. Once Georgiana understood what Wickham had planned, once she had listened to the cringing and weeping confession of Mrs. Younge, Georgiana's feelings for Wickham began to lessen — but by then Wickham had vanished, predictably leaving his current mistress and conspirator to endure the consequences of his scheme.
Darcy had carried Ramsgate into the Meryton assembly. It had not been the object of his thoughts or feelings, but it had polluted them and made him more anxious and disagreeable than he might otherwise have been. Only last night, prompted by Miss Elizabeth's comment about pride, had he recognized how much Ramsgate had affected him.
"I understand, Darcy, I do. Truly. When I consider it, I...well, I get upset. Sweet, trusting Georgiana! But she is safe now, Darcy, in London with Colonel Fitzwilliam watching over her, and Wickham is in the wind, gone, I hope never to be seen again."
Darcy took a breath and tried to release the tension he felt. Bingley was right. Miss Elizabeth was right. He needed to let Ramsgate go, all his resentment.
And just as he breathed again, Miss Elizabeth walked into the breakfast parlor. Darcy's tension immediately increased — although Ramgate removed to the edge of his thoughts.
The men stood and Miss Elizabeth gave them a curtsey. "Good morning, Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy. The servant came to check on Jane's condition for you, and since she is awake and feeling less feverish, and has even eaten a few bites, and since Mr. Jones, the apothecary, is just with her, I asked the servant to let me bring you the news and our thanks for your kindness."
Bingley's smile had his heart in it. Darcy could see it and he supposed Miss Elizabeth could too. "My pleasure. That's very good news, very good news indeed!"
Miss Elizabeth smiled and went to the sideboard to gather breakfast. Darcy watched her but tried not to stare. She was in a buttery yellow dress that accented her light and pleasing form and contrasted beautifully with her brown hair.
Darcy swallowed and tried to think of something to say. That Bingley was watching him watch Miss Elizabeth did not help.
Just as Darcy opened his mouth, just as Miss Elizabeth took her seat across the table and next to Bingley, and the men sat, the butler entered the parlor. Behind him were the women he announced: "Mrs. Bennet, Miss Kitty Bennet, and Miss Lydia Bennet."
Darcy and Bingley stood again. The women curtsied.
"Welcome, Mrs. Bennet, ladies," Bingley said, "we have just gotten an encouraging report on Miss Bennet's health from Miss Elizabeth."
Darcy glanced at Miss Elizabeth and found her color had risen. "Yes, Mama, Jane is doing somewhat better. Mr. Jones is with her now; shall I take you up to see her?"
"Yes, please, please, right away. I wish to speak to Mr. Jones," Mrs. Bennet said, ignoring Miss Elizabeth's untouched plate. Miss Elizabeth led her mother and her sisters, who had been gawking at the parlor and Bingley but pointedly ignoring Darcy, out of the room.
Shortly after the Bennet women left, Miss Bingley and the Hursts came into the parlor for their breakfast. Bingley told them of Miss Bennet's improvement and the visit from Mrs. Bennet and her two youngest daughters. Miss Bingley rolled her eyes as she stirred her tea.
It was not long afterward that Mrs. Bennet entered the breakfast parlor again, followed by Miss Elizabeth and her two sisters. Mr. Hurst stood and his wife and Miss Bingley curtsied. The parlor was full of ups and downs.
Bingley addressed Mrs. Bennet immediately. "And how did you find Miss Bennet? I trust she has improved?"
Mrs. Bennet tried to hide a calculating look. "Improved? Marginally so, sir, but she remains a great deal too ill to be moved. Mr. Jones concurs. I fear she and Lizzy will have to trespass a little longer on your kindness."
"There is no trespass. I would not permit…that is, I would strongly discourage any scheme for Miss Bennet's removal. She seems comfortable here," — he looked at Miss Elizabeth who nodded — "and she is no trouble."
Mrs. Bennet cast a glance at Miss Bingley, who after a moment, weakly joined into her brother's sentiments. "She is welcome."
"It is wonderful," Mrs. Bennet gushed, "that she has found such friends in you. Of course, Jane is the most patient — why, she is just like that fellow in Scripture, that Job, except she is a young lady, and not covered with boils, — but she is quite a homily on patience and long-suffering. No one so good as Jane, no one so lovely."
Darcy saw Elizabeth's color rise again. Mrs. Bennet went on with no time for breath. "I hope, Mr. Bingley, that you have no plans to quit Netherfield in a hurry, despite your short lease."
Bingley laughed. "At the moment, I consider myself fixed here, quite fixed here, although I confess I am prone to do things in a hurry."
Miss Elizabeth, glad for the comment, seized on it. "That is just what I would have guessed of you!"
"You begin to understand me then, ma'am?"
"Oh yes, perfectly!" Miss Elizabeth answered, and Darcy felt an irrational pang of jealousy.
"I did not know, Miss Elizabeth," Darcy said, trying to fight back the pang and to ignore his clammy hands, "that you studied characters, but I suppose your love of Johnson should have suggested it to me. It must be an amusing study."
Her eyes met his with that now-familiar, peculiar brightness. "It is. Deep, intricate characters are the most amusing, but it does not follow that other types of characters are less estimable." She raised an eyebrow at Darcy.
"Lizzy, do not go on it that wild way your father encourages."
Darcy ignored Mrs. Bennet's chiding and ignored Miss Elizabeth's slight wince at it. "I suppose the country offers you few opportunities for character study; here, there is not such a variety of characters as in town."
Miss Elizabeth smiled at him, a genuine smile, and he felt his chest tighten. "You forget that individual characters themselves often alter. Intricate characters, for example, may grow yet more intricate over time."
Mrs. Bennet seemed offended by Darcy's comment, taking it as a criticism of the country. "There is plenty of alteration here in the country, of that you can be sure, and I trust it is more often change for the better in the country, whereas it is change for the worse in town."
Everyone seemed surprised at so undeserved but spirited a rebuke. After a long moment of silence, Darcy turned silently toward the sideboard, as if he were looking for more to eat.
Mrs. Bennet smiled a triumphant smile at the others as Darcy's back was turned. Miss Lydia giggled.
Miss Elizabeth tried to speak over the sound, blushing yet again. "Mama, Mr. Darcy meant no offense to the country. He was only considering numbers — there are not as many people in Meryton as in London, and you must admit that to be true."
"Well, certainly! And no one is denying it. But we meet with many people here; we dine with four and twenty families."
Darcy turned back around.
Bingley was on the edge of laughing, and he restrained himself only for Miss Elizabeth's sake. But Miss Bingley, standing to the side of Mrs. Bennet and so out of her view, rolled her eyes at Darcy but made sure that Miss Elizabeth saw.
Darcy shifted his shoulders, and stretched his neck, fighting tension. Miss Elizabeth noticed and, for a moment, her severe frown made a reappearance, but then she quickly smoothed her expression.
He smiled at her, trying to couch an apology in the smile, but he was not sure he succeeded or that she understood. She seemed primarily to be nervous that her mother would begin to speak again — her eyes were now on Mrs. Bennet — and Darcy could see that she was struggling for some new topic of conversation.
Miss Lydia stepped into the silence. "Mr. Bingley, I have been told that at the assembly you pledged yourself to give a ball here at Netherfield."
Bingley, surprised by Miss Lydia's forwardness, took a moment to respond. "Why, yes, so I did. And I would like nothing better. We must of course wait until your sister is recovered, but once she is, you may name the day of the ball."
Miss Bingley looked stricken. Darcy tried to catch Miss Elizabeth's eyes again, once more to try on his apologetic smile, but Mrs. Bennet and her daughters were ready to depart, and Miss Elizabeth hurried after them after muttering something about returning to her sister.
Miss Bingley huffed and speared Darcy with her eyes. "And that is the mother of your great beauty. It is easy to see the resemblance. I do believe Mrs. Bennet has tracked mud into the breakfast parlor."
Bingley checked the floor, missing his sister's sarcasm, but Darcy simply poured himself more coffee, hoping that Miss Bingley did not notice that the hand holding his cup shook slightly.
After breakfast, Darcy went to the library and stood alone looking out one of the windows.
He was deeply disquieted. Divided.
He could recall few moments of more concentrated folly from one person than he had seen from Mrs. Bennet in the breakfast parlor. If Bingley were to grow more serious about Miss Bennet — or if Darcy were to accept that Miss Elizabeth was her, the woman — they would have to take Mrs. Bennet on as family. The near-lack of dowry, and the low connections, these things were bad enough. Crippling. But to have to acknowledge Mrs. Bennet as mother — indeed, for Darcy to have to introduce her as the mother of the Mistress of Pemberley — how could he bear it? He stretched his neck again and rolled his shoulders. How could he be so attracted to a woman whose family seemed so repulsive?
To make it worse, Mrs. Bennet liked Bingley but seemed determined to dislike Darcy.
It was then that he realized that Miss Elizabeth must have shared what she had overheard him say about her at the assembly with her mother, and not just with her sisters.
Darcy shook his head at himself. As he did, he shifted his focus from the prospect to the glass and noticed Miss Bingley gazing at his back intently, reflected in the window.
Miss Elizabeth had stayed upstairs with her sister, perhaps hoping to allow time to pass after her mother's visit. Bingley and Miss Bingley and the Hursts were lounging in the front parlor, talking idly about the ball Bingley had promised at Netherfield, and about the change in Meryton that the recent arrival of the militia regiment might create. No one seemed likely to stir soon.
So, Darcy excused himself, hoping this would be his chance to find a moment alone with Miss Elizabeth. He thought that perhaps he could station himself on her end of the upstairs hallway, and perhaps catch Miss Elizabeth as she left her sister's room. He would only need a moment of her time. He would humble himself and make her an apology. She would see that his pride was not improper. What he said would be off his conscience, the persistent feeling of dishonor gone.
He climbed the steps quickly and turned toward Miss Elizabeth's end of the hallway. Her bedroom door was closed, but her sister's, beyond, was partially open. Darcy walked quietly to stand in front of Miss Elizabeth's closed door. It was then that he heard voices from Miss Bennet's room. Although he could not understand what was said, he knew the conversation was between the sisters. He took one step toward the partially open door. And then another. He could hear Miss Elizabeth and discern what she was saying.
"Mr. Bingley is as amiable as you say, Jane, and that is coaxing quite a lot from me. What's more, his face exposes his mind. He seems to me artless in a respectable way."
Jane responded, her voice soft. Darcy took another step. "Yes, there is a natural openness to his manners that is pleasant and reassuring." Miss Bennet paused. "But you have not told me what you make of Mr. Darcy now that you have spent more time around him."
Miss Elizabeth laughed a twinkling laugh, audible starlight. "Mr. Darcy! Now that is an intricate character. I hardly know what to say of him. We know him to be a man blind to beauty (again, her twinkling laugh), a man who will not dance even when there are many women in want of partners, a man who makes himself agreeable nowhere. He is as closed as Mr. Bingley is open. Mr. Darcy's expressions look as though he is making them happen with backstage devices, and as if they miss their cue."
Instead of clammy, Darcy's hands became cold and numb.
Miss Bennet laughed gently but then took Miss Elizabeth to task. "Lizzy, that is too much. I suspect Mr. Darcy is, as you say, an intricate character, and no easy study, not even for such a gifted interpreter of human nature as you. Perhaps he is shy? I didn't tell you this yet, but at the assembly, Mr. Bingley suggested that Mr. Darcy struggles with strangers and new situations, but he succeeds admirably with those closest to him, when on more familiar ground. Mr. Bingley relies on him implicitly; he said as much to me. He brought Darcy with him to advise him on the estate."
Miss Elizabeth did not respond immediately. "Well, I grant that he did not deserve our mother's mistreatment in the breakfast parlor. He was only making conversation and she mistook him, believing him condemning Meryton."
"You should not have told her what Mr. Darcy said about you, Lizzy. The fact that a story is funny does not mean it bears repeating."
"Tell our father that," Miss Elizabeth responded drily. "Let me take the pitcher and have someone refill it, Jane. I shall return in a moment."
Darcy lept backward from the door, then walked backward quickly toward the staircase, stopped, and then started in the direction of Miss Bennet's room again just as Miss Elizabeth entered the hallway, a porcelain pitcher in her hand.
What am I doing? I hate disguise.
"Mr. Darcy?" she said, obviously startled to find him coming down the hallway.
He bowed, making his hands into fists to warm them. "I came upstairs to get a letter I left in my room, and I heard laughter. I thought I might check to see how your sister fares?" He smiled as naturally as he could, as naturally as disguise and falsehood would allow.
Miss Elizabeth knit her brows as if unsure of him. "She remains much as she was this morning. Her fever has cooled but it has not departed. I'm sure she will be obliged for your concern." She looked at him again and smiled softly. "I am obliged to you, sir."
"Miss Elizabeth," Darcy blurted out after a quiet moment, "I owe you an apology."
The peculiar brightness flared in her eyes again. It had not been there when he first approached her.
Her smile evaporated. "An apology?"
"Yes, an apology. At the assembly, I said something to Mr. Bingley, something about you, but something prompted by my annoyance with him. I did not mean for you to hear it."
"You did not mean for me to hear it?" She repeated, turning his declaration into a question.
His hands were still cold. "I mean that I did not mean it. I wanted only to convince Mr. Bingley to stop pestering me, and I did it by disagreeing with what he said. My point was to contradict him, not pass judgment on you, that is, on your…person." He dropped his eyes to the floor, then forced himself to raise them again.
She tilted her head and considered him, twinkling in soft laughter. "So, you do not find me merely tolerable? You regret not dancing with me?"
Darcy recoiled in interior panic but did not show it. At least he thought he did not show it.
I intended to apologize, not to make her believe I am now showing her marked attention. She is ineligible.
Her arch looks confused Darcy, and the spirited toss of her head as she finished her question seemed suddenly flirtatious.
His tone became cooler, more distant. Haughty. He could hear it and hate it simultaneously.
"I…I simply did not mean what I said, and I am deeply sorry for any pain it may have caused you."
She stepped back, raised both eyebrows, then slowly lowered them. He stared helplessly into her dark eyes.
"Yes, well, I accept your apology, Mr. Darcy. I regret that I felt a certain resentment toward you because of what you said. I have been struggling with that, and I appreciate your help with my struggle."
"Miss Elizabeth." Darcy bowed deeply and took his leave of her.
She stood behind him in her yellow dress, and he could feel her eyes on him, studying him, as he retreated. He walked to his room and quickly entered, his breathing shallow. He shook his hands, trying to return blood to them.
He had apologized but he still felt dissatisfied with himself and with their conversation.
She overmatched him. His heart was unequal to being near her.
A/N: Love a review if you can. As always, you readers are the best!