A/N: We continue, the rest of the first day of the official engagement.

Darcy's Struggle

Chapter 11: Prudence and Repugnance

Thursday, November 28, 1811

Darcy rode back to Netherfield just before midday.

He and Elizabeth and Miss Bennet had left the Longbourn garden as the day grew darker and colder, and they sat in one of the back parlors. A fire was burning in the small fireplace and the wind outside was blowing, brown leaves in flux beneath the dark gray sky, and Elizabeth was sitting next to him on a small couch, her leg almost touching his.

It had been wonderfully pleasant, although Darcy wanted to kiss Elizabeth again (he had no second chance in the garden). He wanted this time to see her eyes immediately after the kiss; he had not when he kissed her the first time.

What had she felt? She called me by Christian name!

The three of them had talked of the Netherfield ball, of Mr. Collins, of Bingley and of Darcy's belief Bingley would be back that afternoon, despite the threatening sky.

Their talk of Mr. Collins led Darcy to admit that Mr. Collins' patroness was also Darcy's aunt. He told them a little of his Lady Catherine and Rosings, and of Lady Catherine's daughter, Anne.

All three had been relaxed and easy, husband-to-be, wife-to-be and sister-to-be — until Mrs. Bennet joined them. And the relaxed ease fled.

Darcy had promised himself before leaving Netherfield that morning: he would be tolerant of Mrs. Bennet. But her shameless questions routed him.

He had never been able disinterestedly to watch people commit folly, foolishness, to make fools of themselves. Watching it pained him; it filled him with a revulsion that he experienced as almost physical, a kind of ache or nausea. His retreat up into himself, to that apex inside himself that he found at the Meryton assembly — and at other balls in London — his climbing retreat into haughtiness, was triggered by his wish not to watch folly, to hide or turn away from it. Darcy could not bear it when people insisted on doing what they ought to know better than to do. He would rather make a fool of himself — not that he liked that, either — than watch others make fools of themselves. Shamelessness in others tortured him.

Mrs. Bennet joined them in the parlor and made a fool of herself. Shamelessly. Torture.

"How large is Pemberley, Mr. Darcy? It must be vast. And imagine — you own it all. Mrs. Phillips told me at the assembly that the house was so large that there were rooms in it no one had ever visited. Never! Although, first, I do not know how Mrs. Phillips could know that, and second, if no one had ever visited them, they would have to be unfurnished, would they not? That seems unlikely, that Pemberley would be littered with unfurnished rooms. But there are many rooms, correct, sir? Many? Say, more than…one hundred?" Mrs. Bennet leaned forward eagerly, waiting for a number. Any large number.

Darcy silently looked away from her instead of answering, feeling his ears redden and shutting his eyes, and it fell to Elizabeth to redirect the conversation.

Her tone betrayed her mortification. "Mama, I am curious about Pemberley too, but may we not allow Mr. Darcy to tell us of it in his way? To tell us what he appreciates most about his home, and I doubt it is the number of rooms, or the house's vastness. I would imagine Pemberley as Mr. Darcy does, not as his architect does."

Darcy thanked Elizabeth with an infinitesimal smile and turned back to the conversation, facing it. He began to talk of Pemberley's natural beauties, the challenges of its rugged terrain, the blessings of the abundant wildlife and the plants when Mrs. Bennet interrupted again as if Elizabeth had not asked her question and Darcy was not answering it.

"But how many stories is the house? How many windows does it have? How many servants do you employ? It must cost a fortune just to pay the staff!"

When Darcy turned away again, he saw Elizabeth's disappointment. It hurt him to see that she encompassed him in that disappointment. This is your mother's fault.

Receiving no answer to her questions, Mrs. Bennet tried another topic. "Exactly how tall are you, Mr. Darcy?"

At that point, Darcy stood — actually, he practically leaped out of his chair and onto his feet — and excused himself. "I must return to Netherfield, I have letters I must write today. I had forgotten them."

As he hurried from the room, Elizabeth rose and followed, and Mrs. Bennet cried after them. "We will see you at dinner tonight, Mr. Darcy? With Mr. Bingley?"

Down the hallway, he heard Mrs. Bennet ask Miss Bennet, in a loud, carrying whisper. "How much do you think Mr. Darcy weighs?"

"Mama!" Miss Bennet sighed.

Darcy parted awkwardly with Elizabeth; her disappointment still showed despite the smile of farewell she summoned. She was mortified by her mother but she clearly expected more from her betrothed. In such a mood, despite standing alone together, he knew she would be unlikely to allow him another kiss, so he took one of her hands and squeezed it. "I will return for dinner. But I must write to my lawyers — and to my sister. I would not delay their happiness."

"Your lawyers' happiness?"

Darcy shook his head. "No, no, I meant my sister's happiness." Elizabeth's displeasure rattles me.

She nodded and squeezed his hand in return as she said goodbye.

He waited for his horse alone; she did not accompany him outside the house. The cold, he told himself in explanation.

Ashamed of the world and himself in it, he rode to Netherfield.

He was going to have to overcome this reaction to Elizabeth's mother, this reaction to her family.

Her burdens were his too, now; that was part of his promise to her.

His entrance to Netherfield was as awkward as his exit from Longbourn.

It involved another disappointed woman.

Darcy was frustrated and chilled by the time he reached Netherfield, and, as soon as he entered, smacking his hands together to warm them, he almost ran bodily into Miss Bingley.

He had been lost in thought, not only about Elizabeth's disappointment, but about the agreement about her favors. Did she allow me to kiss her because she said she would grant me her favors? Did she kiss me contractually, but without any inclination for it?

Why did she say my name? Was it to please me or also to please herself?

Miss Bingley must have seen or heard Darcy's approach, and she was evidently hoping to meet him and smooth over their parting that morning, hurrying to the door to catch him before he went upstairs. He stopped just before bumping her, and found himself face to turban with her. She looked up, feathers weaving in the air, and he looked down, into pale eyes he could now only see as calculating.

"Please pardon me, Miss Bingley. I was not paying attention to where I was going."

"Is something wrong, Mr. Darcy? You are distracted."

Darcy did not think; he spoke, looking past her to the stairs, eager only to be past her. "I became engaged today. There is much on my mind. I need to write letters."

Her silence made him realize what he had said.

He quickly, involuntarily refocused on her. Miss Bingley's face was blood red. Her teeth were bared, clenched. "What?" she said through them. "What have you become?"

He swallowed, feeling the fear of a cornered animal, knowing there was no escape. "Engaged."

"Who is she? Miss Flockhart? How did this happen? Miss Toomer? You fell for that gown no courtesan would deign wear? Not that horrid Miss Foot?" Her figure is all padded!" She had listed women who had pursued Darcy when he was last in town, although he had not even danced with one of them.

"No, I have proposed to Miss Elizabeth Bennet and been accepted."

Miss Bingley bent slightly, as if suddenly sick to her stomach. "Eliza Bennet?" She pronounced the name as a malediction.

Miss Bingley was bent over almost the exact spot on the floor where Elizabeth had stood in her muddy boots.

Darcy nodded. "Yes. Are you ill, Miss Bingley?" Darcy asked before he understood.

"Am I ill? Am I ill? Eliza Bennet!" She straightened, whirled, and stomped away from him, failing to achieve that certain air on which she prided herself when taking turns about a room.

Her turban feathers bounced with each angry footfall.

Darcy castigated himself for blurting out his news to her. It was careless. He did not like Miss Bingley but he had no wish to wound her. And he had planned to tell Bingley first, then the others at Netherfield.

But what was done was done.

He climbed the stairs quickly, worried that Miss Bingley might return.

By the time Darcy reached the top, he was again thinking of Elizabeth's disappointment in him and the favor of her kiss.

Dear Sister,

I write with news that may shock you at first but that I hope will soon delight you.

In my last letter, I mentioned a lady who knows how to laugh, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. In your last letter you wished I would find someone capable of making me laugh. You deemed me too often dour.

Well, your dour brother has done what you wished! Miss Elizabeth Bennet has laughed her way into my heart, and I have asked for her hand and been accepted!

I cannot tell you how happy she has made me. I can only tell you I love her eagerly and dearly.

You will love her too, I am sure, love her as a sister and a friend, finding in her strength, comfort and companionship.

She has a remarkable force of character, a subtle mind, and a teasing disposition. (Yes, I have consented to be teased. It does me good.) I will not attempt to describe her, except to say her dark eyes are beautiful, instinct with life, delicately changeable, responsive to the smallest shift of her mind or mood.

Miss Bingley is less happy about my news than I trust you will be, but I am certain that does not surprise you. Mr. Bingley has been in town and so he will hear my news upon his return.

Please share this letter with the Colonel, our cousin. He will likely need to station skirmishers to provide advance warning, since, when Aunt Catherine hears of this, the Rosings army will immediately rise and march.

Love,

Your (Betrothed) Brother

Bingley returned from London earlier than Darcy expected.

Darcy was in the billiards room, his coat off and his sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, taking shots and contemplating the rapid alteration of his life. He was lining up a shot when Bingley opened the door and entered. Bingley still looked cold but was taking off his gloves.

"Darcy! I'm back. Accompany me to Longbourn? It will only take me a few minutes to wash and change clothes. I must see Miss Bennet!"

Darcy straightened and stood the cue against the table. "I was there earlier in the day. We have both been invited for dinner."

Bingley smiled with pleasure, but then his brows knitted. "Why were you there earlier?"

"Because, despite the speed with which you do everything, evidently now including business, I have been faster than you."

Darcy allowed himself to smile, to enjoy again the feelings he had enjoyed as he wrote to Georgiana.

"Faster than me? At what?"

"Proposal. I have asked Miss Elizabeth to marry me and she has accepted." Darcy knew he was truncating the actual timetable of events, but he did not want to explain it all stepwise, at least not just then.

Bingley dropped his gloves to the floor and his eyes bulged. "What did you do?"

"Proposed to Miss Elizabeth. To Elizabeth." When Darcy used her Christian name, Bingley at last seemed to understand and believe.

He left his gloves on the floor and swept past the pool table to Darcy and began to shake his hand vigorously. "How many times since we met have I told you that you are a deep old file, Darcy? You proposed — after all that advice you gave me! Did you at least propose rationally?"

Darcy chose not to answer. "I proposed, and she accepted, and today I secured her father's permission. We have not decided on the length of our engagement, but Elizabeth does not want it to be a long engagement."

Bingley whistled and then winked. "So that is how it is? A love match on both sides."

Darcy inhaled and exhaled, his chest suddenly tight, his heartbeat irregular. "I love her deeply."

"Well, given what Miss Bennet told me, Miss Elizabeth must love you deeply too. She is wonderful, Darcy, and I believe she's just the prescription, just the woman to cure what ails you!"

"What ails me, Bingley?"

"Whatever it is that makes you stand about in a stupid way at dances."

Darcy chuckled. "Truly, it would be good to be rid of that, whatever it is."

Bingley smiled at himself, at a thought. "So you're marrying the tolerable young woman you would not — " Bingley drew himself up into a colorable imitation of Darcy's assembly high-shouldered posture and voice, " — confer consequence on by dancing with?"

"Infamous last words," Darcy said, shaking his head as Bingley retrieved his floored gloves.

Longbourn was brightly lit when Darcy and Bingley arrived in the carriage.

Darcy was anxious to talk to Elizabeth. He wanted to apologize, and then he wanted to do better. He would do better.

When they were shown inside, they found Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet and the three younger sisters waiting for them. Bingley immediately crossed to Miss Bennet and began to talk quietly with her. They both sat down on a couch, careful to preserve a proper distance. Lydia gave Darcy a sheepish look. "Lizzy is upstairs with a headache, Mr. Darcy. She went up over an hour ago and she intends to come down to dinner."

Darcy felt immediate guilt. Had his treatment of Mrs. Bennet caused Elizabeth's headache?

Mrs. Bennet sat down in an armchair. "It has been a surprising afternoon here, Mr. Darcy. After you left, we had a visit from Mr. Collins and Charlotte Lucas. Charlotte is Lizzy's particular friend, as you may know."

"I have not been introduced to her but I do know that, yes," Darcy responded.

"It seems that Mr. Collins has proposed to Charlotte Lucas and she has accepted him. While Mr. Collins triumphed over myself and Mr. Bennet, Lizzy walked out with Charlotte. When Lizzy returned, she complained of a headache and went upstairs."

Bingley looked at Mrs. Bennet as if she were speaking a foreign tongue. "You say Mr. Collins proposed to Miss Lucas?"

"Yes, Charlotte Lucas will one day take my place here. Of course, that does not matter now, not since Mr. Darcy proposed to Lizzy. We need not fear the hedgerows any longer."

It was time to go into dinner, and Darcy wondered what had happened between Elizabeth and Miss Lucas. If he understood Mrs. Bennet's implication, she believed it had been Miss Lucas who had brought on Elizabeth's headache.

Mr. Bennet left his library and joined them and a moment later, Elizabeth did too. She walked to Darcy, no disappointment with him remained on her face, but her normally fluid, mobile features seemed petrified. She looked impassive, the first time Darcy could remember when she had. He took her hand in greeting, bowing. Her features moved; she smiled but the smile involved only her lips and left the rest of her face unchanged.

They went in to dinner, Elizabeth on Darcy's arm. "Are you well, Elizabeth?"

She nodded once. "Well enough."

As soon as everyone was seated and wine poured, Bingley pushed back his chair and lifted his glass. "A toast to the newly engaged couple, Mr. Darcy and Miss Elizabeth. I could not be happier for either of them, or for all of us."

Everyone toasted brightly. Elizabeth's smile grew and eventually claimed her entire countenance. But Darcy could see her small hand below the table, fisted tightly.

Bingley and Miss Bennet carried the conversation. Elizabeth was mostly silent; her normal sparkling conversation gone. Mrs. Bennet was focused on Mr. Bingley again now that Miss Elizabeth had caught Darcy. Mr. Bennet seemed only to want the meal to end and to be back in his library. The younger sisters quietly squabbled with each other.

Darcy ignored it all, except for Elizabeth's silence. "Charlotte Lucas is to marry Mr. Collins?"

"This is the sad truth."

"Why is it sad? I admit, I cannot regard any woman who would marry that man as fortunate, but perhaps she will not be unfortunate. Lady Catherine, for all her showy condescension, is a powerful and wealthy patroness. And the parsonage — I have long been acquainted with it from my visits to Rosings. A fine little house with a charming garden, recently renovated. The scenes of your friend's life will not be unpleasant."

"But not unpleasant is not the same as happy."

They spoke quietly. No one seemed to be paying them special attention. Mr. Bingley had everyone listening to a story about an accident he saw on a street in London, a collision between two carts, one loaded with boxes full of dab chicks, the other loaded with cages full of feral cats. Mayhem had ensued, as the drivers chased the chicks and the cats, and the cats chased the chicks.

Elizabeth slowly turned to Darcy. She had heard his echo of her words from Oakham Mount, he could see that in her face, her weak smile. "Charlotte and I have quarreled over the years about her way of thinking, which I always regarded unsound. She's intelligent, but I've always thought she confused genuine prudence, wisdom, with something…more narrow, a worldly wisdom."

Bingley's story continued. Darcy nodded to Elizabeth. "All virtues have their worldly simulacra, actions that resemble them but are easy or self-centered. Much of what people call prudence is an image of prudence. Prudence involves courage, fortitude; anything that calls itself prudence but which involves cowardice is prudence in name only."

Elizabeth paled. "I had never thought to put it that way, but you are right." She smiled — but her smile continued unhappy. "I suspect I will keep discovering what a man of reflection you truly are."

Darcy tried to make her smile happy. "Your father accused me of being a philosopher earlier today. Something about Diogenes and a jar..."

She did laugh softly but then stopped. "Yes, and Charlotte accused me of hypocrisy."

Darcy did the mathematics in his head: Charlotte's acceptance of Collins' proposal, her private conference with Elizabeth, hypocrisy. Charlotte had accused Elizabeth of worldly prudence, and had turned Elizabeth's own argument on Elizabeth, likening Elzabeth's accepted proposal to hers.

As he was thinking, Elizabeth's hand unfisted and took his under the table. She gave him an apologetic glance, interrupting his thoughts. "Jane told me what Lydia said this morning. I did not hear; I was dressing in my room, talking to the maid. I'm so very sorry."

Darcy nodded. Bingley was finishing the story. "It is forgotten."

Elizabeth lifted one skeptical eyebrow.

"I am sorry too," Darcy said, changing the subject as he glanced from Elizabeth to her mother, then back to Elizabeth, "very sorry for my behavior earlier today toward your mother. I will do better. I never want to disappoint you."

"Thank you." She squeezed his hand tightly before letting it go.

With dinner finished and general leave-taking done, Mrs. Bennet contrived to give the two couples a few moments to themselves to say their goodbyes. Bingley and Jane were in the front parlor. Elizabeth threw her brown cloak around her shoulders and walked outside with Darcy.

As they stood silently waiting for the carriage to be brought around, Darcy's mind returned Lydia's joke about the veil.

An image crystallized in his mind, an image of Elizabeth in a black crepe veil on their wedding night, prepared so to grant him her favors.

The image hit him like a blow and Darcy inhaled sharply.

Elizabeth heard and reached for his hand again as she had at the dinner table. She spoke as if she had somehow witnessed his mental image. Her fingers caressed his.

"Jane also told me what your response to Lydia's horrid joke, about seeming lifeless. Not all I said on Oakham Mount was clear. I said — I said I do not love you — but you should know that I do not feel any dislike or, God forbid, any repugnance toward you, Fitzwilliam. I most certainly do not.

"And I will tell you now, so that you may know: you are the most handsome man of my acquaintance." A barely audible, husky undertone of desire was in her voice; her dark eyes were now darker in the dark.

He wondered if her words were a response to Charlotte Lucas as well as to Miss Lydia.

She reached up with her other hand and dragged her fingers softly and slowly along his jaw, the first time she touched him thus, intimately.

He closed his eyes, willing the veiled picture of her from his mind. And then she was on tiptoe, pressing her lips forcefully to his; her kiss succeeded in chasing the image from him.

Bingley exited Longbourn and the carriage came around at the same time. Darcy leaned back and closed his eyes once he was inside, sighing.

Bingley saw and heard and laughed, smacking Darcy's knee from the opposite bench. "A big day!"

A/N: Thanks for reading. More soon.