Chapter 5
The next day provided neither of the primary parties with any relief. Darcy, sulking about the grove, seeking Miss Bennet, found himself furthering his temper by reliving the source of his vexation while pacing.
He would be of a mind to withhold his proposal until she came to her senses had he not already delayed his return to town for too long. He certainly could not tarry here now, not with his aunt in an uproar, determined to carry her point, suiting the wishes of none but herself.
As he turned to continue pacing, he as detected her figure entering the grove.
"Miss Bennet!" he shouted, as she briefly turned away, hoping to avoid his company on her way to the great house.
He caught up with her; nary offering a greeting before he continued. "Such arts are beneath you madam; such artifice is hardly becoming of you! To attempt to elicit a proposal in such a way; it is a mean art that hardly recommends you."
She stared, colored, doubted, and was silent but for a moment, before she scoffed at him. Elizabeth had seen him, and before he had seen her, but she had ultimately determined not to seek another path, her attempt to avoid him was but momentary. His temper would not intimate her; he was the party guilty of the greater offence. No good come of what he had done to Jane, his officious interference was unlikely to ever be rectified. Hers on the other hand was likely to set a sickly young woman free to live her own life, pursue her own passions, and break the yoke of an engagement for which she had never expressed even the mildest interest.
"You sir cannot believe my motives where anything of the sort. You must know, I have never sought your good opinion, and certainly do not now. I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No motive can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted, and with no provocation, other than your pride."
"Can I not, Madam? You have welcomed my company as we have considered our futures, and yet, now you feign ignorance at the expectations that naturally arose from such discourse? You have allowed untruthful rumors to put you in such a state of pique that you would attempt to punish me publicly and provoke me to expose the deceit in such a forum, not trusting my honor but instead admonishing me in front of my relations, while daring me to choose another course."
"Indeed, Mr. Darcy, I simply cannot be a rational creature that ridicules what I do not like. I must instead be flirting with you, harboring a deep desire to be called Mrs. Darcy. You are indeed such a prize, that I must be overcome with sensibilities which can only be expressed by mocking you to all my friends. I cannot know what you mean by such accusations and wild imaginings as to my motives, sir. I only can only think that your pride and vanity is such that you imagine things which cannot be further from the truth. What woman, fully in possession of her senses, would then do such a thing? To attempt engage a man that she secretly means to marry, to another, as though it could be undone when the quarrel is over. There are flaws in your reasoning sir, which can only be attributed to your vanity, or you must think me a senseless beast, driven entirely by momentary sensibilities. I can assure you, it may be my opinion alone, but a man must have something other than his wealth to recommend him."
"And this is all the reply which I am to have the honor of expecting! I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little endeavor at civility, I am thus censured, ridiculed, and find even my partiality towards you treated with disdain. But it is of small importance. What madam, is it that you believe yourself to be about? What could you possibly hope to gain from my binding myself to my cousin, aside from my aunt's favor. What crime then could possibly provoke such resentment, that you would see me wed to another, against my will, against my reason, even against the principles in which I pride myself."
"I have more than enough provocation. You know I have. What man of sense would think that any consideration would tempt me to desire the good opinion of the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps forever, the happiness of a most beloved sister? I cannot claim to know your arts, but you can hardly think that I wish to make myself subject to such a man."
As she pronounced these words, Mr. Darcy changed color; but the emotion was short, and he listened without attempting to interrupt her while she continued,—
"I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No motive can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted there. You dare not, you cannot deny that you have been the principal, if not the only means of dividing them from each other, of exposing one to the censure of the world for caprice and instability, the other to its derision for disappointed hopes, and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind."
She paused, and saw with no slight indignation that he was listening with an air which proved him wholly unmoved by any feeling of remorse. He even looked at her with a smile of affected incredulity.
"Can you deny that you have done it?" she repeated.
With assumed tranquility he then replied, "I have no wish of denying that I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your sister, or that I rejoice in my success. Towards him I have been kinder than towards myself. I can only now wish I had taken the same trouble to separate myself from your arts, madam."
His arrogance and meaning did not escape her, nor was it likely to conciliate her. Elizabeth disdained everything about his affected manner; his cold declaration, his delight in boasting at being the cause of such misery, even his implication that he was in some danger from her. She felt contempt for his implying feeling for her most of all. It was an absolute affront, to sulk about disdaining and insulting her, and for months, then confessing some sort of peculiar attraction- even implying she should wish it. It made Elizabeth wish to spit the bad taste from her mouth. It made her imagine he was not only looking to find fault, but actively counting each mark against her each time his gaze fell upon her. Yet, his audacity was such that he would act as if were in some way a compliment to her, that he would even deign to look at her. The affront was immeasurable. The insult made all the worse by his delight. To think himself such a catch that she should dismiss the offense to her dearest sister. Him declaring that her regard for her sister should be of such little constancy caused her to believe he must hold his owns dependent sibling in very little affection indeed.
"Are you then, entirely absent, any shame that would rightly come from such conduct? What accusation could you possibly have, against my sister? Pray, boast of your success Mr. Darcy. I have no doubt sir, that anyone who could congratulate themselves on such dealings, must find pride in his reasoning as well."
"You spoke of her feelings, earlier madam, but I detected nothing of the sort. But it was not till the evening of the dance at Netherfield that I had any apprehension of his feeling a serious attachment. I had often seen him in love before. From that moment I observed my friend's behavior attentively; and I could then perceive that his partiality for Miss Bennet was beyond what I had ever witnessed in him. Your sister I also watched. Her look and manners were open, cheerful, and engaging as ever, but without any symptom of peculiar regard; and I remained convinced, from the evening's scrutiny, that though she received his attentions with pleasure, she did not invite them by any participation of sentiment. I observed them for the entire evening, and I shall not scruple to assert, that the serenity of your sister's countenance and air was such as might have given the most acute observer a conviction that, however amiable her temper, her heart was not likely to be easily touched."
"And that is your indictment of her, that is what provoked you to cause your friend's abandonment? You observed a shy woman in unfamiliar company, for one evening and determined her heart could not be touched. What powers of perception you must have Mr. Darcy, allow me to applaud you. I, her only confidant and closest sister, would not pretend to be able to discern her thoughts at such a gathering, and yet, you claim to have discerned not only her emotions in the present, but the future gullibility of her heart. I can well believe your pride has you convinced of your superiority, but Mr. Bingley is not of a temperament to indulge such ridiculous speculation. That cannot be all you have done; I know it cannot. Any doubt he had as to her interest would surely have been assuaged when Jane called. Pray Mr. Darcy, what else have you accused her of, Mr. Bingley could not have believed her so heartless for nothing."
"As to that, it is but the one part of my conduct, in the whole affair, on which I do not reflect with satisfaction; it is that I condescended to adopt the measures of art so far as to conceal from him your sister's being in town. I knew it myself, as it was known to Miss Bingley; but her brother is even yet ignorant of it. That they might have met without ill consequence is, perhaps, probable; but his regard did not appear to me enough extinguished for him to see her without some danger. Perhaps this concealment, this disguise, was beneath me. It is done, however, and it was done for the best. On this subject I have nothing more to say, no other apology to offer. If I have wounded your sister's feelings, it was unknowingly done; and though the motives which governed me may to you very naturally appear insufficient, I have not yet learnt to condemn them.—"
"Nothing, more to say, no apology to offer? How dare you, when there is clearly more still you have done. Why not tell the of it, Mr. Darcy, as claim to be able to look upon the rest of it with satisfaction. By what arts, or claims upon friendship have you keep him in town?"
"Any expectation of apology, madam, would be absurd. Aside from my believed indifference, there were other causes of repugnance to the match. The situation of your mother's family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison of that total want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly betrayed by herself, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father. As for the defects of your nearest relations, I will only say, farther, that from what passed that evening my opinion of all parties was confirmed, and every inducement heightened, which could have led me before to preserve my friend from what I esteemed a most unhappy connection. And yet, having witnessed these same events, my friend had intended to soon return. His sisters' uneasiness had been equally excited with my own: our coincidence of feeling was soon discovered; and, alike sensible that no time was to be lost in detaching their brother, we shortly resolved on joining him directly in London. We accordingly went—and there I readily engaged in the office of pointing out to my friend the certain evils of such a choice. I described and enforced them earnestly. But however this remonstrance might have staggered or delayed his determination, I do not suppose that it would ultimately have prevented the marriage, had it not been seconded by the assurance, which I hesitated not in giving, of your sister's indifference. He had before believed her to return his affection with sincere, if not with equal, regard. But Bingley has great natural modesty, with a stronger dependence on my judgment than on his own. To convince him, therefore, that he had deceived himself was no very difficult point. To persuade him against returning into Hertfordshire, when that conviction had been given, was scarcely the work of a moment."
"And this is what you congratulated yourself on? That you have exploited your friends naturally modesty and conspired with his sisters to your own aims. I now believe it, all the news Miss Bingley conveyed, that you hope for a match between your sister and friend, but to stoop to such arts. I have never met two people so deserving of each other. Miss Bingley is quite right to think you her perfect match." Said Elizabeth, saddened for Mr. Bingley. Such an amiable and kindly man deserved to able to trust his relations and friends.
"You take an eager interest in my affairs. Was it not enough you attempted to match me with my cousin? As to that, I can only say your machinations will fail. You may return to the parsonage as you have no business with my aunt. As to your sister, that I was desirous of believing her indifferent is certain; but I will venture to say that my investigations and decisions are not usually influenced by my hopes or fears. I did not believe her to be indifferent because I wished it; I believed it on impartial conviction, as truly as I wished it in reason. As to the match with my sister, time will tell. She is not yet out, there can be nothing yet between them. In time, Bingley's temperament will naturally become more steady and at such a time your sister will be long forgotten."
"How little you must value the happiest of your own sister, and your friend." Elizabeth exclaimed, truly unsettled at the depth of his depravity. Her countenance now betrayed no anger; she stared at him in shock and horror. "To attempt to unite them, knowing full well he has displayed a preference for my sister, that you argue yourself, he has never displayed for another young lady. To deceive a grown man about the happenings in his own house, in order to make decisions for him, and without his knowledge or consent. Oh, how high handed of you. Your poor sister! If you find no fault in treating a grown man in such away, who is wholly unconnected to you, I cannot then imagine then what a dependent woman would suffer under your care. It is a wonder then that your sister has not run off, attempted to escape you somehow. This is what you now accuse me of aspiring to achieve, to put myself in your care? I thank you, sir, but I desire no such compliment."
Elizabeth's summation had stupefied Darcy. Her words striking so close to the actual events he was now frightened that she knew something of it. The guilt he had felt this past year, rising now to the forefront of his thoughts. He wished for words that would vindicate himself as a friend, and as a brother. None came. Elizabeth would not care that he had just purchased his sister a piano. She looked at him in disgust and made no attempt to conceal it. As she spoke, his eyes did not break from hers.
"My opinion of you was quite fixed when I heard your childhood friends account of your dealings." She said, determined to add more censure, though not believing herself capable of pricking his conscience.
With the mention of Wickham, Darcy's anger now returned. Yet, he struggled to find the words that would protect his sister; decern what she knew, but he could not speak. He could not inquire, nor could he issue a threat that would protect Georgiana's reputation. I have boasted of what I have done to your sister, he thought, looking her full in the eyes with fear. Yet, he could not believe her capable of harm to his sister, despite the heartbreak she now accused him of causing.
Darcy shook off his fear, now coming to his senses – she could not know. It is not possible the tale had made it to her ears, surely, it would have made it to London first. Though he could not now take pride in his behavior– having reviewed his dealing through her perspective – when spoken out loud, suddenly his arguments where diminished and his actions seemed unjust.
He glimpsed down and attempted to gather words that would offer some consolation, but he found none. As he looked up, she had already turned from him, so swiftly that it felt as though he was being cut, murmuring a "good day, Mr. Darcy."