A/N: Oakham Mount.
Darcy's Struggle
Chapter 9: Marble and Quicksilver
I will sit as quiet as a lamb,
I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word.
— Shakespeare
Wednesday, November 27, 1811
When Darcy returned to Netherfield, he searched for Bingley. He was not yet in the breakfast parlor, and Darcy was too nervous to eat, so he climbed the stairs and walked to Bingley's room.
The door was open. Bingley was inside, along with his valet, Richards, and they were closing a small trunk. Darcy stood on one side of the bed, Bingley on the other.
Richards was standing by the wardrobe, brushing Bingley's coat.
"You are leaving?" Darcy asked, surprised.
"Yes, Darcy. I meant to tell you last night but I — well, I was distracted. I'm off to London, but only for a couple of days. Business matters that will be easier if I am present. You know how much I detest correspondence."
Darcy nodded. "And your sisters, Mr. Hurst?"
"Oh, staying here. We're not abandoning you. If I leave soon, I hope to be back late tomorrow. Although it may be early Friday. — Where did you vanish last night? I expected to see you as the ball ended."
"I confess all the dancing left me tired."
Bingley stopped fiddling with his trunk and smiled generously at his friend. "You were wonderful, Darcy. See, I told you that you need not stand around stupidly at a ball. Frankly, you were a sensation. Dancing with the young local ladies — and those two dances with Miss Elizabeth. I knew you could dance if you chose, but those dances enchanted everyone who witnessed them. Except maybe Caroline. — Who definitely witnessed them, and who definitely was disenchanted."
Darcy smiled tightly, fighting back his own enchanted memory of those dances. "Yes, well, I owed you for my behavior at the assembly. I was an ass." Darcy's clammy hands made him want to keep from dwelling on Miss Elizabeth, so he pivoted in the direction Bingley would be most inclined to take. "I'm assuming you were distracted by Miss Bennet?"
Bingley walked to the end of the bed and Richards helped him with his coat. "Yes," Bingley smiled and sighed. "She was wonderful last night." His smile lingered for a moment then his expression changed. "But she was also quite proud of and worried about Miss Elizabeth. All that Collins mess, you know/"
Darcy nodded once.
"But her concern increased her candor. She explained to me that Miss Elizabeth has long been resolved that she will marry only for the deepest love, that it would be wretched and unpardonable, hopeless and wicked, to marry without affection. Those must be Miss Elizabeth's words, they sound like her, but I believe Miss Bennet concurs.
"She was not telling me she loved me, but she was telling me that she would not be marrying me for my fortune," Bingley paused, thinking, "or — not for my fortune alone. But I am hopeful she may be on the way to loving me.
"Her smiles last night had…I do not know how to say it…a new intensity. Miss Elizabeth's heroism has inspired Miss Bennet, I believe."
Darcy heard all this with genuine happiness for his friend and greater despair for himself. He was already pessimistic about Miss Elizabeth's answer at noon, and this darkened his prospects all the more.
I should have done what I intended, asked to court her, not proposed. She does not love me. She more likely loves Wickham than me. Much more likely.
Darcy swallowed all this turmoil, sequestering it in his stomach, and congratulated his friend, walking downstairs with him and seeing him off when the carriage came around to the front of Netherfield.
Darcy thought about warning Bingley that he would likely be gone by the time Bingley returned, but he did not want to have to explain why. Another letter he would have to write.
Miss Bingley had come outside to see her brother off too. As the carriage rolled away, she waved and then turned to Darcy. Her smile fell away; a gleam of hostility showed in her eyes.
"You slighted me last night, Mr. Darcy. You not only did not dance with me, but you danced with a barn full of local girls, and then twice with Miss Eliza. What were you thinking? Your attentiveness to her was most pointed. I assume she wooed you with Dr. Johnson?"
"No, Miss Bingley, we did not discuss Dr. Johnson." However, he did make a gift-wrapped appearance later in the evening.
Miss Bingley was not placated. "So, did you then speak by chance of marriage?" Her tone was meant to be light but it was venomous.
Darcy hid his wince. "We did not speak of marriage as we danced," Darcy responded, telling the truth misleadingly. "We simply made conversation."
"She seemed most pleased with her partner, not only while she danced with you but during the entire evening. It looked as though you were dancing with her even when you were not dancing with her. It bordered on scandalous."
Perhaps I was with her but I doubt she was with me.
Darcy had not turned to face Miss Bingley when she turned to him, but he did so now. "I may never be as agreeable as some are, Miss Bingley — as Charles is, for example (or Wickham, Darcy thought bitterly) — but I believe I am an amiable man, or that I have it in me to be one. I was endeavoring to do better than I have done."
"Better? For the sake of a brown-haired bumpkin? A muddy chit from a muddy country?"
"I did not say I did it for Miss Elizabeth's sake. I did it for my own; my previous behavior was wrong. I was and am repentant, Miss Bingley, — and the completion and sum of repentance is a change of life. Or so Dr. Johnson says. And now you and I are discussing him."
She ignored that. "Repentant? Who would dare to suggest you need to repent of anything? You, the Master of Pemberley."
"The Master of Pemberley suggested it to me," Darcy said.
He left her standing in the muddy gravel at the foot of the front stairs, mouth open.
Darcy decided to walk back to Oakham Mount, not to ride.
His nerves jangled and he hoped that walking might tune them.
A sheep led to the slaughter.
He shook his head, shamed by his preemptive self-pity. He admired Miss Elizabeth's resolve to marry only for deepest love despite what it foretokened for his proposal. He felt that for her, deepest love — by her lights, he felt for her what he ought to feel. But that did not give him the right to propose. They had shared a few conversations and a couple of dances, and, as Aristotle said, one swallow does not make a summer.
A few conversations and a couple of dances do not make a wedding.
He reached the foot of the Mount and began to climb. One side faced Netherfield, roughly, the side he was climbing, the other, roughly, Longbourn, the side Miss Elizabeth would be climbing. They would meet on the top. Darcy's side was steeper.
Darcy could not keep himself from climbing quickly, despite the incline. It was nearly noon and his anxiety was high. He was out of breath when he reached the rock on top.
Empty. Only the rock. No one was there.
Darcy walked past the rock to look down the path on the other side. It was empty.
He pulled out his watch. 11:57 am.
Sitting down, he took off his hat and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his brow. It was an unusually mild November day and the climb had warmed him more than he anticipated.
He stood and inspected himself, his clothes, making sure his waistcoat was straight, his coat sleeves not bunched, his cravat still properly tied.
He bent down and brushed some dust from the toe of one otherwise shiny boot.
Never had he been more nervous. His hands were shaking as he tugged at his clothes, dusted his boot. His mouth was dry.
Noon. The sun shining down, Darcy's shadow becoming dark and short. His temper too.
She was still not there, still not on the part of the path he could see.
He began to pace.
12:05 pm. No Miss Elizabeth.
Perhaps this is how she will refuse, by not meeting me at all. It would be a strange kind of jilt, but it was a strange kind of proposal.
If she is not here by 12:15 pm, I will give her up.
At 12:15 pm, still no Miss Elizabeth.
If she is not here by 12:20 pm, I will give her up. He meant it this time. He did.
At 12:19 pm, Miss Elizabeth hurried into view, her face flushed, looking annoyed. Darcy stood still until she reached him.
He bowed, his mouth a line. She curtsied, breathless.
"I am sorry, Mr. Darcy, I was…delayed…at Longbourn. My mother…and others. I came as soon…as I could. I would not have made you wait…could it be helped."
Her color was high, her eyes bright in that peculiar way already so familiar to Darcy. But she seemed unwilling to meet his eyes for long; her eyes kept sliding away, right or left, up or down. She worked to regain control of her breathing.
"Please, Miss Elizabeth, take a moment to catch your breath. Would you like to sit?"
She nodded and did.
A tense moment of silence passed. She was wearing a dark green dress and a bonnet with a matching ribbon. Looking at her made Darcy feel like his heart would explode from his chest. He exerted himself to be calm, to let his anger pass. She had apologized; he accepted the apology. But his anxiety…
"Is your mother still tormenting you about Collins?"
She looked at him with puzzlement. "You know about Collins, Mama?"
Darcy nodded. "You mentioned a succession of proposals. Your sister spoke to Bingley."
She considered this and bit her lip, but then nodded. "My mother remains…unhappy with me."
"But you said others too?"
She glanced around again uncomfortably. Finally, she took a deep breath and met his eyes. "Some officers called this morning. They…overstayed…and I could not leave."
"Could not or would not?" Darcy hated the question as soon as she asked it.
Miss Elizabeth frowned. "Could not. One of the officers was insistent about retaining my company."
"Wickham." Darcy was not asking; he knew.
Miss Elizabeth's color rose again. "Yes, Mr. Wickham. He came expressly to apologize for last night, for absenting himself from the ball."
"No doubt he represented his absence as forbearance, as a refusal to give me occasion to mar or even ruin the ball for everyone."
She nodded. "Yes, he claimed that you are prone to rages."
Darcy sighed and dropped his head. He reached up and took off his hat. He placed it on the rock beside Miss Elizabeth, careful not to crowd her by its placement.
She looked at the hat for a moment and then back at Darcy. "He knew that you and I danced twice together. I suppose one of the officers told him or he asked about who I danced with. He wanted to ask about those dances, what you and I talked about."
Darcy could not defeat his scowl and he started to pace. "That man takes an eager interest in your affairs upon a very short acquaintance."
She smiled at him, a bit of her playfulness now returning, although her eyes flashed. "That seems to have been a pattern among gentlemen of late."
Her comment stopped his pacing. "Did he know you were to meet me here?"
"No, no one knows but you and me, unless you have told someone."
"I have not."
Darcy put his hands behind his back and stared at the ground before lifting his eyes to her. "You said you believed — hoped — you would be able to answer my question. Is that true?"
"It depends. There are questions I must ask before I answer, and things I must share depending on what answer I foresee giving."
Darcy nodded. At least it seemed like yes remained a possibility if perhaps a distant one.
"Ask, Miss Elizabeth, and I will answer as honestly and fully as I know how."
"You understand, I am sure, that if I were to accept you, I would grant you enormous power over me, the scenes of my life, my companions, my habits, my very…person.
"The first night I saw you, you seemed a proud, imperious man. Unconcerned about the feelings of others. But when you apologized to me in Netherfield, I saw, for a moment, a man who could humble himself, who need not be imperious, who could care about others.
"Last night, that man was visible again, still more humble and less imperious, more caring. I do not wish to be dictated to by my husband, not when there is an opportunity to discuss and deliberate together, especially not when my close concerns are at issue."
Darcy kept his voice soft. "What is your question, Miss Elizabeth?"
"I want to know whether I will be consulted, listened to, given my share of my married life. I am a woman with her own mind, spirited. I could not respect my husband if he wanted me otherwise. I would make him miserable and he would make me miserable."
"These traits of yours are known to me, and cherished by me. I proposed last night to a woman with her own mind, a spirited woman. I do not want you otherwise; I do not hope to propose to one woman and marry another.
"I may not always agree with you but I will always attend to you. I have been called upon, have had no choice but to make decisions alone since I was three-and-twenty; it has been a difficult, lonely business, and I am hoping for a partner, a confidante, an advisor."
She gave him a long searching look. "And I would be able to decide, for example, where and how often we spent time with my family. Not only Jane, but my parents, my younger sisters. Could you, could Pemberley tolerate a visit from Lydia?"
"She is your sister. She will be as much a part of our life as you deem appropriate, although I might ask that you discourage her sticking her tongue out at me."
Miss Elizabeth laughed, putting her hand over her mouth. "She did not!"
Darcy laughed too. "Oh, I assure you; she did. On the Meryton street. But, yes, she would be allowed at Pemberley."
"Allowed or welcomed?"
"Welcomed — although I understand that she believes me dreary." Darcy watched Miss Elizabeth's expression closely when he said 'dreary'. He was relieved to see no silent agreement with her sister. Overnight, sleepless, he had grown worried that Miss Elizabeth would rate him too stiff and lifeless to suit her.
He was even more worried about that now.
Marble and quicksilver.
"And Mama?"
"The same, although she believes me dreary too." Stop helping yourself, Darcy.
"Her opinion on that would, I trust, prove more changeable than Lydia's. And what of your sister? Jane tells me you have a sister. Mr. Bingley and Miss Bingley have both mentioned her to Jane."
This is why I should have asked to court her, so that she would know these things before I proposed, not afterward.
"Yes, her name is Georgiana. She is about Miss Lydia's age but not out. She is shy to the same degree that Miss Lydia is forward."
"Oh, dear. But would you allow her to know my sisters?"
"Yes, under my supervision or yours. I am hopeful that she will become your friend, Miss Elizabeth, since you would be, I am convinced, a help for her. You could teach her some of your ease and confidence."
Miss Elizabeth colored at the compliment. "I thank you, Mr. Darcy."
"What else, Miss Elizabeth?"
She seemed hesitant, embarrassed. "When you proposed, you spoke of…ardency, admiration. Were we to marry, ours would not be a marriage of convenience for you, but a match made with passion, a love match?"
"I have no desire for a marriage of convenience with you. For me, it would be a marriage of passion. As I told you last night, I love you, Miss Elizabeth."
She nodded slowly. "You would demand…my favors?"
Darcy dropped his hands to his side and turned away from her for a moment, his face burning. "Demand? No, I would never take what you would not give." He looked at her for a second, then started to pace again, carefully not looking at her as he did. "I would want…I would want very much for you to be willing to give your favors. With my body I thee worship. I would make you that vow as we wed. You would be the sole object of my veneration, my reverend regard, my respectful awe. I would do nothing to make you ever feel otherwise. Demands have no place in worship." He swallowed and faced her, unmoving.
"Oh," she said faintly and dropped her eyes, her face as deeply colored as the heat of his declared his to be.
She hurried to another question. "And what of my family? Their future? Longbourn is entailed away. It will belong to Mr. Collins when my father dies. Mama may be mercenary-like, but she is motivated by fear ultimately, not greed, however hard it may be to tell those apart in her at times. She is terrified for herself but even more for her daughters. We have no dowry to speak of as you must know. We have only ourselves to offer and no guarantee anyone will want what we offer. If my father were to die, could Mama and my sisters, my unmarried sisters, trust you to keep them from penury? From a constant sinking, farther and farther below the station they have known of gentleman's wife and gentleman's daughters, lower each year?"
"You and they may count on me, yes. I would not let your mother or any unmarried sister live in want. I would make them comfortable."
She considered him again and smiled, the smile ironic and mostly self-directed.
"I told you that I study character and that deep, intricate ones are the most amusing. And so they are, I am sure, but my knowledge of that is mostly abstract. Here in Hertfordshire, although the characters around me change, and fluctuate, none are deep or intricate, except perhaps my father's.
"Your character has me puzzled and confused, unsure. You seem hard to know, Mr. Darcy. Not because of affectation or hypocrisy. You seem free of immoral or irreligious habits, although — " she paused and smiled at him saucily, " — you do not always seem to pray as intently as you ought. But you seem genuinely a deep, intricate character.
"I have not imagined my husband as a deep, intricate character. I imagined him like me, open, easy, agreeable."
Quicksilver, not marble.
Darcy shifted his weight on his feet. "You have imagined a man such as you believe Wickham to be?"
"Wickham?" She seemed surprised. After a moment's thought, she added. "I suppose. Perhaps he does comprehend, or seems to comprehend, those particular virtues I imagined my eventual husband to possess."
"Seems to?"
"I do not deny I found Mr. Wickham admirable, or that I arrived at the ball last night longing to dance with him. But he was not there, and I am not sure it was not cowardice that kept him away. And then today, he was familiar with me, touching my hand without permission, and holding it when I sought to withdraw it, and he demanded that I laugh at you, and I did not want to laugh at you, Mr. Darcy." Her serious expression broke for a moment. "Not with him, although I might want to laugh at you with you, sir.
"I now think he was manipulating me, using his manners to practice arts upon my mind and feelings. His smile today bordered on impudence."
"That is the man. I can tell you more about him if you wish to know. Not all, not yet, but enough to convince you that your instincts are correct. Would that all had your instincts!"
"I was aided by your caution from last night. It loosened his mask. But I was not speaking of Wickham to begin with, but rather of you, Mr. Darcy. As I was saying, you are a deep and intricate character and I am unsure I am equal to knowing you. I said some things by way of sketching your character at Miss Bingley's instigation, but I said nothing you had not told me or that could not be known by the eyes and ears. I displayed no insight. I wonder if I know you, if I could know you, well enough to have you as my husband. Mystery hovers about you."
"You do not believe I have answered your questions truthfully?"
"I do believe you have. That is not what I mean. But I do not quite know how to say what I mean. I do not mean that I suspect you of falsity or worry that you are lying to me. I — I do not have words to say what I mean."
"But that is not a question, Miss Elizabeth, and I do not know how to answer.
"I grant that I am not an easy man in any sense of the term, but you know that I have friends who love me and admire me, friends like Bingley, and, although you have not met her, I can assure you that my sister loves me. My staff and my tenants at Pemberley regard me as a good master. I am not the man I aspire to be, but I can acknowledge a mistake and make amends.
"I would like to think that you could come to know my heart, Miss Elizabeth, and that perhaps you could come to find it loveable."
Darcy had the feeling that she had asked her questions in a deliberate order, that she was leading up to something, and that she had thought she might avoid it by finding his answer to one of the earlier questions sufficient for her to refuse him. But although he was not sure he had fully satisfied her last comment, she seemed satisfied enough.
She stood up and stepped closer to him, although no closer than she had been in the library the night before.
"What I have to say now, and last, Mr. Darcy, is no question. It is a confession.
"The night of the assembly, when you told Mr. Bingley I was tolerable but not tempting, I resented you for it. You stung my vanity. I was prepared to dislike you and prepared to help others dislike you. I fear I did help them. Mama's attitude toward you, and Lydia's, are both largely my fault. I told them what you said. My father too.
"But I have accepted your apology and I have forgiven you, although no one, not even Jane, knows that yet. I no longer resent you. I believe I am in a fair way toward respecting you, esteeming you. Your answers today have been estimable." She slowed, stopped, again biting her lip.
"But I do not love you. I cannot return your ardency. The future state of my heart is unknown to me. But its present state is known to me, and I do not love you. That does not mean that I would regard this as a marriage of convenience. I fully understand what you said earlier, about favors and…worship.
"But if your love can be satisfied only by a return of love from me, your passion only by a return of passion, then I should refuse — and you should want me to refuse. If I accept, I will give you my favors. I will be (her voice dropped) your lover. But I will not be in love with you. I will be your partner, confidante, and advisor. But I can promise you no more than that.
"I would not deceive you. Despite the constant advice of my friend Charlotte Lucas, I will not pretend to affection I do not feel."
"Miss Elizabeth has long been resolved that she will marry only for the deepest love."
But you would marry me, Elizabeth, without love? Why?
"If you still wish me to be your wife after knowing that, I accept your proposal." She stood for a moment then gave him a small, nervous smile, waiting.
Darcy finally realized that the office was finished. He had asked and she had accepted.
Who is this I in me?
What do I desire for myself?
Nothing more than this. Nothing more than her.
He stepped toward her and extended his hand to her still-flushed cheek with infinite care, rubbing the backs of his gloved, curled fingers against her warm skin. Her smile grew, and became less nervous.
I can court her while engaged to her. I can know myself; I can make her know me; I can make her love me.
I can.
"When should I speak to your father?" he asked, still caressing her, as she tilted her head to increase the pressure of her cheek on his fingers.
She frowned. "It will have to be tomorrow. He left to consult my Uncle Phillips today about some legal matters. When he returns late this evening, almost certainly too late to call, I will speak to him, prepare him."
She shook her head, reacting to her thoughts. "Yesterday, my mother was disappointed in me, and my father was proud of me. I fear tonight they will trade places. Her dislike of you will not survive our news. She will be in raptures. His dislike of you will survive our news, and he will wonder at my motive in accepting you."
He and I will thus launch on this new future with the same question.
Darcy dropped his hand slowly from her cheek.
She met his eyes again. "I do not want a long engagement, Mr. Darcy."
Darcy did not speak.
A/N: I've put in quite a bit of time on this in the last couple of weeks. Teaching's getting more intense, and so it may be a few days before Chapter 10. Again, thanks for all the responses!