By the time we took supper at Lucas Lodge, I will admit I was suffering from a great deal of perplexity.
Whether it was my own mind at fault, or the situation is not for me to say, but I was certainly thrown into some unaccustomed turmoil. The confusing visit came near the end of a trying year, but perhaps I should start closer to the beginning.
My name is Fitzwilliam Darcy. My given name was my mother's maiden name, as is the custom for the first-born Darcy sons. My parents were both sadly dead, and the Darcy family consisted of only myself and my sister Georgiana, who was more than a decade my junior.
At my sister's request I removed her from school, engaged a companion with stellar references, and allowed her a short summer holiday in Ramsgate.
Thither also went my childhood nemesis, George Wickham. He was my father's godson in repayment of many years of service from his valued steward. Mr Wickham's mother was profligate to about double her income, so the son was left without the means for advancement. My father took up the yoke, gifting him a gentleman's education, and even allotting a valuable family living should he take orders.
Instead of being grateful, the scoundrel wasted £4,000 in a few years, and then went to Ramsgate to try and nearly succeed, in obtaining the dowry of my fifteen-year-old sister. He made a concerted effort to get her to elope, and even went so far as to forge letters from me that did not quite give permission but did not dissuade the connection either. The man was slippery like that.
When my sister caught onto his scheme, he rounded up a group of ruffians and tried to hunt her down like an animal. He apparently believed he could just take what was not given under the mistaken belief that, not only would I allow him to live, but her other guardian (a colonel in the army) would be similarly forgiving. Since both of us would consider being the widow of George Wickham endlessly superior to being his wife, there is no doubt what the outcome would have been.
She managed to escape with the help of an unknown lady, so naturally I offended said lady on first sight when I found my sister apparently stranded at a coaching inn a couple hours outside Ramsgate. I have no idea except blind panic why I accosted the lady and I have bitterly regretted it ever since. That five-minute period stood out as the most shameful of my life, and one that I could not redress since I could not possibly identify the lady unless my sister happened to bump into her on the street. Nearly all ladies look identical to my untrained eye in bonnets and cloaks. I knew she was tall and on the thin side, but I could not even speculate on her hair colour.
By the time I arrived in Meryton, I was still stinging both from my shame at how I treated her rescuer and my sister's rebukes, which were ongoing, bitter, and relentless. I suspected she found relief from the guilt of her own stupidity by blaming me, and since she made a valid point and the alternative was to crush her spirit, I was happy to accept it as my due. I had, after all, hired her companion and failed to warn her about scoundrels. That was two significant failures, with the latter occurring over years, none of which was anybody's fault but my own. The fact that almost nobody in our society educated ladies of her age about rakes was not much of an excuse. The guilt over both my treatment of her rescuer and my failure to protect my sister in the first place weighed heavily on my shoulders, and I wondered if I would ever get over it.
Naturally, my cousin and I hunted down the rogue and as many of his compatriots as we could find. About half of them were serving His Majesty chained to canons in the army or navy, while the other half are doing their duty feeding His Majesty's Fish.
An hour-long chastisement by my sister upon my departure to help my friend Bingley learn about estate management, followed by several hours (or days—hard to tell) in a coach with Bingley's sister, followed by a mere two hours of rest; left me in no mood to attend a local assembly—but the alternative was worse, so attend I must.
I spent the night evading matchmaking mamas and aunts, grasping fathers and uncles, and the other usual assortment of jackals I encountered everywhere the Darcy Fortune went. Naturally, I had to spend the encounter listening to the ever-present whispers of '10,000 a year and likely more' that haunted me everywhere I go. The worst was, 'he has already inherited' which seemed to make a virtue of my father's death. Some people whispered the tittle-tattle, while others bellowed it for the dogs and grooms to hear.
Bingley tried my patience by encouraging me to dance with a local lady, and he persevered in his chastisement long enough to force me to be more snappish than usual. It is his way, and I find him to be a good friend, but occasionally so annoying I want to strangle him (even without considering his clinging sister). He was trying to push me to the most ordinary young miss in the world, so I privately chastised him for his impertinence in the only language he seemed to understand. He seems like the most amiable man, but he is like a limpet when he gets the bit in his teeth. I assume that was because of years of suffering his sister's nastiness, but that is neither here nor there.
I was only glad the young lady did not hear me, since she did not react in any way and anyone who heard such nonsense would either chastise me or leave in tears. She would at the very least sink my local reputation in retribution, and more likely would have a father or brother take out her frustration on my hide. That again was something I would just have accepted as my due—I may well have preferred it.
Over the next fortnight, my mood improved. While I did have the almost constant annoyance of Miss Bingley, I was accustomed to her like and mostly ignored everything she said. Believe it or not, trading my sister's rebukes for Miss Bingley's fawning approbation was a slight improvement. If you knew Miss Bingley, that would give you a good idea of how relentlessly bitter my sister was, and trading her constant fawning approbation for constant criticism was not as bad a bargain as you might think. It mattered not whether I deserved the approbation (I did not) or the criticism (I did). It was my lot in life for the moment and my duty to endure both. I, along with my cousin, thought removing myself as an easy target for my sister's woes might help her heal enough to get on with her life. We could neither redress the past without finding her rescuer, nor change her experience. I hoped we both learned something from the experience. We would see!
All that finally brings me to my nemesis of the evening, and the proximate cause of my growing perplexity: Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
I first encountered Miss Elizabeth at the assembly, but promptly abandoned the field when her mother made a not the least bit subtle attempt to coerce me into dancing five minutes after my entry, in the apparent belief that a country matron would succeed where dukes routinely failed. It angered me to no end, as did Bingley's later attempt to do the same. I maintain that I am a grown man, master of a vast estate, responsible for the prosperity of thousands, and quite capable of choosing my own dance partners—but everyone seems to want a bite of Pemberley. Anyone whose name has never appeared in the tittle-tattle section of the papers over a single dance would probably consider me churlish, but I had to be careful. Such is life.
As for my nemesis, I must sheepishly admit that I had at first scarcely allowed her to be pretty, when I thought about her at all. I had enough sense (barely) to keep my thoughts to myself, so I said not a word about any of the local ladies, despite Bingley's sisters' numerous attempts to drag me into a critical discussion. She did not have the looks or manners of the fashionable world as her elder sister did (much to Bingley's pleasure), but I had never liked the fashionable, willowy look all that much myself. I honestly did not think much about her one way or another the first week, aside from the fact that her presence seemed to draw my attention in a way that seldom occurs. I did not react as Bingley did, but I did manage to eventually notice that her face was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. I eventually acknowledged her figure to be light and pleasing, while I was caught by their easy playfulness—or more specifically, her playfulness with other people.
I began to wish to know more of her, and as a step towards conversing with her, began to listen to her conversations—and that, my friends, is where my puzzlement began in earnest.
You see, while most of the residents made more or less subtle attempts to gain my notice, Miss Elizabeth avoided me like the plague, as did her elder sister. They were subtle about it, but every time I came within hearing of either lady, they either dragged her companion away to another corner or finished conversations abruptly to move on. It was all very sly, but after I had spent a good evening just trying to overhear a few conversations, and only managing a few dozen words, I began to wonder if they held something against me. It was possible I had offended one of them at the assembly, but it seemed unlikely. It was also possible they were just reticent, as most people made a vast number of assumptions about me based on my wealth, connexions, position, or reputation—all of which were widely known within a day or two of my arrival, as usual. I had known people who simply avoided first-circle-dandies in the (probably wise) assumption that nothing good could come of it, but it had never happened to me. I had a reputation as somewhat of a prude, which I imagine helped a bit.
To my everlasting shame, I had entirely forgotten the slight at the first assembly. I find balls inordinately difficult, and while I knew I may have been unkind when I threw Bingley off, I had no concept that she may had heard. I can offer no excuse for this lapse in gentlemanly behaviour, especially coming on the heels of my behaviour at Ramsgate, save the fact that I find the noise of assemblies and some inherent lack in me that makes it difficult to follow the tone of conversations; coupled with the need to constantly watch my back, puts me on edge. It is admittedly a weak excuse that I would not accept from anyone else, but it is all I have. Some think a poor excuse is better than none, but I am not so certain.
During the engagement at Lucas Lodge a fortnight after my arrival, she proved as slippery as an eel. That said, having played the fox in the hunt more times than I can count, I am not one to be easily put off. Who knows more about hounds than a fox?
I persevered until she apparently ran out of patience. She was speaking to Colonel Forster (a jovial man who reminded me of my cousin) about a ball she was advocating for the local regiment. I still thought a ball more akin to torture than enjoyment, but that is beside the point.
Much to my surprise, she whispered a few words to Miss Lucas, who seemed to be a particular friend, then abruptly turned and spoke to me for the first time with an impertinent quirk of her eyebrow.
"Did you not think, Mr Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?"
The sudden ambush was as surprising as having a duck attack a weasel, and I admit that I was completely nonplussed. I gave a reply that probably smacked of something. I cannot say precisely what it smacked of, but I doubt she appreciated it.
"With great energy; but it is always a subject which makes a lady energetic."
"You are severe on us."
Miss Lucas, who I had previously observed as a sensible woman, seemed to think Miss Elizabeth was winding herself up for something either stinging or rebuking (either of which was fine with me) and decided to intervene.
"It will be her turn soon to be teased. I am going to open the instrument, Eliza, and you know what follows."
"You are a very strange creature by way of a friend!–always wanting me to play and sing before anybody and everybody! If my vanity had taken a musical turn, you would have been invaluable; but as it is, I would really rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of hearing the very best performers." On Miss Lucas's persevering, however, she added, "Very well, if it must be so, it must."
She added something about saving my breath to cool my porridge, which I took to mean I should keep my opinion to myself, but she was gone before it really sank in.
All in all, I was satisfied that I had managed to keep her within two yards of me for all of two minutes and gotten her to speak a couple dozen words, and that was where my perplexity came in. I was not the least bit accustomed to being avoided. Being sought was much closer to my accustomed role. I had also noticed more of a bite in her tone than the teasing she used for everyone else. For some reason I could not fathom, I did not mind. I now realize I was probably just enjoying the novelty of honest disapprobation.
She left for the instrument, and I moved to get a view of the fair performer, and by then, I used that term unironically. She was a lovely woman, and there was no point in pretending otherwise. It was not a capital performance, particularly when compared to my sister (in the rare occasions she was not frowning at me), but I very much enjoyed it anyway. There was something compelling about it that I could not name.
To be honest, my perplexity was increasing, but I did not especially mind. From my earliest days, my life had been constrained by logic and duty. I had a duty to hundreds of people and thousands of acres. I was expected to do my duty without complaint, while understanding all that was involved in the minutest detail. It was so engrained as to be second nature. After all, no matter how you looked at it, I was following in my father's footsteps, much as he had followed in my grandfather's. I also found the machinations of the marriage mart entirely and tediously predictable. It had been years since I encountered a situation with an unmarried lady that I had not encountered dozens of times before. I found being confused refreshing—perhaps, even an improvement.
The perplexity doubled or trebled a quarter-hour later when Sir William ambushed the lady and offered her hand to me for a dance. He was far from the first man to throw a daughter, niece, or friend at me. He would be hard-pressed to be the hundredth. In fact, though I did not realise it at the time, he was being even less subtle than Mrs Bennet, if you can believe it.
For the first time in my life, I not only did not mind, but was looking forward to the exercise. Sir William handed me the perfect opportunity to enjoy a half-hour in her company without raising expectations on a plate. I know it sounds like nothing but hubris, but showing too much attention to a lady from a man in my position could harm her reputation far more than mine, and I had learned the hard way to be extra careful. That said, for once, I was looking forward to a dance with great anticipation.
Then came my moment of ultimate perplexity. She refused me! Not once, not twice, but thrice! Miss Elizabeth Bennet refused me three times in the space of a minute. Oh, she was subtle about it, and she was polite about it, and she used the prettiest words imaginable, and she did it with a smile and curtsey—but refuse me she did, and she proved to be as implacable as a stone. I did not quite grovel, but I might have if I thought it would work.
She walked away with a look of smug satisfaction, saying with what I suspected was an ironically biting statement. "Mr Darcy is all politeness."
I was still contemplating the situation when Miss Bingley decided it was an appropriate time to pour poison in my ear, so I naturally gave her something to be jealous about. Learning that I had been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow did not leave her in very good humour, and she spent the next hour trying to tease me about it with copious references to the lady's mother and sisters, as if I would ever have any larger connection to them, or I would even notice the expense of supporting half a dozen spinsters if I did.
I would come to regret saying anything to Miss Bingley, but it was amusing at the time.