Anguish and Animosity: a Pride and Prejudice Fanfic
Full Summary: This "what-if" fic takes place right after Darcy's disastrous proposal to Elizabeth at Hunsford. Instead of composing his infamous letter to Elizabeth, Darcy abruptly leaves Rosings without further explanation, nursing his wounded pride. Thus, Elizabeth does not discover Wickham's true character, and her dislike for Darcy still stands. Other plot elements from Pride and Prejudice also change, making the struggle to find true love all the more difficult for Darcy and Elizabeth.
From one of the great many windows of Rosings Park one could see, besides the fashionable gardens and the charming woods of Kent, a solitary figure walking up the path. Fitzwilliam Darcy was striding up the walk in a posture not befitting a gentleman of his consequence: slumped in defeat.
Darcy entered the hall of Rosings, silently handed his hat and greatcoat to the manservant waiting for him, and quickly made for the stairs, hoping neither his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam nor his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, would notice him. He was in no mood to endure the company of his formidable aunt, given the events that had transpired at the Hunsford parsonage.
Unfortunately, Fitzwilliam had heard Darcy's entrance and appeared in the hall, cheerfully inquiring his cousin on his disappearance. Mr. Darcy's face considerably paled; he replied succinctly to the Colonel's inquiries and feigned a quick excuse of attending a pressing matter of business. As he was taking the stairs to his chamber, he requested that Fitzwilliam make his apologies to their aunt. Fitzwilliam glanced at him questioningly, but Darcy ignored him, not wishing to explain himself to anyone at all.
Upon entering his chamber, Darcy swiftly shut and locked his door to ensure no one would disturb him. Now reddening with anger, he furiously stripped off his jacket, waistcoat, and cravat, tossing them carelessly on his bed. In an attempt to alleviate his temper, he leaned against the window, only to observe the parsonage, where Elizabeth Bennet had...
Darcy whirled around and threw himself into a chair. "I will not be reminded of her!" he hissed under his breath. But it could not be helped. He was swiftly reminded of Elizabeth's censure on his supposed injuries against Mr. Wickham. "You have reduced him to his present state of poverty, comparative poverty. And yet you can treat the mention of his misfortunes with contempt and ridicule!" Her voice, sharp and caustic with seemingly righteous anger, rang in his head. Darcy jumped to his feet immediately, rage rendering him unable to sit still.
"Has the devil himself set this scoundrel against me?" he fumed, slamming his fist against the desk. "How could she be so blinded by his wiles? Why must I suffer from his contemptible deceit?"
Darcy cut himself off at once and let out a shuddering breath. He passed a hand over his face as if to allay his fury and sat down once again. At least regarding the charges against Wickham he could defend himself. Unfortunately, he soon realized, such a defense would require him to expose the circumstances surrounding Wickham and his sister Georgiana. To have his poor sister subject to gossip and ridicule alarmed Darcy. Was it really worth putting her through that pain? Long had he guarded the secrecy of the whole affair, and he was not wholly willing to submit his family to shame and ridicule. If he informed Elizabeth of the matter, surely her whole family would pick up the particulars. Darcy shuddered at the thought of Mrs. Bennet being privy to such a delicate affair. That woman could hardly keep any secret at all.
No, that was nonsense. Elizabeth could be trusted; she would respect his confidence. That matter did not worry him. In truth, Darcy was uncertain whether or not she would believe his testimony. She had made it very obvious that she felt nothing but the deepest contempt for him. Furthermore, Elizabeth showed pity and high regard for Wickham, no doubt because of his charms. Darcy's face darkened immediately. Did she and Wickham have an understanding? Did Elizabeth refuse him because of her admiration for that man?
Damn him! thought Darcy contemptuously. To think that he could be intimate with Elizabeth! God in heaven, what did I do to deserve such torture? He could picture both Elizabeth and Wickham sneering at him, but while the lady only looked at him in disgust, the man looked insufferably smug, knowing that he had won the battle they had waged against one another.
Darcy slumped into his chair, defeated. That was how the entire affair was going to end. Elizabeth had slipped from his grasp, never to return, and has thrown herself with Wickham, where she will inevitably remain. He groaned and buried his face in his hands.
The other charge placed upon him resulted in even more problems. Darcy felt no remorse for separating Charles Bingley from Jane Bennet last November, for he knew that Bingley often found himself in love with some woman; these infatuations were hardly ever serious. In these times Darcy observed his friend closely, making certain that Bingley should never be ensnared by some mercenary. In the case of Miss Bennet, Darcy realized that Bingley's attachment to the young lady was more serious that he had imagined; his friend was most certainly besotted. During their time in Hertfordshire, Darcy carefully monitored the couple, and deduced that Jane Bennet's feelings for his friend was certainly not as strong or deep as Bingley's, though it was clear that she was pleased with his attentions. He was certain that the sweet-tempered Miss Bennet was by no means a fortune hunter, but it was her mother that had made evident her reasons for marrying off her daughters to men like Bingley. Darcy observed that Miss Bennet was a compliant, innocent young woman and would certainly obey her mother's wishes by marrying not for love but for more...material reasons. Thus, to save his friend from a most inconvenient alliance, Darcy convinced Charles of Miss Bennet's indifference and whisked him off to London before anything disastrous could occur.
Little did he know that his prudent decision to protect his friend would backfire him so! Darcy snorted in disgust at his own kindness to Bingley, realizing that his generosity to his friend had ruined his chances with Elizabeth. She must have thought him hypocritical to deem her sister unsuitable for Bingley while in the same breath confessing his love for her and asking for her hand in marriage. Darcy, however, saw the prudence behind his actions, which Elizabeth refused to see. In his opinion Elizabeth was highly unlikely to marry for monetary reasons, for she possessed such a free-spirited, impertinent nature; she was not as submissive as her sister. Certainly Elizabeth would never become the mercenary that her mother encouraged her to be, and for this Darcy was infinitely grateful. At times he was so conflicted in his opinion of Elizabeth; he recalled seeing her at Netherfield when her sister was ill. Elizabeth had walked three miles from Longbourn and had muddied herself considerably. When she arrived at Netherfield, her hair was all in disarray, her petticoat "six inches deep in mud", as Mrs. Hurst had observed. Darcy did not know whether to be appalled at such an exhibition or amused at Elizabeth's refreshing sense of independence. He contented himself with admiring her fine eyes, which were bright and alert from the strenuous exercise. Darcy also admitted to himself that he loved her quick wit and pert tongue and secretly enjoyed the verbal battles they engaged in.
There was no other woman in the world like Elizabeth Bennet.
Darcy groaned again at the thought of Elizabeth. Will she never leave my mind? I have admitted defeat. Will she not leave me be? he thought desperately. He recalled his proposal to her, if one could refer to it so. It was a disaster, a complete and utter failure on his part. Elizabeth did not only make it known that she felt nothing but abhorrence for him but also declared that she would never accept him. "You could not have made me the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it." Darcy could have endured marrying Elizabeth if only to satisfy her financial needs, for his fortune was vast enough to do so. At least then he could have her, and perhaps during their union he could improve in her eyes. But her pronouncement dashed any hopes of ever applying for her favor again, any hopes of ever seeing Elizabeth smile at him in adoration...
Darcy closed his eyes in despair. In his mind he recalled every sharp word they exchanged that evening. He winced when he recalled his proposal; it was indeed a mistake to immediately criticizing her family, but how could he not? Elizabeth had sense enough; she knew of her family's impropriety. Darcy colored suddenly. Of course she knew, but it was indeed very improper of him to point it out. How could he have been so mindless? He grimaced in self-loathing, recalling how...confident he was that Elizabeth would accept his proposal. Damn your pride, Fitzwilliam Darcy, he berated himself. Did you truly think that, after such a proposal, that she could ever accept it? What in God's name could I have been thinking? Elizabeth was perfectly right in her censure of him: "...had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner." How right she had been! He had been an arrogant fool.
But what was to be done? Elizabeth had stated herself: there was nothing that Darcy could do to tempt her to accept him. It was hopeless; he would have to endure a lifetime without her while watching her marry some buffoon simply to secure her own future. Darcy gripped the edge of his desk in frustration and despair until his knuckles turned white. There was no way he was going to completely give up to that fate. If he failed to make an attempt to defend himself now, he would regret it for all of his life. Resolve to do this much, Darcy extracted a piece of paper, pen, and an inkwell from the desk. He paused with the pen poised above the pristine white parchment, formulating in his mind how to address the missive. Then he lifted his pen and wrote thus: "Be not alarmed, Madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of those sentiments, or renewal of those offers, which were last night so disgusting to you..."
Several hours ticked by when, at last, Darcy tossed the pen onto the desk and clenched his aching, ink-stained fingers. The candle that had provided him with adequate light was now nearly out, but a faint flame still cast the tiniest bit of light on the painstakingly written words on his completed letter. The letter, which was several pages in length, contained a detailed and thorough account of Darcy's history with Wickham, every painful particular that he would rather forget. The other part outlined his motives for separating Bingley and Miss Bennet. He pored out his very soul into those words, for any concealment of any kind was his abhorrence. Darcy did not spare Elizabeth's family from his criticism, although he was well aware that his censure of their lack of propriety would not sit well with the recipient of the letter.
At this sudden thought, Darcy clenched his hands into fists, ignoring the aching that ensued. "There is nothing I can do to win Elizabeth's favor," he muttered darkly. "To defend myself thus, despite of my honesty, will only make her contempt for me all the stronger! What is the use? Shall I torture myself by exposing all I have kept secret just to win even more of her hate? Shall I have my good judgment scorned and belittled to nothing but 'selfish disdain' and contemptible pride?" Darcy broke off his rant, breathing hard as his frustration mounted. He stood up abruptly and paced about the room, his steps agitated. "If I am to torture myself thus, simply to be rejected a second time, then it is no better than giving up to my inevitable fate. Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! If only you knew how much you torment me! You do not know half of the extent of my love for you. It is not simply passionate but bittersweet...it is not only ardent but agonizing..." Darcy was stunned to feel, unmistakably, tears pricking his eyes. He hardly ever shed tears, not even at the death of his father. And here he was, lamenting over the love of a woman and feeling very weak and feeble indeed. Darcy stopped pacing immediately and picked up the letter from the desk. Then, with a solemnity of a man facing death, he placed the letter into the flame of his candle and watched it burn, its ashes fluttering to the floor.
Part 2
Elizabeth sat dumbfounded and furious at Mr. Darcy's declaration of love and proposal. She colored slightly as he stared at her, clearly awaiting for an answer. She opened her mouth, fully intent on refusing him, but when she did speak, it was as if another person had invaded her body and taken control of her vocal cords.
“I believe, sir, that although I do not return your sentiments, that I should express a sense of gratitude, and indeed I do thank you. I must also confess that your offer of marriage was wholly unexpected, and I apologize for my shocked behavior.” Elizabeth swallowed and tried to suppress the unknown voice issuing from her mouth, but to no avail. “Sir, you must know that it is impossible for me to marry for love, given the position of my family. Therefore, I must resort to another motive: that is, for the financial security of myself and my family.”
Mr. Darcy stared at her in astonishment, and Elizabeth clutched her throat in spite of herself, horrified at what she had said. Yet her voice did not obey her heart and instead went wholly against her wishes by saying (as if it had a mind of its own), “Mr. Darcy, I would indeed be honored to be your wife.”
Elizabeth clapped a hand over her mouth and bit back a cry of despair. How could she do such a thing? To be married to this man! How could her voice have betrayed her thus? Mr. Darcy's expression was mingled with bewilderment and relief. He stepped forward and took her hand, raising it to his lips and kissing it almost perfunctorily, without the passion he had previously declared. Elizabeth blinked furiously to prevent herself from crying from sorrow at accepting such a man.
“You have made me a very happy man by accepting me, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Darcy said in a terribly dull voice. “If it is agreeable to you, I wish to be married at once, without applying for your family's favor, since I do not care for them much.”
Elizabeth colored at what he had said. Agreeable to me? To think such a thing! she thought indignantly. But her treacherous voice replied, in an emotionless tone, “I shall do whatever pleases you, sir.”
Mr. Darcy nodded and briskly told her to pack her things tonight, for he was going to take her away early in the morning to Scotland where they could elope. He said this very carelessly, without emotion or ardor, but as if it were his duty. Elizabeth choked back tears. If this was what her marriage would be like, she would rather die a spinster. But it was too late to go back on her word now.
Mr. Darcy then took his leave, bowing and kissing her hand once again. When he left, Elizabeth burst into tears. “How could I have done such a thing! Foolish, foolish mistake! Now I shall have to live in torture with that man as my husband!” Nevertheless, she trudged upstairs and began packing her trunks as her fiancé had commanded her to.
The following day, Mr. Darcy arrived at promptly seven o'clock in the morning, before the Collinses were awake, looking particularly grim. The coachman loaded Elizabeth's trunks onto Mr. Darcy's carriage, while he helped her inside before climbing in himself.
Once the carriage door was shut, Mr. Darcy met her gaze, and she was astonished to see the dark pools of his eyes glazed over, as if he were in a frenzy. Suddenly, he reached for Elizabeth, boldly taking her by the arms and pulling her close to him. Elizabeth writhed and tried wriggling out of his grasp, but Mr. Darcy tightly pulled his arms around her. She nearly cried out, but Mr. Darcy muffled her cry by crushing his lips against hers.
In that kiss Elizabeth felt the passion that he had previously professed, and it both scared and thrilled her. Mr. Darcy was by no means gentle; his mouth was pressed so firmly to hers that it almost hurt, and he accidentally nipped her bottom lip, causing it to bleed. Elizabeth cried out again, this time in pain, and turned her face away from his.
Startled at what he had done, Mr. Darcy groaned softly, as if he were in pain, and put his mouth to her ear, whispering in a hoarse voice, “You know not how you torture me, Elizabeth...” Elizabeth's eyes widened, both frightened and fascinated by this new Mr. Darcy.
“How do I do that, sir?” she said, nursing her injured lip.
“By despising me so when I am violently in love with you,” was his husky reply before he leaned over to kiss her once again...
Elizabeth Bennet awoke from the disturbing dream, her heart pounding and her headache suddenly returning with full force. She shuddered at the Mr. Darcy of her dream, recalling how wild his eyes were when he looked at her...
Elizabeth pulled back the bedclothes, resolved to think of the...nightmare no more. She ventured to the pitcher of water and splashed some on her face, relishing in the coolness against her hot face. Elizabeth's hand subconsciously went to her mouth, touching the spot on her lip where Mr. Darcy had accidentally bitten down on, in her dream...
With an exasperated cry, Elizabeth furiously put the dream and Mr. Darcy out of her mind and picked out a gown to wear. As she slipped it on, Elizabeth realized that it was the same dress she had worn in her dream, when Mr. Darcy had taken her away from the parsonage...
“Hateful man! Can he not leave me alone?” Elizabeth fairly shouted in frustration. She finished doing up the tiny buttons on her gown and arranging her hair as best as she could. Her ill temper so early in the morning left her slightly nauseated and not at all wanting any breakfast, so she resolved to take a walk about the park before she and Miss Lucas took their leave tomorrow. Erasing all thought of Mr. Darcy from her mind (and failing pitifully), Elizabeth snatched her spencer and bonnet before heading out of her room.
Elizabeth, out of common courtesy, stopped by the dining room where Charlotte, Mr. Collins, and Maria were already breakfasting. Charlotte looked up and appraised Elizabeth, declaring that she looked rather pale and ought to have some breakfast before going out.
“Oh, no, thank you, Charlotte,” Elizabeth replied quickly. “I just need a bit of fresh air and exercise...I think I've been indoors too long.” She feigned a reassuring smile as she slipped on her spencer. Charlotte conceded reluctantly and bid her goodbye before Elizabeth stepped outside of the house.
She walked a little while away from the house, carrying her bonnet with her. Elizabeth loved the feeling of sunshine on her face and did not want to deprive herself of that sensation by donning her bonnet. She glanced around to see if she was a good distance from the parsonage and if there was anyone about before taking off into a run. She relished in the wind caressing her cheeks as she ran through the woods, feeling all of the stress built up within her dissipate through the exercise. She slowed to a stop once she felt breathless, her face hot from the exertion, and wandered a bit more.
Suddenly, Elizabeth noticed a figure standing a few yards away from her. Startled, she recognized the person as Mr. Darcy, dressed in a gray great coat and carrying a riding crop and hat in his hands. Despite her intense dislike for him, Elizabeth could not help but admit that he looked particularly handsome in the morning sunlight, the wind tousling his hair, giving him an uncharacteristically boyish appearance. Elizabeth realized that she had been staring quite stupidly, and not wanting to be caught, turned to walk away. Unfortunately Mr. Darcy heard her movements and whirled around.
“Miss Bennet,” he said in a low, hoarse voice.
Elizabeth turned round and said in a toneless voice, “Mr. Darcy.” She glanced up at him defiantly, but Mr. Darcy did not meet her gaze. Elizabeth was startled to notice how bedraggled his handsome face was! His mouth was turned down as usual, but not in distaste, but in defeat and despair. She also noticed that he lacked his usual proud bearing and expression and instead looked downcast, his pride shattered. Elizabeth suddenly recalled the harsh words she had abused him with the day before and was struck with slight guilt. It was true that Mr. Darcy deserved her censure, but to abuse him so cruelly showed that Elizabeth had stooped down to his level, or worse. Her cheeks reddened in embarrassment as the silence wore on.
Mr. Darcy sensed her discomfort, and, not feeling particularly easy in her company, bowed respectfully and murmured, “Excuse me,” before stalking off in the direction of Rosings. Elizabeth did not have a chance to reply, nor was she inclined to, but she perceived not only respect but also acknowledgement of his defeat in his bow. She also noticed that as he strode away, the line of his shoulders was slumped considerably, rather than straight with proud bearing, as if he was physically weighed down by the bruises inflicted to his ego. What an effect (wholly unexpected by Elizabeth) her words had obviously had on Mr. Darcy!
Elizabeth shook her head vehemently and pursed her lips. How could she have weakened herself with guilt that way? Mr. Darcy had acted that way on purpose, to inflict these contrite feelings upon her. Elizabeth gritted her teeth and stalked off toward Rosings, her cheeks aflame with new anger. How dare he deprive her of her righteous fury? She had every reason to abhor him and treat him with contempt. I do not regret one word I uttered yesterday, she declared to herself, squaring her shoulders.
It was Mr. Darcy who was still at fault. He was the one who had treated Wickham with disrespect, cruelty, and contempt. He was the man who explicitly disobeyed the wishes of his father at his deathbed, the contemptible brute! He was the man who inflicted such pain and sorrow to her poor sister Jane by presuming to interfere with Jane and Bingley's relationship, as if he was doing a great service to his friend! Elizabeth sniffed derisively. He insulted her family in the worst way possible, and above all of this, he had the presumptuous notion that she, Elizabeth Bennet, could actually accept him.
“After deeming me `tolerable but not handsome enough to tempt me'? After censuring my family? Insufferable, stupid man!” Elizabeth fumed, entering the parsonage, where she was greeted promptly by Maria.
“The two gentlemen were here to take their leave, Lizzy!” cried she, overcome with excitement.
“Mr. Darcy came here?” Elizabeth all but spat out.
“Well, he went away directly, but the Colonel waited for you for a half an hour,” Maria giggled. “And now they are to go out of the country.”
“I dare say we shall be able to bear the deprivation,” Elizabeth replied brusquely, marching upstairs to her room and shutting the door without a word.
“How could I have been so weak?” she scolded herself. “How could I be taken in, even only for a moment, by his handsome face and contrite expression? It is all just an act. Hateful, hateful man!” Elizabeth threw herself into a chair, her headache returning full force. Mr. Darcy was the cause of her ill temper as of late. It was his fault for behaving so ungentleman-like, for appearing in her dream and giving her a kiss so unforgettable (even though it was just a dream), for inciting within her even the smallest bit of remorse, and for being so damnably handsome...
Elizabeth let out a cry of frustration before burying her face in her hands. Only two days more, Elizabeth, she told herself over and over. Then, at last, you can leave this wretched place.
Just then, Elizabeth's reverie was startled by scuffling and shouting from downstairs. It was Mr. Collins, of course, in one of his tirades about being late for their visit to Rosings. She closed her eyes in annoyance as her headache throbbed harder. “Lizzy!” Charlotte's voice beckoned her urgently. “Lizzy!”
Elizabeth rubbed her temples furiously before taking off her gown and finding something more suitable to wear to her last visit to Rosings. She cursed herself for even agreeing to pay one last visit to Lady Catherine, for she couldn't bear to be in Her Ladyship's company in ill spirits. Mr. Darcy was the cause of all of this. If he had not come to Rosings Elizabeth's visit to Kent would have been at least tolerable. “Hateful, hateful man!” Elizabeth whispered the mantra over and over again, as if to allay her headache, as she descended the staircase, jacket and bonnet in hand.
The walk to Rosings was cheerful to everyone except Elizabeth. Maria Lucas chattered on excitedly, remarking on how many times they had been honored to be guests at Rosings. Mr. Collins beamed at his sister-in-law's exuberant awe at Her Ladyship, commenting on how regretful he was that it was to be their last visit. Elizabeth remained uncharacteristically silent, even through their visit with Lady Catherine, when she usually had some of her pert opinions to share. Her Ladyship was in the middle of remarking on how sorry she was for the Colonel and Darcy to leave so soon. Elizabeth grimaced; she wanted nothing more than for Darcy to be as far away from her as possible.
Luckily, Lady Catherine scarcely noticed Elizabeth's new taciturn behavior and did not comment. However, she presumptuously commanded that Elizabeth stay another fortnight. Elizabeth declined, noticing certain similarities between Her Ladyship and her nephew (abominable presumption, excessive pride, hypocrisy, etc.).
“I am most seriously displeased, Miss Bennet, that you do not heed my suggestion. A young woman is not much use to her father and mother and ought to enjoy pleasures such as ones found here at Rosings. Well...in any case...I find it most improper that you should be traveling post by yourself! Certainly it would be my pleasure to take you in the barouche box.”
“No, thank you, ma'am. My uncle Mr. Gardiner is to send a servant when we change to the post,” said Elizabeth shortly.
“Your uncle keeps a manservant, does he? Well, it would be most inconvenient to deprive your uncle of his servant, Miss Bennet,” Lady Catherine persisted.
“No, indeed, ma'am. My uncle is lucky enough to employ several servants.”
Lady Catherine arched a supercilious eyebrow at Elizabeth, but rested her case and said no more. Elizabeth heaved a tiny sigh of relief, praying that the visit would be of a short duration.
That evening, Elizabeth lay in bed, counting the hours until she could leave Kent. She longed to see Jane once again, and she could hardly bear Mr. Collins's or Lady Catherine's company any longer. She found that sleep did not come so quickly this time. Elizabeth was aware in her heart the reason for her sudden sleeplessness. “Hateful man!” she whispered into the night, fluffing her pillow before lying back again. Sleep did eventually claim her after hours of staring into the darkness.
Part 3
Darcy handed a glass of brandy to Bingley silently before pouring himself his own and setting the decanter back on the tray. Bingley accepted his drink, a bemused half-smile on his face. He had called upon his friend ten minutes ago, and Darcy had scarcely spoke three words to him. Bingley was aware that his friend was a taciturn sort of gentleman, but this lack of conversation struck him as odd indeed.
Bingley also realized, with dismay, that Darcy seemed to not take any notice of his presence. Hardly did he cast a glance to where Bingley sat in a leather chair facing him. Instead, he paced about his study, his dark eyes unfocused, as if he were lost in his thoughts. Bingley was tempted to inquire as to what troubled Darcy, but he only knew too well that such a question would only merit a dark glare.
“How was your journey into Kent?” Bingley questioned instead, endeavoring to make his tone light. “Tolerable, I hope?”
“It was very...surprising,” said Darcy vaguely.
“How so? I trust your aunt—Lady Catherine de Bourgh, right?—I trust that she's well?”
“Oh yes...Lady Catherine is just as she ever was,” muttered Darcy.
“And your cousin? I hope she is well?” Bingley prompted.
“Yes, yes...” Darcy sat down at his desk, his eyes giving no hint as to what was on his mind.
“Out with it, man,” said Bingley, nearly losing his patience for once. “Something is troubling you, Darcy, and I daresay that this time it's not your nagging aunt.” He chuckled slightly; even Darcy's mouth quirked momentarily. Then suddenly Darcy regained his grim—no, solemn expression.
“And I suppose you want to hear it,” said Darcy wearily.
“Believe me, Darcy, I wish to hear it so that I may help you,” Bingley said honestly.
Darcy laughed mirthlessly, as if he had found something to be ironic. “As you recall, Lady Catherine is the patroness of a parson, whose residence is near Rosings?”
“Yes,” said Bingley slowly, puzzled.
“That parson, whose name is Collins, actually sojourned to Hertfordshire when we were there. He even attended your ball at Netherfield,” went on Darcy, staring at his hands thoughtfully.
“Why, I recall the gentleman,” said Bingley. Suddenly he felt his chest grow tight; to be reminded of that night at Netherfield! His thoughts did not remain on Collins long. They wandered to a certain lady...nay, an angel, who had captured his heart at the Netherfield ball...
“Bingley? I say, are you listening?” Darcy said impatiently.
“Yes...of course,” said Bingley, dazed. “Yes. I apologize. Pardon me, Darcy, but why are you telling me all of this? What does this have to do with anything?”
Darcy fell silent suddenly, his eyes meeting Bingley's. His countenance was grave and solemn, and Bingley was momentarily fearful that he would remain tightlipped. Then Darcy spoke again, and his tone was somber.
“Bingley, I have dreaded this moment for quite some time...but...there are some injustices I have committed against you that I must confess.”
“Darcy! Come man, it cannot be so grave!” said Bingley in disbelief.
“Nay, when you hear me out, my friend, you will fully understand the weightiness of my faults.” Darcy continued in his solemn voice. “Collins, the parson I was talking about, recently wedded a lady from Hertfordshire—I believe that we have made her and her family's acquaintance during our stay—formerly Miss Charlotte Lucas.”
“Ah yes, I remember her,” said Bingley.
“Apparently, before I had made my sojourn to Kent, Miss Lucas—pardon me—Mrs. Collins had invited a close friend of hers to visit her husband's parsonage at Hunsford. The young lady happened to be Miss Bennet...er, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet!” repeated Bingley. His heart had swelled with false hope that the lady alluded to should turn out to be his beloved, but all hope was deflated when it turned out to be her sister. Darcy regarded his friend curiously with a sharp eye. “Ah yes, I see. Er…continue.”
“I had the pleasure of renewing my acquaintance with Miss Elizabeth,” said Darcy softly. “She was just as I had expected her to be: pert, sharp-tongued...um..., well, to come to the point.” Darcy stood up and cleared his throat. Bingley frowned at Darcy's sudden change in tone when he mentioned Miss Elizabeth.
“Bingley, Miss Elizabeth and I...shall we say...well...” To Bingley's utter amazement, his friend began to stammer, nervously searching for the right words. “Well, she made it clear that I had misunderstood her...and her sister.”
“What?” Bingley shot up from his chair at the mere mention of Miss Elizabeth's sister.
“Some time during the exchange between us, I had mentioned your—my reasons for our departure from Hertfordshire last November. I had made it clear to Miss Elizabeth that I believed Miss Jane to be indifferent to you, and—” Darcy paused, running a hand through his hair nervously.
“Darcy, what—?” Bingley urged on, but he was interrupted by Darcy.
“Miss Elizabeth made it very clear,” said Darcy with a wince, “that I had been incorrect in my assumptions that Miss Jane was indifferent to you.”
“She—?” Bingley gaped wordlessly, astounded by this bit of information. He collapsed into his chair once again. What did Darcy insinuate? Jane...loved him? Dare he entertain the hope? Bingley was brought back from his fleeting thoughts by Darcy's nervous pacing. “I don't understand. How have you wronged me, Darcy?”
“I had my suspicions that Miss Jane's feelings were deeper than I had estimated before Miss Elizabeth informed me of them herself.” Darcy stopped pacing abruptly and turned to face Bingley. “You must understand that it is difficult for me to confess this.”
Darcy's tone had become graver, if that was at all possible. Bingley fretted over what on earth could be eating away at Darcy's heart so much. He awaited his friend's confession with apprehension.
“Bingley, last winter I was aware that Miss Jane had been in London, and I purposefully concealed it from you.”
Bingley once again leapt from his seat. “What?” he exclaimed, a feeling foreign to him rising within him. “You...you concealed it from me? By God, man, why?” Dismayed, he suddenly realized that this new feeling was anger.
Darcy winced visibly at Bingley's uncharacteristic rage. “I have no paltry excuse to offer you, Bingley. It was wrong of me, and I heartily apologize.”
“All this time...all winter, she was in London? I could have...my God...” Bingley realized that he was prattling on and on like a mindless fool. He met Darcy's gaze at last, detecting remorse in his friend's eyes. Bingley desperately wished to acquit him of cruelty, to forgive and forget, as they say. Yet he found it increasingly difficult to brush away Darcy's willful concealment, no matter how contrite his friend felt. Bingley was normally a generous and forgiving man, yet he felt reluctant to be so toward his friend.
“Darcy, you understand that knowing...that receiving the information that you have just related to me does nothing to ease my pain—rather, it has increased it considerably,” said Bingley in a strained voice. “I can find it in my heart to forgive you, my friend, but I am sorry to say that I cannot, and will not, forget it. I can't fathom why you would conceal Jane's being in London from me,.” Other than the obvious reason, thought Bingley. He winced, willing himself to erase that thought from his mind.
“Bingley, I thank you for your forgiveness,” said Darcy softly, meekly. Bingley was astounded to see his formerly proud friend humble and mindful of his faults.
“Darcy, you understand that I now find it hard to trust you,” said Bingley solemnly.
Darcy winced, and Bingley was struck with sympathy for his friend, who suffered from such guilt and misery for one act of folly. Yet he could not bring himself to fully reconcile their relationship.
“I think that it is best that I leave you now,” said Bingley quietly.
“Yes,” said Darcy in agreement, his expression stony. “Bingley, I have one thing to ask of you. Return to Hertfordshire, I beg of you.”
“Darcy, you cannot ask me to do that,” said Bingley wearily. “How can I face Miss Bennet again after leaving her so abruptly last November and not contacting her whilst she was in London? She must despise me now,” he added miserably, more to himself.
“I assure you that Miss Bennet's regard for you remains unchanged,” said Darcy. “She loves you, man, you cannot turn away now. Go back to Hertfordshire and renew your attentions. If you do not, you will regret it. Promise me, Bingley.”
“Darcy, how can I believe you?” said Bingley desperately.
“I would not conceal the truth from you twice!”
Defeated, Bingley sighed helplessly. “Darcy...I will think about it. But I will not make any promises.”
“Very well,” said Darcy, his expression betraying his weariness.
“I take my leave of you now,” said Bingley abruptly, glancing at Darcy's uncharacteristically slouched figure one last time before departing from the room.
Darcy did not look up when Bingley finally left his study; the only signal of his friend's departure was the sharp sound of the door briskly shutting. For a few minutes, the room filled with reverberating silence. At last, Darcy stood up slowly from his chair and rang for his steward. Only one task remained for him: to make preparations to leave for Pemberley the next morning. To Pemberley he would retreat, with his tail between his legs, where he could be far, far away from the consequences of his mistakes.
In the middle of these morose thoughts, Darcy sifted through the pile of missives in helter-skelter on his desk. One letter's seal, he noticed, was still unbroken. Hastily he broke the seal and quickly skimmed the letter's contents. A faint frown appeared between Darcy's brows, and, as he came to the close of the letter, he actually groaned in annoyance. Some obscure old friend of his father's, a man he had never met in his life, requested his presence at dinner the following week. The man was apparently some illustrious captain who was willing to discuss shipments with Darcy. He frowned again, checking the letter's direction; it had come from Portsmouth. This was indeed a fortunate opportunity, but Darcy suddenly felt overwhelmingly weary, in his mind and even worse in his heart. He detested the idea, furthermore, of calling upon a gentleman he had never met, and travelling to Portsmouth would only delay his sojourn to Pemberley. Darcy paused in his indecision, skimming the letter over and over again. Damn it all! I shall pay my respects to this captain; shipping nowadays is so damn expensive; perhaps I could save a few unnecessary pounds, he thought. Why was he in a hurry to journey to Derbyshire anyway? Quickly he scribbled a letter accepting the captain's invitation and rang for his steward. One last social call, he thought grimly, and then I can retreat into peaceful solitude.
(A/N: The letter that Darcy received from the “illustrious captain” is an allusion to another short story I wrote. It's a Hornblower/Pride & Prejudice crossover and is not really important to this story.)
Darcy awoke from a light slumber to find himself still in the carriage, en route to Pemberley. The rain had thankfully ceased, and once glance out of the carriage window informed Darcy that he had finally entered Derbyshire. A faint smile touched his lips at seeing his true home at last. His smile widened a trifle when he recognized the grove of trees that lined the edge of his estate. The woods of his home seemed particularly lovely at this time of year; such a sight was enough to lift Darcy's downtrodden spirits if but for a moment.
As the carriage pulled to the front of the house, Darcy gave a few orders to his steward as to where to take his luggage and to make sure all of his mail was in his study. Then he climbed out of the carriage eagerly and entered the grand foyer of the house, awaiting his welcome. A servant promptly relieved his master of his greatcoat and hat; when he had bustled away, another person came forward to greet him.
“Brother! You have come so soon,” said Georgiana sweetly, allowing Darcy to fold her into his embrace.
“There was nothing in London to keep me long, dearest,” he said, his heart swelling. For the first time in weeks, Darcy had been welcomed by someone who harbored no hatred or bitterness toward him. The thought provoked within him a new wave of anguish, and the smile that had previously appeared on his face vanished. As he embraced his sister, thoughts of Bingley's anger and Elizabeth's hatred gnawed at his heart. Abruptly he stepped back, startling poor Georgiana.
“Are you unwell, Fitzwilliam?” she inquired worriedly.
“No, my dear, I am quite well. I must attend to some matters of business, but later, I promise I shall listen to the new piece you are working on. You have been practicing whilst I was away, haven't you?” Darcy feigned a smile, guilt pricking at his heart for lying to Georgiana.
“Of course I have, brother,” she replied with a smile. “I shall wait in the music room.”
Darcy regarded Georgiana's retreating figure gloomily; fool he was to think that running to Pemberley would cure him of his dark mood. To his dismay he found himself more miserable than he had been in London.
Part 4
Elizabeth's return to Longbourn did nothing to soothe her black mood. Jane's quiet heartbreak and her mother's constant (and very boisterous) lamentations about Mr. Bingley's departure from Hertfordshire only reminded her of Mr. Darcy's cruelty. Elizabeth had meant to keep the events that had occurred in Kent a secret, but she could not bear to keep anything from Jane. Two nights after her homecoming Elizabeth reluctantly related to Jane what had befallen between her and Mr. Darcy.
"Mr. Darcy proposed?" cried Jane in shock. This unexpected news momentarily allowed her to forget her pain over Mr. Bingley. "He always seemed so cold and heartless! And yet he loved you all this time! Poor Mr. Darcy!"
Elizabeth grimaced in annoyance and disgust. "I am less eager to declare him so, Jane. He is not worth anyone's pity. If he should suffer he has no one but himself to blame."
"Lizzy, that is unkind," Jane chided her gently. "I am sure this has been an agonizing experience for him."
"Nevertheless, I cannot feel sorry for him. He expressed other feelings which would soon drive away any sympathy that he could elicit from me," returned Elizabeth, quite bitterly. "He made no effort to defend himself on the subject of Mr. Wickham." Nor in regards to you and Mr. Bingley, she added to herself.
"Oh, Lizzy, you still believe him guilty of cruelty to Mr. Wickham?" said Jane doubtfully.
"Please, do not try to dissuade me on that subject, Jane," said Elizabeth exasperatedly. "My mind has been perfectly made up about that."
"But to confess such strong feelings for you, Lizzy," Jane mused. "He must be a decent sort of man to have loved you so."
Elizabeth opened her mouth to make some sort of remark doubting Mr. Darcy's sincerity. Yet she knew that there was no question that Mr. Darcy's feelings were as "ardent" as he had claimed them to be. Suddenly she recalled the nightmare she had that night and shuddered.
"I have no doubt he was sincere, that is for certain," she admitted grudgingly. Suddenly a thought crossed Elizabeth's mind, and she quickly glanced up at Jane. "You do not blame me for not accepting him?"
"Blame you? Of course not, dearest," soothed Jane. "Why do you worry about this affair, Lizzy? He has applied for your favor and you have rejected him. As far as either of you are concerned, the matter is closed."
"Yes, I know…it's just that…" Elizabeth, for the first time in ages, fumbled for the right words. "Somehow…I believe I have…somehow wounded him."
"His pride, perhaps, but I thought you were of the opinion that he had an excess of pride."
Elizabeth nodded. "Indeed, a wound to his pride might do him some good. Yet…it's not that, Jane. I…well, we quarreled a little, and I do believe I hurt his feelings, and…oh, Jane, I feel guilty, and I do not know why!"
"Dear Lizzy," said Jane comfortingly, patting Elizabeth's arm. "I understand your torment, but perhaps you will never see Mr. Darcy again. Perhaps it is better to forget about the affair altogether."
"Perhaps," said Elizabeth with a sigh. I should not feel any guilt, she told herself. Think of all the indecorous things he has said about you! Think of his incivility! Why should I feel guilt for wounding his pride?
"Thank you, Jane," Elizabeth said at last, embracing her sister. "Oh, how I wanted you then! I was quite desolate without any Jane to comfort me."
Jane smiled, if but a trifle sadly. Thoughts of Mr. Bingley were coming back to her mind, her heartbreak returning once again. Elizabeth noticed her sister's change of expression and silently scolded herself for her insensitivity.
"Oh, Jane! I have selfishly forgotten about your troubles! Can you forgive me?" cried Elizabeth, throwing her arms about her sister once again.
"Do not worry about me, Lizzy," said Jane in an attempt to reassure her. "Truly, I will be well. It's just…I believe I still prefer Mr. Bingley to any other gentleman I had ever met…and…" Jane pulled away to face Elizabeth with a sigh. "Never mind that. I am determined to think of him no more."
"Oh, Jane!" said Elizabeth again. "I beg you do not forget about Mr. Bingley. I am certain he will come back for you."
"Please, Lizzy…" said Jane, turning away. Elizabeth noted the despondent tone of Jane's voice. "It is late. I am going to bed." Without another word, Elizabeth watched Jane quietly depart from her room, her heartbreak evident on her countenance.
Elizabeth flopped against her pillows with a dejected sigh. She could not bear to see Jane in such a melancholy state. Oh, if only Mr. Bingley would just return to Hertfordshire! She was determined to see Jane smile once again, and if that required her dragging Mr. Bingley from London to Netherfield herself, then so be it!
Her thoughts inevitably wandered to Mr. Darcy, and immediately her indignation and anger was piqued. To her, even his name seemed to evoke such negative thoughts and feelings. How could Mr. Darcy inflict such pain on her poor sister without even a trace of remorse? Perhaps if he had seen Jane's miserable state, Mr. Darcy might have reconsidered his decision to whisk Mr. Bingley away so quickly. Elizabeth dearly wanted to see Mr. Darcy's cruel and heartless character exposed to the world. All of Hertfordshire knows of his contemptible treatment of Mr. Wickham. I suppose that is enough, she mused. Enough to what? Mar his character? Elizabeth frowned at the thought. To say it in that manner made it seem as though Mr. Darcy was not the abominable man she believed him to be. Perhaps he is just misunderstood because of his reticent nature? Nonsense, Elizabeth thought vehemently. She let those doubtful thoughts pass, wondering why she should have any misgivings on her opinion of Mr. Darcy now.
A fortnight passed since Elizabeth's return from Kent. During that time, the Bennets attended another small assembly at Meryton, and, much to several of the younger Bennets' relief, Colonel Forster's regiment had not left Meryton. The colonel and his officers were present at the assembly, and during the course of the evening, Elizabeth found an opportunity to steal a few minutes with Mr. Wickham before her younger sisters could commandeer his company for the rest of the night. During their tęte-ŕ-tęte she informed Mr. Wickham of Mr. Darcy's uncivil treatment of her whilst she was visting Kent, carefully leaving out particulars regarding Mr. Darcy's proposal and the Jane and Bingley affair. She did, however cautiously, allude to the role Mr. Darcy played in Mr. Bingley's abrupt departure from the neighborhood. Mr. Wickham understood the implications in her remark and assured her of his indiscretion.
Two days following the ball at Meryton, the Bennet family assumed their usual activities that afternoon. Mr. Bennet had retired to his library, preferring the quiet of his books to the twittering of his wife and daughters. Both Jane and Elizabeth were engaged in their needlework; however, neither was progressing far in their embroidery. Jane seemed much more preoccupied at present with her downcast thoughts, though she at least endeavored to put up the pretense of diligently working. This behavior did not go unnoticed by Elizabeth, who worried restlessly for her sister and, thus, did not concentrate on her stitches. Mary earnestly absorbed herself in working on a new piece on the pianoforte. Kitty and Lydia, being the youngest, could hardly sit still or remain quietly engaged in their activities. They arranged new bonnets, laughing and talking gaily about one officer or another.
Mrs. Bennet was quite unaware of Jane's misery, for she was much more preoccupied with her own troubles. She lamented quite boisterously about the unmarried state of her daughters. At present, her rant and rails were on the subject of Mr. and Mrs. Collins.
"So!" she ventured, addressing Elizabeth. "The Collinses live quite comfortably, do they? Hmph! And I suppose they look up this house as their own, I daresay!" Elizabeth remarked that neither Mr. nor Mrs. Collins could be so tactless as to discuss that subject in her presence. Mrs. Bennet scoffed at the idea. "No doubt they constantly talk alone about having this house when your father's dead!"
Elizabeth's only reply was a wry smile.
When she was greeted with no response, Mrs. Bennet changed her tack. "And Mr. Bingley! To whom we had such high hopes! Gone off forever without notice! Hmph! He is a very undeserving and rude young man, if you ask me."
Elizabeth stole a glance in alarm at Jane, who seemed quite startled at Mrs. Bennet's sudden mention of Mr. Bingley. Elizabeth patted her sister's hand in comfort and reassurance; in response Jane gave a rather half-hearted and pained smile, in which Elizabeth saw no mirth, only sadness.
Oblivious to her daughter's pain, Mrs. Bennet continued her tirade. "Hmph! He played a very cruel joke on us all, leaving Netherfield so suddenly, and I have no opinion of him. Oh, nothing works out the way it should!" she added fretfully.
Lydia finally stood up from her chair, unable to remain calmly at her task of arranging her bonnet. "Mama, Kitty and I want to—" she began, interrupting Mrs. Bennet's ranting.
"Mama!" cried Kitty, soon cutting off her sister's request. She stood by the window and was peering very intently through it. "Mama, I think Mr. Bingley is here!"
"Oh!" cried Mrs. Bennet, the news quickly sending her into a tizzy. "Is it really him?" She rushed to the window; abruptly, Mary's tinkling on the pianoforte ceased. "Oh, it must be! Oh, Jane, he has come for you at last!"
Jane very nearly jumped in her chair at the news; she abruptly dropped her embroidery beside her, her face paling considerably. Elizabeth smiled reassuringly and squeezed her sister's hand, though she herself was unable to retain her own excitement.
"Oh! You must run and put on your best gown!" Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, once again startling her oldest daughter. Jane nearly fell out of her chair as she endeavored to rush upstairs. "No, no! Stay where you are! Oh, sit up straight, Jane!" Her mother smoothed Jane's gown and set her shoulders back. Elizabeth pitied her poor sister, who stood as rigid as a plank as she suffered their mother's ministrations.
Mrs. Bennet was just rearranging a wayward curl by Jane's face when the sound of the door brought her back to the events at hand. She rushed to her own chair and smoothed her own gown, waiting for their much-anticipated guest.
The door to the parlor was opened, and Hill appeared at the threshold. "Mr. Bingley, ma'am," she said rather unnecessarily, and the said gentleman strode into the room. As the ladies rose, the door to the parlor closed as Hill left, and Mr. Bingley bowed graciously. Mrs. Bennet and her daughters curtseyed in kind, and Elizabeth could not help but notice Jane's shakiness as she dipped down into her own curtsey. Mr. Bingley straightened, his own nervousness betrayed by his tentative smile as he sat down.
"What an unexpected pleasure this is, Mr. Bingley!" twittered Mrs. Bennet. "It has been far too long since you were here, and it was very gracious of you to call."
"I do apologize, Mrs. Bennet, for not having called sooner," said Mr. Bingley.
"Oh, never mind that, sir! I am delighted!" Mrs. Bennet laughed gaily. "People did say you meant to quit Netherfield entirely! I am happy that that is not true."
"Well, I do intend to stay in Hertfordshire at least for several weeks," returned Mr. Bingley. Elizabeth keenly watched as he stole a quick glance at Jane, who demurely cast her gaze away.
"Well, that is good news!" said Mrs. Bennet. "Ring the bell for tea, Lydia. A great many changes have occurred during your absence—"
"Pardon me, madam, but it is a fine day today, and I would hate to lose the chance to enjoy it. Perhaps some of us may walk to Meryton?" Mr. Bingley quickly, yet politely, interjected, much to Elizabeth's relief.
Mrs. Bennet responded with approval, adding that some of her daughters intended to head toward town that afternoon. She then suggested, while she must forego the pleasure of walking, that her daughters accompany him. All of the Bennet sisters agreed to a little exercise except Mary, who begged to stay behind so as to engage herself in practicing the pianoforte. Mr. Bingley seemed to think this idea agreeable, and so he and four of the Bennet girls soon headed toward Meryton.
Elizabeth's heart soared for Jane when Mr. Bingley solicited her company for their walk. The two walked side by side ahead of the rest of the party, engaged in some conversation. Elizabeth left her two younger sisters behind and followed the couple a little more closely, so as to catch a few of their words.
"...must beg my forgiveness for leaving so abruptly, Miss Bennet," Mr. Bingley was saying. "I have no excuse to offer you, but be assured that I was not wholly willing to leave you...or this society so quickly," he added, a bit sheepishly.
"Indeed, sir, I bear you no ill will for your departure," said Jane shyly.
"I also have learned," went on Mr. Bingley, "from my sisters that you were in London this past winter. I do beg your forgiveness once again for never calling upon you. I do believe my sisters had forgotten to inform me, so I was ignorant of your presence the entire time. You must forgive me, Miss Bennet."
"Sir, truly, there is nothing to forgive."
Mr. Bingley smiled kindly at Jane, who managed a small smile back before casting her gaze downward modestly. Elizabeth breathed a sigh of immense relief and allowed the couple to continue walking a little farther. There was now no doubt of Mr. Bingley's unstinting devotion to Jane. It was only a matter of time now, and the entire affair would be settled.