Chapter 5

Darcy took a slow tour of the drawing room. He was with his relations, awaiting the party from the parsonage, who were coming to dinner. Earlier, Fitzwilliam had remarked how pleased it made him.

“The hours seem much shorter when they are here, do they not?” his cousin had asked him. “Please, I implore you, tell me we are leaving Kent soon! I have had about as much of being here as I can bear.”

Darcy knew he could not delay their departure much longer, but he did not want to go while Elizabeth remained in the neighbourhood. He mumbled a response, and reflected that, as much as his family often vexed him, he loved and respected them, and trusted they felt the same for him. It made him especially glad, because he had decided to marry Elizabeth Bennet. Fitzwilliam would welcome her as a new cousin, and even Lady Catherine would accept their marriage, once she overcame her disappointment that he had not chosen Anne.

Darcy had encountered Elizabeth—he could no longer think of her as Miss Elizabeth—every morning for the past week, apart from the day rain kept everyone at home. Twice she had not been on either of the paths she had mentioned during their initial walk together, but he thought nothing of it. She understood that he was struggling to decide whether to propose or not, and she sought to distance herself, to give him time for reflection. He preferred this explanation to the other one that had come to mind—that his presence injured her knowing that it was unlikely he would make her an offer.

Soon all doubt will be at an end! He would leap at the first opportunity to propose. How happy they would be!

At last, the Collinses and Miss Lucas arrived, but Elizabeth was not with them.

“I am afraid she is not feeling well this afternoon,” Mrs Collins said.

“Which she bitterly regrets,” Mr Collins said, bowing to Lady Catherine for the second time. “I assure you, she did her utmost to be strong enough, such was her hatred of disappointing you and missing the treat of your kindness.”

His aunt huffed. “I do not hold with young ladies always fancying themselves to be unwell. I had not thought she was such a silly girl, but…”

Darcy heard no more. Was Elizabeth genuinely ill? Momentarily, he felt weak, as if someone or something was trying to keep them apart. He would not permit it, he could not?—

“I say, Darcy, are you well?”

“I am. Just…hungry,” Darcy said, although he had no appetite. The only thing he wanted was to see Elizabeth, and he was determined to do so, if only to assure himself of her well-being.

And then it struck him. Elizabeth was not unwell; she had remained at the parsonage to give him an opportunity to propose! She knew that he would find a way to go to her. If he did not, she would take it as a sign that he had decided against her.

But I have not, and I shall be with you as soon as possible!

It was thus that, after eating his dinner, he left the house, telling the butler to inform Lady Catherine that he had gone for a walk, should she happen to notice he was missing.

Less than ninety minutes later, he was quickly stamping back to Rosings. How could he have so misjudged Elizabeth Bennet? What had ever possessed him to like her, to think that she might be the lady who would comfort and love him through the long years of their lives, that she might be the perfect wife for him?

He could still hear her saying, “I have never desired your good opinion.” There was an extra element to it, as if the mocking tone of self-doubt he carried with him had been combined with hers.

She had said that she was indifferent to him, that her feelings had always been against him. “Despite every interaction telling me otherwise, despite the indications of her regard I saw, I was mistaken. No, I should not doubt myself. It is her I should doubt. She knew what she was doing. She decided from the moment we met that she hated me, knew that I liked her, and sought to make me miserable!”

Again, the memory of her words struck him. “I have every reason in the world to think ill of you.” She, the woman he adored, had called him ungentlemanly.

Darcy shook his head, batting at whatever had landed on his cheek—likely a piece of leaf or dirt. Vaguely, he recognised that his hand was wet. Whatever it was had got in his eyes, which stung. His steps slowed, almost as though a strong wind was blowing him backwards, grabbing at his limbs to keep him from reaching the house. He wanted to sink to the ground, sob, and hide from the world, just as he did the day his mother died and then, years later, when his father had. Both times, the blue devils had overtaken him. He felt them all around him currently, which was hardly to be wondered at. He had given his heart to a woman who did not want it.

Although his pace was no faster than that of a snail, he stumbled and nearly fell to his knees. It was as if a thunder clap had exploded in his head. The blue devils. He had not noticed them pestering him in days—had only occasionally experienced that oppressiveness of spirit since arriving in Kent. That was wrong; he had not felt it at all since learning Elizabeth was in the neighbourhood. He had been miserable enough in the carriage with Fitzwilliam, as his cousin had remarked. But then, as soon as Darcy had seen her…

His head whipped around, and he looked in the direction of the parsonage. His mouth hung open, and his breath became laboured. Could it be? Was she his shield against the darkness, the one who, by her mere presence, would remind him of all that was good in the world, all the reasons to be glad for each new day? Of course she was. He had already known that, but had he fully understood how vital she was to his well-being?

Other aspects of their recent interview flashed through his mind like a rapid succession of images. She had been angry that his actions had caused her sister to experience disappointment and misery. He did not question how she knew he had interfered in Bingley’s affairs and kept the couple apart; what mattered was that Elizabeth had been fierce in her defence of Miss Bennet, which served to remind him why he loved her.

Beyond that, her chief charge against him was Wickham. Darcy had known his erstwhile friend was likely to spread his usual lies, but he had not cared. “Because I did not care what anyone in Meryton thought of me. Their opinion was irrelevant, because to me, they did not matter.”

Then he recalled what he had said to her—how he had insulted her family, whom she surely loved as much as he did his own—and that he had struggled with his feelings for her, that he had never wanted to admire her.

“Dear Lord, what have I done?” he cried. He covered his face with his hands and shook his head, whispering ‘No’ over and over again. Letting his hands drop to his sides, he said, “This cannot be the end. I refuse to accept it.”

How could he, when he was certain they belonged together? Elizabeth was the only person who could keep him from a life of unhappiness and loneliness. In return, he would dedicate his life to protecting and loving her, to ensuring she experienced joy every day and had cause to laugh and smile, to always making sure her eyes sparkled with delight.

With long strides, he began to walk back to her, back to the only woman in the world he could ever marry.

As he approached the parsonage, Darcy was relieved to see a light in the window of the parlour. He said a silent prayer that it meant Elizabeth was in the room. Knocking at the door for admittance was impossible; it was enough that he had called on her once. That he could say was nothing other than a moment of politeness, a desire to ensure she was well. Thus, he trampled through the garden Mr Collins was so proud of, hoping he was not doing too much damage, and tapped at the window. He had to repeat the action twice more before he saw Elizabeth’s startled face peering around the edge of the curtain. He motioned that she should join him outside, she vigorously shook her head, and it was only after he clasped his hands together in a pleading gesture and mouthed the word ‘please’ that, with evident reluctance, she nodded.

“I shall return in a moment,” he heard Elizabeth call to the servant. “I do not need anyone to accompany me.”

When she appeared in front of him, he immediately felt easier—despite her raised eyebrows.

He spoke softly to avoid being overheard. “I am very, very sorry for what happened earlier this evening. I cannot apologise enough.”

“Mr Darcy, I do not see any purpose?—”

He touched her arm lightly, instantly withdrawing his hand. “Please, let me speak. I believe there has been a gross misunderstanding between us. I am entirely at fault, yet I beg you to give me an opportunity to explain. Indeed, even if you hate me for the rest of your life, there are several matters we must discuss—for your own well-being and that of your sisters. Will you please meet me tomorrow morning where we can talk freely?”

She opened her mouth as though to speak, but the only sound she made was one of indecision; he could read the same emotion in her eyes. After he repeated his request, and after she examined him for a long moment, she nodded.

“Very well,” she said. “In the grove where you left your horse yesterday morning. I shall be there by eight o’clock or thereabouts.”

“Thank you.” He added as much sincerity to his voice as he could muster despite the way his legs shook and head swam.

Elizabeth gave him a long look, which held no little suspicion, gave a single nod, and walked away.