Chapter XXIII

H is senses full of Miss Elizabeth, Darcy wended his way back to Netherfield Park, wondering how he would endure even a single day away from her. The need to see to Wickham's disposition was real and Darcy would not shirk it, to say nothing of the opportunity it would give him to retrieve Georgiana. Yet it was to come at a most inauspicious time, though Darcy supposed he would have no more desire to part from her after one or two weeks than he did two days hence.

Now he had gained a greater understanding of her character, he could not help but wonder how he had entered Hunsford parsonage expecting her to fall at his feet and proclaim her undying love. That thought was more than a bit of fancy, but it was not far removed from the truth. He was Fitzwilliam Darcy, scion of an ancient family, possessed of every worldly advantage. What he had told her was the simple truth—there were no more than half a dozen women in the kingdom outside the nobility who would not accept him the moment he deigned to offer himself.

It was to Darcy's great advantage she had proven to be one of them, for the episode had taught him invaluable lessons. Where he had thought he was being generous for offering for such a woman, it was she who had proven who was the better person between them. Insufficient were all his pretensions—Darcy knew that now. Such a woman was beyond the worth of any worldly goods, her good opinion the most prized possession to which any man could aspire. It humbled Darcy to receive another chance, for no other woman could be as generous as she. The determination to succeed burned within Darcy's breast.

With such thoughts in his mind, Darcy rode the distance of Netherfield's drive, stopping near the stables and handing his mount over to the groom's care. Darcy usually cared for his horse himself, for his father had given the beast to him as a young man. That day, however, he had little head for it, for his mind was engaged on other subjects most beauteous and fair. Thus, Darcy strode into the house, to make for his room and change to rejoin the others. Now that he must go to London, he wished to be done with it and return as expeditiously as possible.

Later, when Darcy had time to consider the events that would ensue, he would acknowledge how fortunate it had been that he had reached his room unmolested. Snell, his man, waited there for him, assisting his master from his riding clothes into his usual attire, all the while giving nary a hint he saw anything unusual about his master's behavior. Snell suspected something was afoot, of course, though he was not aware of it all. Darcy had offered his assurance he would not offer for Miss Bingley, and the man had passed the information to the rest of the servants. At least, Darcy assumed he had. Given Miss Bingley's behavior on the occasion she had visited Pemberley and the way she regarded everything with covetous eyes when she entered his house in town, his servants did not wish to endure her as their mistress. Darcy would offer them a woman Miss Bingley's superior, a woman kind and considerate, one who would treat the servants with respect and dignity.

When he changed, Darcy made his way down the stairs, the notes of a piece Georgiana often played for him echoing in his head amid the urge to whistle along with it. As he was not much of a whistler, it was for the best that he did not. What he had not expected was to be waylaid before he ever reached the rest of the party.

"Mr. Darcy," came a voice as he walked through the halls.

Darcy had seen motion from the corner of his eye immediately before the voice assaulted his ears, warning him of the presence of someone nearby. It was Miss Bingley, of course. Darcy might have expected her to pounce on him from an adjacent room, try to claim a compromise, but she only stood in the door, watching him, her expression for once unreadable.

"Miss Bingley," said Darcy, greeting her with a bow, determined not to say anything else.

"It seems you were out this morning."

It was almost an accusation. Then before Darcy could respond, she seemed to recollect something of her manners, for she added: "I hope a sense of ennui has not forced you from the house this morning to seek amusement."

"Not at all," replied Darcy. "Everything at Netherfield is excellent. This morning, I felt the need for fresh air and exercise, so I went out riding."

"Riding is a worthy pastime," replied Miss Bingley. "As it is not London and Hyde Park, I cannot imagine one could spend hours in the saddle."

"It was not hours, Miss Bingley," said Darcy. "I was gone for perhaps ninety minutes, or even a little less."

"And do you find the country to your taste?"

"Not as much as I appreciate Pemberley, of course." Darcy allowed the image of a beautiful woman with dark, fathomless eyes to enter his thoughts. "But Hertfordshire possesses hidden treasures aplenty, such that I find myself well entertained."

The woman was unreadable that morning, unusual in Darcy's experience. While she considered herself the height of mystery and sophistication, Darcy had never found her especially difficult to understand.

"It is surprising, to say the least."

Darcy frowned at her non sequitur . "I am afraid I cannot understand your meaning, Miss Bingley."

The woman huffed in exasperation, closer to the behavior Darcy expected of her. "Disguise is beneath you, Mr. Darcy. It was clear you were thinking of... her as one of the local beauties. As I recall, there was a time when you would have as soon called her mother a wit."

"Is a man not allowed to change his opinion?" asked Darcy rhetorically, not expecting an answer. "My mistake was to say what I did before I saw for myself what sort of woman she is."

"Come now, that is ridiculous." Miss Bingley appeared almost offended. "Anyone can look at a member of the opposite sex and determine in an instant whether they find that person attractive."

"I suppose you must be correct," allowed Darcy, yet not giving an inch. "Yet often first impressions are incorrect, for they can be the work of a moment without true consideration. A person is more than just the face they show to the world."

"Given that statement, I must wonder at your powers of discernment. Perhaps they are not so profound as I once thought."

"Miss Bingley," said Darcy, unwilling to continue to trade words with her, "it would be best if you speak openly. This ambiguity of speech is not conducive to understanding."

"Very well," said Miss Bingley as he had known she would. "Then let me speak plainly. I cannot understand how it has escaped your attention, but this... woman who has turned your head is not who you think she is."

"That is interesting, Miss Bingley," said Darcy. "You speak of a woman, but you name no names. I wonder if you know what I think of her, whoever this mystery lady is since I have never been explicit about my feelings with you."

"‘I would as soon call her mother a wit,'" quoted Miss Bingley again, her tone mocking.

"That opinion, as I already said, is months out of date and given with no real thought to the lady in question. I spoke out of turn, and for that, I must blame myself. If Miss Elizabeth Bennet is the woman of whom you speak, however, you should know that my opinion has altered so much as to be nearly the opposite of what I once espoused. I am now ‘more agreeably engaged,' as I previously informed you."

Miss Bingley glared at him, the heat of it enough to provide warmth throughout the entire house. "You know I speak of Miss Elizabeth. Why do you portray a lack of understanding?"

"Of course, I do," replied Darcy, ignoring her question. "But I have always found it beneficial to speak plainly."

"Do you toy with me, sir?" spat she.

"I merely speak as I find, Miss Bingley. You provoked this conversation. Perhaps you should come to the point and state what you wish. If you are incapable of that, it would be best if we went our separate ways."

"Very well," repeated she. "Miss Elizabeth Bennet is a conniving woman, a fortune-hunting upstart with neither fortune nor standing to her name. Why you cannot see it I do not know, but every good feeling rebels against such a connection, or it would if you were right-minded."

"Is that so?" asked Darcy. "On what do you base this opinion?"

"It is easy to see, Mr. Darcy," retorted Miss Bingley. "The man I once thought you were would have labeled her for what she is in an instant."

"Miss Bingley," said Darcy, pushing all his displeasure into his reply, "this talk of the man you thought me to be is foolish. You never knew me, regardless of how much you attempt to portray yourself as intimate. Let me refute your charges one at a time and we may be done with this conversation.

"First, Miss Elizabeth is no fortune hunter. I have proof of this, and no, I will not be explicit. Suffice it to say that I am content with what I find in her character. Second, conniving is not a term that describes her, any more than ‘fortune-hunter' applies. Third, she may not possess wealth or standing, but she is a gentlewoman, and I am a gentleman. There is no inequality between us in all ways that matter. Fourth, you may judge her how you like, but my understanding is different. With all due respect to you, my opinion is the only one that applies to me.

"Finally," continued he, hoping his stern glare would end her protestations at once, "you may consider her without fashion and that will not concern me a jot. You may decry her as insipid and conniving, and it matters not to me. And if you decry her as ill-favored, shifty, or even the unsightliest woman you have ever seen, I might wonder if your eyesight is deficient, but your opinion will not affect me. As I informed you before, I find her to be a beautiful woman with bewitching dark eyes and captivating manners. In short, she is the prettiest woman of my acquaintance.

"If all this is insufficient to induce you to desist, let me also state without disguise that I have no interest in a closer connection with you. To me, you are nothing more than my friend's sister. To be perfectly blunt, I find your manners obnoxious, your presumption to high society laughable, and your propensity to disparage other women you consider rivals insulting. There is no chance I will offer for you, for we most certainly do not suit. Need I say anything more to convince you that this obsession of yours is destined for failure?"

These were not words any gentleman should say to a woman, regardless of how much she frustrated him. Darcy could not repine them, however, for Miss Bingley had pushed him beyond all endurance. Her stony countenance as she watched him revealed her fury, but she appeared unable to summon any words that would suffice. Then she turned on her heel and marched away.

Sighing, Darcy shook his head. He would need to confess the confrontation to his friend and hope Bingley did not take offense at how thoroughly Darcy had set her down. Even though he deplored the way he had spoken to her and how she had provoked him, Darcy could not deny the sentiments he expressed, for they were an accurate representation of his opinion of her. If she saw sense and halted her objectionable behavior, Darcy was not averse to maintaining the acquaintance for Bingley's sake, a connection she might use to further her dreams of marrying well. It would work even more in her favor if Bingley married Miss Bennet and Darcy married her sister, for the connection would be that much closer. Pushing him, however, would lead to his retaliation and the withdrawal of his patronage. It would be best to inform Bingley of that and allow him to speak to his sister.

"Darcy," a voice called, startling him.

When he looked up, Darcy saw Lady Catherine approaching him, appearing rather grave. She beckoned to him.

"Come, it appears we must talk."

After the tense conversation with Miss Bingley, Darcy was not at all eager to endure one similar with his aunt. There appeared to be no choice, so Darcy fell in behind her, following her to the nearby library where he planted himself, his feet set wide, shoulders squared, head erect, preparing himself to do battle with his aunt.

Contrary to popular belief, Lady Catherine de Bourgh was not a bitter termagant. Aware though she was of her nephews' opinion of her as a meddling, overbearing busybody, Catherine did not concern herself for such things, for she knew her motives were pure.

What she would own to being was a woman possessing supreme confidence in herself. As Catherine had gone through life, she had come to understand that her opinions were usually based on fact, and her ability to see to the heart of a problem and devise a solution profound. When one could be assured of their capabilities, what use was there to allow dissent? That she was often proven correct did nothing more than teach her to trust her abilities.

This did not mean Catherine was infallible, for she was naught but a woman possessing the frailties attendant on the mortal situation. These episodes were few and far between, such that when they occurred, they almost always caught her by surprise. If she had one failing, it was to be too inflexible. This business with Anne and Darcy seemed to be an example of that flaw, which was doubly unfortunate because Catherine had cherished that wish for many years.

The children had flatly refused to allow her wishes to come to pass, so it appeared there was nothing she could do. In this matter, she had been truly culpable of pushing too far, for while she had wanted the further connection, it had nearly driven her only daughter from her. It had driven her away in all truth, given Anne's near-disastrous decision to elope with that scoundrel George Wickham. Now that she knew the truth, Catherine had no choice but to allow them to go their way, no matter how much pain their stubbornness caused.

Another matter of which she was aware but knew her relations to be entirely incorrect was her sister's wish for the same. The subject had arisen between them many times, and Anne had been as staunch a proponent of the match as Catherine was herself. The difference between them had been that Anne had not wished to press them, for she had also believed her son would be happiest if he made his own choice. Catherine had thought they would be happy if they were raised with the knowledge of their destiny together. While she had pressed, Lady Anne Darcy was not a woman who gave ground if she thought she was in the right. Thus, she had not raised Darcy to consider Anne and no other as a potential bride.

Now Catherine faced an adult Darcy, his own man for the past five years, by his stance and the set of his jaw a man prepared to do battle. The man was her dear sister's only son—Catherine had no wish to be at odds with him. Suddenly she felt tired, as if she had aged ten years in only the past few minutes.

"Oh, sit down, Darcy," said Catherine, waving to a nearby sofa. "This is not an inquisition, nor need you fear anything I might say."

It was amusing the way Darcy started as if he had expected her to turn into a ravening beast and devour him. For a moment he peered at her, and then he acceded, sitting where she had gestured, though it was clear his senses were still alert.

"Darcy," said she, opening the conversation, "there are a few matters about which I wish to ask you. As I said, I am not an executioner, nor do I mean to put you to the rack. There are matters I would understand, and to do so, I must ask."

While Darcy continued to peer at her, he offered a slow nod. "That is acceptable. I shall answer as well as I can."

It was several moments before Catherine asked her first question, for the simple fact that she could not decide what to ask first. Of what could she speak when cherished plans eddied like ashes in the wind beneath her feet? Perhaps the most profound question was the simplest to answer, such that she spoke without real thought once the notion came to her.

"Tell me, Darcy, was there ever any chance of you proposing to Anne?"

It appeared Darcy had expected this question, for he was ready with an answer in an instant. "No, Aunt, there was not."

Catherine nodded, waiting to see if he would offer any explanation. When he did not, she felt her dander rise, though she tamped down on it and focused on getting the answers she wanted.

"Why?"

"Because I never wished to marry Anne," said Darcy. "I regard her as a dear cousin, but I have no deeper feelings for her than that."

"If she is dear to you," muttered Catherine, "you have a strange way of showing it."

" That , Lady Catherine, is due entirely to you."

Catherine glared at him, demanding an answer, which Darcy supplied at once. "Do you deny that every time I so much as glanced at Anne across a room you were prepared to order her trousseau?"

Though she had not been certain she was capable of it, she felt a hint of mortification enter her heart at his barb, for it hit far too close to home.

"Perhaps I have been too zealous," confessed Catherine after a moment of collecting herself. "Marriages in the higher sets put little stock in matters of the heart."

"Many would agree with you. But if you recall, I had my parents' example as a boy, and I never wished for any other union than one that emulated theirs."

It was the truth, though Catherine had almost forgotten it. Anne had been enamored with Robert Darcy from almost the first moment she had laid eyes on him, and Darcy had pursued her from almost the same moment. Catherine, who was not nearly the romantic that Anne had been, had watched their courtship, amused by their desperate need to be in each other's company, the calf eyes they had sent at each other every moment they had been together. Had she not been happy for her sister, Catherine might have viewed it all as more than a little silly.

Yet it had not been silly, not in any sense of the word. Robert and Anne had been meant to be together, or that was what it had seemed to anyone who saw them. Catherine, who had never understood that aspect of her sister, had never doubted the strength of the connection between them. In Catherine's marriage, the most she could say was that she had been content with Lewis de Bourgh. Not an overly affectionate man, Sir Lewis had still been a decent man and a good father. The death of their eldest son and heir had been a blow to them both and her husband's passing thereafter had also been devastating. Yet Catherine had never felt the physical pain that Robert Darcy had endured at the passing of his wife. In all honesty, Catherine could not say that her husband's passing had been harder to endure than her sister's. Quite the opposite.

"It will probably not come as a surprise to you," said Catherine, her words halting as she tried to express her feelings, "but I never considered that you might wish to emulate your parents. If I am honest, I cannot but say this business of affection in a marriage is anything other than a detriment. The suffering occasioned by the loss of one's partner is such that it seems better to avoid it altogether."

"Many people would agree with you, Lady Catherine. But consider the joy that must occasion all the years of such a union."

"What if it ends prematurely, such as when your mother passed away?"

Catherine could not help the hitch in her voice at the reminder of her sister's loss. Darcy, by this time, looked on her with compassion, his previous pique forgotten—he too, remembered his mother well and mourned her loss.

"Even then," said Darcy, "I suspect those who have endured the loss of their loves would say the time they spent together was far more precious than the loss of ten such partners would devastate them. My father made exactly that point on more than one occasion."

"Then I suppose that is the way it must be," said Lady Catherine. "Regardless, I will commend you for not bestowing your heart on a creature such as Miss Bingley. Even if you proclaimed your devotion to the heavens, I could not imagine acknowledging such a woman as she as a member of the family."

Darcy grinned, which made him appear boyish. "Trust me, Lady Catherine—if I had developed such feelings for Miss Bingley, I would have questioned my sanity."

"I am pleased to hear it." Catherine peered at him with some interest. "Then is Miss Bingley correct about your fascination with Miss Elizabeth Bennet?"

The boy did not wish to answer the question, but he did not hesitate, likely not wishing to appear defensive. "Miss Elizabeth is a woman of impeccable character, intelligent, witty, and beautiful, Lady Catherine. I will own to my partiality for her without disguise."

Catherine nodded, having the truth confirmed. When she had called him into the room, she had not thought the conversation would take this turn. How it had all gone awry she could not say, but she also could not contend that it displeased her.

"I had held out some hope of persuading you toward some stupendous match of society.

"Of course," said Catherine, interrupting his response, "it is now clear you would not be happy in such a union. There is much of your parents in you, it seems. Given your refusal to offer for Anne, I suspect there is little I can do to influence you."

" Would you if you could ?" asked Darcy.

"No, I do not suppose I would," mused Catherine. "Though if you had asked me that question mere days ago, I might have given you a different answer; I am honest enough to own to that."

"Then I am happy you have reconsidered," was Darcy's dry response.

"She will find navigating society difficult," warned Catherine.

Darcy snorted with no little derision. "You have seen her in company, Lady Catherine. If she did not cower before you, I cannot imagine anyone else in London will trouble her. Some will not accept her regardless—this I understand. But those who matter to me will accept her on my recommendation alone, and before long, she will provoke their approval when they understand her character. Many of the rest will be the same. Those who refuse her persuasion are not worthy of my time."

"Then I shall offer whatever support I can," said Catherine. "Not only would I not wish her to fail, but I like the girl. She reminds me of myself if only a little."

"There is a hint of self-congratulations in that," replied Darcy. "I shall tell Miss Elizabeth, for she will be most amused."

"Very well," said Lady Catherine. "Thank you for your frankness, Darcy, for you know how much I value it."

"That I do, Aunt. Thank you for being so reasonable."

Darcy rose, and after kissing her cheek, he departed, leaving Catherine with her thoughts. Surprised though she was by how it had all turned out, Catherine found she could not deplore it. In fact, she was looking forward to witnessing Miss Elizabeth's debut, for Catherine was certain she would confound many.

After a time, Catherine rose to go find Anne. Her actions would surprise her daughter; but they would please her too.