We accordingly went and there I readily engaged in the office of pointing out to my friend, the certain evils of such a choice. I describe, and enforced them earnestly. But, however this remonstrance might have staggered or delayed his determination, I do not suppose that it would ultimately have prevented the marriage, had it not been seconded by the assurance which I hesitated not in giving, of your sister’s indifference.

He had before believed her to return his affection with sincere, if not with equal regard. But Bingley has great natural modesty, with a stronger dependence on my judgement than on his own. To convince him, therefore, that he had deceived himself, was no very difficult point. To persuade him against returning into Hertfordshire, when that conviction had been given, was scarcely the work of a moment. I cannot blame myself for having done thus much.

There is but one part of my conduct in the whole affair, on which I do not reflect with satisfaction, it is that I condescended to adopt the measures of art so far as to conceal from him your sister’s being in town. I knew it myself, as it was known to Miss Bingley, but her brother is even yet ignorant of it. That they might have met without ill consequence, is perhaps probable, but his regard did not appear to me enough extinguished for him to see her without some danger.

Perhaps this concealment, this disguise, was beneath me. It is done, however, and it was done for the best. On this subject I have nothing more to say, no other apology to offer. If I have wounded your sister’s feelings, it was unknowingly done, and though the motives which governed me may to you very naturally appear insufficient, I have not yet learnt to condemn them.

With respect to that other, more weighty accusation, of having injured Mr. Wickham, I can only refute it by laying before you the whole of his connection with my family. Of what he has particularly accused me I am ignorant, but of the truth of what I shall relate, I can summon more than one witness of undoubted veracity.


Darcy then went on to relate the whole unhappy story of his sister’s visit to Ramsgate the previous year, of the close attentions that had led her to believe herself in love, and of Wickham being rapidly despatched from the town when Darcy had learnt of his designs on Georgiana and her fortune.


This, madam, is a faithful narrative of every event in which we have been concerned together; and if you do not absolutely reject it as false, you will, I hope, acquit me henceforth of cruelty towards Mr. Wickham.


For a few minutes, Darcy rested back in his chair, uncertain how best to continue, for he knew not what false stories, what devious little compliments, Mr. Wickham had paid to Elizabeth Bennet. He recalled too well what Caroline Bingley had said about them both at the Netherfield ball.

Nor did he know what degree of affection Miss Bennet still had for Wickham, though Darcy feared that it might, from her impassioned speech last night, be considerable.

“You have reduced him to his present state of poverty, comparative poverty. You have withheld the advantages, which you must know to have been designed for him. You have deprived the best years of his life, of that independence which was no less his due than his desert. You have done all this! and yet you can treat the mention of his misfortunes with contempt and ridicule.”

Darcy sat for a long time in the chair without moving. At length, he roused himself, and took up his pen again.


I know not in what manner, under what form of falsehood he has imposed on you, but his success is not perhaps to be wondered at. Ignorant as you previously were of every thing concerning either, detection could not be in your power, and suspicion certainly not in your inclination.

You may possibly wonder why all this was not told you last night. But I was not then master enough of myself to know what could or ought to be revealed.


Darcy then considered by what other means he could convince Miss Bennet of the truth of what he wrote. He then recalled that she and his cousin Fitzwilliam had been on very good terms during the past days at Rosings, with his easy manners seeming often to commend themselves to her more readily than Darcy’s own attentions. That was an unhappy prospect, but at least he could put it to good use.


For the truth of every thing here related, I can appeal more particularly to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who from our near relationship and constant intimacy, and still more as one of the executors of my father’s will, has been unavoidably acquainted with every particular of these transactions.


Then he added, more painfully,


If your abhorrence of me should make my assertions valueless, you cannot be prevented by the same cause from confiding in my cousin, and that there may be the possibility of consulting him, I shall endeavour to find some opportunity of putting this letter in your hands in the course of the morning.


It was, as he now looked at his watch, a long time since he had begun to write. There were so many other things that he could add, that he doubted whether life without her offered him any pleasure at all, that he had hoped to recreate the happiness that had existed between his own parents in his union with her, that he had more wealth and position than any other suitor would be likely to offer her?

But what was the use of writing any of that, after the sentiments that she had expressed the previous day? If he was to have a chance of passing the letter to Miss Bennet before luncheon, he must end it now, but how?

At last he wrote, as he felt,


I will only add, God bless you. Fitzwilliam Darcy.


With that, he sealed the envelope, and called his man to get his clothes quickly, or he feared that he might be too late.


A few minutes later, he left the house, and walked quickly towards the copse in the park where he had often encountered Miss Bennet during his stay at Rosings.

The weather had continued fine but, after half an hour walking back and forth, he feared that his efforts to see her might be in vain. If she does not come, he resolved, I must go to the parsonage to leave the letter for her there. He was about to do this when, turning back alongside the boundary of the park, he caught sight of her by the gate towards the turnpike.

As soon as she saw him, she halted, and went to turn away.

Before she could do so, he stepped forward, and put the letter into her hand, saying, “I have been walking in the grove for some time in the hope of meeting you. Will you do me the honour of reading that letter?” He paused only to take one last long look as she took the paper, and then quickly walked away.

On his return to the house, Darcy was joined by Fitzwilliam. They had agreed previously to go that day to bid farewell to Mr. and Mrs. Collins and their guests. On their arrival at the parsonage, Fitzwilliam decided to wait on discovering that Miss Bennet was not at home. Darcy, however, paid his respects to Mrs. Collins, made his excuses and returned immediately to Rosings.


The last evening there was tedious to both Darcy and his cousin. Fitzwilliam’s efforts to promote conversation crossed with Lady Catherine’s determination to extract a promise from Darcy to return for another stay within a few months.

Since she did not omit to mention that the prime purpose of her invitation was for Darcy to become better acquainted with his cousin Anne, it was not a suggestion to which he was likely to accede in his current state of mind.

Whatever Miss Bennet had said to him the previous day, she was incomparably more dear to him; and any thought of an alliance to his pale, dull, cousin was unthinkable.

Eventually, in the face of his aunt’s persistence, Darcy reverted to his customary silence, leaving Fitzwilliam to carry on some conversation with Lady Catherine as best he could, and take the credit for their stay in Kent having been nearly twice as long as they had originally planned.

It was with no pleasure that Darcy heard his aunt say that she would be making a visit to town in early June, and he had to speak with unaccustomed lack of certainty as to where he might be at that time.

Lady Catherine then advised him that she was also thinking of making one of her regular visits to Bath, in the hope of some benefit to Anne’s health from taking the waters. She suggested that Darcy might choose to meet them there. He had eventually to remember a pressing need to write a letter to his steward in Derbyshire about estate business, to escape her persistence about this plan.


The following morning, Darcy took breakfast with Lady Catherine, resisting her every attempt to engage him in any further conversation about his intentions for travelling during the next few months. Happily, she took his silence as indicating his melancholy at leaving Rosings and its occupants, and pressed her conversation on Fitzwilliam instead.

Two hours later, the two cousins had said farewell to their aunt and cousin, and were on the road to London. 

Part Four

18

On their arrival in town, Georgiana greeted Darcy and Fitzwilliam.

After enquiring about Lady Catherine and the health of her cousin Anne, Georgiana was soon in conversation with Fitzwilliam about their plans to visit his elder brother in Essex, where a new addition to his family had recently arrived.

“Your sister is getting to be like all ladies—too happy to talk about babies and small children all day if you give them the chance!” said Fitzwilliam cheerfully. “It is just as well that I shall be able to escape to the park with my brother from time to time.”

“You are unkind,” said Georgiana, smiling at Darcy, “for I am sure that the baby’s mother would be very distressed if I did not take an interest. And in any case, I can be useful in helping to keep the elder little boy occupied. Otherwise, that task might fall to cousin Fitzwilliam!”

Fitzwilliam did not seem too worried by this possibility, but Darcy was amused by the exchange, and reflected that, at least amongst people she knew well, his sister was becoming much more confident about taking her part in conversation. To date, her shyness had perhaps appeared to some who did not know her well as indifference, or pride.

That rapidly brought him to the thought that the same could be said about himself, and to the conversation he had in the drawing room at Rosings with Miss Bennet and Fitzwilliam.

What had he said then—

“We neither of us perform to strangers.”

That certainly applied to himself; but to her?

His mind wandered on to Miss Bennet’s rejection of his suit, and her words then.

“I might as well enquire why with so evident a design of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character? Was not this some excuse for incivility, if I was uncivil?”

That had been a hard thrust for a man to accept who had always prided himself on his propriety of address.

“You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that the mode of your declaration affected me in any other way, than as it spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner.”

“From the very beginning, from the first moment I may almost say, of my acquaintance with you, your manners impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others ...I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.”

“You could not have made me the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it.”

Oh, what painful recollections these were.

“Darcy! You are not listening to a word I am saying!” cried his cousin.

Darcy came to with a start.

“I beg your pardon,” he replied. “What did you want me to do?”

Fitzwilliam looked at him quizzically before repeating,