Mr Darcy Proves His Point

Good morning to all in the JAFF world! We’re winding up our month, with its theme of Love/Hate relationships and I thought I would dust off an old short story of mine for you. Hope you enjoy this tale of a quick path from hate to love for D&E.

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The ball given at the elegant town house in Mayfair was unlike anything the eldest Miss Bennets had ever attended. Elizabeth had anticipated the evening with both delight and dread, simultaneously longing to study the characters of the ton even as she worried about embarrassing herself or her aunt and uncle, to whom the unexpected invitation had been extended. 

Then she had seen him. Heavens but she could scarcely escape him, the odious Mr Darcy, the man who had soured her autumn, and cast a long tall shadow over her time at Rosings Park. She had determined to avoid him but, it would not do. He would plague her with an invitation to dance and—not wishing to end all possibility of enjoyment for the evening—she was forced to accept. 

The dance lasted an eternity. She was vexed that he had claimed her time, time she would have spent better otherwise and could hardly wait to be on to the next. 

It could only increase her ire when, after the dance was finished, and he said, “May I have a word with you?” 

She barely refrained from rolling her eyes. This man! He had made his disdain of her known for many months now, why impose his society upon her now?

As it turned out, his reasons would only astonish and shock her, for it seemed that he meant to draw her aside to confess himself in love with her…and also to censure her family. 

And her reply to him was, “What?” 

“Did you hear none of what I said?” 

“I heard… I believe I heard…no. I am sure I am wrong. It sounded very much like you—” 

“Asked you to relieve my suffering and consent to be my wife?” 

“Well,…I suppose there was a proposal in there, disguised as it was in the midst of your summary of my deplorable relations and overall lack of consequence,” she replied tartly.

“You must see it as a compliment to your wit,” he explained.

“Must I? Shockingly, I did not.” 

 “I thought it best that I should explain to you the challenges I overcame in making this offer to you. I wished you to know I had considered every objection and assure you that my love for you is greater than any of these.” 

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “A comfort indeed to know that your love is greater than all my many failings. Nevertheless I must decline.” 

“Decline?” 

She nodded. 

“Why?”  

“Why?” She echoed. An easy question indeed! “Had not my own feelings decided against you, had they been indifferent, or had they even been favourable, do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man, who has been the means of ruining, perhaps forever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?” 

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared up at him boldly. There Mr Darcy, what can you say to that?

The only thing that could enrage her further than the proposal itself she reflected, was the light of something that looked akin to amusement on his face. He should have been guilty, abashed, perhaps even repentant… but he was amused. She frowned at him fiercely. 

“Ruined the happiness of a most beloved sister?”

She nodded.

“Which sister do you mean?” He asked with the air of perfect innocence. “May I assume you refer to Miss Bennet?”

“Your presumed guilt is made certain by your ready identification of the victim.”

“Naturally. And yet I must enquire, how is it, exactly, that I have ruined Miss Bennet’s happiness?” 

“Come now, Mr Darcy,” she said, affecting an air of patience. “You surely cannot dare deny that you have acted the principle part in separating her from Mr Bingley?” 

“I have no wish of denying that I did every thing in my power to separate my friend from your sister, or that I rejoice in my success,” he said. “What I do deny, however, is that it has had any effect whatsoever on Miss Bennet’s future happiness. In fact, I might say Miss Bennet is perfectly felicitous even now.”

“How dare you!” Elizabeth cried out. “My sister has been heartbroken these weeks since MrBingley deserted her so precipitously! She has been exposed to the derision of the world for her disappointed hopes! She has suffered misery of the acutest kind!”

While surreptitiously pointing his finger across the room, Mr Darcy observed, “Well she is hiding it very well then.”

Elizabeth turned and followed the line of his finger to where her sister stood with a gentleman of recent acquaintance. Mr Cartwright? Yes, I believe that is his name. 

There could be no denying that Jane was well-pleased by Mr Cartwright’s interested eye. Her gaze, though lowered appropriately, found his more often than not, and her cheeks were tinged pink. As Elizabeth watched her, Jane laughed lightly at something Mr Cartwright said, and permitted him to kiss her gloved hand. 

She turned back to Mr Darcy. In a voice made tight by the awkwardness of the situation, she said, “I must speak with my sister. Please remain here, by the fireplace.”

“It is often my place anyway,” he informed her gravely, but with an unmistakable air of levity. 

With quick steps, she went to where her sister stood with Mr Cartwright. She forced a smile onto her countenance as she said, “Dear sister, might I have a word with you?”

“Of course.” Jane excused herself from her gentleman friend and went with Elizabeth to a point at some distance suitable for private conversation. 

“What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

Elizabeth frowned. “It seems very much as though you are flirting with Mr Cartwright.”

“Oh Lizzy,” Jane said enthusiastically. “He is everything a young man ought to be. He is amiable and kind and exceedingly good natured. Handsome too! And you know what you have always said— a young man ought to be if he possibly can!”

“Yes,” said Elizabeth, with a glance over her shoulder. Mr Darcy still stood there, and he had been watching them. He averted his eyes when he saw her look but she knew he was seeing it all.  “Yes, Mr Cartwright is handsome. But what about Mr Bingley?” 

“Mr Who?”  

“Bingley!” Elizabeth had shouted it, such was her amazement but she lowered her voice immediately. “Mr Bingley, the one who left you heartbroken in November.”

“Oh him!” Jane smiled demurely. “I forgot about him.”

“Forgotten about him! You have been so very despondent over his desertion!”

“Despondent?” Jane tilted her head quizzically. “Oh I do not know about that.” 

“But my aunt says you have been down spirited and—” 

Jane lowered her voice conspiratorially. “In truth, I believe I was just rather bored. You know I love my aunt, but the children do occupy her and I can only take so many nursery rhymes before I go distracted. They retired at ten, Lizzy. Ten! I am only just ready to enjoy myself at that time!” 

Elizabeth’s jaw dropped. Slowly, she asked, “So you are not in misery of the acutest kind?”

Jane considered it. “Misery is such a strong word after all. Perhaps not misery, but I do suffer, to be sure.”

Elizabeth ran a hand across her forehead, wishing she could push on her brain and force all of this to make sense. “So…this Mr Cartwright then. Will he replace Mr Bingley in your affections?”

Jane stared across the crowded room, focusing on nothing, and seeming to consider her sister’s question carefully. “Mr Cartwright’s fortune is larger than is Mr Bingley’s…nearly six thousand a year.”

“A man’s worth can hardly—”  

“But…” Jane immediately flipped her fan into its upright position, then turned so it would conceal her, and allow her to speak to her sister unseen. “ Do not think Mr Bingley is better formed?” 

“Better formed?”

“You must have observed it, Lizzy,” Jane said from behind the fan. “Mr Bingley did fill out his breeches rather nicely, did he not?”

“Jane!”

Jane giggled naughtily, sounding more like Lydia than herself. “Of course,” she said, growing more serious, “we must also consider Sir Gilbert Chudderly.”

Elizabeth felt she could scarcely keep apace of her sister’s revelations and she did not dare look at Darcy, though she felt the weight of his stare. “Who?”

“My uncle introduced us. He is the least well favoured of them, but his fortune is eight thousand a year, and he has a lovely estate in Hertfordshire. I might be quite in love with him now that I think of it.”

“Do you mean to tell me that your heart is so easily swayed?”

Jane looked at her, very seriously, and said, “Lizzy, Mama has always said that, with beauty such as mine, I should be the wife of a wealthy and important gentleman.”

“Pray do not begin listening to our mother.” 

“What I cannot understand, though, is how the wealth of the man must be considered in relative measure to my beauty. Shall the handsomeness of the man be considered as well? What is more advantageous: a match with a handsome man who is less rich, or one who is more rich or less handsome? And how does a title figure into the equation?” 

Elizabeth could only stare as her sister prattled on. 

“Of course, the ravages of time will eventually affect even the most handsome face and figure in the most charming of gentlemen…but then a fortune can be lost, and sometimes, even more readily. A title, though, that is…well, it is very nearly a certainty.  Jane shook her head slowly, the baffling conundrum having weighed upon her spirits. “I just cannot say whether the matter of fortune or handsomeness must prevail in one’s selection of a marriage partner. One does not know what to think.”

“I beg your pardon; one knows exactly what to think.” Elizabeth nearly growled in exasperation with her sister. “Jane just…just go back to your partner and enjoy his smiles. You are wasting your time with me.”

“Very well,” said Jane. “But do let us consider it later, Lizzy for it is quite a puzzle, and you have always enjoyed mathematics.”  Jane resumed her beatific smile, and began to move back toward Mr Cartwright, her deliberations having been set aside so that she might focus herself on receiving the attentions of Mr Cartwright with pleasure. 

After she had gone, Elizabeth inhaled deeply and prepared to return to Mr Darcy who, she did not doubt, had witnessed the entirety of the exchange. The small smirk on his lips was clearly directed right at her, and her foolishness. 

She straightened her back, and assumed a confident air as soon as she was within earshot of him. “It would seem, Mr Darcy, that, in this case, you were…well, I cannot say you were right, not exactly but…you were not entirely in error.” 

“That is a commendation, coming from you Miss Elizabeth.”  

“It would seem,” Elizabeth admitted with painful humility, “that my sisters heart is not easily touched…rather, that it is easily touched but is also moved from its object with equal ease. My apologies, sir.”

Mr Darcy received her apology with a brief nod, but Elizabeth had recalled the situation of Mr Wickham, and her pique was renewed. 

“However, in the case of your infamous treatment of Mr Wickham, you can surely have no defence! I have heard the entire account of it from his own mouth Mr Darcy; what do you have to say for yourself there?”

Mr Darcy considered her a moment, his eyes searching hers. He took a small, measured sip of his wine. “I can say nothing for that, Madam. My treatment of Mr Wickham has been exceedingly shocking.”

“Yes,” said Elizabeth warmly. “Yes, indeed.”   

“Pray tell me, though—which part of it do you find the most astonishing?”

“Excuse me?”

“Mr Wickham has much to accuse me of! I only wish to know what amazed you the most. The part where I gave him three thousand pounds in lieu of the living my father promised him? I did that on his request you see, shortly after he declared he had no intention to take orders.”

“Oh?” Elizabeth said in confusion. “But he said—”

“Or was it the part where I refrained from running him through with my sword when he attempted to persuade my fifteen year old sister into an elopement? That was indeed shocking, even to me. To this day I wonder at my forbearance.”

“Your sister?” Elizabeth asked faintly, feeling a great sense of chagrin at having been so thoroughly gulled. “He tried to persuade Miss Darcy…?” 

Mr Darcy nodded, not removing his eyes from her for a moment. In gentler accents, he said, “He persuaded her that he loved her and very nearly hied her off to Gretna Green. All for the cause of her fortune, naturally. It was mere happenstance that I came along and foiled the scheme, but thank God I did.” 

Elizabeth looked to the side for a moment, the weight of her own embarrassment sinking her spirits. Not for a moment could she doubt Mr Darcy; whatever else might be said, his honesty she acknowledged as unimpeachable, particularly in a matter so important as his own sister’s reputation. How silly she was to have believed such a man as Wickham over him! And how foolish to judge a situation, knowing only half of the tale. 

Finally, having gained some modicum of composure, she turned back to Mr Darcy. 

Her speech was halting, “You have every reason to despise and censure me Mr Darcy, for thinking so very ill of you. My prejudice was unwarranted and unjust, and I would beg you to accept my apology. In one matter, I am particularly mortified: when I think of how unjustly I tasked you while we danced at the Netherfield Ball, I am ashamed of myself. No matter what, you did not deserve my taunts.”

“Well, you should be ashamed.” He teased her, that small smirk again playing on his lips. “You taunted and teased me quite mercilessly. I am afraid I must demand some sort of recompense for your slights.”  

Through her chagrin, she felt the beginnings of a smile come upon her own lips. She raised her eyes to his face and saw, contrary to all expectation, good humour in his countenance. “What shall it be then Mr Darcy?”

“To begin with, you will dance the next with me,” he informed her. 

“A second dance in a London ballroom? How shocking,” she said, feeling a return of better humour. “But an easy enough penance.”  

“Ah, but I have said a dance to begin with. There is more.”

Elizabeth could not stop herself by now, and permitted a full smile to breach her countenance. “Very well then; the dance shall begin my penance—where shall it end?”

He offered her his arm, and she took it, preparing to walk with him to the set which was forming. “Where shall it end? I believe we started this conversation at the place where I intend for it to end. I will have your hand Elizabeth, possibly tonight, but more probably at a later juncture. However as you have seen, I have proven my point with regard to your sister and to Mr Wickham, have I not?”

“You have indeed, sir.” 

“So shall I carry my point with you, my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, just the same.”