Chapter 8

Three days later when the sun had hidden itself below the horizon, and Longbourn was finally free of the excited chatter of ladies preparing for a ball, Elizabeth settled onto a settee in the sitting room, propping her still sore leg on a footstool as Mary took a seat in the corner.  Mr. Darcy was to call this evening.  He had managed to send a note the day after she had left the cottage to inquire after her wellbeing, but as she was not allowed out of her room until the surgeon gave permission, he had not yet called.  A fluttering of nerves danced about in her stomach as she waited for his arrival.  Strange as it had seemed and strange as it had sounded as she admitted it to Jane each day, she had missed his company.

“I am sorry you had to stay with me, Mary.”

Mary looked up from her book. “I am not.  I do not care for balls, you know.”

“But you dance so well,” said Elizabeth.

“Dancing well and enjoying the activity are not the same.  I do not enjoy it.”  Mary flipped a page in her book.  “I would skip every assembly if Mama would allow it, but Mama is desperate to be rid of me.” Mary laughed ruefully.

Elizabeth wished to contradict her, but she could not. At least, she could not if she wanted to keep a clear conscience.  Their mother was anxious about seeing all her daughters married, but she lamented most over Mary.  Mary read too much and was far too serious.  Things, which to their mother, spelled disaster in finding a husband.  “Perhaps she will relax once Jane’s engagement has been announced,” suggested Elizabeth hopefully.

Mary shook her head.  “You are engaged, and yet, she has been worse these past three days.”  Mary closed her book.  “She begged Papa to allow Mr. Collins to call on me, and when Papa would not allow it, she attempted to find reasons to send me to town – in the rain!” Mary affected a look of scornful disapproval and mimicked their mother’s sharp tone.  “Surely, your aunt would keep you if the rainfall became too heavy for you to return.  If you bundle up well, you will not get ill.  Your father has sent away your only hope!” Mary sighed. “And so on.  You have been fortunate to be confined so much to your room.”

“I am sorry,” said Elizabeth, “I know how she can be.  Remember, she pushed me on Mr. Collins before you.”

Mary chuckled. “We are not her favourites, are we?”

“Indeed, we are not!”

“Mr. Darcy,” announced Mrs. Hill.  “I shall see to the tea straight away.”

“Do not stand,” said Mr. Darcy as Elizabeth made to rise in greeting.  He nodded to Mary.  “It is good to see you this evening, Miss Mary.  I do apologize for your having to miss the ball on my account.”

“I have just assured my sister that it is not something for which you need apologize. I am quite pleased to miss it.”

“You do not wish to see the finery and mingle with your neighbours?”  he asked in surprise.  Did not every young girl wish to attend balls?

“I will admit to being curious about the splendour,” she admitted, “but I do not enjoy dancing and find talk of the weather to be rather dull.”

Darcy chuckled.  “I could not agree more.”

“And talk of the weather will be even less exciting this evening.  It has only been raining.”  Mary cleared her throat and spoke in a deep voice.  “Did you see the large puddle that formed in front of the blacksmith’s?  Mud thick enough to pull a shoe off a horse.” She changed her pitch slightly.  “Indeed, I hear he planned it to be such.  Brings him more business.”  She shook her head.  “Foolishness!”

Darcy continued to chuckle. This was the first he had seen Mary do more than sit silently in a corner or add a comment about why what her younger sisters were doing was inappropriate – often with a verse of scripture attached to the reprimand.  This Mary, though still very prim looking, was much more relaxed. Perhaps there was a second of Elizabeth’s sisters whom he would not be averse to having visit.

“Is the ball well-attended?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yes, it is very well-attended.  Bingley begged me to stay for the first set, and I obliged.  However, like Miss Mary, I do not enjoy crushes of people, so I came away as quickly as I could.”  He held up the small leather bag he had brought.  “I brought poetry for reading if our conversation should dwindle.  I am not a great conversationalist.”   He looked to Mary. “Do you like poetry? I could read something else if you prefer?”

Mary shook her head. “Poetry is lovely, especially those poems about nature or those that tell a story.”

“Then you are in luck for I have Lyrical Ballads by Wordsworth and Coleridge as well as some sonnets by Shakespeare.”

“Is it the volume of ballads with the poem about the mariner who kills the bird?”

“It is.”

Mary favoured him with a rare smile.  “Well, if it should come to the point of needing poetry to fill the air instead of silence, I would like to hear that tale, but until then, pay me no heed.”

“Very well, if needed, I shall read you the Rhime of the Ancient Mariner, Miss Mary.”

She continued to smile as she thanked him before turning back to her book.

“How is your leg?” he asked Elizabeth.

“It continues to do well,” she replied.  “The surgeon commented on your work once again today when he was here.  I am certain if you should wish to give up your estate and take up the profession, he would happily take you on.”

Darcy chuckled.  “I have no aspirations of becoming a surgeon.  I only did what was needed.  I cannot say I enjoyed the task.”  He noted how her eyes dropped from looking at him. “Not that I was not thankful to render the service, of course.” He grimaced.  Conversations in drawing rooms were never pleasant for him.  He would rather sit and observe, but that was not what needed doing. He and Elizabeth needed to discuss their wedding, and though she had chosen him over her cousin, he was still apprehensive about broaching the subject.  “I am not very good at chatting,” he apologized softly.

“And so, we must practice,” she whispered in return, lifting her eyes to his once again.  She had not meant to make him feel uneasy, but there was something about the way he looked at her that made her feel decidedly unsettled.

In response to her comment, he smiled a genuine smile of pleasure.  A small dimple on his right cheek caught her attention and nearly made her drop her gaze again.  Those nerves that were merely flutters in her stomach marched up to flutter about her chest, causing her to slow her breathing.

“Indeed, we must practise,” he agreed.  “Would you care to direct me in which direction to turn the conversation? Weather, I am afraid, has already been canvassed.”

Elizabeth’s brows furrowed.  “There are music, books, various far off places, news.”  She tapped her lip with a finger as she thought of other possible topics of conversation.

“Books,” said Mary, peeking up from the novel she was reading.  “One should always know what a gentleman thinks of books.” She placed a ribbon in her book to mark her place.  “Take this one, for instance.  It is a novel from a circulating library.  Do you find it appropriate for a lady to be reading such a thing?”

“You are reading a novel?” Elizabeth could not conceal her surprise. Mary did not read novels, did she?

Mary nodded.  “Mr. Collins thought it dreadful that a lady should read such a thing, so I decided I must prove him either right or wrong.”

“And have you?” queried Darcy. He was finding this Mary to be more and more to his liking.

“I have, and I believe he is, unsurprisingly, wrong. I have not succumbed to any want of reason for having read it.”  She shrugged. “It is merely a tangle of intrigues.  Any lady with half a mind and a reasonable understanding of propriety must plainly discern it as such.  There may even be much to learn about the human condition through careful examination and discussion of the text.”

“But that is the concern, if there be one, with such books,” said Darcy.  “A lady must own to having the ability to examine, discern, and discuss.”

Mary nodded her agreement.  “Owning to the possession of such skills is not looked on favourably by some, and I fear by condemning the books, rather than exposing them to open discussion, the matter is made more severe, for many a lady will read them in secret and suppose them to be of greater value than they are.”

“I had not considered it as such,” replied Darcy, Mary was indeed a surprise this evening.  He would certainly look forward to her visits.

Mary shrugged.  “The real danger comes in not thinking about this or anything else.  To believe without questioning is to be blindly led. One must come to her beliefs in a sensible, carefully considered fashion rather than hopping about as a grasshopper from thing to thing.”

Elizabeth considered what Mary had said.  “Is that why you read the books you do? To verify that what has been said about them is correct?”

Mary nodded.  “I do.  I never believe without proof.”

Elizabeth felt a pang of reproof at such a statement. Had she adhered to such a philosophy, she might not have listened to Wickham, but for all her love of reasoning, there were times that her emotions overcame her sense. “So the sermons and the scriptures are to prove the parson is not in error?”

Mary nodded.  “And the various other books are to be able to listen with some understanding to the things spoken of at gatherings.  The gentlemen rarely notice my presence, so I have had many opportunities to discern which men are admirable and which are not.”

Elizabeth blushed.  “I must confess I had not considered why you read sermons to be for that purpose.”  Indeed, it seemed there was much she had not considered about her sister.

“You thought I wished to impress some parson and become his wife?”  Mary asked it with a slight laugh in her voice.

“You do not wish to marry a parson?”  Elizabeth asked.

“Most certainly not!” declared Mary.  “I should have to be pleasant to a great many people that I find loathsome.  I would prefer to marry an honest gentleman with a modest income.”  She rose to pour the tea that had arrived during their discussion.  “A small circle of friends, a home, and children to teach, that is all I require.”

“You shall be a credit to whoever is fortunate enough to catch your eye,” said Mr. Darcy.

“Indeed,” agreed Elizabeth, looking carefully at Darcy.  There was a softness about his features again.  He was at ease — and with her sister.

Mary smiled knowingly as she handed a cup to Darcy.  “If a gentleman ever realizes that he has caught my eye.”

“Ah, so there is a lucky fellow?” Darcy asked with a raised brow.

The tease took Elizabeth by surprise.  Darcy was not only at ease, but he also seemed completely unguarded.  She could not keep the pleased smile from her lips.

“That, I did not say,” said Mary coyly as she handed a cup to her sister.

“From the glow of her cheeks, I dare say there is,” said Elizabeth with a laugh.  “But fret not, I shall not tell Mama or press you to speak more on the subject unless needed to save you from our cousin.”

“Oh,” said Darcy, taking a sip of his tea, “I was at the ball long enough to hear a story about Mr. Collins.” He smiled at the surprised looks that both sisters gave him. “I do not gossip, but your father requested I relay this tale to you, Miss Elizabeth.  He thought you would find it quite diverting, and he thought Miss Mary would find it to be a relief.  I gathered that your mother is still attempting to match Mr. Collins with one of her daughters?”

Both nodded and waited eagerly to hear the story.

“Mr. Collins has found himself obliged to be engaged,” began Darcy, drawing an exclamation of surprise from both Elizabeth and Mary.  “A Miss King was hurrying between stores looking for this and that in preparation for tonight’s festivities, and in her dashing about in an attempt to procure what she needed and avoid the drops of rain, she darted in front of Mr. Collins, who was busy enlightening Sir William on the elegance of Rosings.  Mr. Collins, it seems, is as elegant on his feet as he is in his speech and before Sir William could put out a hand to stop him, Mr. Collins walked right into Miss King.  She stumbled backward into the wall of the milliner’s shop.  Mr. Collins also stumbled and was unable to stop his forward movement until he was pressed up against the same wall with Miss King as a cushion between him and it.  Sir William would have attested to the whole incident being nothing more than an unfortunate accident, but then, Mr. Collins, in attempting to extract himself from his present predicament, made it appear worse to those who were passing by the scene.  A button on his sleeve caught the edge of her fichu.” He smiled and sipped his tea.

Mary’s eyes grew wide.  “Was it Mrs. Long and Aunt Philips who were passing by?”

Darcy nodded.  “It seems they did not wait for Sir William’s explanation of the situation, and their cries of alarm drew attention. And so, Mr. Collins found himself in the somewhat awkward position of asking for the lady’s hand while trying to untangle her fichu from his sleeve.  The matter, I understand, was agreeably settled and Miss King will soon be Mrs. Collins.”  His smile faded.  “Their story, however, was not the only one I heard being shared. ”

“My aunt?” asked Elizabeth softly.

He nodded.  “Which brings me to what we need to discuss.”   He swallowed the last of his tea.  “Our marriage.”  He dared not look at her.  She had been favourable to him at the cottage, but she had had three days to think.

Mary rose.   “I am not needed,” she said.  “It would be better for you to discuss this alone.”  She gathered the cups and left the room, leaving the door partially open.

“I am sorry,” Darcy began. “If there had been any other way for you to receive help…” His voice trailed off.

“You do not wish to marry me,” said Elizabeth with a nod. The words unexpectedly cutting deeply into her heart.

“No.”  His response was quick.  “I am only sorry to have forced you to accept me.  I know I am not what you wished.”  He gave her a quick sad smile before continuing.  “Before you stumbled into that cottage, I was preparing to leave Netherfield.  I told Bingley it was to be with my sister, which was not untrue, but was also not entirely honest.  I knew that if I remained here and continued to be in company with you, my heart was in danger of being irrevocably lost to you.”  He took her hand.  “I was not wrong.  You have my heart.  I only hope to one day have yours.”

Tears stung her eyes.   “You love me?”

He nodded again.  He had also had three days to think and to discuss some of his thoughts with his friend. “I do. I have tried not to, but Bingley assures me that my assessments are accurate, and I do love you.”  He wished to lift her hand to his lips as he had done that day in the carriage, but he did not.  “That you do not return my affections is understandable.”  He rose.  “I believe we are friends?”  He looked at her in question.  She nodded, and he continued.  “Friendship is not an unstable foundation for marriage.”  He looked to her again for confirmation of the fact.  “I believe ours shall be a good union.  We are well-matched.” His head swayed from side to side as he continued.  “Perhaps we are not as well-matched in standing as some would prefer, but that is of little matter.  They shall respect you as I do, or they will be cut from my sphere.  You will be my wife and as such must have a higher priority.” He smiled at her. “At least that is how I see it. I cannot say that all will agree.  While our marriage may be good, life will not be without its difficulties.  I have explained to you about my relations.”

Elizabeth nodded.  “You have.”

“I have written to them about my choosing to marry.”

“Choosing?” She returned his amused smile with an equally impertinent one of her own.

“I could have allowed Bingley to tend you,” he said, returning to her side.

“But he loved Jane,” she reminded him.

“Yes, there was that,” he admitted taking her hand again.  “However, my heart had begun to betray my well-ordered resolve the moment you wandered into the cottage in confusion.  It would not have allowed Bingley to tend you.  Even then, though I did not know it, it had decided on you.”

She shook her head in amazement at his declarations.  Part of her wished to return them, but she was not entirely certain that in doing so she would be being honest with either herself or him.  She knew him to be a good man – the very sort she would wish to marry — and she enjoyed his presence and found herself treasuring the small kind things he did, but an appreciation of character, gratitude, and enjoyment were not love.

“I have also written to my solicitor, and he expects me in town by week’s end.  Bingley has matters to attend to as well, and we will be leaving on Thursday.  What you and I must decide before I leave is when we should like the wedding to take place.  I do not wish to wrench you away from family and friends before you are ready.  However, the longer we wait, the more room we allow for mischief on the part of my Aunt Catherine.”  He watched her draw in her bottom lip and furrow her brow in thought.  “You do not have to tell me this instance. Bingley and I will call tomorrow to bid our farewells.”

Elizabeth swallowed.  What was that aching in her chest?  And why did tears sting her eyes at the thought of his leaving?  “Will you return before the wedding?”

He felt her grip tighten on his hand.  “That depends, I suppose, on when the wedding is to take place.  I know Bingley will be returning, and I would, no doubt, be invited to return with him.  I had intended to bring my sister to Netherfield for Christmas, but knowing Wickham is here, I will not require her to come unless she is willing.”

Elizabeth nodded sadly. She could not – would not – expect him to subject his sister to the presence of Mr. Wickham, nor would she expect him to be absent from his sister at such a time of year.  “Of course,” she agreed.

“We will marry by special license, so there is very little to restrict us in time or location.  The decision is entirely yours.” This time, as he watched her bite her lip and blink rapidly, he did not resist the urge to kiss her hand.  “Are you fatigued?  Shall I leave?”

She shook her head.  Her body was weary and her mind troubled, but she could not bring herself to ask him to leave.

And so he did not until after Mary had returned, he had read from each of his books, and Elizabeth’s eyes had fluttered closed for the third and final time.  Then, with a bow to Mary and whispered farewell to the sleeping Elizabeth, he departed for Netherfield.