As her other sisters hovered over Miss Lydia, she leant in and murmured, “You do not look as though you have had a good morning. When Mr Bingley called earlier, he mentioned that you had received an urgent letter from your aunt. He was too polite to say anything further, but I had the impression that rather than bearing some terrible news, it was merely an unpleasant communication.”
He smiled ruefully. “It was not pleasant. She heard from Mr Collins that I do not wish to marry my cousin and, affecting great surprise, launched herself into the recent inclement weather to confront me. Being trapped at a substandard inn for several days en route did not sweeten her temper, and her heightened anger was clear in every word of her missive. I should feel fortunate that but for the muddy roads, she would have enacted a most mortifying scene at Netherfield.”
When an expression of horror and sympathy crossed Elizabeth’s countenance, Darcy was quick to say, “I do not understand her. I almost feel it is a kind of madness which possesses her when she is opposed.”
“It has been my observation that very selfish people are truly unable to recognise that others may have wishes and opinions which differ from their own. Forgive me for alluding to your aunt in such terms, but I can think of no other explanation for such behaviour as you describe.”
“It may very well be so. It is certainly preferable to think of her as selfish than as mad,” he added wryly. “Though no explanation makes her a whit easier to manage.”
She laughed lightly. “Do not be downcast, sir. We all have relations for whom we must blush. There is no family which may account itself perfect, much as we might wish it to be otherwise.”
He was struck by the recollection that he had once scorned her for her silly relations, without recognising that his spiteful, interfering aunt was worse. “You are correct, Miss Elizabeth. I have been used to excuse her for things I would not tolerate in others, simply because she is my relation, without extending that forbearance outside my family circle. I think I must learn to be more tolerant of folly, at least where intentions are good.”
“It is infinitely more pleasant to be amused by such things,” she agreed. “There is enough in this world truly worthy of vexation and censure, that to laugh at what is merely silly is wise.”
“My temper, I believe, is too little yielding. I do not forget the follies and vices of others as soon as I ought. It is a fault I have only just begun to correct.”
She smiled up at him, making his breath catch. “We cannot correct our faults until we recognise them, so you have made a beginning. When I encounter something which angers me, I ask myself—is there anything in this I may take amusement from? If there is not, then it is truly worth my anger. And if there is, I soon laugh myself into a better mood.”
He took a chance and attempted to tease her. “I shall try your technique, and see if it works for me. Have you any faults about which I might advise you in return?”
She laughed. “I have faults enough! In fact, it was you who, in a roundabout way, brought one to my attention only recently.”
“Indeed!” he said in tones of surprise. “I cannot imagine what that might be.”
“It is simply this—I have placed far too much weight on first impressions. My first impression of you was, as you know, rather bad, and because of it I was quite determined to dislike you forever, until you went about being so very gentlemanly and kind that I could not!” She laughed again. “You, who have so many dependent upon your welfare, largesse, and good opinion—your sister, all those who work at Pemberley or live on the estate as tenants—sacrificed your time and energy to tend to us and our neighbours in our time of greatest need. How could I dislike you? How could I not respect you?”
Darcy breathed in sharply, shocked and gladdened by the emotion in her words. As if she realised she had said too much, Elizabeth shook her head quickly and continued in a milder tone.
“Understanding how wrong I had been about your character led me to remember other, smaller instances in which my first impressions had been in error but I resisted changing my opinions—out of sheer obstinacy, I suppose.”
“You were not entirely wrong about me, Miss Elizabeth. My behaviour was very bad; I can hardly think of it without abhorrence. It is, I think, natural to believe that behaviour always reflects character, for very often it does. My actions, when first we met, displayed my faults more than my virtues, and I do not blame you for thinking badly of me. I am only glad that you no longer find me quite so disagreeable,” he concluded with one of his rare smiles.
“I can say with perfect honesty that I now find you entirely agreeable,” she replied cheerfully, and with that he was vastly contented.
* * *
Elizabeth now found that her curiosity about her cousin’s patroness was entirely satisfied. Her second-hand impression of the lady, drawn from Mr Collins’s voluminous monologues on her every word and deed, had not been inaccurate, though it had been incomplete. The lady she had imagined was too dignified to launch herself into a storm for the purpose of enforcing her own will upon a man not easily swayed. Grand she might be, but in refinement Lady Catherine de Bourgh appeared to be greatly lacking. And deficient in sense as well, she mused. How could the lady believe that simply insisting upon her own way—and refusing to see what she did not like—would persuade a man such as Mr Darcy to oblige her?
As for her own behaviour towards the gentleman that day, she felt a little embarrassed. She had confided too much, she felt, though he had kindly repaid confession for confession. At least he did not seem to think less of her for the faults she had admitted, and she certainly could not think poorly of him for his.
An unyielding temper, he had said. Yes, she could see that in him. It was, she supposed, a rather natural outgrowth of having the prosperity and happiness of so many necessarily attached to his actions and decisions. He could not afford to be too conciliatory in his business, or too forgiving of any who abused his trust. But such firmness could easily be carried too far in cases of less moment, such as the acquisition and evaluation of new acquaintances. She was glad he understood this, and felt this self-knowledge would serve him well in the future.
They had both, she considered, improved in both civility and wisdom since their first meeting. It had been necessary for them to do so, to be such amiable confederates now. To change oneself was a painful thing, but she was finding the results most pleasing, and thought he would likely agree.
Recalling Jane’s suspicion that he felt deeply for her and might be prepared to act upon it, Elizabeth found herself wishing, rather wistfully, that it could be so. Having got past their early difficulties, they now seemed to quite effortlessly bring out the best in each other. Were the gulf in their stations not quite so great, she felt she might be in some danger of joining her sister in imagining too much in their friendship.
* * *
Captain Carter became a regular caller at Longbourn when the new recruits were trained up a bit, appearing as much as twice a week, as his duties allowed. Lydia was very shy with him at first, for she had often flirted with him before her illness and dreaded to see any hint of disgust from one with whom she had once so blithely flirted, though with hindsight she understood that he had never encouraged her as some of his compatriots had done.
He persisted in greeting her as an old friend, and treating her likewise, and it was not very long before she was comfortable in his presence once again. His easy manners and sensible conversation made him a great favourite of the entire family, and often he would escort the ladies on a walk if the weather was fine, allowing Mr Bennet some time alone with his beloved books.
One sunny day as February drew to a close, while they ambled along the lane at a pace calculated to preserve Lydia’s strength, he asked how her stitchery was coming along.
“It goes very much better if I close my bad eye, though I am sure I appear very silly,” Lydia replied with a laugh. “But I am learning not to care how I look, just as I am learning how to stitch again. I am improved enough to get some enjoyment from it once more, and Mary always reminds me that is the most important thing. That, andcharacter,” she drawled with a look at her sister that bespoke some private joke.
Mary laughed. “Lydia likes to tease me for so often reminding her that youth and beauty are ephemeral, but a good character cannot be stolen by time or illness.”
