As the craggy hills and boulders of Derbyshire rolled by the carriage window, and the smells of cut grass and wildflowers drifted in, Elizabeth wondered if good sense was only taught to tradesmen. If she could get Uncle Gardiner’s ghost to talk to the Wythes, they would have a wonderful conversation for hours or days.
Mr Wythe’s advice from the previous evening had been cut from the same cloth as her uncle’s counsel five years earlier. “Lizzy—and I thank you for the privilege of calling you that—when an interaction was confusing to me, my father would tell me to imagine the entire thing in my mind, like a play, then replace all the actors with myself or someone I know well, then see if I perceive the scene any differently.”
Elizabeth imagined her two favourite men in the world (or at least two of the three) discussing the matter, and decided she needed to really think about what she knew about Mr Darcy. Not what she thought. Not what she felt. Not what she assumed.What she knew.
Elizabeth was certain that when she eventually met the gentleman again—as seemed inevitable—she would be overwhelmed with emotions, sensations, disturbing thoughts, and the detritus of their shared history and misunderstandings. Even worse, after what seemed a week of tossing and turning in her bed the night before, shefinallyunderstood there was a real chance she would also be distracted by what she had to eventually, reluctantly admit was somereal attractionto the man. Once she let that particular cat out of the bag by acknowledging the thought, she could not seem to stuff it back in or forget it. That thought made her wonder if herdetermined dislikeof the gentleman might pass asprotesting too much.Charlotte had once thought it a real possibility, and Elizabeth had learned, much to her chagrin at Hunsford, that Charlotte’s opinions were not to be dismissed out of hand.
Elizabeth’s sense of fairness (belatedly) insisted she try to see where she and Mr Darcy had taken such remarkably different trajectories. It had all started with the slight at the assembly, so that seemed a logical place to start.
She tried replaying it over and over in her mind, with herself cast as a rich and titled heiress, hunted by every dissolute rake and bankrupt estate owner in England, appearing at a neighbourhood assembly. Rumours of her wealth would have been readily audible.‘Ten thousand a year and her husband will inherit half of Derbyshire,’followed by twittering or sniggering.Could she in good conscience think she would not be cross and ill-tempered?
Then she imagined she did not want to go to the infernal assembly at all, but Charlotte dragged her there by trading on their friendship and civic duty. She would have become even more cross.
Then she imagined being introduced to a man with five sons, who immediately started blatantly sizing up her estate andfortune and throwing the sons willy-nilly at her. She would be cross indeed.
Then, for thecoup de grâce, perhaps Charlotte might find her in her corner being cross andchastiseher for failing to dance with one of the many five sons, and keep nagging her until she exploded and… and… and… well, to be truthful, if Charlotte did something that disagreeable at an assembly, Lizzy would almost certainly match her tit for tat.
Despite sitting in the corner in the Wythe carriage, talking to nobody but her various ghosts (who were at least being polite enough to appear one at a time that day), Elizabeth blushed bright red, stared down at the floor, and admitted that yes, perhaps, maybe, possibly, Mr Darcy just might not have been the most ill-mannered cretin that ever lived. At the very least, he could claim to be second worst since Mr Collins had done far worse within the first hour of his visit. In fact, nobody who was acquainted with Master Percy Long could think Mr Darcy to even be in the dozen most ill-mannered men in Meryton, let alone the world. No, in the end, though Elizabeth could not completely absolve the gentleman of bad manners, neither could she convict him.
The next four hours passed in quiet contemplation, and occasional discussions with the Wythes, who were most helpful, followed by Mr Wythe Senior’s technique of asking as many questions as she could think of, and answering either as lightning fast as she could, or as slowly and thoughtfully as possible.
Did a man look repeatedly at a woman to find fault? It was hard to believe it to be true. She certainly did not waste her time looking at men she did not find admirable.
How did he act when Sir William thrust her on him yet again at Lucas Lodge? Hevery politelyasked for her hand, thus saving both her and Sir William embarrassment. Whatdid he do when she churlishly denied the request? Bowed and accepted her verdict. And when she denied his awkward request for a reel at Netherfield? With polite acceptance. And when she begrudgingly accepted his third request at the ball? He was quiet and solemn, but certainly not ill-mannered—until she attacked him! At that point he wasnotthe most ill-mannered person in the world;he was not even the worst in that couple.
And the oddest of all in retrospect—how did he react to her teasing at Netherfield, or their occasional discussions, or Caroline Bingley’s less than subtle attacks on everyone and everything? The gentleman was unflinchingly and unfailingly polite, but more importantly, he also gave her the respect of treating her like a rational being. In fact, the most diversion she had ever experienced in his presence was within a long-winded and heated debate over literature. At the end, she did not know if she wanted to cut him into pieces and bury him in the front lawn; or lock him in her father’s library to feed him bread and water because Mr Bennet would have loved his companionship.
At the end of the whole exercise, though she was reluctant in the extreme, her honour demanded that she acknowledge that almost everything about Mr Darcy could be readily explained by a combination of shyness and awkwardness (like her father), pride (like her mother and {cough, cough} herself), wariness (like Mr Bingley would have if he had a lick of sense), and perhaps a bit of overconfidence (like Mr Long). Nothing truly vile was needed or even sensible.
Even his proposal,as awful as it sounded,could (with a substantial stretch of her sense of charity), be interpreted as him telling her the depth of his regard to show his steadiness, by telling her what he had to overcome to make the offer. Of course, that was akin to showing the depth of his desire to be the best swimmer in the world by trying to swim to India and drowning, but it was at least understandable.
Finally, around ten o’clock, Elizabeth fell asleep, and for the first time, dreamed of a tall and handsome gentleman whodid notraise her hackles and didnotmake her want to beat him with a stick.
It was most disconcerting to think that he might not be such an ogre after all.
Sudbury
“PAPA, STOP THE COACH!”
Elizabeth started from her slumber to find Margie leaning forward, looking extremely vexed.
Mr Wythe tapped the roof, and the carriage came to a halt.
Before the wheels ceased turning, Margie was out the door. She leapt down without waiting for the footman and demanded the coachman lift her to the box. The footman arrived from the rear only in time to hand her up to the coachman, who lifted her the rest of the way.
By the time Elizabeth joined her on the ground—with a touch more decorum—he asked, “Do you care to ascend as well, Miss Bennet?”
“No, thank you, Julliard. I will await Miss Wythe.”
The man nodded, glancing up at Margie. He stood ready to assist, or perhaps merely to work out what in the dickens she could be about.
Elizabeth wondered as much. Margaret stood with her nose in the air, turning in slow circles.
“Part bloodhound, Our Margaret.”
Elizabeth smiled at Mrs Wythe, who had joined her with her husband following close behind. Neither parent disrupted Margie, so Elizabeth waited.
When Margaret finally turned, her expression nearly stopped Elizabeth’s heart. Her friend appeared as vexed and frightened as it was possible to be.
