Over the next hour, as she finished her bath, dried her hair, and had her dress altered, Elizabeth received the first true, first-hand, honest assessment of Mr Darcy. If Stewart was to be trusted, he did indeed sound like the best of men… for the most part. Stewart did not stint in praise, nor was she shy about telling when he did something disagreeable, which happened as often as it might for anybody.
She had quite a lot to say about the three boys who grew up together. She could not say enough good things about two of them, nor enough bad about the third. Elizabeth was shocked to learn how verybadMr Wickham appeared, and she felt shame for having fallen for his tale so readily. She had already decided he was unreliable but now had to entertain the shocking idea that hedeliberately lied,specifically to paint Mr Darcy in a bad light. Stewart knew not all the particulars, but believed him an especially bad man who would do just about anything to injure the master, any chance he got. Furthermore, not onlycouldhe do it, but hehaddone it more than once.
An uncomfortable thought struck Elizabeth: like a ship that took the wrong river, Mr Wickham had pointed her in the wrong direction, and she had taken just about every interaction after that point in a negative light, merely because it matched her first impression. She resolved to begin anew and rethink every single encounter, with the idea that Mr Darcy was being as honest as he could under the circumstances, which was admittedly not without fault.
Stewart was just about done with the dress when Elizabeth started. Poor Stewart thought she might have pricked her with a pin, and it took a moment to convince her otherwise, but at the end of it, a thought struck Elizabeth forcibly.
Suppose Mr Darcy started feeling an attraction to her but found her circumstances inadequate for the mistress of Pemberley. He had no indication she could manage a large estate—and given her mother, who would think it likely. Had she not been thrust into the role, she was not even certainshewould have thought herself up to the task. Her younger sisters were noisy flirts, and her mother an ill-mannered mercenary who made no bones about it. Her father was an indolent master who left daughters with no dowries or education to speak of. She had no connections, no wealth, marginal beauty and accomplishments; in short, nothing to recommend her. Suppose he felt some attraction anyway or even fell in love as he claimed. Not love as a man was expected to declare in a proposal out of form, but true love, of the kind a man could not ignore. He would be honour-bound to keep his distance, raising no expectations until he was certain what he was about. When he was certain, he would have to make his intentions known; but before that, he could not in good conscience do so, for fear of raising expectations that could not be met; expectations which might damage a lady’s heart and reputation, as had happened to her poor sister. The Mr Darcy Stewart described would not do that.
Suddenly, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy seemed not so complicated after all. He might well be just what he appeared—a man who fell in love very much against his will, against his reason, against his family and societal expectations, and against his better judgement. If so, it begged a single question. Was that a terrible thing?
Oakham Mount
“Mr Darcy, do you plan to tell the rest of us what you arereallydoing in Hertfordshire?”
“What do you mean, Miss Mary?”
The question caught Darcy off guard, for he was deep in thought. The spring day was warm and pleasant, and Mrs Bennet had dispatched the party to Oakham Mount. She had not entirely given up on Jane and Darcy, or his bringing Mr Bingley back; thus determined, she ensured Darcy escorted her eldest and most eligible daughter, then hurried them out the door so she could have some peace and quiet.
Naturally, that arrangement lasted only until they were out of sight, when Anne claimed Jane and set out slightly ahead of everyone, for they were in each other’s confidence and had secret affairs to discuss. Kitty and Lydia continued their usual pairing, excluding everyone and everything.
That left Mary to walk beside Darcy, which he did not mind in the least. He offered her his arm, and she eyed it confusedly, as if no gentleman had ever done such a thing, before finally placing her hand on his elbow. He gave her a small smile, which seemed to half-frighten her, so he decided to just let them walk on to allow her to become accustomed to the idea. He was certainly the last man in the world who should comment on someone feeling or acting awkward.
Darcy had spent time thinking about the middle Bennet daughter, and his thoughts invariably turned to understanding Elizabeth through her sisters, as well as entertaining ideas about how he could help them. It was pointless for a man to be rich and powerful if he could not help his friends. The Bennets were, he hoped, to be friends at least, and preferably much more, so a little forethought would not be amiss. As usual, though, once he started thinking about that, he became unsure of himself.
Fortunately, in this case, he need not invoke a long-dead parent. His conversation with Anne the previous evening sufficed. He had mentioned his thoughts, wondering if she deemed him presumptuous for wishing to aid the other Bennets as if they were already sisters.
Anne’s reply had been quick.
It is a little late to worry about officious interference now. Before the Bingley debacle would have been a good time, but since we are on the subject, let me be clear. If you treat them as sisters, then you are being presumptuous, and frankly ridiculous. If you treat them as friends who have shared their home for a fortnight, then you are not wrong, so long as your interference amounts to nothing more than introductions, suggestions, help when requested, or things you would do for any friend.
The distraction lasted only a moment, while Miss Mary decided whether to repeat the question. “You have been here a fortnight, ostensibly protecting your cousin. Forgive myscepticism, but I doubt Anne requires protection.Youmight, butshedoes not. You have another purpose, and I wonder if you plan to share it, or I need to guess.”
Darcy studied her carefully. “Those are good observations. I presume if I share something in confidence, it will remain as such?”
“Of course it will,” she said with a snicker worthy of Elizabeth, but then looked a bit crestfallen. “It is not as if anyone wants my secrets anyway.”
Darcy felt quite small. “Would you prefer I just tell you, or would you like to hazard a guess? I have things I would ask as well, if you are of a mind to oblige me.”
Mary perceived a sincerity she liked, so she accepted the challenge.
“I suppose the real purpose is obvious; it is to me, at any rate. You are waiting for Lizzy to return. Either you want to court her, or you have already made a complete muddle of it and are here to repair the damage.”
Darcy laughed with good humour. “That is very astute. It is the latter, and describing it as ‘a complete muddle’ understates the magnitude of the disaster by half. Can you tell me how you guessed?”
“It is simple, really. You began badly with Lizzy right from the beginning by slighting her at the assembly. May I presume Jane or Anne have already taken you to task over that?”
“They have, though I relieved them of the burden by feeling inordinately ashamed and guilty on my own.”
“Wasted emotions! Their purpose is to encourage you to better yourself or make amends. If you have done so, it is time to let them go, though you still must apologise to Lizzy for it,ifshe will listen to you.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Everything worthwhile is, but Oakham Mount is only two miles, so we should advance our discussion.”
“Agreed.”
“Lizzy likes to think she is very clever, and I admit she is. She is quite the cleverest us all, but that gives her one big disadvantage. She does not fail often enough to take the possibility of her intellect failing seriously. Those of us who make a muddle of it most of the time need to learn humility. She likes her first impression, and since you touched her on a particularly sensitive subject, her course was set.”
