The possessive “my” caught his notice. As it became clear that Mr Bennet would not speak further, Darcy willed himself to act with forbearance. Nothing was more important to Darcy than marrying Elizabeth, and for her sake, he preferred to have her father’s blessing.
“I have asked Miss Elizabeth to be my wife, and she has consented to make me the happiest of men. I am here to ask for your consent.”
The silence that followed Darcy’s request stretched out. Mr Bennet appeared to vacillate between wanting to slump in his chair and wanting to forcefully remove Darcy from the room.
“Mr Darcy, Lizzy has always disliked you,” he finally said. “She accepted you for the considerable material advantages you can provide. As for you, you have never looked on her with anything more than, at best, a temporary enthrallment. I am surprised that you returned at all.”
Darcy slowly exhaled, furious at the insult. If this were any other transaction or social discourse, he would quit the room to keep his honour intact. But this man was Elizabeth’s father, and he wanted to secure his consent, if only to ease her mind. He would not, however, reveal what had happened in Kent. To mention it to his closest friend was torturous enough; to speak of it to Mr Bennet, a man who did not understand his own children nor holdhimin any respect, would be unthinkable.
He aimed to speak resolutely but with civility. “I have admired her since last autumn, so I assure you my interest is not fleeting. And I have every confidence that your daughter returns my affections and was not induced by wealth to accept my proposal.”
Mr Bennet scoffed. “Neither of you will escape discredit nor misery should you proceed with this marriage. A woman as spirited as my Lizzy will be unhappy with a husband she cannot respect, and she will seek comfort outside of your marriage. You cannot wish to marry such a woman, and if you withdraw your suit, none could blame you.”
It shocked him that her own father would presume she would be an unfaithful wife. Elizabeth had a passionate temperament—a trait that was a manifold attraction rather than an aversion—but Darcy knew the only man on whom she would ever bestow that ardent attention would behim. He did not trust himself to speak without raising his voice and contented himself with silently glaring at Mr Bennet.
“You will come to resent her lively mind,” he went on, “and she will grow weary of your proud manner. All your wealth in Derbyshire will bring neither of you comfort.”
“I cannot believe that Miss Elizabeth has told you nothing of the depth of her attachment to me.”
“Lizzy has convinced herself that she loves you and sings your praises.” He shook his head in dismay. “I will not oppose the match. I shall have no peace from my wife if I do, and I cannot argue that you cannot provide for my daughter. I offer my consent but no blessing. This match will ruin my Lizzy.”
Mr Bennet did not deserve the compliment of a rational opposition. Darcy had imagined a different conclusion to his petition. He had envisioned thanking Elizabeth’s father and promising to cherish her always, but now he could barely conceal his anger at Mr Bennet’s capriciousness and disrespect.
Mr Bennet coolly observed, “I see no reason for you to remain.”
Darcy promised to provide the settlement papers at his earliest convenience and, with a slight bow, strode out the door. He might have enquired of the servant in the hall after Elizabeth, but he was not master of himself enough to speak without anger. He mounted his horse and rode off.
Elizabeth wasin high spirits as she rambled across the fields to return to Longbourn. Contemplation in the noisy Bennet household must be reserved for private hours, and not a clement day went by without a solitary walk to enjoy both physical and emotional freedom. It was only when she was with Fitzwilliam that she felt similarly unrestricted.
She cleared a stile and then tilted her head to the sky and removed her straw bonnet. On hearing a rider approach, she turned and was greeted by a surprising and welcome sight. As the rider readied to jump the fence, Elizabeth attempted to catch his eye. She watched as his stern and serious expression brightened into something akin to delight as he recognised her.
He dismounted, and Elizabeth found herself crushed against Fitzwilliam’s chest as he buried his face in her hair. When he pulled away, he held her face between his hands. He appeared weary but elated as he brushed a stray tendril of hair from her cheek.
“Elizabeth,” he whispered.
She had expected he would kiss her and was disappointed when something over her shoulder caught his attention. Upon perceiving a farmer with his horse and cart approaching, he stepped away. He gathered his horse’s reins and offered his other arm to Elizabeth, and they walked toward Longbourn.
“What is the matter, my dear?”
She was tempted to give a little falsehood here, but decided that perhaps he could handle a bit of teasing. “I fear that I have fallen in your esteem, Mr Darcy. You come upon me after a long absence, but choose not to kiss me in greeting.”
His eyes were steadily fixed on her face, and his gaze showed a mixture of adoration and longing. “It would not do for me to greet you as I desire on an open country road,” he said in a low voice. “I may have lost my heart, but I have not lost my self-control. As much as I should like to kiss you, it would not benefit your reputation or mine to do so here.”
“You are fortunate to have ready so reasonable an answer.”
“It is also challenging for me to kiss one who continues to call meMr Darcy.” He kept a straight face for a moment that turned into a wide grin when she laughed.
She longed to say that he had kissed her several times without caring how she addressed him, but thought it would be more gracious of her to address him by his first name at every appropriate opportunity.
“You are correct, Fitzwilliam.” She laid her head on his arm as they walked. “However, you accept the risk I may be absent-minded and wrap my arms around you and call you ‘my darling Fitzwilliam’ in front of Lady Catherine.”
He smiled, but it faded and a pensiveness took its place. “I have been to see your father.”
The merriment she felt upon seeing him again vanished. She did not want to ask how the interview had passed; she only wanted to walk with her beloved and feel the sunshine on her face. To ask about the interview, to walk back to Longbourn, and to put her bonnet back on her head meant abandoning the joy and freedom she felt when she was alone with him.
“He did not refuse my request, but he…” He hesitated. “He takes no pleasure in our union.”
Elizabeth briefly wished her father had refused. It would have given her the privilege of feeling righteous indignation. But to learn that her father had not the conviction to refuse, but merely showed interest enough to express his ignorant displeasure, was painful.
