“Silence, Mary! What ails you girls? Let Elizabeth speak,” Mr Bennet admonished before realising the need to intervene. “Mr Darcy requested your sister’s hand in marriage. Even though she rejected his proposal, their relationship warranted such a gesture…but why am I even bothering to find pointless explanations? I have always advised you to disregard the frivolous rules that we have inherited from other times.”
“Oh!” Mary exclaimed, shocked by her father’s counsel. “You have never said that to me!”
“Yet Papa is right. Mr Darcy came and personally presented me with that letter. And, I suppose, that was when I realised I was in love with him. Even before reading his letter…as strange as that might seem. After briefly meeting at the theatre, and advised by Lady Oakham and Aunt Gardiner, I replied to his letter to explain my refusal. I was invited to call on Miss Darcy and Lady Oakham, and I carried my reply with me—”
“You visited his house?” Mr Bennet asked. But Elizabeth could not discern her father’s feelings on the matter beneath his composed expression and simple question.
“Yes, invited by Miss Darcy. Lady Oakham hoped that he would make an appearance, affording me the opportunity to deliver the letter.”
Elizabeth paused; it was impossible to forget the emotions she had experienced that afternoon when she first visited his home. His splendid residence could have been hers had she been cleverer, calmer, or more understanding. Or had she listened to her heart above all else, as Jane would have done. Her reproach was not directed at Jane but at herself. She did not need to close her eyes to remember, for his house had seared itself into her memory forever.
As the carriage halted before the elegant three-storey house, under the canopy adorned with coloured glass and supported by Greek columns, even Mrs Gardiner had sighed in admiration and regret.
“Visiting Rosings was the first time I had entered a mansion that resembled the grand royal palaces we have seen in town, but his London residence is a home. Warm and inviting. When we entered the drawing-room, we found a pianoforte with Miss Darcy’s music scattered all about. Her companion affectionately reprimanded her for the disorder, but that was precisely what endeared it to me—the sensation of a real home where people enjoyed spending their time. Imagine the generous sash windows, welcoming an abundance of natural light, affording views of a small yet enchanting garden that was in full spring bloom!” Elizabeth said, overwhelmed by memories.
She had admired everything—the exquisite furnishings, the pastel-coloured paper on the walls that harmoniously matched the upholstery of the chairs and sofas. For a fleeting moment, she had imagined herself descending to the garden to pick flowers to arrange in delicate vases.
“I never dreamt of being rich. I had always hoped to have a contented life with a husband who could serve as a parson in a modest rectory or as a solicitor like Uncle Phillips. However, gazing upon his house, I had to accept that I also regretted the life he could have provided.”
“I have never contemplated Mr Bingley in such a manner!” Jane confessed.
“I know, and that was the main reason for my colossal anger.”
“But you imagined your life with him…Mr Darcy,” Mary murmured, lost in dreams of her own.
“I suppose I did. I contemplated the life I would build with such a man. I never anticipated uttering these words, but building a life with the master of that house would have been the perfect pursuit of happiness. I was engulfed in admiration and regret. I longed to see him in that setting as he truly was. Not in the assembly rooms in Meryton, nor even in the opulence of Rosings, but there, in his home, amidst his family and possessions.”
“One remains unchanged, regardless of the setting!” Jane declared with obvious reproach.
“You are wrong, Jane. Consider Papa. He is a man we know and adore, but only here, in his library, is he the father we shall always keep in our hearts. I yearned to witness Mr Darcy in his own library, engrossed in a book left upon a small table, scrutinising the door of a delicate cabinet that had failed to close properly—”
Elizabeth paused, her emotions overwhelming her, as she recalled waiting for Mr Darcy, imagining him entering that room where he spent his afternoons with family and friends.
“I was certain he would come.”
“Did he?” Mary asked with impatience, musing, perhaps for the first time in her life, on love as a real-life feeling that conquers the soul, mind, and heart rather than a mere passage in a novel. She was listening to Elizabeth’s tale of love. Mary was grateful to be present, glimpsing the depths of her sister’s feelings and discovering how a woman behaves when in love.
“He knew I had been invited by his sister, and I considered his presence would be a sign that he was beginning to forgive me. The ladies conversed, and I uttered the occasional word, but my heart clung to the door. It thumped incessantly in a frenzied rhythm each time someone entered, yet it was always just the butler or a maid. After an hour had elapsed, Mrs Gardiner rose, signalling our departure.”
“He did not come to see you, even though he likely knew you were a guest in his house,” Mary lamented.
“No, and for me, that marked the end.”
Still immersed in profound emotion, Mr Bennet’s gentle laughter roused them from their reverie. They stared at him, shocked.
“My dear, if only matters were as simple as you imagine! Mr Darcy is a powerful man in command of his own destiny. Your refusal deeply wounded him, for I am sure he never imagined encountering a woman who could spurn his hand. He is not like Mr Collins, who searched for a wife at Longbourn but remained relatively unperturbed when none of you wished to marry him, because he had cast his net with indifference. Mr Darcy, on the other hand, was that formidable and self-assured hunter who sought only one deer—”
“Oh, Papa, what a dreadful metaphor! I am far from a gentle deer,” Elizabeth exclaimed, though she could not help but find it both amusing and strangely illuminating.
“His disappointment ran deep, but I assure you, he did not surrender the chase.”
“Then why did he not come? I had to leave the letter in the hall.”
“He refrained from appearing because he is not yet prepared to demonstrate that he has forgotten you. Even if, in his heart, he may have achieved that for a time.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Elizabeth protested.
“Thank you, my dear daughter, for placing trust in your father! I can tell you for certain that the man was deeply hurt.”
