“No!” Fitzwilliam exclaimed, attracting the attention of gardeners at work nearby. “Forgive me,” he added more quietly. “You told her that you had struggled against your love for her?”
Darcy did not answer. With the clarity that time had already begun to afford him, his own words now appeared deeply misguided. He lowered his head, scarcely able to continue.
“And that was all you said before making your offer?”
“No. When I saw her astonishment, I believed it right to be entirely sincere. I spoke of my sense of her inferiority—of the obstacles her family presented, which had long opposed my inclination—” He broke off at the colonel’s evident dismay.
“I was wrong,” Darcy said quietly, as they resumed their walk.
“Who am I to judge you? Yet yes—a proposal ought to dwell upon affection and merit. It should be a moment of happiness, not of examination.”
“I thought her different—that she would understand my reserve.”
“She is different; but she is still a woman who desires to be loved. And what did she say in return?”
Darcy was silent.
“I do not wish to intrude,” the colonel added, somewhat embarrassed.
“No—it was my choice to speak to you. It is difficult to bear such a situation alone, and solitude makes it worse.”
“You may tell me anything. You know that your confidence is safe with me.”
Darcy inclined his head; he knew it well. He had no friend like his cousin. In happier times, they had shared much, and now he stood beside him in distress.
“She has disliked me from our first meeting.” He spoke slowly, with long pauses between his words. “My arrogance…myconceit…my selfish disregard of the feelings of others—all these, she said, formed the foundation of her disapprobation, upon which later events have only strengthened her dislike. I am the last man in the world she could ever be persuaded to marry…and more in the same spirit.”
Silence again fell between them. Darcy was overwhelmed by her answer. He had never truly imagined that she would refuse him. Still more painful was the image she held of him. The woman he loved regarded him as proud and selfish…
“Is that what I am?” he asked at last.
The colonel could not answer him without reservation. Darcy was far from unworthy, yet he did possess some of the faults Elizabeth had named. She had exaggerated, perhaps, but their dispositions were not wholly dissimilar. For that very reason, he had always thought them well suited.
He did not know whether Elizabeth loved Darcy, but her vehemence might itself be a sign of deeper feeling. It was not uncommon for the mind to oppose what the heart concealed. The prejudiced Elizabeth Bennet and the proud Fitzwilliam Darcy were the clearest examples—each resisting what they most felt. Instead of expressing his affection plainly, he had begun with censure; she, in turn, had defended herself with equal force, and in doing so had destroyed every hope of union. But how was he to make Darcy understand this? Such understanding could not be imposed—it had to be discovered.
“You may at times appear somewhat haughty,” the colonel said at last. “And she is not one to yield.”
“Yes, you are right. I did not expect such a response. Yet the most singular part of our conversation was when she accused me of having injured her sister’s happiness. She declared that, even if her feelings had been otherwise, she could never accept the man who had destroyed her beloved sister’s prospects.”
It was now the colonel who stopped short. His face grew pale. “This is my doing,” he said, deeply agitated. “I am so sorry. It was but a casual conversation—I mentioned how you had saved a friend from an imprudent attachment…Good God, I am truly sorry.”
Darcy laid a hand upon his arm. “Do not reproach yourself. If she chooses to judge me entirely upon that matter, then she is mistaken. Had Bingley truly loved her sister, no one could have persuaded him to withdraw.”
“It may be loyalty on her part. That is not a fault.”
“I agree—but if that alone stood between us, we might have spoken of it calmly. No—she was offended by me, and by my manner of speaking. She would have refused me in any case.”
“You cannot be certain. It may have been the principal cause. If you wish, I might speak to her—or better still, you might address the matter again under calmer circumstances.”
Darcy shook his head with decision. “No. After such a refusal, no rational man would renew his suit. It was not merely a refusal—it was a censure.”
“And yet, you spoke of her family in a manner that might well be taken as offensive.”
“I spoke what I believed to be true.”
It was a fruitless discussion. Neither was yet capable of recognising the full extent of the offence. Darcy believed himself justified; Elizabeth could never accept such a judgement upon her family.
“I am calmer now,” Darcy said, as they returned to Rosings.
