“Does it matter?” he replied with a touch of malice.
“I think the next eldest,” he finally continued, observing the effect of his words upon his cousin, and perceiving that he had judged rightly. Darcy was interested in Miss Elizabeth, for she was the one visiting the Collins family, who lived less than half a mile from Rosings.
“What do you say to our going to Rosings for a week?”
To his great surprise, Darcy did not attempt to conceal his interest, but answered, “Yes!” with an eagerness he had never shown for Lady Catherine or their annual visit to Rosings.
Darcy wished to see Elizabeth again. He had already resolved to accompany Bingley to Netherfield, but Rosings offered an even better opportunity. For all those months, he had carried her in his mind like a recurring theme. He struggled against her image, then cherished it, and the cycle repeated itself again and again.
“Then it is settled: we shall leave for Rosings,” the colonel said, rising to depart.
But as soon as he was alone, Darcy fell once more into his usual reflections. He tried to recall all those moments when he had found her lacking in elegance or propriety, and when he had been offended by her independence and freedom of speech. But it was in vain. All he could remember was the morning she appeared at Netherfield with mud upon her petticoat, yet looking radiant, her cheeks bright—not from modesty, but from the exertion of a three-mile walk. She was untamed, full of life, indifferent to custom and to the forms of society. The very opposite of what I have always valued, he thought. And yet, what greater happiness could there be than to have her at Pemberley, riding with him across the fields and through the woods?
“I do not ride,” she had once said, but he knew it would take her only a short time to learn. He imagined with pleasure the hours they might spend together in such pursuits.
He had known many kinds of women, but he had seldom found one who took true pleasure in love. It was a matter of self-possession…and Elizabeth Bennet possessed it in abundance.
Often he could laugh, even while advising his dearest friend to keep away from the Bennet family, though he himself was beginning to feel that there was no escape for him. He dreamed of her, thought of her in every circumstance of his life; even his fears took her form…of living without her.
He considered means of keeping her family at a distance, should they marry, only to realise with surprise that, in his heart, he had already imagined such a marriage long before he acknowledged it.
He had spent but a few days in her company, and yet he possessed so many recollections. It was a curious thing; he remembered what he himself had done only because he remembered what she had done at that very moment.
He recalled one afternoon in the library at Netherfield, when Elizabeth entered in the company of the local clergyman.After the necessary introductions, he resumed his reading, and they paid him little attention. They spoke of the Atlantic, and of travellers who had crossed it to America. After some time, Darcy laid aside his book and listened. He was astonished by the extent of Elizabeth’s reading and by the clarity with which she expressed her opinions. Their conversation bore no resemblance to the idle chatter and trivial subjects so common in society. The clergyman, too, appeared engaged by her ideas, as though such exchanges were not new between them.
From that moment, the thought of marrying her gradually displaced every other consideration in his mind. He was still aware of her faults—her pride, her obstinacy—but they were few. What restrained him was her family. He could scarcely imagine her mother, her sisters—save perhaps Jane—or even her father, at ease among his own acquaintances in London. And such encounters could not be avoided indefinitely. There would be family gatherings—christenings, Christmas—when Elizabeth would wish to have her relations near her.
The thought of christenings unsettled him. He desired her with an intensity he could no longer deny. When they danced, the mere contact of her hand, or the closeness of her figure, set his heart beating with a wild and unfamiliar force. At first, he had resisted the influence she exercised over him. Still, after months of reflection, he was obliged to admit that it was not only admiration…it was passion.
He wanted her beside him—in every part of his life. At Pemberley, in the library, in the fields in spring, in the woods in summer—as she danced, or played the pianoforte in her unstudied manner—her laughter, her spirit…everything that belonged to her.
He despised himself for loving her, yet he could not resist it. On the contrary, the thought of marriage returned to him again and again. He tried to reason himself out of it, as he hadurged Bingley to do, but each attempt ended only in a stronger desire.
He resolved to go to Rosings and observe her in every possible circumstance—to speak with her, to walk with her, to dine with her, to visit her at the parsonage—and then to decide.
The colonel and Bingley were his closest friends, yet he had never laid open his mind to either. They spoke sometimes of gallant pursuits, but only as soldiers recalling past engagements. He had advised Bingley only because he had witnessed his situation closely, and because Bingley seemed to require guidance. That advice, however, had always tended in one direction.
Now, he felt the want of a friend to whom he might speak freely. Naturally, he turned to the colonel. During the journey to Rosings, he confided in him.
“Miss Elizabeth appears to be an interesting young woman,” the colonel said, not at all surprised by his cousin’s confidence.
“I have told you that I intend to marry,” Darcy replied.
“And you have fixed upon her?”
“It was the intention of marriage that came first. For at least six months I have considered it seriously. I have told you as much before.”
“Yes, you have. You determined that the life we have led until now must come to an end.”
“Indeed. I have had enough of this existence among women—never knowing a real and lasting attachment. From Lady Roberta to the assemblies at Matlock House, from the opera to the theatre, I have observed many young ladies in London. I have tried, in vain, to admire one of them.”
“Then, my dear cousin, you have reached the moment when a decision must be made. You cannot continue in this state much longer.”
“And yet marriage is for life. What if she should prove an unsuitable wife—or mother?”
“That is a risk in every marriage. But a sincere woman, and free from many of the faults so common in others, may very well become both. I shall also speak with her, and endeavour to learn more.”
Darcy inclined his head, grateful for the colonel’s moderation and support. Yet he knew his cousin would never advise him against marriage. He was a man without strong prejudices, shaped perhaps by his life in the army, or perhaps by his natural disposition—while Darcy himself could be exacting and severe, qualities Elizabeth might well reproach.
