The second source of happiness belonged toJane, for Mr Bingley had returned to Netherfield, and he seemed as much enchanted with her sister as ever. Jane, though still circumspect and cautious of letting her feelings be too easily known, was quietly delighted, and Elizabeth suspected it would not be much longer before another of the Bennet sisters had her future happiness secured.
Pleased as she was for both her sisters, such delightful news could not entirely fix Elizabeth’s thoughts. She had endeavoured more than once to command them, to confine herself to what was immediately before her, and to take from present circumstances the comfort they could afford, but the effort had never been entirely successful. With each memory or thought of him, all the love and hope she had resolved to let go returned, not with violence, but with quiet, unshakeable persistence.
Elizabeth had just turned toward the house, intending to return to it, when a sound that did not belong to the stillness of the garden reached her. It was not loud, but it caught her attention nonetheless. It came again, more clearly now, sounding like a door opened with less care than usual, followed by voices a little too far away to identify. Elizabeth paused, her gaze fixed on the house, and before she could determine the cause, the garden door opened.
Mr Darcy stepped out.
For a moment she believed herself mistaken. Elizabeth had entirely given up hope of seeing himthere. In the absence of hope, he seemed more likely to be a particularly vivid memory than to be there in reality. That absurd thought lasted only a moment. Still, Elizabeth stood frozen, too shocked even to run to him.
Mr Darcy strode towards her instead. Her eyes searched his face. He had not come in indifference, or on some practical matter. That much was clear at once. Never before had she seen his composure so much shaken.
“Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth said faintly. “How pleasant to see you again.”
“You are too good,” he said, his voice harsh and strained. “You ought to reproach me for not coming sooner. But if you did so, you could not possibly reproach me more than I am reproaching myself.”
“You did not stay away out of indifference, then, or because you had changed your mind,” Elizabeth murmured.
“No,” Darcy said. “No, I am anything but indifferent. Elizabeth, I can no longer have any claim on your attention. But will you allow me at least to explain, and to apologise?”
Elizabeth nodded. “I will listen,” she said. “You have come from London, then?”
“I have,” he replied, and after a moment’spause continued, “and I come under circumstances which require explanation. My aunt misled me in a manner so shameless that I can hardly believe it even now. She manipulated the circumstances to make it appear that upon learning that some of my connections would not favour you, you accepted a bribe to leave at once.”
At this, Elizabeth cried out in shock and offense.
“I could not believe it,” Darcy hurried to say. “It is entirely counter to your character. Lady Catherine lied to my face and convinced your cousin to do likewise. She manipulated the circumstances such that they seemed to support what she said. I do not think I could have been fooled even so, if the shocking nature of such actions had not been their own defence. It did not occur to me that anyone, let alone a member of my own family, could act with such shocking manipulation and deceit. That alone can be my excuse, and I feel it to be a very sorry one.”
Elizabeth listened in silence, but her heart raced.
“I was wrong,” Darcy said, and though the words were simple, they were not lightly spoken. “I allowed doubt to take the place of trust, and in doing so, I did you an injustice which I can only regret, since it cannot now be undone.”
She felt the sincerity of the acknowledgment,and it softened what little remained of her astonishment. “You were not alone in being misled,” she said, “and I cannot wish you to have judged otherwise than you did, when so much was concealed from you.”
“That does not excuse me,” he returned, with quiet firmness. “It was for me to know you better, and I failed in it.”
There was no pride in the admission, and Elizabeth, who had once thought him incapable of such a confession, felt its full effect. “You believe me, then?” she said, almost involuntarily.
“I do,” he replied, “and I reproach myself that I did not do so sooner.”
Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully. “I have been mistaken in much,” she said, “and not only in what concerned you.” She paused, wondering whether she ought to say more, yet unwilling to remain entirely silent where so much had passed between them. “I believed you to have judged me differently,” she said at last, “and I did not expect that what had once been understood between us would be so easily set aside. I thought—” She stopped, and then went on more steadily, “I thought you had known me better.”
Darcy listened without interruption. When she finished speaking, he bowed his head. “I ought to have done so,” he said. “There is no part of myconduct in that respect which I can wish to excuse. I was influenced by circumstances which should never have outweighed my own knowledge, and I allowed myself to doubt where I should have trusted in you. If I have suffered from that error, it has not been more than I deserved.”
Elizabeth looked at him, and whatever remained of former resentment yielded to the grief written so plainly on his face. “You have not suffered alone,” she said, more softly, “and if I have been disposed to think you unjust, it has not been without regret. I would not wish to remember either of us as we were then.”
“Nor I,” he replied, “if I may be permitted to think we are something better now.”
He stepped nearer. “Elizabeth. You have already treated me with infinitely more generosity than I could deserve. But will you grant me yet more? The last time I was privileged to be in your company, I left it promising myself that I would ask you something very particular the next time I saw you. May I ask that question now?”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened, for his intention was unmistakable. Her voice shook a little as she said, “You may.”
“I had not known you for many days,” Darcy began, “before I began to feel the power of your fascination over me. It has been many, many nightsthat your dark eyes have appeared in my dreams, and many days since I have wished to have the privilege of holding your hand in mine. But it was not only your loveliness, or even your charming manners and quick wit, which have fixed my admiration beyond any possibility of being altered. I did not err when I judged you worthy of my confidence and Georgiana’s secret. Each time I have met with you and each action I have known you to take has only increased my astonishment at your intelligence, your perseverance, and your dedication. Elizabeth, after how I have failed you, I do not think I deserve the happiness of being your husband, but I shall ask for that happiness all the same. Will you be my wife? Will you brighten each day of my life with your loving heart and lively spirit, and will you give me the rest of my life to prove myself worthy of you?”
The words thundered through Elizabeth, leaving her shaken and almost weak. But it was necessary to speak. Darcy was gazing at her with a look of agony that made it clear his words were not merely a matter of form. He had no certainty, only desperate hope and fervent love.
“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “Yes, I shall marry you, Fitzwilliam Darcy, for despite this one error of judgement, I have never known a man whose intelligence and judgement I admired so much, nor yet one I could trust so deeply. And I look forward to spending a long, long life with you.”
“May it be so,” he softly agreed. Darcy took her hand, and the simple action carried with it a warmth which made any further formality unnecessary. He drew her gently toward him, and she did not resist, but went gladly.
