Page 5 of Elizabeth Bennet Says Yes to Mr. Darcy

The anger was returning, but it did not liberate me. It collided with necessity. I wanted to refuse him. I wanted to tell him that no fortune could compensate for his arrogance and that he had been mistaken in imagining I awaited him. The words pressed behind my lips.

I thought of Jane.

Mr. Darcy bent to retrieve my book. When he straightened, his assurance had vanished.

“I beg your pardon for the manner in which I expressed myself,” he said. “I cannot, however, regret having spoken to you. My affection no longer permitted silence. Will you consent to be my wife?”

The question hung between us.

I looked at the man awaiting my answer. He was proud, awkward, wounding. He was also loyal to his sister, respected by his cousin, and capable of a quiet attentiveness I had noticed several times since my arrival. I did not love him. Perhaps I did not know him well enough to hate him as certainly as I would have claimed a few hours earlier.

Above all, he could save my family.

“Before I answer you,” I said, “you must hear me without interruption.”

His face tensed.

“I am listening.”

“I do not love you.”

He paled further, but did not look away.

“I understand.”

“No. I do not believe you understand. I was surprised by your proposal. I never supposed you felt anything for me beyond a curiosity that was sometimes less than kind. I cannot, therefore, offer you what you feel for me.”

“I do not ask you to pretend.”

“You ask me to marry you.”

“Yes.”

His voice was lower, but it did not tremble.

I took a few steps toward the window. My reflection in the glass looked like a stranger: a young woman standing straight, chin raised, perhaps about to sell her future with well-imitated dignity.

“I esteem certain qualities in you,” I continued. “Your devotion to your sister. Your sense of duty. The loyalty you show to those you love. But I also disapprove of many of your judgments, and I do not know if we could make each other happy.”

“I believe we could.”

“You are naturally disposed to trust your own judgment.”

For the first time, something like a smile crossed his lips.

“On that point, you have never spared me your warnings.”

This response, almost humble, troubled me.

I turned toward him.

“If I were to accept, I would want no illusions between us. I will not pretend to love you. I do not promise to become a wife who defers to your every opinion. I will not tolerate your despising my family in my presence, even when their conduct merits criticism. And I will ask for time before our engagement is made public.”

He looked at me as if each condition strengthened rather than weakened his desire.

“You would accept?”

The happiness that suddenly lit his face nearly made me step back. I had never seen Mr. Darcy unguarded. He looked younger, more human, and infinitely more dangerous to my resolution.