A Most Civil Proposal (6 page)

“And what of Jane?” asked Charlotte. “Do you believe him innocent in that affair also?”

“No, not innocent,” said Elizabeth slowly, “but not as guilty as I previously affirmed. Since I believe his assertions in regard to Wickham, I must give credence to those in regard to Jane. And there, I am forced to concede, while he was wrong in some aspects, he was not maliciously wrong. And in some others,” she whispered, “especially concerning my family, I do fear that he is more correct than not. He is arrogant, to be sure, and I do resent the opinions he expressed, but I fear that Jane’s disappointment has been as much the work of her own relations as otherwise.”

She broke down in sobs again “I have grown so used to the impropriety of my mother and my young sisters that I did not see it until his cruel words showed me how they appeared in another’s eyes.”

At length, Charlotte said softly, “And what of his pride and arrogance, Lizzy?”

Elizabeth wiped her tears away. “On that we did not speak. And although the tone of his proposal softened the harsh words that might otherwise have come to mind, I have no reason to change my opinion of him. . . except that my opinion has been so dreadfully wrong about everything else!”

“I see,” said Charlotte. “So he may not be as arrogant as you thought?”

“Well . . . perhaps,” Elizabeth granted unwillingly.

“So after his explanation, were you tempted to amend your refusal?”

“Oh, no, Charlotte. He did not renew his proposal, so I had no cause to reconsider my refusal. But, in truth, even after everything I have learned, at heart I still believe he is the last man in the world I could be prevailed on to marry.”

Charlotte was saddened but contented herself with a brief embrace before departing.

Chapter 4

Thursday, April 9, 1812

Darcy’s thoughts were still whirling in confusion and shock when he arrived back at Rosings, to the extent that he had no clear memory of passing through the park. He was, however, fortunate enough to reach his room without seeing his aunt. His good fortune came to an end at that point, for he did not even have time to ring for Jennings before a visitor knocked at his door. Darcy rolled his eyes in frustration, but there was no other recourse than to answer, and he was not surprised to find his cousin Fitzwilliam with his eyebrows arched in a look of sardonic mischief with which Darcy was so familiar.

“I heard you come back just now,” his cousin said easily, “and I thought you might wish to get thrashed at billiards before retiring.” Darcy was tempted to decline, but he saw Fitzwilliam’s expression sharpen as he recognized Darcy’s discomfiture. He sighed in surrender, for he also perceived the dedicated look that Fitzwilliam assumed when he was determined to accomplish some task. Just now, he suspected that Richard’s task was to quiz his dear cousin Darcy about his odd behaviour this day, and there being no way to avoid the inquisition, he accepted the invitation. He would have to talk to Richard at some time or other, for his cousin was relentless when he was in that mood. In any event, he had a favour to request. He knew that Richard might discuss some generalities regarding Wickham if Miss Bennet did indeed apply to him for confirmation, but he was too loyal and dutiful to make the slightest comment about the affair at Ramsgate.

When they entered the billiard room and Darcy uncharacteristically closed the door behind them, Fitzwilliam’s eyebrows rose again. Wordlessly he watched as Darcy removed his coat and began to examine the cues. Neither spoke as Fitzwilliam prepared the table. Darcy silently selected a cue and applied chalk to the tip. Fitzwilliam finished racking the balls and chalked his own cue. Eventually, as Darcy settled into position, Fitzwilliam’s patience reached an end.

“Darcy, do you want to tell me what in blazes is going on with you?” he burst out, but Darcy only stroked his cue, breaking the balls smartly. One ball made a corner pocket with a satisfying sound, and he again chalked his cue while his cousin fumed.

“What do you mean?” Darcy said finally as he lined up his first shot. “Are you referring to tea? I left the house because I did not feel well and decided to take a walk.” He stroked the cue smoothly and landed a ball in the side pocket, leaving the cue ball perfectly positioned for a shot on the corner.

“So you say!” Fitzwilliam responded. “But this is only the latest incident. You have been acting quite the strange one for the past week. First, you put off our departure, when in past years you would have been as eager as I to escape from Rosings. Then you hardly had a word to say to me all week, you cannot refrain from quarrelling with Miss Bennet whenever she visits, and you just stare out the window or hold a book in your lap without turning the page. Then tonight you disappear when my aunt has guests, leaving me to try to explain your unprecedented breach of manners. Did you know Lady Catherine wanted to send the servants out to search for you and drag you back? If I was a wagering man, I would place a month’s pay that you had finally been smitten by one of the stylish ladies in town who have been scheming to become Georgiana’s sister for these several years now.”

Darcy could not help smiling. Close, but yet not close.

“Little chance of that,” he murmured as he lined up and took his next shot.

“Then what? I will not let up, you understand. I
will
have a proper answer, or we shall be here all night.”

Darcy looked at his cousin intently. “Richard, I need a favour,” he said after a few moments.

“You will not get so much as a kind word until you tell your dear cousin why he has to allow himself to be battered about the ears by his aunt while you disappear at will.”

Darcy frowned. “I am serious. I need your help, but I also need for you to put a muzzle on your curiosity — at least for now.”

Fitzwilliam looked at him in exasperation. “Let me see if I have this straight. You want me to refrain from asking why you have been wandering around with a dazed look for more than a week, but at the same time you want me to do you a favour?”

“That about sums it up.”

“And you will not tell me what is troubling you?”

“I cannot. At least not right now. Maybe sometime, but not now.”

Fitzwilliam threw up his hands in disgust. “Oh, all right! Why should I expect anything else?”

“Thank you.”

“Now, what favour do you need?” Fitzwilliam said disgustedly. He had thought to at least disconcert Darcy and affect his game, but it appeared that whatever afflicted him did not affect his skill at billiards. He was in for another merciless drubbing.

“Your comment about Miss Bennet,” Darcy, suddenly tongue-tied, ventured eventually. “We did have a . . . quarrel.”

Fitzwilliam just raised his eyebrows. Darcy took a breath as he lined up another shot. “In the course of a rather . . . heated . . . discussion, I was forced to reveal to her the whole of my history with Wickham.”

That truly shocked Fitzwilliam. He well knew Darcy’s nearly obsessive urge for privacy.

“You did not include the part about Georgiana, did you?”

“Yes.”

Fitzwilliam was silent as he watched Darcy put yet another ball in the pocket. Darcy stood up and looked at him. “What I need, Richard, is . . . well, Miss Bennet may seek to confirm the . . . truth . . . of what I told her. What I would like is for you simply to answer her questions if she asks them. Just tell her what happened.”

Fitzwilliam stared, suspicion growing as his mind quickly put together the pieces of this most intriguing puzzle.

“You trust her that much?”

Darcy bent over his next shot. “I do.”

That was the last piece needed to resolve the question.

“Then, of course.” His smile gleamed suddenly in his tanned face. “If she asks, I will answer her fully. That is no problem, Darcy. No problem at all.”

He watched Darcy prepare for his next shot; then, as his cousin pulled the cue back, he said softly, “Impulsive as always, I see.”

Darcy missed the shot — badly.

“What did you say?” Darcy’s expression was dark as he rose from the table.

“Oh, nothing.” Fitzwilliam cheerfully moved to take his first shot. Quickly he lined it up. “Previously, there were just the three of us who knew what transpired at Ramsgate — except for Wickham, long may he rot . . .” His first shot sank a ball in the side pocket.

“And now, suddenly, Miss Bennet will make a fourth . . . ” He sank this shot in a corner pocket.

“Plus there is the famous impulsiveness of the Darcys . . . ” Darcy’s face was stony, but his cheeks were flushed as another ball rattled home.

“And of
course
, there is little chance of a stylish lady
from town
bewitching my famously taciturn cousin . . .” The last ball slammed home in a corner pocket, clearing the table.

“So, of course I will be pleased to alleviate any concerns of the lovely Miss Bennet, who, after all, hails
from the country
, not from town. It will be my pleasure, Darcy.” Fitzwilliam laughed out loud at his cousin’s glowering expression.

“Ah, the Darcy Stare of Displeasure. It is not nearly as good as the Major General’s, mind you, but it is almost as good as Father’s. Will you rack the balls, Cousin?”

After several seconds, Darcy could see that he was not going to dim the spirits of his irrepressible cousin, and his glare faded into a rueful smile while he prepared the table.

“Shall I mention the legend of the impulsive Darcys when I see Miss Bennet?” Fitzwilliam drawled.

“Richard,” Darcy said seriously, “just do what I asked. The situation is not yet one that inclines me to humour.”

“Of course, Cousin.” Fitzwilliam patted him on the shoulder. “But I laughed in Spain when we were down to our last ten rounds and then the bayonet, so I daresay I can find a chuckle in your situation.”

“Someday, Richard,
someday
!” Darcy growled.

“You have said that before, you know,” Fitzwilliam said in delight as he broke the rack. Two balls rattled home, and Darcy groaned.

* * * * *

When Jennings made his exit at long last, Darcy gave a sigh of relief. He settled before the fire, feet outstretched to catch the warmth. His relatively good humour from earlier had dissipated, and now depression closed in. He had held it at bay while playing with Fitzwilliam, but it returned now in full force.

She refused me
, he thought again. The sense of astonishment still remained, even beyond the pain of the words. The previous night and the certainty that she would soon be his betrothed seemed an age past, so distant that not even a hint of that memory still remained.

How did everything go so wrong
, he thought despondently.
How could I have thought she perceived my intentions and awaited my addresses when she so clearly perceived nothing of the sort? Instead, she thought I despised her!

Then, when he tried to explain how he had acted to separate Bingley from her sister, he insulted her family as if to prove her opinion right. Could he not have found a better way to express himself? Yes, her mother was completely insensitive to the customary manners of society, but did he have to call it a ‘total lack of propriety?’ And how pitiful was his attempt to lessen the sting by saying that she and her eldest sister were different from their mother!

And the saddest memory of that terrible night — he had frightened her! He groaned aloud as that terrible look on her face would not leave his memory. That cursed Wickham! Would he never be free of his evil influence? First his sister and then the woman he loved! Out of the whole, blasted country, how could he surface in Hertfordshire?

As if these doleful thoughts were not enough to depress him, the more he pondered the actions he had taken to separate Bingley and Miss Bennet, the more he was disturbed by what he had done. He had acted in certitude and with no thought that the parties involved would suffer anything more than transitory pain. Yet Miss Elizabeth had informed him that her sister still suffered from thwarted hopes, and he could not doubt her sincerity. Given that opinion — especially after tasting the bitterness of rejection himself — he could not view his interference with any satisfaction whatever. He winced at the thought of the unhappiness he had caused.

Does Jane Bennet feel the same stabbing pain that I do?
he wondered miserably.
From her point of view, Bingley deserted her just when she had every right to expect that he would formally declare himself. If she feels the same as I, how can I pretend that I am not responsible? And what of Bingley? Does he feel the misery I feel at this moment? Does he still harbour love for a woman who, he believes, does not love him in return?
The thought that he could have inflicted such pain struck at his good opinion of himself, and he quailed under a bitter lash of ruthless self-examination such as he had never before endured.

Darcy put his face in his hands. Even though he was relatively satisfied with his explanation of his conduct, he still could not escape the conviction that he had acted wrongly, despite his good intentions. Could he make amends for what he had done? Would Miss Bennet give him the chance? Would she meet him in the morning as she had agreed?