Page 41 of Such Low Connections

“You believe this is my doing, I take it, Miss Bennet?” he asked her. “I assure you it is not. I make no demands on Charles Bingley.”

“You need not make explicit demands with so loyal a friend, perhaps. But think, Mr Darcy, whether the loyalty of your friends might not sometimes be to the detriment of their own best interests and happiness.”

“I see,” he said, and nothing more. The flat disinterest of the response provoked Elizabeth to go on and say, perhaps, more than she ought.

“Have you really so great a need for Charles Bingley that he must be always at your side? Have you no other recourse to support you? I urge you to think on this, Mr Darcy, and advise your friend accordingly with his own future in mind.”

Elizabeth knew her words were bold, and half expected anger or indignation at her presumption. Neither of these were evident in Mr Darcy’s reaction, however. He seemed to listen thoughtfully to her words with unexpected gravity.

“As always, I will give all that you say due consideration, Miss Bennet,” he assured her with a small bow and then walked away towards the fireplace, leaving Elizabeth vexed by her lack of understanding of his temperament.

Would Mr Darcy allow Mr Bingley to return to Netherfield Park and Jane, or not? Had Elizabeth’s advice been acknowledged or dismissed? It was impossible to tell.

∞∞∞

Elizabeth was in the act of writing to Jane the following morning, rather struggling to condense meaning from all she had learned at Rosings Park the previous day, when the doorbell sounded.

Putting down her pen, she listened idly as a maid answered the door, expecting any visitor to be sent away. Mr and Mrs Collins had taken Sir William and Maria out to visit St Luke’s church, over which Mr Collins presided, promising to show them many interesting brasses, plaques and other antiques of interest. Elizabeth had pleaded her correspondence to remain at the parsonage.

From the parlour where she sat, Elizabeth heard the low rumble of a man’s voice and the respectful tones of the maid in a longer exchange than she had expected. Perhaps the man was leaving a message for Mr Collins, but there was nothing of urgency in what Elizabeth heard, and she made no move to enquire about the person’s identity or purpose.

She had already picked up her pen once more and written another sentence when she heard footsteps approaching from the hallway. Then came the greatest surprise of all, as the maid opened the door and showed Fitzwilliam Darcy into the room.

“Mr Darcy to see you, Miss,” announced the maid briefly before closing the door and vanishing back towards the kitchen.

Elizabeth stood quickly and exchanged bows with Mr Darcy. He was alone, with no sign of either his aunt or Mr Bingley.

It was odd indeed that his unexplained presence should make her heart beat faster, for there was no reason for it. Elizabeth told herself that she was being absurd. Surely Mr Darcy was nothing to her, however cold and disapproving he might be, and however much sympathy she might nonetheless have for his difficult situation.

“Mr and Mrs Collins have gone out,” she told him, presuming that the maid had mis-spoken. Surely Mr Darcy could have nothing to say toher.

“So I was told, but it was your company I hoped to find. I trust I am not disturbing you?”

Smothering a sigh, Elizabeth shook her head. Jane’s letter would have to wait.

“My correspondence has no urgency. Do sit down, Mr Darcy. Shall I send for tea?”

He answered in the negative and took his seat with some reluctance, as though he would have preferred to remain standing. Yes, there was something very alert and purposeful about Mr Darcy today. Elizabeth saw it in the intensity of his deep blue eyes, the tension of his jaw, and the suppressed energy of his limbs. What could he possibly want from her?

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he began, taking a deep breath. “You must have realised by now the extent of my regard for you.”

Elizabeth stared at him with incredulity. What on earth was he talking about? Had he taken leave of his senses?

“Mr Darcy,” she said, shaking her head in bewilderment. “I cannot understand you.”

He smiled at her. Elizabeth’s eyes widened. No one could have accused Mr Darcy of being ill-favoured before, but with the addition of only a little warmth, he became dangerously handsome.

Nor were his next words less likely to put her head into a whirl. “I do not think I can be blamed for finding you enchanting,” he said wryly. “You are not only one of the most comely women of my acquaintance but the most intelligent, principled and reasoned.”

Thatwas a compliment she could never have anticipated, and one that could not fail to alter her own feelings. Surely no one would place so high a value on good principles and reasoned thought while having acted as Mr Wickham had suggested. Nor could a Mr Darcy who might see so much in her think himself so much above her as she would have imagined.

Elizabeth hardly knew how to answer. He meant to ask for some reconciliation, likely — perhaps, given the high nature of the compliments, he even meant to hint that they might enter into a courtship, once good understanding had been established. Yet her own answer was less clear. Only moments before, she would have said her anger for him was implacable. But his first words had shown her it must be an anger built upon several misapprehensions. If Mr Darcy truly meant to ask her for a fresh start, should she not listen?

Mr Darcy did not wait for her to answer, but went on quickly, as though he had no doubt in what he intended to say. “I have thought this matter over for some months now, and it cannot be left any longer,” he announced. “No doubt you wonder that I should seek a wife from a family with so little to offer in terms of fortune or connections. You will doubtless perceive the potential injury to my dignity from such a marriage. Still, I have come to the conclusion that it would ultimately be to my benefit, given your excellent personal qualities.”

“Marriage?!” Elizabeth blurted out in mingled confusion and horror. “You wish to marry me?”

It was beyond anything she could have imagined. His regard for her had been clear from the high nature of his compliments, but to immediately propose marriage? Still worse, to propose marriage in terms of the insult it would mean for his consequence? She had been wrong in him. He had not seen her feelings in the least, or he could not have proposed such a thing. He could have no real understanding, no true regard, if he would suggest it.