Page 32 of Bitterness of Spirit

“She told me she had a very bad headache, that was all,” Mrs. Collins said. “But she might have a cold as she usually walks every day. And I did not want to take the risk of bringing her sickness into the proximity of Miss de Bourgh.”

“That was a wise decision,” Lady Catherine agreed. “My Anne is very susceptible, and we do not want to expose her to any danger. Well, let us have tea!”

Darcy warred with his impatience for a quarter of an hour. He thought of nothing but Elizabeth. She was at the parsonage. What was she doing? Was she with Maria or alone? Was she well enough to move around, or was she keeping to her bed?

Thoughts and questions spun in his head and made him dizzy. He missed the conversation and soon became oblivious to everything around him. And then, suddenly, the weight on his chest vanished. He finally knew what he had to do. He would at least take advantage of the opportunity and see what fate might bring him.

“Please excuse me; I have some urgent business to finish,” he heard himself saying, much to the others’ consternation. But he had no time or disposition to care what they thought. He went to the back door and left, walking with long, decisive steps towards the Parsonage. Towards her.

***

When the Collinses left, Elizabeth remained in her chamber for a while then lost her patience and descended to the drawing room. As if intending to exasperate herself as much as possible against Mr. Darcy, she chose for her employment the examination of the letters that Jane sent to her and the recollection of all that had happened in Hertfordshire during the previous autumn.

The Meryton assembly ball, their unwilling stay at Netherfield, the dinner parties at Sir William’s, their meetings in Meryton, the Netherfield ball—all and each of them proved Mr. Darcy’s despicable character, his abominable pride, and his contempt for the feelings of others. His expression was always stern, his manners severe and haughty, as others were beneath his notice. He was the most unpleasant of men, but that would mean little if he had not made it his chief objective to separate Mr. Bingley from Jane for no more other reason than his own caprice.

While Anne de Bourgh and even the colonel spoke highly of Darcy’s qualities, Elizabeth knew better. She had come to know him in a way that his family seemed unaware. He was a cruel man without respect or consideration for anyone outside his circle. Thank God, she would soon be away from him and likely never seem him again. And Mr. Bingley may keep his friend and his sister—Jane would surely be happier without such a weak, undecided man unable to recognize the worthiness of such a perfect lady.

While settling this point, she was suddenly roused by the sound of the doorbell. She was slightly flustered, yet intrigued. Who could possibly be there late in the afternoon?

Her spirits were deeply affected when, to her utter amazement, she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the room. What was he doing there? Did he come to annoy her further? Did the colonel share their conversation? With the Collinses at Rosings, what on earth did he mean by calling on her alone?

She remained still, watching him as he looked for a place to sit. In a hurried manner, he began an enquiry after her health. She answered him with cold civility. He sat for a few moments and then, getting up, walked about the room. Elizabeth was surprised but said not a word. After a silence of several minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner, and thus began—

“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

Elizabeth’s astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, coloured, doubted, and was silent. She glanced at the clock on the wall behind him. It was six in the afternoon. Was this a joke? Was he mocking her?

“I understand your astonishment, Miss Bennet. I am here, addressing you, and I am astonished myself. Only a day ago, I would not have imagined I might come here with such a declaration. I always knew I must marry someone of the same situation in life and from a family with connections and consequence—someone to properly fill the position of Mrs. Darcy in society. I know I have a duty towards my family, but nothing matters now. For many months, my admiration for you has turned into affection, and not even distance has diminished my feelings for you. My love is so real and powerful that it has made me put aside every consideration that made me hesitate, and no doubt, it will incur the opposition of my family and friends. But I know it is worth it. That is why I have fought against my own reasoning and even with my own will, and I present myself to you, begging you to put an end to my turmoil and agree to become my wife.”

Elizabeth’s astonishment left her mute. She listened and heard but could not understand. She could easily see that he had no doubt of a favourable answer. He spoke of apprehension and anxiety, but his countenance expressed real security. But this could simply not happen. It could not be real.

Did Mr. Darcy claim he loved her? Ardently? Did he just propose to her? But how? Why? He just uttered his opposition to her family situation and spoke of his duty towards his own. Did he just say that he should marry someone worthy of Mrs. Darcy’s name? So he thought her unworthy—something Elizabeth already knew from his previous behaviour. Then how could he propose? What was his purpose? He first spoke of his affection and then offended her. Had he lost his mind? Why would he want to marry her if he was opposed to Bingley’s marriage to Jane? Surely, the faults that displeased him in one case were the same, or perhaps even stronger, on her side.

Did he only mean to upset his aunt by marrying someone completely different from Anne, only to ensure he had his own way? Was he such a horrible human being?

The tumult inside her made the few moments of silence lengthen. She struggled to speak coherently.

“In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned. It is natural that obligation should be felt, and if I could feel gratitude, I would now thank you. But I cannot since I am not even certain you are serious in this request. If you are, I am truly sorry. I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. The feelings which, you tell me, have long prevented the acknowledgement of your regard can have little difficulty in overcoming it after this explanation.”

She glanced at him and noticed his bewilderment. He was leaning against the mantelpiece with his eyes fixed on her face. He seemed to catch her words with no less resentment than surprise. His complexion became pale with anger, and the disturbance of his mind was visible in every feature. At length, in a voice of forced calmness, he said—

“And this is all the reply which I am to have the honour of expecting! I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little endeavour at civility, I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance. I obviously made a horrible mistake, and I know it will not be forgotten or remedied soon enough.”

“I might as well inquire,” replied she, “why with so evident a design of offending me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will and against your reason and that you should marry someone worthy of Mrs. Darcy’s name? Was not this some excuse for incivility if I was uncivil? And even more—does someone who has been the means of ruining, perhaps forever, the happiness of a most beloved sister deserve more civility?”

As she pronounced these words, Mr. Darcy changed colour, but the emotion was short, and he listened without attempting to interrupt her as she continued angrily.

“Can you deny that you have done it?” she repeated.

With assumed tranquillity, he then replied, “I have no wish of denying that I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your sister, or that I rejoice in my success. And I know I had good reasons—all in favour of my friend, to whom I owe loyalty.”

“I congratulate you on your cynical answer, Mr. Darcy. So much like you! If I ever had any doubts, they have all now vanished. This is your true character, just as it was unfolded to me many months ago by Mr. Wickham.”

“You take an eager interest in that gentleman’s concerns,” said Darcy in a less tranquil tone and with a heightened colour.

“Who that knows what his misfortunes have been can help feeling an interest in him?”

“His misfortunes? Yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed. What a joke! I cannot imagine what lies he must have told you, but I am astonished that you chose to believe him so readily. Did you require proofs of his claims?”