Pride Prejudice and Perjury

Darcy's Lament

Chapter 11 ~ Darcy's Lament

“Indeed, she does have every reason to think ill of me,” said Darcy, hanging his head despondently when his cousin arrived at the end of his account of all that had been conjectured and spoken of at Willowbank earlier in the day.

He poured himself a generous brandy before returning to his chair, where he sat staring at the floor. “I shall ride at once to Willowbank and beg her forgiveness.”

“If you imagine that she will forgive you so easily, you are mistaken, Darcy. You have offended her pride, and it cannot, I fear, be so quickly – if ever –undone.”

“I know it, and I cannot blame her. Yet I must apologise for the pain she has suffered in consequence of my abject stupidity. I deserve nothing less than to be spurned by her, but I must at least be allowed to acknowledge my guilt and state my unreserved contrition.”

“She will not see you, Darcy – of that I am certain.”

“Then I shall write her a letter,” said Darcy, rising from his chair and opening his writing desk. “I shall send it at first light tomorrow. I shall not rest until I have made known to her the depths of my regret.”

***

The following day, as Darcy was sitting in the library with Colonel Fitzwilliam, a servant entered with a letter for him. It was his letter to Miss Bennet – returned, and unopened.

“My suit is hopeless!” said Darcy, shaking his head dejectedly, slumping down in his chair.

“Your suit?” exclaimed his cousin. “Darcy, you cannot seriously be considering paying Miss Bennet your addresses? It is quite unthinkable that she would accept you after the abominable way you have behaved. Can you not see that your exclusion of her from your society has led to all manner of speculation in the district concerning her character; and those who look up to you, while not comprehending your reasons, blindly follow your behaviour, and likewise snub her?”

“Then I shall hold a ball, here, at Pemberley, in Miss Bennet's honour. It will be an unambiguous acknowledgement of fault; that I was mistaken in my reasons for excluding her from my society. It will be understood by all as a statement of my incontrovertible belief in her respectability. I shall ask Miss Bennet to open the ball by dancing the first set with me.”

“You are dreaming, Darcy! Miss Bennet will not come to your ball – much less dance with you! Unless I am very much mistaken, she will refuse all invitations to Pemberley, and endeavour to avoid you as assiduously as you have avoided her. And as to your fanciful idea of a suit – how do you imagine you will pay her your addresses if she rejects your society and returns your letters? But, if somehow you found the opportunity, you would be comprehensively refused – of that I am quite certain.”

Darcy sat silently slumped in his chair for some minutes before sighing and muttering, “You are right, damn it! She would refuse me as vehemently as she did in Kent.”

“What? What is this, Darcy? Do you mean to tell me that you proposed to Miss Bennet when we were at Rosings Park last year?”

Darcy recounted the agonising details of his haughty and maladroit proposal at Hunsford, and the vigour and angry words with which he had been repulsed.

“Good God, Darcy, it is hardly surprising that you were refused. Miss Bennet was quite correct in characterising your behaviour as insulting and un-gentlemanly – quite without the indignation she quite justly felt at your efforts in separating her sister from Bingley. What on earth can you be thinking, to imagine that her opinion of you might have changed – even had your recent behaviour towards her not been so utterly abominable?”

Darcy outlined the content of the letter he had subsequently written to Miss Bennet, enlightening her concerning Wickham's character, and explaining his reasons for believing that the attachment he had severed between her sister and his friend was not a profound one, on either side. He then revealed the details of his unexpected meeting with Miss Bennet in Derbyshire the previous summer.

“So you think by that time she had forgiven you?”

“Yes, although to what degree, I cannot be certain. When I called upon Miss Bennet and her relatives, with my sister and Bingley, at Lambton, she seemed pleased to receive me, and she was entirely charming to Georgiana. It was much the same when she and her aunt returned the courtesy and called upon my sister here, at Pemberley, the following day. Had it not been for her abrupt departure from Derbyshire when she learned of her sister's elopement, I had hopes that she might very soon have consented to be my wife.”

“You meant to pay her your addresses again?”

“Indeed I did. I rode to Lambton with that express intention on the morning that the news of the elopement arrived. I have George Wickham to thank for foiling me.”

“You were in love with Miss Bennet for a considerable time then, Darcy?”

“And still I am – more than ever. I have been in love with the lady since we were in Kent – no, earlier yet, since I met her in Hertfordshire, two years ago when I stayed with Bingley at Netherfield Park. And though our aunt's letter did finally persuade me of the truth of Wickham's allegations – that she had lost her character – she never lost my affections; they simply refused to die. If I have treated her abominably, it is because of their strength. Knowing – or at least imaging I knew – what I did about her, and the impossibility of ever making her my wife, it was a torment to set eyes upon her; I could not bear to be in the same room as her.

“Thus I absented myself from Hertfordshire last year when the obligations of friendship demanded my presence there in support of Bingley at the time of his marriage. Though I resolutely determined that I must, at the very least, stay some days at Netherfield Park following the wedding ceremony; having stood up with Bingley in the church, upon exiting, I found myself face to face with Miss Bennet across the aisle. The feelings that were unleashed overcame all of my fine resolve – and I fled Hertfordshire like a cowardly cur. You have no idea of the shame I felt.

“And I fled, once more, before Miss Bennet, when she arrived in town last February, to stay with Bingley and her sister. Then in the summer, when Bingley came to Pemberley to ask my advice concerning the purchase of Willowbank, upon learning that it was to be Miss Bennet's home also, I endeavoured by all manner of low, deceitful means to persuade him not to purchase the property – but fortunately I failed. My behaviour was utterly shameful, and for a time, I truly feared that I might be losing the balance of my mind.

“When later, Miss Bennet settled at Willowbank, I found myself utterly incapable of being in her society. Had my feelings been less, though I would have discouraged my sister from associating with her, I would have tolerated Miss Bennet at Pemberley, and visited Willowbank for the sake of my friendship with Bingley. You have no idea, Fitzwilliam, how I have suffered on account of my untameable feelings for that lady. The only remedy I could think of was to marry; surely that, I prayed, must eventually weaken her hold on my heart.”

“And well it might, if you were to marry someone for whom you had genuine affection – but Caroline Bingley?”

Darcy shrugged his shoulders. “I knew her to be eager, and while my feelings for Miss Bennet hold me in their thrall, there seems very little likelihood that genuine affection could arise for any other lady.”

“Perhaps it might work the other way, Darcy?”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Well, if Miss Bennet were to marry, all your hopes for her must finally die, and your heart might, in time, become free.”

“And were you thinking, perhaps, to offer your services in that capacity, Fitzwilliam?” demanded Darcy dangerously.

“Now, Darcy, calm yourself, and think rationally. I would not venture to entertain this proposal if I believed there was the slightest chance for you to prevail upon Miss Bennet with your suit – but surely you must see, there is not. I must own to having been captivated by the young lady since first meeting her in Kent. However, you know of my circumstances, and that I must marry a woman with a substantial purse. Consequently, I guard my heart well; although I will tell you, it has not been easy where Miss Bennet is concerned.”

“Then what has changed? I know our aunt left you a nice little annuity in her will, but it is hardly enough for you to live on – certainly not in the style that becomes the son of an earl.”

“You are quite correct, it would require me to greatly curtail my expenditures; but, if she would have me, and be content to live in a modest way, I believe I could live quite happily on so small an amount – if my partner in life were Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

“Damn you, Fitzwilliam! Damn you!” exploded Darcy, leaping from his chair and pacing back and forth in a fit of jealous rage. “And do you imagine that you would bring her here, to Pemberley, and parade her beneath my nose? I could not bear it! It would drive me crazy!”

Colonel Fitzwilliam was shocked to see Darcy so utterly discomposed. He had not, until this moment, realised the profound depth of his cousin's feelings for Miss Bennet. They were evidently of a different order than his own. He began to seriously fear for Darcy's wellbeing.

“Calm yourself, Darcy, it was mere speculation. Given the strength of your feelings, and our relationship, I shall withdraw from the field – but I warn you: there may be others who will not.”

“Such as Netherby?” snapped Darcy.

“Precisely. Darcy, can you not see that your situation is wholly untenable. If not Lord Netherby, sooner or later some other suitor will find favour with Miss Bennet, and then your torment will be great indeed. You must strive to break the hold of this obsession – for it is nothing less than that: an obsession. Speaking of Lord Netherby, perhaps you might consider his sister, Victoria. She is both charming and intelligent, and would make you a far superior wife to Caroline Bingley.”

“It is no good, Fitzwilliam; for the past two years, I have been entirely unable to think of any other lady. But if you hold so high an opinion of Miss Netherby, perhaps you might think of her for yourself. I believe she has a substantial fortune. You would have no need of exercising economies.”

“She is indeed an amiable and superior lady; and yes, the notion did cross my mind when she was recently at Pemberley. However, I must confess that my attentions were so diverted by Miss Bennet, whose society, unlike yourself, I was able to enjoy, that I took very little notice of Miss Netherby.”

Darcy ruminated silently for some time, shaking his head. Then looking up imploringly at his cousin, he asked, “How can I ever explain to Miss Bennet that high regard in which we all held our aunt, which made it impossible for me to doubt her word – much less believe that she would perjure herself so shamelessly, and conspire to cause others do likewise. Tell me honestly, Fitzwilliam, had you received that letter from Lady Catherine, would you have doubted its veracity?”

The colonel thought for some time before replying. “No, probably not. As a rational man, my good opinions of a young lady, with whom my acquaintance was as circumscribed as yours with Miss Bennet, could hardly have overturned a lifetime's belief in the unimpeachable uprightness of our aunt.”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Darcy. “If she would but give me a chance to explain, I might, perhaps, make her see that no rational man, in my place, could have believed otherwise!”

“In the unlikely event of your gaining such an opportunity,” cautioned his cousin, “I am not at all certain that such an argument would advance your cause.”

“Why ever not? Miss Bennet is highly intelligent.”

“She might very well agree with you concerning what a rational man would believe – and yet wonder if one in love might believe otherwise.”

***

Jane and Elizabeth were seated in the morning room, embroidering some tiny garments for Lydia's daughter, Eleanor, of whose birth they had only recently learnt. Hearing the sound of an approaching coach, Elizabeth quickly rose and looked through the window. She feared that having his letter returned, unopened, the day before, Mr. Darcy might come himself, and she did not wish to speak with him. Seeing Georgiana alight from the carriage, she breathed a sigh of relief, but then it occurred to her that she might have been sent by her brother to plead his case.

“It is Miss Darcy,” she said, turning towards Jane. “I fear that one or other of us may suffer some embarrassment should the discussion venture on certain subjects.”

“Do you wish me to excuse myself from the room on some pretext or other?” asked Jane.

“I sincerely hope it will not come to that – but if it should, I shall give you a glance,” replied Elizabeth, returning to her seat as the servant entered to announce Miss Darcy, upon whose entry she immediately stood again, together with Jane, to welcome their visitor.

“How lovely to see you again,” said Jane warmly, when they were all of them seated.

Georgiana appeared plainly embarrassed.

Elizabeth attempted to put her at her ease by commenting on how much quieter things must be at Pemberley with all their guests gone.

“Yes, I shall miss the lively company of Miss Netherby and her brother,” said Georgiana, but her face immediately coloured as she realised that her listeners might understand her to have intended to imply a preference for the gentleman. To cover her discomfort, she immediately added, “And Miss Bingley is returned to London, to make preparations and purchases for the forthcoming marriage.”

“Oh,” began Jane, “has your brother not…” but she stopped herself and blushed, realising that Miss Darcy could not be in her brother's confidences regarding recent information.

“You find us industriously at our sewing and embroidery,” said Elizabeth quickly, attempting to turn the conversation. “We have much to do, for we learned only yesterday, in a letter from our mother, that we are aunts.”

“Congratulations,” said Georgiana, before suddenly blushing and looking even more embarrassed. Elizabeth could have kicked herself, for Georgiana, knowing that Mary was only very recently married to Mr. Tiddlington, would have straightaway realised that the mother of the baby must be Lydia – and the father, George Wickham.

“Mrs. Bingley,” began Georgiana, endeavouring to regain her composure, “I have come to invite you and Mr. Bingley, and Miss Bennet, also,” she said turning nervously towards Elizabeth, evidently feeling some confusion, “to dine with us at Pemberley tomorrow, if you are not otherwise engaged.”

There was awkward silence as Jane looked at Elizabeth enquiringly. Elizabeth shook her head minutely, to indicate that she did not wish to be of the party, and then glanced meaningfully towards the door.

“Thank you, Georgiana. Charles and I would be delighted to dine with you,” said Jane. Then rising from her seat, she added, “Please excuse me, for I have just this moment remembered some urgent business which requires my immediate attention.”

Jane's exit was followed by an awkward silence. At length, Elizabeth expressed her delight at seeing Georgiana again and the happiness she shared with Jane at again receiving her at Willowbank. Elizabeth was most curious to know what explanation her brother had offered for permitting such a visit, or for allowing her to be invited to dine at Pemberley.

“You are doubtless surprised to see me here today,” said Georgiana in evident confusion.

Elizabeth smiled encouragingly.

“Miss Bennet, my brother has confessed to me that he has made a terrible mistake, and that, contrary to everything he had previously been led to believe, your character is in every way unimpeachable, and your respectability unquestionable. He is most unhappy and remorseful for allowing himself to be deceived by others, but said it would be too painful to attempt to provide me with any further explanation at the present time. He said only that you are welcome to come to Pemberley at any time, and that I may visit Willowbank as I wish, and to accept invitations to dine here, and on his behalf, as well.”

“You must be exceedingly puzzled at this about face, my dear,” said Elizabeth sympathetically.

“Indeed I am, although not with the same degree of pain and bewilderment I felt at your previous exclusion, which upset me greatly. Perhaps, in time, my brother will tell me everything – well, not everything, but at least as much as he wishes me to know,” said Georgiana wryly. “I know my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, rode here several times in the last few days, and he is often engaged with by brother, conversing in the library – but they do not confide in me. I know they wish only to protect me; however, I fear that they still consider me a child – but I am not! Do you know what it is all about, Miss Bennet?”

“Indeed I do; but you must realise that it would be improper for me to speak of it.”

“Yet it concerns you, most of all,” said Georgiana. “It is you who have been wronged by this whole affair. Surely it is your right to present information to a dear friend that clears your name of this surreptitious slander.”

“Truly, I sympathise with you, Georgiana, but….”

“Please, Elizabeth. If you are afraid of angering my brother, I think he would be relived at being spared the trouble and discomfort of telling me himself. I do not think he would be angry with you.”

“I am fearful of neither his anger nor his disapprobation,” replied Elizabeth scornfully. “Since your life, too, has been touched by this affair, and you entreat me so fervently, I shall tell you. However, I must warn you that I may very likely say more than your brother would consider fit for your ears – including information that may well cause you to think ill of a near relative. I am also obliged to mention a name which I know must cause you pain.”

“Whose?” asked Georgiana.

“George Wickham's.”

“Oh,” gasped Georgiana, “I was not aware that you knew anything… of the matter.”

“When I was in Kent last year, your brother felt himself obliged to set my opinions straight concerning that gentleman. I must declare myself indebted to him for the service, for I had been grossly misled concerning Mr. Wickham's character. The information imparted by your brother, concerning Mr. Wickham, included the attempted elopement at Ramsgate.”

Georgiana turned bright red. Elizabeth, who sat beside her, took her hand and consoled her. “You must not blame yourself for being taken in by so plausible a charlatan, at the tender age of fifteen. I, too, was deceived by him – although not in the same way – and I was twenty years of age. Oh, that I had warned all my acquaintance in Hertfordshire about him, I might have saved my poor sister, Lydia, a great deal of misfortune. You have heard about it, no doubt.”

“Yes,” whispered Georgiana, looking at the floor. Then looking up imploringly, she said, “Have you told anyone of what my brother revealed?”

“Of the planned elopement? Only Jane, for we are so very close that we must tell the other everything; but you may rely upon her discretion – she will tell not a soul, and neither shall I.”

Georgiana smiled gratefully. “Please tell me all that you wish to say, and do not endeavour to spare my sensibilities or feelings, for I am no longer a child – although my brother has yet to make that discovery.”

Elizabeth did as she was bid, and by the time she was finished, Georgiana was utterly shocked and silent, simply shaking her head from side to side as if wishing to deny it all, tears escaping from her eyes. Finally she spoke. “It is like the plot of some fantastical novel, which the reader can scarce believe to be credible. It quite shakes one's faith in the world, for it transpires that nothing is at all the way it appeared to be – my aunt, Lady Catherine, most especially. It is as if she were a completely different person from the face she presented to society; I am shocked beyond belief at her evil. But my tears are not for my aunt,” said Georgiana, drying her eyes. “They are for you, and all that you have had to suffer, for so long, and so unjustly. How ever have you been able to bear it, dear Elizabeth?”

“By knowing that my sister and brother, and all my near acquaintances, and all of those who continued to come to Willowbank, refused to accept that I could have done wrong.”

“And though I was forbidden to see you, I never wavered in my faith in your goodness,” said Georgiana earnestly.

“I know, my dear. It brought me great joy when my sister conveyed your message that you unreservedly believed in me.”

“I am pleased at one thing; I no longer need dread Miss Bingley becoming my sister,” said Georgiana; but then her smile faded. “Knowing how abominably my brother has behaved towards you, how he allowed himself to be persuaded by the lies of our aunt, I must fear that my fondest wish can now never come to pass. Will you ever be able to forgive him, do you think?” entreated Georgiana. “Is it possible?”

Elizabeth shook her head sadly. “I hope, in time, that your brother and I may feel comfortable enough in each other's society that it will no longer be a trial for me to dine at Pemberley, or when he accepts my sister's invitations to dine at Willowbank. Regrettably, for myself, at least, that time is not yet come. I must therefore decline your kind invitation to dine at Pemberley tomorrow.”

“Oh,” said Georgiana.

“As to the relationship to which you alluded, surely you must see that after all that has passed, it is quite impossible for me. And it is very likely the same for your brother. Indeed, I think it somewhat presumptuous of you to even assume that he would wish for such an intimacy. Although I may, in time, no longer be snubbed by those who look up to your brother, local society – being entirely ignorant of your brother's reasons for having once thought ill of me – may hold lingering suspicions concerning my respectability. Though I shall regain my name, there will always be whispers. That is hardly the kind of social approbation that a man with so keen a sense of honour as your brother would wish to have attached to his wife.”

Georgiana looked downcast and forlorn.

“Do not despair,” said Elizabeth, taking her hand. “Though we may not be sisters, we can still love each other as well as sisters, and remain always the best of friends. I look forward to seeing much of you when I return from Hertfordshire.”

“You are not going away – just when I may again enjoy your society?”

“I think I must. It is best that I leave the neighbourhood for a time, until my feelings and resentment have subsided somewhat. And I wish very much to be in Longbourn with my little niece and my family – most especially my father, who misses me greatly. I travel first to Nottinghamshire, where I am invited to stay at Fendalton Park.”

“Fendalton Park?” exclaimed Georgiana, unable to hide her disquiet.

“Yes, Victoria Netherby has invited me to stay, and it is not much out of my way.”

“Do you perhaps comprehend something more in her invitation than simply her desire to enjoy your amiable company?” asked Georgiana apprehensively.

“If you are alluding to the possibility that it is her intention to promote a match between her brother and myself, please do not make yourself uneasy. Jane has made mention of your hopes concerning Lord Netherby, and I would never do anything that would stand in the way of your happiness,” Elizabeth reassured her.

“No, you misunderstand me,” replied Georgiana quickly. “Though I have the highest opinion of Lord Netherby, and am well aware of my brother's aspirations, it was only the distressing prospect of living under the dominion of Caroline Bingley that compelled me to consider marriage. Thankfully, I now find myself free from the threat of that dreadful fate; and thus the idea of marriage, even to Lord Netherby, has quite lost its attraction.”

“Are you quite certain?”

“Oh, yes; and I could not leave my dear brother alone now; for he has been so despondent and low in spirits these past few days. Indeed, I shall not think of marriage until he is married – and who can say when that might be? No, my concern at what I suspect to be Miss Netherby's designs is on account of that happy dream in which I once allowed myself to indulge; that you would one day be my sister, and we would all live together so happily at Pemberley. That cherished dream, which was shaken by my brother's inexplicable behaviour to you, and then shattered by his betrothal to Miss Bingley, has sprouted afresh in my heart, now that I learn that the marriage I dreaded is not to be.”

“Georgiana, I implore you, please do not dream of that which is impossible.”