“There are collectors who want one very badly, mostly as a matter of pride. Most purchasers do their best to abide by the elder Mr Jameson’s guidelines, so they only sell to the more respectable families. Some of the less respectable would like one to satisfy their vanity, and the more respectable would pay handsomely to keep the legacy intact. It makes for some competition, which drives prices up.”
He bent closer and pointed to one of the maze walls.
“See the walls here. The style is different. This maze was added later, I would say recently. It does not lookquitelike the father’s work, so I suspect it is the son. He is good—very good in fact—but not equal to his father. Of course, it is not his principal occupation. He is a merchant and importer. I may even have a share in one of his ships.”
Both the information and its source surprised Elizabeth.
She noticed he had been present unchaperoned for some time, and it behoved her, for both their sakes, to see him out.
“Mr Darcy, I thank you for the information. I find it most useful, but I am certain you did not come here to discuss dollhouses, and well… well… we are unchaperoned—”
The gentleman sprang up as if reminded of an urgent task. He stalked to the fireplace and paced before it, leaving Elizabeth in confusion.
Increasingly concerned about the entire enterprise, Elizabeth started to ask, “Mr Dar—” but he interrupted, speaking forcefully.
“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 might have thought herself prepared for whatever Mr Darcy chose to throw at her, but this went very far beyond anything she had considered in her carefully laid analysis. She stared, coloured, doubted, and was silent. What could she possibly say to such a declaration, delivered so abruptly, without the smallest hint preceding it?This was not how courtships were performed!
At the first avowal,a sensation foreign to her sensibilities and startling in its intensity coursed through her—this man possessed such feelings forher.A sense of belonging, of being part of somethingimportant, of standing at thebeginningof something new, took root. It was a feeling she thought she might like very well indeed once she recovered from her shock. None of her careful thinking, fretting, or analysis had prepared her for that burst of pure emotion, and its intensity entirely threw her off balance.
As a rational creature, she knew she was no more in love with him than before; nor was she likely to be in the immediate future. However, for the first time, she could imagine she eventuallymight,given sufficient encouragement.
Elizabeth was sensible enough to recognise the sensation as infatuation, shock, or perhaps merely the lowering of her guard; but it was profound, disturbing, exhilarating, and disconcerting.
Unfortunately, as the man continued, that tiny flower of hope withered and died, much like a thin inclination starved away by one good sonnet.
He spoke well; but there were feelings besides those of the heart to be detailed; and he was not more eloquent on the subject of tenderness than of pride. His sense of her inferiority--of its being a degradation--of the family obstacles which had always opposed to inclination, were dwelt on with a warmth which seemed due to the consequence he was wounding, but was very unlikely to recommend his suit.
“In spite of all my endeavours, I find it impossible to conquer my feelings for you. I have held you in the highest regard almost from the first moment. In declaring myself, I act against the wishes of my family, my friends, and my own better judgement. I stand prepared to disregard such obstacles. I am so much in love as to wish to marry you in spite of all my objections. I hope now to be rewarded by your acceptance of my hand. Please, consent to be my wife.”
By the time he finished, she fought the contrary desires to rail and to cry. She wanted to rail that she had yet another awkward conversation to deal with, this time her own. She wanted to rail at the injustice of the declarations, while simultaneously wanting to cry for the forlorn death of hope, like seeds falling on rocky soil. She wanted to cry that she had ever allowed them to be planted in the first place. She was, however, surprisingly short on the one emotion that such a declaration ought to produce. She was not angry, but she was… disappointed… profoundly disappointed… and the feeling was disconcerting.
When the man finally ceased speaking, Elizabeth could scarcely think rationally, so she tried Mary’s advice:do some arithmetic—any arithmetic.She settled for proportional scaling, something simple enough to be accomplished in a few seconds to restore her equilibrium.
She imagined Mr Darcy’s proposal, such as it was, as one hour. By that standard, roughly the first 9 minutes and the last 6—a mere quarter of the whole—were devoted to sentiments that could be considered in her favour. Yes, he loved her, admired her, and so forth, as was common in any proposal. Even poor deluded William Collins had said as much in his ill-advised proposal at Longbourn. The almost pro forma and perfunctory asking for her hand belonged to the usual forms; so really, only about 15% of his words were of affection, with 10% dedicated to required forms, and the remaining 75% to some form of derision and excuse-making.
Elizabeth was torn. Before Mary’s tutoring, Jane’s rage, and her own deep thinking; she very well might have been so angry as to lash out with the strongest language she possessed—and long experience suggested that was very strong indeed. Such an outcome remained possible, but she was checked by that first flash of… something… perhaps proto-love, or affection, or anticipation, or desire, that had sparked at the beginning.
That feeling oflost possibilitiesstayed her hand and cooled her temper.
Once she considered her lack of anger, she also had to examine her well-established conclusions, and how they fit this new situation. She eventually understood that shedid not want to hurt the man.No matter how awkward his application, how disagreeable his disdain, or how unacceptable his suit; she owed it to him to answerhonestly, but with kindness.
She had been silent too long; the gentleman stood with a look she could not quite place. He had spoken of uncertainty, but he seemed unlikely to expect anything save acceptance. In his mind, he probably believed she had flirted with him for nearly half a year, and what lady in her right mind would turn down one of the richest men in England, and a handsome and honourable one at that.
“Pray sit, sir. You are half a foot taller than me, and I am sitting. This will be hard enough without you towering over me.”
“Forgive me.”
He sat, and for the first time displayed uncertainty.
“Mr Darcy, this isverydifficult to say, so please do not interrupt. I very much appreciate your address. You have my deepest and profoundest gratitude, and I am acutely aware of the honour you bestow upon me by asking. However, I must decline. I am sorry to have occasioned pain to anyone—especially you. In reviewing our association, I believe my manners may have been at fault. If I have given you an inaccurate impression, I deeply apologise. If I have caused you pain, I assure you it was most unconsciously done, and I dearly hope it will be of short duration.”
She risked a cautious glance. Anger flashed across his face, but quickly gave way to something like despair. Despite a mad urge to ease his pain by touching his hand, Elizabeth sat perfectly still.
The gentleman did not seem inclined to say anything, so Elizabeth whispered, “You are a good man, sir.It wounds me to give you pain, but it must be done. I am so very sorry.”
Her stomach tightened in agitation, and a few tears fell. Steady to her purpose, she wiped them away with the back of her hand, forgoing elegance entirely. Tears gathered in the gentleman’s eyes as well, though he suppressed them.
