“Oh!”
“You are surprised!”
“Yes, I admit I am. It is so much more than Jane’s incipient relationship that caused her so much pain. I thought your story would be similar to hers. I was wrong.”
“Well, it is hardly much of a relationship either. We disliked one another, and then in Kent he came to my cousin Mr Collins’s house—”
“The parsonage.”
“Yes, the parsonage, and proposed in such a manner that instead of love, he inspired fury and resentment.”
“Strange. What could he possibly have said that was so wrong?”
“First of all, I learned from his cousin, who was also in Kent, that he advised Mr Bingley not to continue his attachment to Jane!” Elizabeth expected disapproval, but her uncle’s face showed only curiosity. “You approve!” she exclaimed, perplexed.
“No, certainly not. I strongly disapprove of such advice. Yet at the same time, a man should not require guidance in matters of love. One may seek advice in business, but love belongs solely to one’s own heart and judgement.”
“Are you saying that Mr Darcy’s role in Jane’s suffering was less serious than I believed?”
“I do not intend either to excuse Mr Darcy or to defend Mr Bingley’s weakness. Had he truly loved her, no force in the world would have carried him away from her.”
“I see. You are not the first gentleman to say so. Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr Darcy’s cousin, said almost exactly the same thing. But that was not all. Whilst proposing to me, Mr Darcy continually criticised my family.”
“He told you he possessed strong feelings for you, but not for your relations. That is not entirely unheard of, though I agree it is an unfortunate manner in which to declare oneself. Still, he must have loved you greatly to overcome those objections and propose; and let us be fair, far more than Mr Bingley succeeded in loving Jane. I hope you agree.”
“You are remarkably lenient towards this gentleman, dear uncle,” murmured Elizabeth, slightly troubled anduncertain whether to approve or disapprove of her uncle’s position.
“Perhaps. But only because I know how young gentlemen think and feel. I was once exactly the same: proud, independent, uncompromising, and full of prejudices. Life eventually smooths such roughness away. It is exceedingly rare to encounter anyone wholly good or wholly bad. We are all mixtures of both. Look at Jane, whom I adore as much as the rest of you do; still, she has been somewhat selfish in allowing her sorrow to become the principal concern of the family. Or your mother, whom Mr Darcy criticised; she loves gossip and talks excessively. Yet she is also a devoted wife and mother, ready to sacrifice herself entirely for your happiness. I heard her telling your father that the pearls I gave her could one day be used for your future and your sisters’. Whilst Mr Bingley’s kindness may perhaps conceal weakness, and so on.”
Elizabeth stole a glance at her uncle in wonder. He was entirely right.
“And me?” she asked, already entering into his game.
“You, my dear, are proud, precisely the fault you accuse Mr Darcy of possessing, prejudicial and much too quick to retaliate whenever you imagine yourself attacked. A proposal is not a battle. At least the gentleman admitted that he loved you.”
∞∞∞
They made a detour to avoid passing directly through Meryton, since Elizabeth knew their walk would otherwise be interrupted continually by ladies eager to greet Thomas Bennet.
“Do you wish to go to Netherfield?” she asked.
“Yes, if you please, my dear.” He glanced at his watch. “Can we reach it in fifteen minutes?”
Elizabeth was intrigued. Was he expecting to meet someone there? The question rose immediately to her lips, though she did not dare ask it. After all, Thomas Bennet was her grandfather’s brother, even if they often forgot it because of his youthful appearance and unconventional manner with the younger generation. She remembered both her grandfathers and the respectful behaviour expected in their presence. Yet despite Uncle Thomas’s lack of pretension, the entire family respected him deeply, including her father.
“We shall have to walk somewhat faster, but I believe we can reach it in fifteen minutes.”
Elizabeth admired the elegant way he returned his gold watch to his pocket. Like all his possessions, it was exquisite. His clothes were made by one of the finest establishments in London, or so Tom had informed the maids. Like everybody else, the servants were deeply interested in their guest, and through Tom, they had learned many things about him which the family itself did not know. Mrs Bennet, meanwhile, possessed a remarkable talent for extracting information from everyone around her. When the girls were children, Mr Bennet used to tell them that even the dog informed their mother of all their misdeeds, and for years they had believed him.
When they reached the gates of Netherfield, they saw a carriage in the distance before the house, proof that somebody had arrived. Elizabeth’s heart gave a sudden leap at the possibility that it might be Mr Bingley.
Uncle Thomas invited her forward with a smile at her astonishment.
“This is private property,” she murmured. “I do not think we ought to enter without invitation.”
But his confident manner and the gesture with which he indicated the gates suggested otherwise. It became immediately clear to Elizabeth that he was expected there. Perhaps he hadwritten to Mr Bingley and persuaded him to return and ask for Jane’s hand. But such things belonged to dreams, not reality.
“Do not worry, we are invited,” Thomas assured her, and together they approached the steps where an elderly gentleman waited for them.
