“Our tragedies are not so different,” Willoughby agreed. “I was utterly charmed when first I met Marianne Dashwood, and her unfettered enthusiasm for me flattered my foolish vanity. I now believe this was a dangerous self-indulgence, for I should hardly be improved by a lady who believes me to be so superior already, so entirely without fault. Better that I should earn the mature regard of a woman who has seen my flaws laid bare and can love me anyway. Then I might really be a better man.”
There was an air of wistful sadness about Willoughby as he sipped his brandy, and Edward looked stricken at his own ruminations.
Darcy was struck by a keen awareness of how well Elizabeth understood his faults. He had come to see her own, as well, and still he thought her the finest woman of his acquaintance. He had seen the immediate remorse in her expression after making Edward’s secret engagement known, and his own vexation with her had been but a fleeting moment before he forgave her the wicked impulse. Not only because he held himself as much to blame for Edward’s dilemma, but because he recognized in Elizabeth a fierce and loyal determination to defend those she loved.
He could easily imagine her bestowing this same protection and unwavering support upon his sister, and perhaps even himself. She was not afraid to make him aware of his own deficiencies, and Darcy would not have it otherwise. She would certainly make him a better man.
“I suppose you cared for Marianne when first you met, when the newness and novelty rendered everything favorable, and then….” Edward’s voice ebbed and cracked with emotion, and he shook his head in frustration.
“I believed myself in love with her, even wept at our parting,” Willoughby said. “Perhaps it has been the subsequent difficulties in my family since my stepfather’s illness that shed light on the superficiality of our attachment. To see the man who raised me from a young boy struck down by such a wasting illness – the loss of Marianne paled in comparison – it cannot really have been love. Even so, I feel myself honor-bound to her. She has been told falsehoods about my character, which I have endeavored to correct, even offering proof of my innocence. But I have been honest about my reduced circumstances, as well, and I begin to wonder if it is not a blessing that she will no longer have me. I can offer her only an impoverished estate, which I have lately been obliged to rent out, and some poky rooms above the bookshop; I fear ours was not the sort of love to endure the inevitable hardships.”
Darcy nodded thoughtfully at the marked similarities of the gentlemens’ predicaments, feeling a rush of gratitude that he should be his own master, beholden to nobody. With Elizabeth, the greatest obstacle had ever been himself, though she was rapidly improving him.
“I believe itisfor the best,” Darcy mused aloud. “I know it is commonly done, pursuing fashionable, well-dowered young ladies for their fortune, but I believe there is little honor in doing so at the command of one’s relations; I should never consider the suit of any gentleman who courted my sister against his own inclination, at the behest of his kin, and with little interest in herself, merely for her fortune. I suppose I have never considered the plight of any other such heiresses.”
Willoughby chuckled. “I fear for the man who pursues Miss Bennet for such a purpose – her sister has certainly shown her tenacity.”
Edward coughed and set aside his brandy, grimacing at Willoughby. “I confess, I had thought you to be amongst such fellows.”
“No, indeed,” Willoughby laughed. “I shall own that I am vastly grateful for her friendship, for she has been of considerable assistance in my attempt to reconcile with her cousin. I know she prefers Bellamy, and I wish her every joy. I called this morning and all the ladies of the house were marveling at the splendid flowers he sent to her; he could not have bestowed them upon a worthier woman. Her gentle and poetic serenity are as much to be commended as Miss Elizabeth’s ready wit.”
Darcy chuckled. “Are you quite certain you do not admire Miss Bennet?”
“Her fortune would be a convenience for you,” Edward muttered.
“I shall not deny that I admire her; she is an admirable creature. She is also Marianne’s cousin, and so we are designed only to be warm and diverting friends; to think of anything more is a hopeless case. At any rate, I do not consider myself a free man, for though Marianne has ignored the letter I sent her via Miss Bennet, I consider my honor engaged until I hear a rejection directly from her lips or read it in her own hand.”
Willoughby gazed sadly down into his glass of brandy, heaved a woeful sigh, and then slowly took a draught. Darcy supposed that there must be some remarkable charm about Jane Bennet, which he had not noticed in his penchant for observing Elizabeth, some fascinating allure that held four gentlemen of his acquaintance in such thrall. He vastly preferred the woman who took delight in quarreling with him.
Edward raised his glass to Willoughby. “To your success… with Miss Marianne.”
Willoughby returned the gesture, then clapped Edward on the shoulder. “To you as well, Ferrars. You have your honor – you know that you would have kept your word and wed Miss Steele. Perhaps there is some comfort in that, and I am sure you shall do very well at Hunsford.”
Edward looked guiltily at Darcy, for a fortnight ago he had confessed that he did mean to end the engagement – Darcy had advised it.
“I confess I have my doubts,” Edward said. “Of course, I am grateful to you, Darcy, only I wonder if I ought to attempt a reconciliation with my mother. Given what Bellamy told me, I may be of aid to them in this new crisis. I had always resisted the notion of a mercenary match, for I never expected that I should find any lady worthy in my mother’s estimation to be so truly agreeable.”
Willoughby looked over at Darcy with an exaggerated wince. To Edward he cried, “You cannot mean to pursue Miss Bennet even now.”
Darcy’s estimation of Willoughby rose as much as his regard for Edward began to sink. “Edward, I beg you would not. I have heard it from her sister, and Willoughby has heard from Miss Bennet herself that she does not desire the addresses of any gentleman who has such a history with her cousin.”
“Indeed – I ought to know,” Willoughby agreed, regret again seeping into his voice.
“Go into Kent, as planned. I failed to properly advise you before; but you can trust me now, thisiswhat is best,” Darcy said with considerable feeling. A rush of wondrous emotion coursed through him as he considered how pleased Elizabeth might be if she could hear him now; though he vowed to himself that to reveal his triumph would only diminish his honor in doing what was right.
Edward was brought round, eventually, to a tenuous sort of optimism at his prospects, though Willoughby soon departed looking rather sullen despite his cheerful arrival. Darcy remained reflective, pondering their conversation as he stared abstractedly out the window. He was heartily sorry for the plight of Edward and Willoughby, and overcome with shame at how perversely he had sought every obstacle to his own attachment when he was in Hertfordshire. He, who had every luxury, including that of choice, had sought the paltriest of reasons to avoid Elizabeth; had hethenunderstood his own good fortune in requiring nothing more than the deepest love and respect for a bride, he and Elizabeth mightnowbe married.
He trembled with an overpowering urge to run to Berkeley Square and take her in his arms with that freedom which his friends might reasonably envy him. But he mentally doused these fancies with cold water as he reminded himself of how she had spoken to him the night before.
She sat at the piano stool, staring up at him so bewitchingly, and declared themfriends– that same foul word that Willoughby thought so hopeless. And worse, she had said it so plaintively, as if even that much was uncertain. It was too soon, he knew; he could not yet declare himself, for she had freely admitted to how different her opinion of him had been in Hertfordshire; she had not felt what he had, even then. But Darcy was resolved that shewould, for fate had brought them together again, and this time he would not be the author of his own deprivation.
Chapter Seventeen
Hertfordshire
At the sound of an approaching carriage, Elinor looked up from the letter she had read three times already, and let it slip through her fingers as she raised both hands to her face to brush away her tears. She recognized Mr. Bingley’s carriage, for he and his friends had called nearly every day for the past fortnight.
Lady Rebecca happened to look up as her brother helped her out of the carriage; she perceived Elinor and waved, and Elinor put aside the blanket she had wrapped about herself to go greet the visitors. She did not know who else might do so, for Longbourn had been in uproar all morning.
