Chapter Text
“Mr. Darcy, I am a very selfish creature, and for the sake of giving relief to my own feelings care not how much I may be wounding yours. I can no longer help thanking you for your unexampled kindness to my poor sister. Ever since I have known it I have been most anxious to acknowledge to you how gratefully I feel it. Were it known to the rest of my family I should not have merely my own gratitude to express.”
“I am sorry, exceedingly sorry,” replied Darcy, in a tone of surprise and emotion, “that you have ever been informed of what may, in a mistaken light, have given you uneasiness. I did not think Mrs. Gardiner was so little to be trusted.”
“You must not blame my aunt. Lydia’s thoughtlessness first betrayed to me that you had been concerned in the matter; and, of course, I could not rest till I knew the particulars. Let me thank you again and again, in the name of all my family, for that generous compassion which induced you to take so much trouble, and bear so many mortifications, for the sake of discovering them.”
“If you will thank me,” he replied, “let it be for yourself alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe I thought only of you.”
Elizabeth was too much embarrassed to say a word. After a short pause, her companion added, “You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged; but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever.”
And indeed, Mr Darcy was silent besides her, while the birds sang and Elizabeth trembled with the purport of what she must say. She – who never lacked for conversation – was now struck mute not only by his extraordinary confession, but by the generosity and sweetness of spirit with which it had been said. Elizabeth had, perhaps, in her secret soul, guessed that he might still feel warmly towards her; and hoped that he had forgiven her for her unwise and unwarranted prejudice towards him. But to say that his affections were unchanged, that he still loved her, still wished to marry her? – it could hardly be real. And yet, if she was to love him, she was also to know without doubt that Mr Darcy was too honourable to lie, or deceive her. If he had been rude and unreasonable sometimes, he had never spoken anything besides the truth. And then there was the trembling of his voice as he had spoken those words. Strengthened a little, therefore, by these tokens, she replied after a moment, in a voice hardly less full of feeling than his had been: ‘If they are, as you say, unchanged, I would be pleased and – happy – to match them with my own.’
Her hand was seized, then abruptly dropped, as Mr Darcy halted and turned towards her. She could not quite look up at his face, but was able to rest her eyes on his cravat and waistcoat, under which his chest was rising and falling rapidly.
‘Forgive me –‘ he replied, ‘but I am a fool sometimes, and I have, to my shame, misunderstood you before. Let us be clear. You mean – your reply means that your affections and wishes are the same as mine?’
‘Yes,’ said Elizabeth. ‘If yours have remained unchanged since last April, my mind, my sentiments, my opinions are entirely different from what they were. But if you are a fool, I am certainly one too. When I remember what I said- ‘
‘Never mind that. And so – marriage? You are willing to marry me? And you agree to marry me?’
‘Yes,’ said Elizabeth, now feeling that she should be concise in order to avoid all doubt.
‘And your affections – you match my affections?’
‘Yes.’
‘And – pardon my bluntness – you love me?’
‘Yes.’ Elizabeth wished more than ever that she could now look at his face, but her own was overcome with a blush so apparent that she was almost ashamed to show it to him. After a pause, therefore, Mr Darcy merely offered his arm, which Elizabeth readily took. They continued their walk, a little slower than previously, and for a little while neither knew or cared where they wandered.
They passed through a gate into a little field. Elizabeth now felt that she ought to speak further; but before she did so, Darcy remarked: ‘My incredulity just now was, perhaps, not rational. I knew already from my Aunt some of your sentiments.’
‘You sent your Aunt to me to discover them?’
Mr Darcy actually laughed – the first time she had ever heard it. ‘Certainly not. Her unfortunate visit was entirely her arrangement. But she told me quite directly that you had refused to refuse to marry you, and in my pitiful state, I considered this a hopeful sign. At least, you would not wish to marry me if you still hated me.’
‘I never hated you; but my behaviour was often unforgiveable.’
‘And so was mine.’
‘You had the excuse of being in love with me.’
‘And so I did; but that mitigates my position far less than yours. How I justified with myself that the best way to show my affection for the women I wished to marry was to insult her family, I do not know. At the time, it seemed reasonable.’
‘But, if I may be so bold, your heart was not reasonable. How could it be?’
‘And it is not reasonable now; but I hope you and I can be civil with each other.’
‘You ask a great deal of me,’ replied Elizabeth, now laughing herself.
‘But the letter – the letter, Elizabeth. I thought it would make you think better of me; but on reflection I fear that its effect was quite the opposite. It showed me to be bitter and ungenerous.’
‘I was myself bitter and ungenerous when I first read it; but then I read it again. More times, I think, than I can count. Particularly the adieu: “I will only say, God bless you.” Was that written in a vindictive spirit?’
‘No; by then I suppose I had exhausted my bad humour,’ Mr Darcy replied. ‘But I think you should burn the letter.’
‘I will, if you can promise to replace it with one written in better humour.’
‘I shall begin one immediately on our return to Longbourn,’ he said, and smiled, and Elizabeth was able, at last, to look into Mr Darcy’s face, and remark such merriment there that she barely recognized it.
They walked on a little further, as the path, flanked on both sides with high hedges, began to gently descend.
It was not until some hours later that Elizabeth, looking at her watch, saw that it was near dinner time, and recollected that Jane and Bingley were no where to be seen. She reported the same to Mr Darcy, and they duly began to wend their way homeward.
‘Bingley is the best of men,’ he said, after a few moments. ‘I did not tell him, precisely, that I meant to speak to you alone to-day; but he has succeeded in giving me the opportunity nonetheless.’
‘And what if he did not succeed?’
‘Or if I was too timid? No, that could never be. I would rather have faced your refusal, than the embarrassment of a tete a tete without asking you. I would certainly have asked.’
‘If I may say so – and risk your disapprobation – Mr Bingley could have benefited from the same determination in securing my sister.’
Mr Darcy smiled, and briefly touched her hand, which still lay on his arm.
‘And if I may say so - and risk your disapprobation, your sister could have benefitted from your liviliness and candour.'
'We shall never agree on this, perhaps; but I am grateful to you, more than I can say, for her happiness.’
‘I am pleased to see them together; but your happiness was, I confess, my first thought.’
‘And I must confess, in turn, that I should not be entirely happy if only she were to be married.’
As they entered Longbourn by a side gate, they spied Jane and Bingley being met by Mrs Bennet at the front door. Rather reluctantly, Elizabeth made to follow them, but before she did so, she felt her hand being taken and gently pressed. Mr Darcy, smiling again, gently pulled her into a a little bower, so that they were entirely hidden by the other party. Elizabeth wondered, with a great deal of agitation, what was about to occur; but Mr Darcy merely spoke in a low voice: ‘Forgive me; but we might not get another chance to speak privately tonight. I was remiss, exceedingly remiss, in not giving you before the assurance that I would speak to your father.’
‘It was understood, naturally,’ was all Elizabeth could say, her heart beating rather quickly as she she felt all the the ordinary embarrassment of their being so close.
‘With your permission, I shall do so tomorrow.’
She looked up, and Mr Darcy took her hand again, and brought it briefly to his lips.
‘Before then,’ he continued, ‘I should like very much to-‘ but suddenly he turned; Mrs Bennet was calling. ‘Lizzy, where are you? The soup will be quite boiled dry! ‘ Elizabeth stepped out and offered her apologies before anything more could happen; Mr Darcy, behind her, said nothing. They separated, and went inside.