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Interlude 5: Miss Elizabeth Bennet: Accepting Mr. Darcy

My trip to see the Collinses was far different than I could have ever anticipated. I had not known that Mr. Darcy, his sister and his cousin would be visiting Rosings, but even if I had known, I would have expected that I would meet Mr. Darcy as an indifferent acquaintance. I could have never anticipated that Mr. Darcy would express his admiration and wish to know me better, or that when I understood him better that I would welcome his attention. I certainly would have laughed if anyone would have told me that I would visit my sister in London as an engaged woman.

I should have noticed Mr. Darcy's interest in me far earlier than I did; I should not have required him telling me how he felt in Kent. I had noticed him staring at me, but I was determined to attribute it to him wishing to find fault in me rather than seeing that if he disliked me he would have tried to be in my company less. Yet from everything Mr. Darcy has told me, he was continually seeking me out, even going so far as to sit near me in the Netherfield library, hoping I might speak to him, give him some sign that his interest was returned.

I still do not understand how Mr. Darcy could fall in love with me, when I had not even a single kind thought of him. Yet still, he claimed my discarded bit of ribbon as someone else claims a precious treasure!

When that bit of ribbon got caught and ripped off my skirt, I knew it of course. Not being a wasteful sort of person, I considered trying to pull it free, but when I saw how badly snagged it was I knew I could not reattach it to my dress and I saw no reason to keep the length I could have trimmed from it.

While perhaps I may be excused from believing that Mr. Darcy could not find me handsome when he said as much to Mr. Bingley at the assembly, I should have been more observant, should have seen his discomfort that night. But having my vanity challenged, I willfully determined to hate what I did not understand. I was blinded, willfully blinded, a Saul with no road to Damascus, happy to listen to every report that confirmed my impression, blinded by Mr. Wickham's appearance of goodness that had more to do with charm and manners, than any substance. I own also that I was somewhat naïve, having lived a sheltered life in a small community.

And besides being blinded, my focus was elsewhere, fixed upon my dear sister Jane; always Jane occupied my attention. Jane is the model of ideal womanhood, as she is so lovely, gracious, modest, humble, and kindhearted. I knew in the natural order of things that Jane, being the oldest and most deserving, was meant to find a far higher match than I would ever aspire to have. I never thought, truly, of finding my own suitor before Jane's happiness was assured.

It felt as if all my dreams for Jane were coming true when I saw her glowing when on Mr. Bingley's arm at the assembly. I longed to protect her when she was forced by the machinations of our mother to ride to Netherfield on horseback as it looked like rain.

Jane is too delicate for her own good and I was not surprised when Jane fell ill and needed a sister's tending. I hurt for her knowing that while she had a drippy nose and feverish brow, she could not forward any interest that Mr. Bingley might have in her and my mother's plans were for naught. I was encouraged that when Jane was finally well enough to descend to the parlor that she inspired Mr. Bingley to build the fire high and place her near it with a solicitude I found most promising indeed.

While my mother might be the consummate forwarder of promising pairings for my beloved Jane, it has always been a desire of my heart to see her blissfully happy, and it seemed to me that hope was realized with Mr. Bingley when they danced together at Netherfield. While I was mortified to hear my mother speak of it before an engagement was offered and accepted, I agreed with her sentiments that it was all but certain.

Who else but Mr. Bingley could be Jane's equal in kindness? Who else but Mr. Bingley could appreciate Jane's gentle, self-effacing nature? Who else could be a match for the woman who always sought to see her fellow man and womankind as better than they were?

It was Jane who urged me to not judge Mr. Darcy solely through Mr. Wickham's words, who sought to explain their being at odds as some dreadful misunderstanding. It was Jane who always tempered the worst of my impulses, Jane who would never begrudge me the happiness that now awaited me. Jane was the one who the one time she sought to take my and Charlotte's advice was treated to all the censure I deserved. It was my dear sister, Jane, who deserved the happiness that I had somehow stumbled onto.

Because of all of this, the picture I had of Mr. Darcy then was a poor reflection of the real man. It had fully escaped my attention that Mr. Darcy favored me, until he drew out a handkerchief to collect my tears over how I had failed Jane and I saw my ribbon entwined with his string fall upon the ground. How could I not be moved by such a sentimental, almost childlike gesture? How could I not seek to understand the man who knew what grave errors I had made in seeking to understand his character and yet, inexplicably, steadfastly, patiently was seeking to correct all misapprehensions that I might consider him? How could I not be charmed by such faithful devotion directed toward me?

In some ways Mr. Darcy reminds me of my dear Papa. Both desire their solitude, both are highly intelligent and well read, both have no need to fill silence with idle chatter. They both have intricate characters that are not easy for outsiders to understand.

In the relationship that Mr. Darcy and Miss Darcy share, I see my own relationship with my beloved Jane in their kindness to one another, how they know how to help and to soothe the other, the way each would sacrifice for the other. If I knew nothing else about Mr. Darcy, I would know almost all I need to know simply from observing his relationship with his sister.

There is a refreshing innocence and candor in Mr. Darcy. He does not hide behind polite niceties when we are alone but for his sister. He is honest with me about the good and the bad. I have never known anyone like him and while I know he thinks less of himself for how he is, I cannot help but admire his bravery in sharing his struggles with me, in continuing on even when it might be easier to hide himself away.

Although I have certainly enjoyed the company of Miss Darcy and will happily become her sister, she was not who I was thinking of while confined to the parsonage from the rain. Almost as soon as we were in Lady Catherine's carriage returning to the parsonage, I was missing him.

That night as I struggled to sleep, I kept recalling how I felt when we were holding hands under the table and the gentle smile, he cast my way. There was a certain tightening in my belly, a little catch in my breath a sort of longing for something more. Before that night, while I had welcomed his attentions, it almost felt like a game we were playing, but then it became very real.

When Georgiana told me about the song, "Good morning, Pretty Maid," and explained what it meant to her and her brother, I knew immediately that I needed to play it for him. I was familiar with the tune and it did not take long to master the fingering. However, in the version I knew, the maid refused to marry the farmer's son. I suspected Mrs. Darcy had altered the words to give it a happy conclusion for her children.

Life has so few happy conclusions, certainly Mr. and Miss Darcy have had their share of tragedy in losing both their parents, that I decided to never mention the lyrics that I knew. I wanted to play the part of the maid who chose the farmer's son, not the maid who rejected him.

Being confined at the parsonage on Wednesday, Thursday and believing that the same would be true all day on Friday, rather than having the opportunity to see Mr. Darcy was almost unbearable. So, when I spied him slowly riding toward the parsonage on a mount that was more mud than beast, knowing that he came but with the single-minded purpose of seeing me (for what other purpose could there be?), I knew what he meant to me. But still I tried to deny it for it felt too soon.

Although I stood still and was outwardly calm, I felt like a little rabbit, frozen in fear, trying to decide which way to dart. Even as I considered hiding in the guest chambers and instructing Charlotte to say, "She is not at home," I realized what a nonsensical approach that would have been. There was nowhere else I could be, and I had no wish to discourage him. It would be cruel and serve no good purpose, for I knew I intended to accept Mr. Darcy in the end.

Charlotte soon enough came over to see what had captured my gaze. She told me, quietly, "It is not my company that inspires Mr. Darcy to torment his mount to visit here. He comes for you, Eliza, and you alone."

I asked her, quietly also, my cousin was at work on a sermon upstairs and we hoped to keep him there, "What should I do?" I was not looking at her but still out the window at Mr. Darcy.

Charlotte replied, "If I could have captured such a handsome and wealthy man I would not have hesitated long enough to get to know him, but would have happily tied myself to him and let the falling in love happen afterwards, but I know you well enough to know that this would not satisfy you. Too, over these past weeks you have been in company much, enough to get a measure of the man I think, perhaps to decide about love. So, I ask, do you know your heart yet?"

I knew the answer, of course, but it was too precious a thing to talk about with her. Instead I just gave a nod, trusting that she would see it.

"You shall be happy then, I am sure. Just do not forget us after you marry. Mr. Darcy surely has much patronage in the church."

I felt a bit horrified that my bosom friend might be hinting that Mr. Darcy could reward my ridiculous cousin with an additional living. I turned to look at her then for just a moment, to see if she was in earnest, but truly I did not look at her long enough to tell for sure before I turned back to the window, just in time to see him dismount and slip. I heard myself gasp and then sigh in relief as it appeared that all was well except for his gloves.

Charlotte must have seen something of my dismay when I had glanced at her, for she said, "Can I not tease you Eliza? I thought you dearly loved to laugh. I confess, when I was able, I have tried to help you both along. Rest assured, any interference I made was kindly meant, intended purely for your benefit." Still, I did not think she was joking in thinking of how such a connection could benefit her.

As Mr. Darcy approached the door, I resolved to be brave, to not shy away from him. Yet, I wondered how much we might be able to speak once he came in, for surely Mr. Collins would hear his voice and come to join us and dominate the conversation. While Charlotte might purposefully be a lax guardian, I had no doubt that my cousin would take his duties as a chaperone and my nearest male relative most seriously.

I told Charlotte in a whisper, "We shall not have any chance to speak should your husband learn that Mr. Darcy is here."

I had no solution to this problem, but Charlotte can be clever. No sooner had she opened the door, then she proposed that Mr. Darcy take me on a walk. Clearly that whole idea was ridiculous given all the mud, but she did not even let me go to fetch my bonnet, gloves, and spencer. Instead I found myself all but shoved out the door, her shawl cast upon my shoulders.

The look of heartfelt delight in Mr. Darcy's eyes when I outside with him, made it quite evident to me that a walk was a brilliant idea. Although we did not talk at first, I was perfectly content to be beside him. I knew then that my heart was with him, that I loved him as truly as he loved me and that I could not be happy until all our days were spent together as husband and wife. There was no need to be coy, to play the games that some couples play. He simply needed a quiet spot where we would not be spied upon, where we could do and say what we needed to.

Fortunately, I knew the perfect spot, so I drew him behind the hen house. He had already told me of his love and, thus, there was nothing to do but to confess how much I had missed him and hope that might be enough to urge him on. I did not expect us to kiss before he proposed, but it felt right, to let our lips express what we both knew was true.

Having never kissed a man before, I am not sure what I was expecting. It felt so natural to lean in toward him, to run my hands along his arms, to reach around his neck and pull him down and closer to me. I felt safe, I felt warm, I felt treasured and I felt a longing deep inside me to be joined with him. It was easy to say yes to Mr. Darcy when he asked, as by then I could not imagine my future life apart from his.

Life has been difficult for Mr. Darcy and he needs a helpmate more than other men and that is what I can give him. I am not blinded to his failings; I understand all too well that when we marry there will be difficulties aplenty. I know there will be times that I will long for the ease that would come from being married to a man that is easier to understand.

And yet, in walking along with him, I felt happiness in the life that I chose. He is worth it. The love we share, that crept up on me hardly without me knowing it, though in meeting almost every morning it was clear we were courting, is a thick rope that binds us together even before any vows are exchanged.

When I reentered the parsonage after having accepted Mr. Darcy's proposal, everything was different than before. I obediently stood where Charlotte bid me, where a square of flannel had been laid out so I would not muddy her rug, turning so I could watch as Mr. Darcy mounted his horse and then slowly rode away. While I rather think Charlotte suspected what had come to pass, the feelings I felt were too precious to be shared with a mere friend, even a friend as longstanding as her, at least for a while. There was a gulf between us with her marriage to my cousin; she had chosen to be practical and settle for a ridiculous man with fine prospects.

I knew our situations were different, but in feeling the love I now had for the man who would become my husband, I felt yet again a certain sadness for Charlotte's situation. Though it was of her own making and she seemed content enough, I could not imagine her having even a small portion of the joy I felt, though that joy was also tempered with a bit of fear and trepidation. I had accepted Mr. Darcy, could not take it back, had no desire to take it back, yet in saying "yes" I had run off a precipice as fast as my feet could carry me, was even now plunging through the air, trusting that the water beneath was deep enough to cushion my fall and that I would know how to swim, without ever having swam before.

As I stood in my wet shoes on the flannel, the parsonage's maid approached with a sniff of disgust, bearing a basin of water and several flannels. "We must untie your shoes and get you out of them," Charlotte told me.

"Not just yet," I replied, still watching the tiny form in the distance that was Mr. Darcy on his horse. When he was out of view, I opened the parsonage door and walked out to where his horse had been tied. I had an idea that Mr. Darcy might have left something behind.

I found his gloves upon the muddy ground. The one that was soaked with mud, from when Mr. Darcy had caught his fall, was half embedded in the drying ground and seemed more mud than leather. It took a hard tug to pull it free, and I almost fell myself in the attempt. While I was able to right myself, I saw that more droplets of mud had splattered on me. Afterwards, I held it well away from me as muddy droplets continued to drip down.

I found the other glove on a patch of grass. It was unsoiled. This one I grasped tightly in my left hand.

I picked my way carefully back to the parsonage door and stood upon the same square of flannel once more. The maid collected the soiled glove from my hand, "Ruined for sure," she said, "Still I will do what can be done."

I continued to hold the other glove tight and let the maid untie my shoes and pull them off, and my stockings followed after. Charlotte herself dabbed at the worst of the mud on my skirt.

When Charlotte was finally satisfied that I was dry enough to safely reach the guest room I was sharing with Maria, they accompanied me upstairs. Maria had been taking a nap as there was precious little to do that day and I managed cast Mr. Darcy's remaining glove behind me into a corner of the room before Maria fully roused at the clatter we made.

Almost immediately she exclaimed at my dirty appearance. "Miss Elizabeth, I fear your dress is ruined. Why ever would you venture out today?"

Charlotte told her sister, "You know how Eliza likes her walks."

Charlotte assisted her sister in dressing while the maid removed my dress. I told them, "Maria, if you are well rested now, I think I should like to nap."

I stayed in the room in my shift while the other women left, the maid complaining about all the work I had made for the washer woman. Charlotte was the last to leave and I could see from a look that she gave me, that she dearly wanted to hear what had occurred, but she did not try to stay. One of Charlotte's virtues as a friend is that she knows when to let me be.

There among the furniture that was not my own, I lay upon the bed and imagined that I was back at Longbourn sharing a bed with Jane and speaking of how our late night whispered hopes to only marry for the deepest love were now coming to fruition. However, I knew that was a conversation that I could not have with her, at least not now. It would be cruel to speak of my happiness while hers was denied.

So instead, I imagined that I was with my beloved Aunt Gardiner in London, after her children were abed, my uncle occupied with some business matter and just the two of us. Then I imagined telling her about my intended and how everything had come to pass. But I would not tell her about how Mr. Darcy kissed and embraced me before he proposed. That detail would remain a precious secret for me alone.

After a while, I got up and retrieved Mr. Darcy's glove and then climbed back into bed, pulling the counterpane over me, ready to hide it under the covers if anyone should come in. I felt a little foolish at the sentimentality that had inspired me to retrieve it. In a novel I had read, a man claimed a woman's lost glove, but had never read of a woman doing likewise.

I examined the glove closely. It was a left glove made of brown leather. It looked rather new, with only a little wear, and was much finer than any of the gloves my father possessed.

I had likely seen this glove countless times before upon Mr. Darcy's hand, but it was different seeing it empty. I brought the glove to my nose and sniffed it. The glove smelled of leather, horses and him.

I slipped the glove onto my own left hand. It was ridiculously large; my fingers did not even reach two thirds of the way up the fingers and I could have easily put both of my hands in it. I closed my eyes and gently ran the glove against the side of my face and then down along the column of my neck. I imagined that Mr. Darcy's gloved fingers were touching me there. I slid my hand a little lower but stopped when a finger on the glove reached the top of my shift.

I opened my eyes and slipped the glove off, I clasped it between my two hands. What I truly wanted was Mr. Darcy here with me and not his glove.

I got up, placed his glove at the bottom of my half-packed trunk, and then returned to the bed. I closed my eyes and tried to calculate when we might be married. Such an event might be just a few weeks away or could possibly not take place for several months.

I imagined our wedding, whether I would just wear my best dress, or the yellow one which matched my ribbon, or if my mother would want a dress made especially for the occasion. I thought about standing up next to Mr. Darcy before all of my neighbors in Meryton and us saying our vows, him slipping a ring upon my finger, of becoming Mrs. Darcy.

Then I imagined that evening, when I went to bed, how Mr. Darcy would visit me as my husband. I had a vague sense of how such an event would take place, but I hoped it was not like how a stallion mounted a mare.

I thought about how we had kissed and embraced, the feeling of Mr. Darcy's hands upon my waist and then my back, how I had wished to be closer. I imagined his hands touching me in places that were decidedly less proper but could not truly imagine what would happen then. Still it seemed a grand adventure, and soon all of it would happen to me.

I skipped over what I did not know and then I imagined afterwards, how Mr. Darcy might fall asleep next to me. I visualized awaking in the morning with his strong arms around me. How I longed for all of this to happen soon! I was certain that becoming Mrs. Darcy, for all its likely difficulties, would make me far happier than I deserved to be.