Mary Simonsen - The Perfect Bride for Mr. Darcy

For several minutes, Lizzy watched as a hundred black-faced sheep moved into the glade with three border collies nipping at their heels. The shepherd walked behind the flock, leaving the dogs to do their work. Was there such a view at Pemberley? Of course there was. The landed gentry and aristocracy all had the same things: great houses with portrait galleries and magnificent art, ballrooms and music rooms, gazebos and terraces, lower gardens, upper gardens, servants in livery behind every door. Yes, she could easily picture such a scene at Pemberley. And to think she might have been mistress of such an estate. Lizzy, who loved to laugh at the ridiculous, might have seen the humor in all of this if her emotions were not so raw.

Calmly, or so she believed, she began to reread Mr. Darcy’s letter from his point of view. It was easy to understand why he had started his letter by saying that there would be no repetition of his proposal. He was a proud man who believed he had honored Lizzy by making her an offer of marriage. She had wounded him, and he had lashed out at its source.

Then there was Mr. Darcy’s confession that he had willingly, knowingly, almost gleefully, separated Bingley from Jane. As a defense, he wrote that Bingley was often in love. That had given her pause. Often in love? Yes, she could see how that was possible. As a handsome and charming young man in possession of a large fortune, Bingley must have been sought out by many of the young ladies in London, and he could very well have imagined himself to be in love with some of them. In that regard, it was not unreasonable for Mr. Darcy to have believed that Jane was just another pretty face who had caught Bingley’s eye. And did Jane’s natural humility and modesty create the impression that there was little affection on her part as evidenced by Mr. Darcy’s statement that “the most acute observer would draw the conclusion that her heart was not likely to be easily touched”?

The next part of the letter was particularly painful. Lizzy could hardly bring herself to reread Mr. Darcy’s description of the behavior of her mother and sisters. But what did he write that was not true? Her mother, in her understandable concern to see her daughters well married, acted inappropriately in her search for the family’s savior: the man who would rescue the Bennet sisters from the consequences of the entail. After Darcy had learned that there was a general belief that Bingley and Jane were to become engaged, he did everything he could to separate the couple. But was that not something a true friend would do?

And then there was the matter of Mr. Wickham. If Mr. Darcy was unable to judge the depth of Jane’s regard for Mr. Bingley, then she had failed in discovering Wickham’s true nature. In light of the events revealed in his letter, she knew in her heart that all he had written was true. She remembered, with embarrassment, how eager Wickham had been to expose the defects of Mr. Darcy’s character, and didn’t Jane warn her to be skeptical of Wickham’s assertions, wondering how it was possible that Darcy’s intimate friend could be so deceived as to his true nature? And was there any greater proof of Wickham’s true character than his actions regarding sixteen-year-old Georgiana Darcy? It was impossible to believe that a brother would invent such a sordid tale and then share it with another.

Elizabeth removed her bonnet, hoping the breeze would clear her mind of all the horrible things she had said to Mr. Darcy regarding Wickham, including the accusation that he was responsible for Wickham’s current state of poverty. As for Jane, it was true he had greatly injured her, but now she realized it was never his intention to cause Jane any pain. His actions were dictated by his concerns for his friend.

With the sun on her face, it was all becoming clearer—why Mr. Darcy had followed her movements at Lucas Lodge, his asking her to dance at Netherfield, his visits to the parsonage, his meeting her on her daily walks, and his words at Rosings while she played the pianoforte: “No one admitted to the privilege of hearing you can think anything wanting.” And most of all, his declaration of love: “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

Lizzy refolded the letter. At the ball at Netherfield, Mr. Darcy had asked that she not sketch his character as there was reason to fear “that the performance would reflect no credit on either of them.” Oh, how true that statement was! She had refused to see any good in him because of the unkind remarks he had made at the assembly. As for his part, he had honored her with a proposal of marriage, but found it necessary to remind her of her inferior position in society and the failings of her family.

Her emotions were in turmoil. From the time she came into Kent, she had learned so much about him, and if she had not been so blinded by prejudice, she would have seen a very different Mr. Darcy from the gentleman she knew in Hertfordshire. His cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, held him in the highest regard and spoke of an amiable and conversant Mr. Darcy when amongst his friends. Despite his aunt’s overbearing nature, he visited Rosings because Lady Catherine was his mother’s sister, and as such, was deserving of his attention, and Lizzy suspected, by looks exchanged between them, that he had a good relationship with Anne de Bourgh when her mother was not about. But was there anything that showed him in a better light than his affection and concern for his sister and the fear that must have gripped him when he believed he had lost her to a man with no scruples?

Lizzy walked the lane, trying to sort through all the images flashing before her. If things had gone differently, could she have loved him? After reflecting on the whole of their history together, she realized that, over time, she could have. She would have chipped away at his hard shell and would have softened his look. If only they had been able to break through the barriers that separated them, his pride and her prejudice, yesterday would have ended very differently.

When Lizzy arrived at the parsonage, she sat down on a bench outside the front door of the house. She read the letter once again, but with understanding and not in anger. A wave of regret passed over her as she realized what had been lost. Clutching the letter to her breast, she felt the tears well up in her eyes, and through her tears she looked up towards the manor house and wondered if Mr. Darcy was still there. Considering the tone of his letter, that was unlikely. So there would be no more encounters in the park or visits to the parsonage. Her acquaintance with Mr. Darcy of Pemberley had come to its dramatic conclusion.

Lizzy was in her room lying on the bed staring at the ceiling. After sharing with Charlotte the awful scene that had taken place in her parlor, her friend had tried to lift her spirits by suggesting that once Mr. Darcy had time to recover from the hurt of her rejection, he might renew his attentions. But when Lizzy acquainted Charlotte with the contents of his letter, she suggested that they go into the village and think of other things.

Lizzy kept Mr. Darcy’s letter under her pillow, but no longer needed to look at it as she could now recite it from memory. “I write without any intention of paining you, or humbling myself, by dwelling on wishes, which, for the happiness of both, cannot be too soon forgotten.”

Despite Mr. Darcy’s hopes, Lizzy doubted that either of them would soon forget what had been said, and the angry words she spoke still echoed in her mind. “You could not have made me the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it.” She groaned and turned on her side. If she expected Mr. Darcy to examine his actions, then she must do the same. This whole sorry affair was not about Jane or Wickham; it was about Elizabeth Bennet and her wounded pride. She had shut her eyes to all that might be good in him. When Jane said Mr. Bingley doubted the truth of Mr. Wickham’s story, she refused to hear it. She would not listen to anything that challenged her assumptions. At the Netherfield ball, she chided Mr. Darcy for his lack of conversation, but when he suggested sharing their opinions on books, she refused. “No, I cannot talk of books in a ballroom. My head is always full of something else.” So go away and leave me alone, so I might think about George Wickham .