“It is the one thing I cannot do!” Darcy answered with such determination that the colonel turned pale with anger.
“You are mad! What are you waiting for? The woman you love is in need of you, placed in the most dreadful situation possible, with her father dead and no roof above her head, and you stand here asking rhetorical questions…what can he do for her indeed?”
“Pray, stop. Matters are not as simple as they appear to you.”
“Matters are simple; it is you who complicate them.”
“Richard, enough. Listen to me.”
“What am I to listen to, Darcy? Sterile reflections upon life, when everything is plain before you?”
“Richard, do you truly imagine that this proud woman, who refused me when the world still favoured her, would accept now a proposal which must appear to arise from compassion—”
“It arises from love, fool, from love. You told her plainly enough that you loved her. Love ought not to submit to all the rules established by a society forever seeking amusement.”
“I love her; I have never ceased to do so. But, to speak honestly, before I met her again, I had resolved to forget her, or rather, I hoped forgetfulness would come. In no circumstance did I think of marrying her after what happened in Kent. Not once. Her answer was decisive and humiliating. Even had I overcome what she said to me, I remained convinced that she would never overcome the hatred with which she spoke to me.”
“Hatred! You choose extraordinary words. I am persuaded she is incapable of hatred. Of despising you, yes, and she is capable of showing it with every weapon; words may become deadly weapons indeed, but they are sometimes harsher than the feelings behind them.”
“Richard, there is more than one reason why I cannot ask her to marry me. I am not convinced that I still wish to make her my wife, and she would assuredly regard my proposal as a humiliation, in spite of my feelings. At least I know her well enough to understand that she would endure anything rather than feel that someone acted from pity.”
“And so you will merely look at one another? Did you ever suppose that her feelings may have changed?”
“You mean that she might love me?”
“Affection, trust, esteem, pleasure…anything. In Kent, you hardly gave her the opportunity to judge you calmly. She saw only that arrogant side of you which dominated your speech. But with time, matters may have altered.”
“No. My resolution is taken. I shall not ask her to marry me again.”
“Even if she is the only woman in this world whom you will ever love?”
“Love is not always enough.”
“Perhaps not. But it is a wonderful beginning for a marriage, though so rarely encountered in our world.”
“I agree. But I do not know whether she has any affection for me; at least five months ago she had none, besides…almost hatred.”
“Go and discover it!”
“How? Am I to knock at her door and ask her?”
“Let us say that a man and a woman face to face possess other means of knowing their feelings than direct conversation.”
“Not in our case. I do not know why we are engaged in this constant war. I doubt she would ever dissemble or play a part, because she is too honest. Yet I believe that, just as she rejected me in anger because I insulted her family, feeling it her duty to protect them, she might now accept me for the sake of saving them. In the situation in which they are placed, she is prepared for any sacrifice, even that of overcoming herself, denying that personal right to love which she once valued so highly.”
“Yes, that may be possible. So what? You already asked her to marry you once, indifferent to her feelings—or am I mistaken? It was never a question of her feelings for you. You said that you loved her and asked her to be your wife.”
“It is true,” Darcy admitted.
“Then what has changed now? Ask her again, indifferent to her reasons.”
“I cannot do it any longer,” he said. “I have changed. I want more.”
“Go to bed, Darcy,” said the colonel wearily. “There is nothing more to be said. In any case, you will do exactly as you please.”
Chapter 18
Elizabeth awoke uneasy after a restless night disturbed by strange dreams. Then the memory of her meeting with Mr Darcy returned, and with it her agitation increased. She would have given anything to be at home or with Mrs Gardiner, able to speak freely with someone. It was not advice she needed, but conversation, by which her thoughts might gradually become clearer even to herself.