2. In which Darcy is exceedingly awkward

Nearly a fortnight passed without bringing further clarity. Elizabeth fell in the habit of meeting Colonel Fitzwilliam on her walks on the days he did not call, but, while enjoying their increased intimacy, did not know what, if anything, their friendliness had to do with the mark on her wrist. She liked him very much indeed, but had little faith in the whole notion of soul marks after Charlotte’s revelations.

As she often did in times of struggle, Elizabeth turned to Jane. Elizabeth's letter was brief and much crossed-out but managed to convey that Elizabeth thought Colonel Fitzwilliam (his last name thrice underlined), whom she had earlier mentioned, seemed very much the gentleman. She had known him only two weeks so it was impossible to tell [ink blot] [ink blot], she hoped all was well, love from Lizzy.

It was not a satisfactory letter, and Elizabeth did not feel entirely comfortable sending it when Jane must nightly see ‘Charles’ traced over her veins, and daily fail to see Charles Bingley. But, Elizabeth argued with herself, how hurt would Jane be, if something did come of it and Jane did not know— but it was too soon, really, and Charlotte was forever urging one to commit to a course before even considering all options—

With a sigh born more of irritation than melancholy, she undid the ribbon around her wrist that was de rigeur daywear between Easter and Michaelmas, and studied the ‘Fitzwilliam’ there. It had not changed. And it was an unusual name. Perhaps it was Colonel Fitzwilliam? Their tastes were so similar, their conversation so easy, their sense of the ridiculous so equally lively— but, then again, it was a family name. What if she was meant for some other member of his family? Or what if—

She was so absorbed in these speculations, she quite failed to hear the bell, or even the door when it opened to reveal Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Darcy alone.

Elizabeth sprang to her feet and hid her letter under the rest of the paper that she might escape all impertinent questions— before realizing that in doing so, she had opened herself up to a line of inquiry yet more mortifying. She had not put back on her ribbon before tidying her desk.

“Mr. Darcy!” she exclaimed, hastily hiding her left hand behind her back. “I did not— you are— I beg your pardon, I did not hear the bell.”

He seemed fixed to the spot, staring at her writing desk, but at the sound of her voice, came to himself and apologized for his intrusion. He had understood that all the ladies were within.

“As you see, sir,” said Elizabeth, her face flaming, “it is only me. I was— I was engaged in writing a letter and my ribbon— it—”

“Trailed in the ink, I expect,” said Mr. Darcy, awkwardly. “My sister complains of that. Perhaps a bracelet.”

“I— yes, thank you. I shall— I shall take that into consideration, in future.”

There fell a very awkward pause. Elizabeth was on the point of asking what he had seen, when he hurriedly sat down and said, with an air of patent desperation, that the weather was continuing fine.

“Indeed,” agreed Elizabeth, sitting awkwardly, with her hand still behind her back. “Very, er, very temperate.”

Mr. Darcy was at such a loss of what to do he forced a conversation on the interior decoration of the parsonage. “This seems a very comfortable house. Lady Catherine, I believe, did a great deal to it when Mr. Collins first came to Hunsford.”

“I believe she did—and I am sure she could not have bestowed her kindness on a more grateful object.”

“Mr. Collins appears to be very fortunate in his choice of a wife.”

Elizabeth managed a taut smile.

Mr. Darcy persisted, desperately, “It must be very agreeable for her to be settled within so easy a distance of her own family and friends.”

“It is nearly fifty miles.”

“And what is fifty miles of good road? Little more than half a day’s journey. Yes, I call it a very easy distance.”

“I should never have considered the distance as one of the advantages of the match,” cried Elizabeth, whose shoulder was beginning to pain her. “I should never have said Mrs. Collins was settled near her family.”

“It is a proof of your own attachment to Hertfordshire. Anything beyond the very neighbourhood of Longbourn, I suppose, would appear far.”

As he spoke there was a sort of smile which Elizabeth fancied she understood; he must be supposing her to be thinking of Jane and Netherfield, and she blushed as she answered: “I do not mean to say that a woman may not be settled too near her family. The far and the near must be relative, and depend on many varying circumstances. Where there is fortune to make the expenses of travelling unimportant, distance becomes no evil. But that is not the case here. Mr. and Mrs. Collins have a comfortable income, but not such a one as will allow of frequent journeys—and I am persuaded my friend would not call herself near her family under less than half the present distance.”

Mr. Darcy drew his chair a little towards her, and said, “You cannot have a right to such very strong local attachment. You cannot have been always at Longbourn.”

Elizabeth looked surprised. This seemed to remind Mr. Darcy of how he had earlier surprised her, and he grew embarrassed. He drew back his chair, took a newspaper from the table, and hiding his face in its pages, asked, “Perhaps, Miss Bennet, you might wish to put on—”

“Er, yes, I thank you.” She very hastily did up the ribbon and only managed to tie it when Charlotte and her sister returned from their walk. The tete-a-tete surprised them. Mr. Darcy related the mistake which had occasioned his intruding on Miss Bennet, and after sitting a few minutes longer without saying much to anybody, went away.

“Mr. Darcy’s visits grow more and more inexplicable,” said Charlotte, to which Maria was happy to agree, before begging to be allowed to go out and look at the new piglets.

“I may at least explain why he left so suddenly,” said Elizabeth, still flushed and mortified. “I was writing to Jane and I— it is not always comfortable to have on the ribbon, and I did not hear him enter—”

“Good God!” cried Charlotte. “And did he—”

“I have no idea if he saw,” said Elizabeth miserably.

“Where was he?”

They restaged Mr. Darcy’s entrance (Elizabeth was at first unwilling to take off her ribbon again, until Charlotte informed the housekeeper that they were not at home to visitors) and Charlotte thought that, unless he had exceptionally good eyesight, all he could possibly see was the beginning ‘F.’

“Which could be any number of names,” said Charlotte, pragmatically. “And even if he did guess rightly, or read it in its entirety, I think Mr. Darcy stands a little too much on his dignity to say anything.” Then, after a moment, she added, “If you were of a mind to secure him, you could put out that you were compromised by his seeing—”

“Charlotte! When he could very well have seen it was ‘Fitzwilliam’ written there? If he does not continue to pretend as if nothing happened, I expect him to go immediately to his cousin and accuse me of being the most shameless flirt to ever make herself look ridiculous!”

But this was not the case.

When Elizabeth stormed out on her usual walk the colonel was greatly surprised to see her in ill temper and begged to know if he needed to meet anyone at dawn on her behalf.

She managed a smile and said only, “I am merely embarrassed— your cousin surprised me this morning when I thought myself at home alone.”

“I hope he did not startle you unduly.”

“No— but he—” she blushed again and gestured vaguely to her left wrist. “My ribbon was— I had no notion anyone would arrive—”

“Oh!” The colonel looked at her wrist a moment and then said, cautiously, “Darcy is not the sort of man who talks. I have never seen his soul mark; indeed, I doubt his own sister knows the name written there. He will hardly bandy yours about.”

“Are you quite sure? It is— it is an unusual one. It is hardly a name one would hear in a melodrama on Drury Lane, but as far as an English name goes, it is out of the ordinary.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled. “And one that Darcy— but I go too far ahead of myself there, I think. Believe me, Miss Bennet, even if he did read it in its entirety, and think it odd, or in some way worthy of notice of censure, there would be no cause for alarm. Darcy would be too embarrassed to mention or act on it. He accidentally saw mine when I was just come from Spain, and getting my bandages changed. I have known Darcy all my life and I do not think he was ever more awkward. I tried to joke him out of it, but was largely unsuccessful; he could not look me in the face for nearly a week.”

Elizabeth secretly hoped she would not have to force conversation with Mr. Darcy for a week, but doubted it would all so shake out in her favor.

“With one thing and another I was feeling out of sorts and tried to joke him out of the mood, but it really is better to let Darcy go off and do something to relieve his feelings before forcing him to be conversational. As soon as he was allowed to do that, he was the soul of courtesy. He assured me that matters were not as dark as I seemed to perceive them, and that he had, in fact, met multiple people-- multiple young women, even-- bearing the name on my wrist. He doubted any of them were a perfect match, and had further doubts as to whether or not the people he knew were-- er, the point of my rambling aside, Miss Bennet, is that it was actually quite a comfort to have someone else know of so personal a struggle, and to have them offer assistance, and a little hope.”

Elizabeth recalled that mention had been made of a formal agreement on Bennets in town, and blushed. She did not know, yet, whether or not she liked this idea. She could well guess at the objections Mr. Darcy (no doubt spurred on by Miss Bingley) could have made; what doubts he entertained as to her, or any of her sisters’ suitability for his cousin.

Colonel Fitzwiliam was, by now, familiar with most of her moods, and could see his assurances had mostly served to confuse and distress her. He hastily changed the subject. “It is an odd thing, a soul mark. Everyone tries to circumvent the system if they can— I believe it was the French aristocracy which began the habit of saddling their child with every possible name in the hopes of increasing their matrimonial prospects thereby, but I do sincerely believe it is possible to find the person for whom you are designed.”

Elizabeth did not know what to think, and, unsure what he was intimating, said, “It is so easy to be mistaken. I hope we are not good enough friends that I can admit to you that though my mother and my father bear each other’s names, they are hardly well-matched. I have daily proof that one can be lead astray out of desire to adhere to so arbitrary a system as soulmarks. Real affection vanished forever when my father became truly acquainted with my mother’s character. I think she does still believe she and my father are soulmates, but— but I cannot think they are, if respect, esteem, and confidence does not exist between them.”

“Too soon,” murmured Colonel Fitzwilliam, but at her quizzical look, explained, “I mean, it is possible that one can act too soon out of excitement or relief at finding a matching name. But where there is commonality of taste, feeling, and thought established, I do not think it is easy to mistake matters.”

“I do not mean to entirely set myself up in opposition to soulmarks,” said Elizabeth, considering. “Indeed, I do not think it entirely impossible that one should find a soulmate. My aunt and uncle on my mother’s side are well matched. They bear each other’s names, and are very sincerely happy, but it— it is far more perplexing than any system designed for the continuance of mankind has any right to be.”  

“Yes. We shall have to petition the Almighty. But hopefully we shall have no chance, as yet, to do so.” He said, after a moment, “It is a system too, which the unscrupulous have well learnt to exploit. Everyone is desperate enough, at one time of life or another, to stop thinking rationally. People can be easily persuaded to act against their own self-interest in such a state, to believe true things that could be easily proven false with a little work. A lady of my acquaintance was nearly taken in, in such a way. She was very young, too young for her mark to yet appear, and so it... well. It could have ended much worse than it did. Her relations managed to intervene in time, but I had not much faith in soulmarks after that.”

This subject seemed painful, so Elizabeth tried to change the subject. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, I think I have caught you in an inconsistency. Just five minutes previous you were so vehemently exhorting me to believe in soulmates, and now you tell me you have no faith in our system for finding them at all.”

“No, no,” said he, attempting to rally, “it is not inconsistency but nuance. The system is generally maddening, and unfortunately exploited by the unscrupulous, but I do not think it does not work at all . I never managed to doubt that I had a soulmate somewhere, despite all my attempts at reasoning myself out of it— only that I should ever find that person.”

“You are cruel to deny me a flaw and instead present a virtue! I meant to tease you on your faithlessness, but instead you give me faith.”

“I am sorry to deny you amusement, but I should hope that aspect of my character gives you greater pleasure than a laugh might.”

This was said quite seriously, and not entirely in keeping with the light, teasing tone which they had adopted with one another. Elizabeth agreed, in the same tone, before realizing she was more affected than she meant to be. She hastily said, “So, in short, we have been so led astray by rhetoric that we did not realize we fully agreed with each other! Aristotle ought to be stricken from the curriculum, if we managed to so muddy the point by adhering to his teachings.”

There then followed a much less dangerous conversation about their educations, which had been pretty similar, with one or two notable exceptions. As there had been no governess, Elizabeth’s parents had been her primary teachers, when there had not been a master of the subject in the village; and as her mother's education had been scanty, Elizabeth had learnt the most from her father. He, in turn, had educated her as he had been— more, it had to be admitted, to provide himself with an intellectual companion than to prepare her for her future life. Indeed, Elizabeth found her Latin much superior to the colonel’s, as he slid into Spanish when he wished to make a point more rapidly than his recollection of Latin conjugations would allow. The difference between soldiering and housekeeping was great enough to amuse them for some time. It also provided the flaw which their earlier conversation had denied:

“I have carried over the army’s bad habits to civilian life,” said the colonel, absently scything some weeds with his walking stick. “When someone insists upon their own way I settle in for a good old army grouse, as we call it, with whoever will listen, but I do not disobey, even if it makes me thoroughly unhappy. It allows me to indulge in I think a worse habit from the army: an insistence on assigning blame for failure on everything but myself. The worst of it is, I never realize I am doing it until I have so thoroughly absolved myself the failure is some months behind me.”

“The first I can well believe but you cannot convince me of your irresponsibility.”

“Oh no, I take responsibility, and very ostentatiously too, for any actions with a favorable outcome. If pressed on why I was wounded I am perhaps overproud to declare my regiment seized a number of canons when the French abandoned Madrid. But if you asked me how I happened to be wounded, as Mrs. Fielding did in the village yesterday, I lay blame first on the canon, which was spiked, and then on the French gunners, who fired so rapidly the canon was too hot to be safely spiked, and then on the French gunsmiths and foundrymen, who did not appear to have constructed their guns to well withstand spiking after a day-long battery. I have never once blamed myself for being so smug in victory I went to personally take charge of one of the canons and had it explode quite nearly in my face.”

“Were you very badly injured?”

“It was an injury more inconvenient than dangerous. Despite my folly in dismounting my horse, I did not make it very far, and I had enough instinct to throw up my arms to protect myself. What bits of iron the regimental chirguin could not remove, my father's physician on Harley Street did. I had some use of my arms—not enough to ride, write, or fight at length, which comprise the majority of my duties on campaign. I complain, but I feel keenly my luck, and have enjoyed my indolence far more than I ought.”

“I do not accept this as proof,” said Elizabeth. “You say you will give me flaws and continue on with virtues. Next you shall say to me, ‘Miss Bennet, I was stupid enough to rescue two golden haired orphans and fail to give them cakes.’”

He laughed and said, “I am perfectly in earnest, though I shall by no means beg you to stop thinking well of me, if you are determined to do so.” But he soon grew serious once more. “I suppose I must offer up the young lady of my acquaintance again— I knew her well enough to think that, due to her circumstances and upbringing, something of the sort might very well happen to her, but while on campaign, I abdicated my responsibility for her onto other people and contented myself with occasionally asking about her welfare in correspondence from Spain. It had always crossed my mind that her disposition was so shy and retiring, and her fear of a London season so clear, that she could easily fall prey to a fortune hunter.”

“A fortune hunter in the abstract is difficult to guard against.”

“I suppose my English is now as good as my Latin: to wit, not at all. I speak in the definitive. A certain fortune hunter, with whom I was unfortunately a little acquainted, as he was a favorite of the lady’s father. I had heard of the want of principle and the viciousness of his character. But the man left my circle of acquaintances and I did not think of him again, until I returned from Spain and was informed he had very nearly eloped with the lady in question. As I tell you this, I can see further proofs of negligence in my own actions. I recommended the place and the guardian that allowed this... situation... to occur. I never warned the lady, or used my position of influence within her circle to shape her circumstances to the point where she would not ever think elopment an option. The only person who acted as they ought was—well, I cannot get into further detail without compromising the identities of all involved.”

Elizabeth touched his arm and said, kindly, “I suppose your cousin may have told you I like to sketch characters where I may, and to that end you have endeavored to shew yours to me in all its aspects, light and dark, but I beg you will not distress yourself for my amusement.”

“Edification, rather,” said the Colonel, still very serious. “Miss Bennet, I should hope you know I think highly of you, and do not see you as someone who could ever laugh at the pain of others. I speak as frankly as I do....” He struggled with himself and placing his hand over hers, said, “I mean only for you to be truly acquainted with my character, as best as I understand it myself.”

She understood the inferences of that , and blushed. But as they were now within view of the Parsonage, she looked away and said, in a lively tone, “Yes, and I shall sketch out a very fine character, stamped by the army. Indeed, I am well pleased with it. I need only knowledge of the army to actually complete it.”

“What do you know of it?”

“You wear red coats.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed and the seriousness of the moment passed.

After dinner at Rosings that evening, they discussed the army, an institution Elizabeth but vaguely understood. Colonel Fitzwilliam, she assumed, was in charge of a regiment, but there ended her definitive knowledge.

“Yes, and one of my bataillons is presently in Portugal,” said he, “under the aegis of my commanding officer, Brigadier —-, and my most capable lieutenant colonel. When at last the army is satisfied my arms will not fall off, I shall rejoin the other battalion in London. It remains there to recruit and to train new men, before they are sent into the field as replacements. When they are ready, I shall go with the new to Portugal.”

“And are you in Portugal forever thereafter?”

“I should hope that our commanding officer, the Viscount of Wellington will have us back in Spain before the summer is out. But I have managed to return to England tolerably often. I do not think I have been away more than a year at most.”

As was his wont, Mr. Darcy had been staring at them while Lady Catherine talked at him, and it was to Darcy that Colonel Fitzwilliam turned. “Since ‘08 I have been more often in England, do you not think Darcy?”

“More than when you were stationed in India,” was Mr. Darcy’s only reply.

Elizabeth had been sincerely hoping Mr. Darcy would be too mortified to speak to her, let alone look at her, but she was disappointed in this. He turned next to her and looked about to speak. Elizabeth wished vainly for some distraction.

“I do think you could have managed a longer visit to Rosings last year, Fitzwilliam,” interrupted Lady Catherine. “I understand from my brother you were then in a stalemate. They cannot have wanted you in Spain so very much.”

This was evidentially a misapprehension of long standing. Looking much as Elizabeth fancied she and Jane must look when explaining entails to their mother, Colonel Fitzwilliam began to explain basic military tactics with a patience that usually only Jane could command. Mr. Darcy took a turn about the room, for no apparent reason. Eventually he stopped behind Elizabeth and said, “Miss Bennet, might I entreat you to play for us again?”

Elizabeth was startled. “I should hate to interrupt the general mood of the evening, sir, which appears to be for conversation. Indeed, I find Lady Catherine’s remarks on the Peninsular War fascinating.”

This was quite true; she was fascinated by how many opinions Lady Catherine could have on something she clearly knew nothing about.

Mr. Collins, hearing this, turned eagerly to them. “Indeed, Mr. Darcy, your aunt is so well informed on every particular. I daresay, had she been made a General, instead of Wellesley, we should be in France even now. The smallest detail does not escape her gracious condescension. Just last week, she was so very good as to notice we had taken to putting a small end table on the other side of the front hall in my humble abode, and advised us at some length how to move it.”

“I regret that I was out walking that morning, and missed Lady Catherine’s visit,” said Elizabeth, feeling really glad of Mr. Collins, for the first time in her life. “What advice did she give you?”

She and Mr. Darcy were then forced to listen to a nearly five minute account of thirty seconds of conversation, but by that time, Colonel Fitzwilliam had finished explaining just what a siege was, and why a commanding officer could not leave one, and turned to Elizabeth and Darcy again. His look of relief (which Lady Catherine could not see, as she was busy correcting Mr. Collins about the end table) was almost comical.

“It seems you can never escape Portugal, sir,” said Elizabeth.

“No, it follows me to England, which I am sure must be of considerable interest to cartographers.”

Darcy said, with the abruptness that characterized him this evening, “It must— Fitzwilliam.”

Elizabeth involuntarily put a hand to her bracelet.

“Yes?” prompted Colonel Fitzwilliam.

“What?”

“Did you wish something of me?”

Mr. Darcy looked blank.  

Colonel Fitzwilliam decided to ignore his relations for the time being, as none of them could be made to be sensible, and tried to engage Elizabeth and Charlotte in a conversation about Spanish music.  

“Perhaps Miss Bennet could play it, if you give her some notion of the tune,” said Mr. Darcy, returning to his theme.

“You are very insistent upon my playing this evening,” said Elizabeth. “Really, sir, you outdo Mrs. Collins in your patronage. But I must decline.”

He was trying to speak with her alone. Elizabeth did not know why, but she began to lose faith in Colonel Fitzwilliam’s previous assurances. Indeed, even Colonel Fitzwilliam was beginning to look puzzled.

“Darcy,” said he, “is all well?”

“Yes.”

“I thought Marjorie’s last letter to be encouraging. Did you receive anything from Georgiana that—”

“No,” said Darcy, looking much harassed. “I merely thought it good to ask Miss Bennet to play, as she has not given us that pleasure in several days.”

“It is a pleasure that I will surely repeat another time,” said Elizabeth, “and gladly too, but not this evening— I spent too much time working on the colonel to tell me of Spain. I have long wished to travel abroad, but as his wars have made it impossible to go very far beyond the shores of England, he must supply the details I cannot collect myself.”

“I shall be glad to supply any want of yours, Miss Bennett, particularly when it is so little trouble to myself.” It was said quite gallantly, but Colonel Fitzwilliam’s attention was still on his cousin. “If my cousin has some urgent matter of business, however, I will beg you to excuse me—”

“I do not,” said Darcy, turning and walking to the window.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was by now extremely puzzled.

Charlotte clearly did not know what to make of this either. She ventured a few proverbs on music, in much the same way that a servant might throw a blanket over a bird’s cage to keep it from squawking, before Miss de Bourgh very nearly said something. The excitement of this was too much for everyone involved. Miss DeBourgh retired for the evening, the carriage was sent for, and Elizabeth and Charlotte settled it between them that though they had expected Mr. Darcy to be awkward after such a morning, this had quite exceeded their expectations.