3. In which there is a proposal-- but not the one y...

“Tell me,” said Elizabeth, as she walked with the colonel the next morning, her hand tucked in the crook of his arm, “does Miss de Bourgh ever speak?”

“I really could not tell you,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. “She usually smiles or coughs to anything I say. Perhaps she speaks more to Darcy. I cannot imagine she speaks more to her mother.”

Elizabeth laughed. “No, indeed!”

“I cannot explain why Darcy is behaving so oddly. I tried to make him talk, when your party had returned.”

“I take it you were not successful.”

“I can only imagine he is so embarrassed by his meeting with you yesterday he kept trying to get you on your own to apologize. That or—” he looked askance at her, but there was a smile in his eyes “—Darcy may have the singular talent of making any uncomfortable situation yet more so, but if he can do someone he loves any kind of service, he does it immediately.”

Elizabeth thought this comment to reveal more of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s tolerance than Mr. Darcy’s good character. He saw her skepticism and said, “I see you do not believe me, but I beg you to delay your judgement a while. I think I heard you and Mrs. Collins ask after mutual acquaintances from Hertfordshire— a Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst?”

“Yes?”

“Then you must know the brother— a very gentleman-like man, and a great friend of Darcy’s.”

Elizabeth was not in a charitable mood and replied, dryly, “Mr. Darcy is uncommonly kind to Mr. Bingley, and takes a prodigious deal of care of him.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam was inclined to think her in earnest. “Yes, I really believe Darcy does take care of him in those points where he most wants care. From something that he told me in our journey hither, I have reason to think Bingley very much indebted to him.” Seeing that Elizabeth was unconvinced, he attempted to let drop the subject, “But I ought to beg his pardon, for I have no right to suppose that Bingley was the person meant. It was all conjecture. Give me but a moment and I can offer better proofs of my cousin’s good nature.”

“No, you have made the charge, sir, you must continue on until you have heard the noise of the great guns.”

“I will then, but it is a circumstance which Darcy could not wish to be generally known, because if it were to get round to the lady’s family, it would be an unpleasant thing.”

“You may depend upon my not mentioning it.”

“And remember that I have not much reason for supposing it to be Bingley. What he told me was merely this: that he congratulated himself on having lately saved a friend from a most imprudent and unequal marriage, but without mentioning names or any other particulars, and I only suspected it to be Bingley from believing him the kind of young man to get into a scrape of that sort, and from knowing them to have been together the whole of last summer. Then, too, Darcy had told me before that Bingley is romantic, and, having a common name on his wrist, has been very often led astray by his hopes some lady, clearly unsuited to him, and quite obviously bearing a name different from his on her wrist, was his soulmate.”

“Did Mr. Darcy give you reasons for this interference? Some assurance he knew they were not a match?”

“I understood that there were some very strong objections against the lady. It seemed to me that the lady herself was not to blame, but her circumstances were such that, even if Bingley’s name was not upon her wrist, she would not deny his attentions.”

“And what arts did he use to separate them?”

“He did not talk to me of his own arts,” said Fitzwilliam, smiling. “He only told me what I have now told you: that his friend was in trouble and he acted immediately to save him.”

Elizabeth made no answer, and walked on, her heart swelling with indignation. After watching her a little, Fitzwilliam asked her why she was so thoughtful.

“I am thinking of what you have been telling me,” said she. “Your cousin’s conduct does not suit my feelings. Why was he to be the judge?”

“You are rather disposed to call his interference officious?”

“I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to decide on the propriety of his friend’s inclination, or why, upon his own judgement alone, he was to determine and direct in what manner his friend was to be happy. After all, if the lady was not to blame, he could possibly have seen her soulmark. He could not possibly have known that they were not a match. But,” she continued, recollecting herself, “as we know none of the particulars, it is not fair to condemn him. It is not to be supposed that there was much affection in the case.”

“That is not an unnatural surmise,” said Fitzwilliam, “but it is lessening the honor of my cousin’s triumph on his friend’s behalf very sadly.”

This was spoken jestingly; but it appeared to her so just a picture of Mr. Darcy, that she would not trust herself with an answer. The response she finally settled upon still struck too near a fear she did not like to acknowledge. “It seems very much like a Drury Lane melodrama, but I fear that your cousin’s notions of an improper match have less to do with unequal affection than unequal connections.”

“It would bear no weight with me,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, with a look of sudden understanding. “Miss Bennet, you must not think because there is an earl on offer, I expect another in return; indeed, there are more unequal matches in my family than we openly acknowledge.”

This was certainly for her; her own joy in so hearing this warred confusingly with anger at Mr. Darcy and grief at Jane’s ruined prospects. In some confusion, she asked, “That is openly acknowledged or is accepted?”

“No one has been disowned, but I cannot say everyone behaves well or with courtesy towards the star-crossed. At least from those failures I have some notion of tactics. The greatest challenge would not be my family but I fear my finances. I admit, I have not well prepared. One cannot save anything on an army salary-- even for a colonel, one's expenses on campaign outweigh one's pay-- and though my father makes me a very generous allowance, and I have only used the interest off the money my mother left me in the Funds, I spent too long believing that even if I should find my match, it would be impossible to marry, and I have not the capacity for self-denial that allows for saving against a distant probability. I always fancied I should find some heiress equally without hope of finding her soulmate. It would be uncomfortable but not impossible to live. I dislike knowing I must ask a future wife to follow the drum because of my reduced circumstances—”

“To a woman of spirit,” said Elizabeth, her pulse hammering in her throat, “such a request would never be unreasonable. And riches are relative. What you may consider reduced circumstances I might consider very comfortable indeed.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam said to her, in a soft, and rather intimate tone, “Would you indeed, Miss Bennet?”

Elizabeth turned impulsively towards him, but rather wished she had not. Behind Colonel Fitzwilliam’s shoulder was Mr. Collins. Colonel Fitzwilliam was at first puzzled, and slightly concerned by the change in her expression, but following the line of her gaze, assumed his usual look of genial tolerance.

“Ah, Colonel Fitzwilliam!” cried Mr. Collins, wheezing his way towards them. “May I take this moment to thank you for your most charitable attentions to my fair cousin Elizabeth. Your condescension is as great as Lady Catherine’s towards myself.”

The horrifying idea of Lady Catherine having a preference for Mr. Collins outside of the church was enough to make Elizabeth snort; this she turned into a sneeze.

“Bless you Miss Bennet,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, fighting a smile. “Sir, I cannot possibly be compared with my aunt, and really, Miss Bennet is doing me a great kindness by giving up her solitary walks in order to bear me company.”

“Nay, Colonel Fitzwilliam, your family’s generosity is unparalleled,” said Mr. Collins, and launched into so lengthy a speech that it lasted until they reached the Parsonage.

There, shut into her own room, Elizabeth could think without interruption of all that she had heard. She tried at first to dwell on Colonel Fitzwilliam’s hinted intentions, and felt sparks of brilliant excitement leaping through her mind— that she might travel beyond what she could ever have hoped, that she might never fear a diminution of circumstances or genteel poverty, and then, most happily, that she might have found the soul for whom she was intended— but this faded into a steady blaze of anger that this was not Jane’s lot, and perhaps would never be.

It was not to be supposed that any other people could be meant than those with whom she was connected. There could not exist in the world two men over whom Mr. Darcy could have such boundless influence. That he had been concerned in the measures taken to separate Bingley and Jane she had never doubted; but she had always attributed to Miss Bingley the principal design and arrangement of them. If his own vanity, however, did not mislead him, he was the cause, his pride and caprice were the cause, of all that Jane had suffered, and still continued to suffer. He had ruined for a while every hope of happiness for the most affectionate, generous heart in the world; and no one could say how lasting an evil he might have inflicted.

“There were some very strong objections against the lady,” were Colonel Fitzwilliam’s words; and those strong objections probably were, her having one uncle who was a country attorney, and another who was in business in London.

“Circumstances,” she exclaimed to herself, “to which Colonel Fitzwilliam does not object, and he is the son of an earl! To Jane herself there could be no possibility of objection; all loveliness and goodness as she is!—her understanding excellent, her mind improved, and her manners captivating. Neither could anything be urged against my father, who, though with some peculiarities, has abilities Mr. Darcy himself need not disdain, and respectability which he will probably never reach.” When she thought of her mother, her confidence gave way a little; but she would not allow that any objections there had material weight with Mr. Darcy, whose pride, she was convinced, would receive a deeper wound from the want of importance in his friend’s connections, than from their want of sense; and she was quite decided, at last, that he had been partly governed by this worst kind of pride, and partly by the wish of maintaining his control over his friends.

The agitation and tears which the subject occasioned brought on a headache; and it grew so much worse towards the evening, that, added to her unwillingness to see Mr. Darcy, it determined her not to attend her cousins to Rosings, where they were engaged to drink tea. Mrs. Collins, seeing that she was really unwell, did not press her to go and as much as possible prevented her husband from pressing her; but Mr. Collins could not conceal his apprehension of Lady Catherine’s being rather displeased by her staying at home.

“She will be more displeased at our tardiness,” said Mrs. Collins, but, hanging back a moment, asked, “Lizzy, you did not quarrel with Colonel Fitzwilliam did you?”

“No, Charlotte, I continue to think him everything aimable. I am merely out of charity with his cousin.”

“Ah yes,” said Charlotte, with a humorous look. “I can well imagine you do not wish a repeat of yesterday evening. I shall report back on how the colonel mourns your absence.” Then, with a little more seriousness, “I know you do not think it wise to secure a man before you are certain of his character, but I think it worth taking the risk in this case. If he bears any name other than ‘Elizabeth’ I shall be surprised indeed.”

“Bennet, I think,” said Elizabeth, managing a smile, “but it is a thing we have but obliquely discussed.”

Charlotte left, happy to smugness knowing she had been right, and perhaps only a little sad that the system that had not at all worked for her had worked so well for her friend.

***

When they were gone, Elizabeth, as if intending to exasperate herself as much as possible against Mr. Darcy, chose for her employment the examination of all the letters which Jane had written to her since her being in Kent. They contained no actual complaint, nor was there any revival of past occurrences, or any communication of present suffering. But in all, and in almost every line of each, there was a want of that cheerfulness which had been used to characterise her style, and which, proceeding from the serenity of a mind at ease with itself and kindly disposed towards everyone, had been scarcely ever clouded. Elizabeth noticed every sentence conveying the idea of uneasiness, with an attention which it had hardly received on the first perusal. Mr. Darcy’s shameful boast of what misery he had been able to inflict, gave her a keener sense of her sister’s sufferings.

She was suddenly roused by the sound of the door-bell, and her spirits were a little fluttered by the idea of its being Colonel Fitzwilliam himself, who had once before called late in the evening, and might now come to inquire particularly after her. But this idea was soon banished, and her spirits were very differently affected, when, to her utter amazement, she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the room. In an hurried manner he immediately began an inquiry after her health, imputing his visit to a wish of hearing that she were better. She answered him with cold civility. He sat down for a few moments, and then getting up, walked about the room. Elizabeth was surprised, but said not a word. After a silence of several minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner, and thus began:

“Miss Bennet, my cousin told me this evening some news that I cannot believe.”

“You shall have to be more specific than that sir,” said Elizabeth, very thoroughly out of charity with Mr. Darcy. “If you mean to quiz me about the probability of the French invading Russia, you shall have to query him.”

He flushed. “I beg you will be serious, Miss Bennet.”

Elizabeth said nothing.

“Miss Bennet.”

“Sir?”

Mr. Darcy paced towards the fireplace, rested his arm or a moment on the mantel, and then turned to her again. “Miss Bennet.”

“That is my name, sir.”

“My cousin,” said Mr. Darcy, sounded more agonized than she had ever heard him, “has, I think, made a very serious error.”

“Has he?” asked Elizabeth, icily. “And what is that?”

“He seems to be under the impression,” got out Mr. Darcy, with great difficulty, “that you bear his name on your wrist, and that— and that you are— that you are the person mentioned on his own.”

Elizabeth could not quite banish the blush of pleasure at this idea, and was almost grateful to Mr. Darcy for this confirmation. Of course, he then had to ruin it by saying, “There has been a grave error. Such a connection between yourself and my— my cousin is impossible.”

“Oh?” asked Elizabeth. “Do explain, sir. I am agog to hear your reasoning.”

He did not catch with what sarcasm this was said, and instead launched into what to him seemed a very compelling list of reasons. Her family, her dowry, her education was gone over; the objections the Fitzwilliams would make; the relative positions of his family’s and hers in society; his sense of her inferiority, of it being a degradation for a man of his or his cousin’s station to marry her, was more lengthily dwelt on than his cousin’s character and probable happiness. He concluded this speech with, “The situation of your mother’s family, though objectionable, is nothing in comparison to that total want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly betrayed by herself, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father. Pardon me. It pains me to offend you.”

Elizabeth was too shocked for a retort.

“But amidst your concern for the defects of your nearest relations, and your displeasure at this representation of them, let it give you consolation to consider that, to have conducted yourselves so as to avoid any share of the like censure, is praise no less generally bestowed on you and your elder sister, than it is honourable to the sense and disposition of both.”

“What a generous concession, sir,” said Elizabeth, through clenched teeth.

He picked up on her displeasure and thought, for some reason, that offering proof of this would calm her. “My opinion of all parties was confirmed at the Netherfield Ball.” Every mortifying incident was gone over in painstaking detail. 

The fact that she could not refute this proof incensed her yet further.

“So you can see the scruples that keep a sensible man from forming any serious design on you, even if your name happens to be a match,” he said, picking uncomfortably at the cuff of his own shirt. “Then too, there is the fact—”

“Sir,” said Elizabeth, trying to keep hold of her temper, “if your cousin has no objection to my circumstances, I cannot see why you do.”

“Because,” said he, “I know Richard’s temperament. He is too blithe about the obstacles in his path, or any dangers before him. He never realizes the severity of the trouble until it has injured him.”

“You do your cousin a disservice in this! But I take it it is something of a habit with you, to break apart soulmates, because of your perception of their inequality.”

Darcy did not seem to understand her.

“I speak, sir, of my sister and Mr. Bingley. No motive can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted there. You dare not, you cannot deny, that you have been the principal, if not the only means of dividing them from each other—of exposing one to the censure of the world for caprice and instability, and the other to its derision for disappointed hopes, and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind.”

She paused, and saw with no slight indignation that he was listening with an air which proved him wholly unmoved by any feeling of remorse. He even looked at her with a smile of affected incredulity.

“Can you deny that you have done it?” she repeated.

With assumed tranquillity he then replied: “I have no wish of denying that I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your sister, or that I rejoice in my success. The objections I listed before would be enough, but there is also this: I know they are not soulmates. It is easy to mistake matters. I have seen it many times myself.”

“I was forgetting Mr. Wickham!”

This at last, disconcerted him. “Mr. Wickham?” he asked, incredulously. “How can he relate to our present conversation?”

“You have separated him from your sister,” said Elizabeth.

“What? What has he said on this subject?”

“I happened to see part of his soulmark when he was playing loo at my aunt Phillip’s,” said Elizabeth, her color high. “It was unintentional; his uniform was new and the sleeve did not yet fit. He was very embarrassed about it, but later, when we were better acquainted, he shewed me the ‘George’ written there— the very nickname of your sister! And because you did not like that the son of a steward dared love a Miss Darcy of Pemberley you drove him from Pemberley and from your society, denied him the living your own father left him in his will, and have keep him from his soulmate forever!”

“You take an eager interest in that gentleman’s concerns,” said Darcy, in a less tranquil tone, and with a heightened colour.

“Who that knows what his misfortunes have been, can help feeling an interest in him?”

“His misfortunes!” repeated Darcy contemptuously; “yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed.”

“And of your infliction,” cried Elizabeth with energy. “You have reduced him to his present state of poverty—comparative poverty. You have withheld the advantages which you must know to have been designed for him. You have deprived the best years of his life of that independence which was no less his due than his desert. You have separated him from the woman for whom he was intended. You have done all this! and yet you can treat the mention of his misfortune with contempt and ridicule.”

“Miss Bennet,” said he, as he walked with quick steps about the room, “have a care what you say. I knew what I was about when I separated your sister from my friend, and your friend from my sister. It is easier to mistake a soulmate than you yet know.”

Elizabeth cried, “Mr. Darcy, I cannot believe you are saying this to me when you have actually seen my soulmark. I am prepared to brave the impropriety and shew you the ‘Fitzwilliam’ written there once more if it will content you.”

Then, he added the objection that roused Elizabeth’s resentment so thoroughly she lost all patience and all compassion in anger: “That does not prove anything. I was myself baptized Fitzwilliam Darcy. I may very well be your soulmate.”

“Then, sir, I may offer you very real proof that I am in earnest, and my affection for your cousin is real,” cried Elizabeth. “I know beyond all doubt that you are not my soulmate! From the very beginning—from the first moment, I may almost say—of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form the groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike; I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.”

Mr. Darcy’s complexion became pale with anger, and the disturbance of his mind was visible in every feature. He was struggling for the appearance of composure, and would not open his lips till he believed himself to have attained it. The pause was to Elizabeth’s feelings dreadful. At length, with a voice of forced calmness, he said: “And this is your opinion of me.”

Elizabeth said nothing.

Mr. Darcy walked to the window and back again before saying, “Miss Bennet, if I were to offer you my hand—”

“You could not sir, in any possible way that would tempt me to accept it,” said Elizabeth. “If I had been a fortune hunter, as you seem to think I am, would I not have shewn you more partiality than your cousin? Would I not now declare that I was wrong and eagerly accept you , because your first name happens to be the same as your cousin’s last name? But I have acted in accordance with my feelings, and the dictates of propriety. I have encouraged your cousin because I like him, and because I think it a very real possibility that the name on his wrist is a partner to the one on mine, and for no other reason. I know you take, as you phrased it, “an eager interest” in the wrists of everyone in your circle, but if I am mistaken in this, let him be the one to tell me— not someone so wholly unconnected with me, or my happiness.”

His astonishment was obvious; and he looked at her with an expression of mingled incredulity and mortification.

“There, Mr. Darcy,” said she, tartly. “Have you any other insults for me? Have you any other doubts about my character, or my sincerity? I would ask if you would like to denigrate any more of my relations, but you have done such a thorough job of that, I cannot think there are any left. Perhaps I can dig up a great-aunt who was a Quaker, so you might amuse yourself further?”

“You have said quite enough madam. Forgive me for taking up so much of your time.”

And with these words he hastily left the room, and Elizabeth heard him the next moment open the front door and quit the house.

The tumult of her mind, was now painfully great. She knew not how to support herself, and from actual weakness sat down and cried for half-an-hour. Her astonishment, as she reflected on what had passed, was increased by every review of it. She tried to find some consolation at least in the knowledge that Colonel Fitzwilliam did indeed bear the name ‘Bennet’ on his wrist, that she had found her soulmate, but the interview was too fresh and too painful. Despite the colonel’s earlier assurances, she could not now believe that his family would look upon the match with favor. If this was Mr. Darcy’s reaction, what could be Lady Catherine’s, or his father’s? She continued in very agitated reflections till the sound of Lady Catherine’s carriage made her feel how unequal she was to encounter Charlotte’s observation, and hurried her away to her room.

***

Elizabeth awoke the next morning to the same thoughts and meditations which had at length closed her eyes. She could not yet recover from the shock of what had happened; it was impossible to think of anything else; and, totally indisposed for employment, she resolved, soon after breakfast, to indulge herself in air and exercise. She was proceeding directly to her favourite walk, when the recollection of Mr. Darcy’s sometimes coming there stopped her, and instead of entering the park, she turned up the lane, which led farther from the turnpike-road. The park paling was still the boundary on one side, and she soon passed one of the gates into the ground.

After walking two or three times along that part of the lane, she was tempted, by the pleasantness of the morning, to stop at the gates and look into the park. The five weeks which she had now passed in Kent had made a great difference in the country, and every day was adding to the verdure of the early trees. She was on the point of continuing her walk, when she caught a glimpse of a gentleman within the sort of grove which edged the park; he was moving that way; and, fearful of its being Mr. Darcy, she was directly retreating. But the person who advanced was now near enough to see her, and stepping forward with eagerness, pronounced her name.

With what painful relief she heard Colonel Fitzwilliam’s voice instead cannot be described; let it suffice to say that the tears started to her eyes and she went to him, hands outstretched, saying, “Fitzwilliam! I am very glad to see you.”

“Miss Bennet?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, taking her hands. “What is the matter? Are you still unwell?”

“No, it is only that I cannot meet peacefully with your cousin,” said Elizabeth. “Last evening he condescended to tell me I am not your soulmate and kindly listed all the reasons that render me ineligible.”

“ Darcy did this?” cried Colonel Fitzwilliam. “I would more believe Anne had insulted you than Darcy— he, out of all my family best knows how unusual my circumstances are and how unhappy I was with them. I expected him to rejoice that I had at last found you. And Darcy— why, we share joint guardianship of Georgiana, we grew up together, we have been friends since we were breeched. Darcy told you— what did he tell you exactly?”

Elizabeth repeated their conversation, not very coherently; and it was only when she had finished the telling that she realized what basic assumptions had been accepted by both herself and Colonel Fitzwilliam, when they first saw each other. She wondered, briefly, if she ought to be upset, or alarmed, but there was already a feeling of great naturalness, as if it were only right she should turn to him in her distress.

Colonel Fitzwilliam listened attentively to her, not interrupting, releasing her hands only to tuck one in the crook of his arm, as he had already realized she thought better in motion than at rest. At the end he said, “Oh  God, I am to blame once again. I had no idea you were related to the lady in question. I should never have used that story as an example of Darcy’s overeagerness to be doing  for those he loves. I have overcorrected; I thought the lesson of the French cannon was to be more cautious, but in telling you only partial truths, I have made your opinion of my cousin—”

“ You have done nothing,” cried Elizabeth. “His actions must speak for themselves. There were great objections to the lady— great indeed! I have no doubt they were the same objections he leveled at me— that our circumstances are not equal.”

“I cannot defend Darcy on that,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, his expression darkening, “nor have I any wish to. Your anger is well justified.”

Elizabeth loved him for this; for taking seriously her anger. “When you mentioned a formal agreement on Bennets, what did he say exactly?” When she saw he hesitated, she offered a tart, “You can tell me nothing worse than he did himself.”

“Very well— I think you have guessed by now, what name I bear on my wrist, and can enter into my feelings on its comparative rarity, and how it seemed very unlikely that I would find someone— and if I did, how unlikely it would be that I could marry that person. I was honest about my feelings with Darcy, when he saw my mark, and he offered the information that all was not lost. He had lately met a family with five daughters, all by the name of Bennet. He doubted any of them were my soulmate, for the youngest let anyone read the Chinese characters upon her wrist, the next eldest was friendly only to men named ‘Tom,’ and the personality of the middle girl could not in any way compliment mine, and—” he looked extremely awkward. “And I am aware that I am speaking of your sisters, whom I hope will be my sisters too, but— I erred earlier, in failing to be honest with you—”

“Pray continue,” said Elizabeth, grimly, “I should dearly love to hear what objections he had to myself and Jane.”

“To you there could be none,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. “I was surprised to hear Darcy said all he did to you because he told me that you were extremely pretty and very charming, and played and sang very well, but showed such a marked disinclination for marriage, your soulmark must be as unusual as those of your youngest and middle sister. And— this will not reflect well on Darcy, but pray recall that he was telling me this alone, and to keep me from riding to Hedfordshire at once, to force myself upon the notice of strangers. As it was, I would not let him go without extracting a formal promise that he would introduce me to any Miss Bennet he happened to find in town.”

“Tell me, please.”

“He, ah— he thought your eldest sister, though extremely beautiful and good-natured, was not easily moved, but easily swayed by your mother. If the son of an earl— even a second son— should come into view, your mother might insist upon your sister’s pursuing, or even marrying me, regardless of the name upon her wrist.”

Elizabeth was so furious she could not speak for some minutes.

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked down at her in worry and said, “Perhaps I should not have said all I did. Darcy would never have said these things if he had known it would get back to the Bennet family—”

“Fitzwilliam,” she interrupted, “if we are at all to get on, you must treat me as a rational creature capable of self-regulation and independent thought. I should be more upset with you if you insisted I go through the world with blinders, than to present me with the truth in all its parts, however unpalatable it may be. And your cousin more-or-less told me all you have just relayed last evening, only with less tact, and greater intention of offense.” She suddenly recalled a point she had failed to make earlier and said, “Do you know anything of a Mr. Wickham?”

His expression darkened. “Too much, unfortunately.”

Elizabeth looked up at him, puzzled. “I never heard of any harm in him, only that he dared love Miss Darcy and was cruelly separated from her.”

“And who told you this?”

“He did.”

“George Wickham told you that, did he? By God, I should have shot the man as soon as Darcy told me—” Colonel Fitzwilliam scowled at the ground. “Miss Bennet, I hope you shall soon be family so I think I might now be forgiven for telling you this, but do you recall when I said some men had learnt to take advantage of the system?”

“Yes?”

“My ward, Georgiana— she is full young still. She has only just received her soulmark. Last summer— when mind you, she was but fifteen , and went about with her hair down and her wrists bare— George Wickham attempted to elope with her.”

Elizabeth was so astonished she could do nothing but stare. Colonel Fitzwilliam scrounged up a smile. “Fortunately that did not happen. Georgiana is a good girl, and told Darcy the whole. It was perhaps best that she told Darcy instead of myself; I would have shot George Wickham, instead of merely telling him to go away forever— as Darcy did. It was obvious Wickham’s object with Georgianna’s dowry of thirty thousand pounds, for Wickham left as soon as it was understood he would not get a haypenny from it.”

“A fifteen year old girl!” cried Elizabeth. “He thought it right to get a fifteen year old girl to run away with him? Before her soul mark had even appeared?”

“As I understand it, he persuaded her that the ‘George’ written on his own wrist meant her. From all I know of Wickham his only soulmate is himself, for he is the only creature he truly loves. Georgiana doubted at first, but she had never before seen another person’s soul mark and did not know that among true soulmates the marks are generally a match, not merely part of a name. Then, too, Wickham so protested his love she believed him. From there Wickham found it easy to convince Georgiana that within the year, his name would appear on her wrist. That has not proven to be the case. I was in Spain when Wickham importuned her, but I was in London with Darcy and Georgiana when her mark appeared. She was in floods of tears for nearly three days at how stupid she had been. My sister-in-law took Georgiana to Bath to see if the waters would in any way soothe her spirits. I really doubt we would have come to Kent if Marjorie had not assured us that Georgiana would be better presently, and would only feel worse if we disrupted our plans on her account.” After a moment he said, “I cannot imagine how Georgiana was last summer.”

“Nor can I,” said Elizabeth.

“And, as I said, I knew he was a fortune hunter before I left for Spain; a friend of Marjorie's, a Miss Crawford, with twenty thousand pounds, was often witty on the subject of Wickham's determined pursuit of her, and asked me if I did not know the gentleman in question. I told her that I knew him when we were children, and knew how he had plagued Darcy at university, and how he had nearly sent down from his college because of his impropriety with the maids. Wickham did not improve after that. I was one of the executors of old Mr. Darcy’s will and knew first-hand that Mr. Wickham had turned down a promised living in exchange for three thousand pounds. Once he had squandered that, he plagued Darcy for the living more-or-less constantly. Miss Crawford’s report served only to confirm my dislike of him. I ought to have said something to Darcy, at least— but Miss Crawford found it so amusing, and is so well guarded by one thing and another, I did not think Mr. Wickham would be anything more than a nuisance.” He paused and said, “I underestimated the danger, now that I think on it; Miss Crawford and Marjorie used to roll their eyes at all the accusations Mr. Wickham leveled against Darcy, little knowing the intimacy between Miss Crawford and our family— but, then again, Miss Crawford and my sister-in-law well knew Darcy and his awkwardness, and knew Mr. Wickham to smile and smile and still be a villain. To anyone unfamiliar with the characters of either men, with only their manners to go on, it would be sadly easy to be taken in.”

The extravagance and general profligacy which Colonel Fitzwilliam scrupled not to lay at Mr. Wickham’s charge, exceedingly shocked her; the more so, as she could bring no proof of its injustice. She had never heard of Wickham before his entrance into the ——shire Militia, in which he had engaged at the persuasion of the young man who, on meeting him accidentally in town, had there renewed a slight acquaintance. Of his former way of life nothing had been known in Hertfordshire but what he told himself. As to his real character, had information been in her power, she had never felt a wish of inquiring. His countenance, voice, and manner had established him at once in the possession of every virtue. She tried to recollect some instance of goodness, some distinguished trait of integrity or benevolence, that might rescue him from Colonel Fitzwilliam’s concerted attack; or at least, by the predominance of virtue, atone for those casual errors under which she would endeavour to class the idleness and vice of many years’ continuance. But no such recollection befriended her. She could see him instantly before her, in every charm of air and address; but she could remember no more substantial good than the general approbation of the neighbourhood, and the regard which his social powers had gained him in the mess.

She perfectly remembered everything that had passed in conversation between Wickham and herself, in their first evening at Mrs. Phillips’s. Many of his expressions were still fresh in her memory. She was now struck with the impropriety of such communications to a stranger, and wondered it had escaped her before. She saw the indelicacy of putting himself forward as he had done, and the inconsistency of his professions with his conduct. She was aghast that he had shewn her his soulmark; why, she and Colonel Fitzwilliam had not yet seen each others’ marks, and they talked as if marriage were a settled thing between them! There could be no excuse for such impropriety.

She remembered that Mr. Wickham had boasted of having no fear of seeing Mr. Darcy—that Mr. Darcy might leave the country, but that he should stand his ground; yet he had avoided the Netherfield ball the very next week. She remembered also that, till the Netherfield family had quitted the country, he had told his story to no one but herself; but that after their removal it had been everywhere discussed; that he had then no reserves, no scruples in sinking Mr. Darcy’s character, though he had assured her that respect for the father would always prevent his exposing the son.

How differently did everything now appear in which he was concerned! Every lingering struggle in his favour grew fainter and fainter; and in farther justification of Mr. Darcy, she could not but allow that Mr. Bingley, when questioned by Jane, had long ago asserted his blamelessness in the affair; that proud and repulsive as were his manners, she had never, in the whole course of their acquaintance—an acquaintance which had latterly brought them much together, and given her a sort of intimacy with his ways—seen anything that betrayed him to be unprincipled or unjust—anything that spoke him of irreligious or immoral habits; that among his own connections he was esteemed and valued—that even Wickham had allowed him merit as a brother, and that she had often heard him speak so affectionately of his sister as to prove him capable of some amiable feeling; that had his actions been what Mr. Wickham represented them, so gross a violation of everything right could hardly have been concealed from the world; and that friendship between a person capable of it, and such an amiable man as Mr. Bingley, was incomprehensible.

She grew absolutely ashamed of herself. Of neither Darcy nor Wickham could she think without feeling she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd.

There was nothing to be done but to sit down on a fallen log and cry.

“I did not mean to make you cry,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, desperately patting his pockets in search of a handkerchief. “Merely to explain why George Wickham should not be considered an expert on our family or on Darcy’s character and actions. I hope this may too go some way to explaining Darcy’s behavior to you. I know it cannot be fully excused, and indeed, I mean to ask him myself what the devil he meant by saying to you all he did; but I can only think that after what happened to Georgiana he violently distrusts the notion of soulmarks altogether.”

“How despicably I have acted!” she cried; “I, who have prided myself on my discernment! I, who have valued myself on my abilities! Had I been in love, I could not have been more wretchedly blind! But vanity, not love, has been my folly. Pleased with the preference of one, and offended by the neglect of the other, on the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courted prepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away, where either were concerned. Till this moment I never knew myself.”

Much alarmed by these strictures against herself, Colonel Fitzwilliam said, “Elizabeth— if I may call you that— I would not have you blame yourself for taking Darcy to task for his rudeness, particularly when he spent all of yesterday evening apparently denigrating your entire family down to... your Quaker great-aunt, I think you said?”

“That was a joke,” said Elizabeth, miserably. She recalled how yesterday Mr. Darcy had mentioned her family in terms of such mortifying, yet merited reproach, and her sense of shame was severe. The justice of the charge struck her too forcibly for denial, and the circumstances to which he particularly alluded as having passed at the Netherfield ball, and as confirming all his first disapprobation, could not have made a stronger impression on his mind than on hers.

The compliment to herself and her sister was not unfelt. It soothed, but it could not console her for the contempt which had thus been self-attracted by the rest of her family; and as she considered that Jane’s disappointment had in fact been the work of her nearest relations, and reflected how materially the credit of both must be hurt by such impropriety of conduct, she felt depressed beyond anything she had ever known before.

“All he said was not wrong. You could not know because you have never met my family, but his reproaches were not without merit!”

“His reproaches were specific to himself, not to me,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, awkwardly crouching in the lane before her. “Miss Bennet— Elizabeth, will you look at me?”

She wiped her eyes (and nose) on her gloves, as Colonel Fitzwilliam had been unable to find a handkerchief, and managed to look him in the eyes.

He took her hands in his, as disgusting as her gloves now were, and said, “I am sorry Darcy’s own fears and judgments have so upset you, but please know that his concerns are not my own. Since meeting you, I have been happy at the notion of soulmates for perhaps the first time since my soulmark appeared. He may doubt and mistrust, but I do not. What matters to me is not your family or circumstances, but who you are, and your willingness to to engage in the only life I am somewhat embarassed to say I can offer you.”

“Fitzwilliam, you must not think so meanly of me! I shall tell you a great secret— I have learnt to manage a household on less than two thousand a year.”

“Really?” He looked extremely surprised by this. “My pay is a pittance, and doesn't even meet the cost of mess fees and equipment, but my income is much greater than that."

"Money your mother left you, you mentioned?"

"Yes, and interest from prizes taken in India, and a quarterly allowance from my father-- which usually gets me to about... eight thousand a year, I think.”

Elizabeth gaped at him. “And this you think a paltry sum on which to live? That is four times the amount required to keep my whole family comfortable. On such a sum, I have no fear of hardship. Indeed, I cannot imagine why you are apologizing for having so little to offer, unless you are entirely unwilling to reexamine your habits of expense."

“I am perfectly willing, if you have the patience to teach me better management; I only mean that I have no house or estate, and have not the means to immediately purchase either. I cannot now sell out, nor do I think I could really bear to be parted from you, now that at last we know each other. It would not displease you, then, to follow the drum?”

Elizabeth had been considering this more-or-less since their first conversation and said, “No, I think I should enjoy it, rather. I have always preferred travel, and even your cousin and his friends cannot deny I am an excellent walker. The only consideration that gives me pause is that I am no horsewoman—”

“That is easily fixed. I have two months at least before I must to Portugal. If I cannot teach you to ride in that time, I really ought to sell my commission.”

Her joy dimmed somewhat when she recalled Mr. Darcy’s reaction to her circumstances and said, “I cannot think your family will be very pleased.”

“My father and siblings will be,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, smiling at her. “I hope this will not disgust you, or cause you to think we are not soulmates, but everyone in my immediate circle— including myself— had... resigned themselves to the idea that I should never have a wife, but an intimate friend of my own sex—though 'resigned' implies a degree of comfort none of them had with the idea, except perhaps Honoria and Marjorie. I did pursue companionship amongst my own sex, but never found a match—” gesturing to his wrist “— and I must admit, the general disapprobation with which such relationships meet wore on me considerably.”

“I thought as much, with all your references to never marrying,” said Elizabeth. “Can you like a woman as much, or as well as a man?”

“Indeed, yes! You shall think me fairly indiscriminate, but I have been— and am— as attracted to the opposite sex as to my own.”

“I merely think you an ancient Greek sir. I am too well educated— or too oddly educated— to think it in any way unusual or reprehensible. As long as you can love only me from now on, I shall be very well contented.”

He laughed. “That is an easy promise, Miss Bennet. And there is a fairly easy way to prove it.” Elizabeth said something, she knew not what, indicative of her agreement. Colonel Fitzwilliam released her hands but seemed rather resigned to kneeling in the dirt so they might be on eye level. He said, in stops and starts, as he fumbled at his gloves, “It is odd— my hands shake more now that they did even at Albuera.”

His intent was very clear now, and for some breathless moments, Elizabeth’s world narrowed to the bare left hand of Colonel Fitzwilliam. He cleared his throat and offered his hand to her.

On his inner wrist, ‘Bennet’ curled, in a careful, even copperplate, like an invitation to a ball.

She laughed and held out her left hand, wrist upwards. “If you please, Fitzwilliam!”

Colonel Fitzwilliam touched the two cloth-covered buttons at her wrist reverently, as if for luck, before undoing them. Elizabeth’s breath quickened. There was a curious blank in her thoughts, as Colonel Fitzwiliam pulled off her glove and stared at the name like a shield over the veins to her hand, and then bent swiftly to kiss it. He looked up with her in a wonder and joy very like her own.

“You will think me unpardonably silly,” he said, glance dancing over her face and figure, as if he doubted she were real, “but I never thought—”

“Nor I,” said Elizabeth, giddily. “One daydreams, of course, but ‘Fitzwilliam’ is so uncommon a name—”

“It is everything ridiculous— I disliked being injured in Spain, but I should take a far worse explosion, and gladly, too, if it meant meeting you. I can hardly believe—” Colonel Fitzwilliam looked slightly dazed. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet!”

“Yes, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam?”

“But in our rush of planning I forgot to ask....” Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled up at her. “Miss Bennet, will you marry me?”

Elizabeth laughed and, flinging her arms around his shoulders with enough force to nearly knock him over, exclaimed, “Yes, Colonel Fitzwilliam, I will.”