Maria Hamilton - Mr. Darcy and the Secret of Becoming a Gentleman

Leaving Hunsford Behind

Fitzwilliam Darcy rested his head against the seat of his well-appointed coach, relieved that he was at last leaving the outer boundary of Kent. He hoped that the physical distance between himself and the scene of his recent disgrace would allow him to put his humiliation and loss aside, even for just a little while. The next half hour of failed sleep, however, proved his supposition foolish. Regardless of time or distance, he could scarcely meditate on any subject without it reflexively leading back to Elizabeth Bennets rejection of his marriage proposal at Hunsford.

With a contemptuous laugh and a sad shake of his head, he recalled his emotions before he had entered the parsonage. He was sure that Elizabeth Bennet would be expecting his addresses. He had envisioned her acceptance and his rapture. His optimism now seemed ridiculous. His misjudgment of the situation was another sin to add to the list that Elizabeth had catalogued. His mind jumped to his letter. Surely, in it he had explained himself. Not that it mattered now. He would never see her again, and even if he did, she could never love him. She had made that quite clear. He closed his eyes and took a long deep breath, trying to quell the enveloping despair.

He had to take control. He could not continue this way. He incessantly replayed his failed interaction with Elizabeth, and it always led to the same conclusion. She did not love him and never would. The question was whether she was justified in her opinion of him. Yes, she had been wrong about Wickham, but what of her other complaints? Was he arrogant and selfish? He had to admit that his conduct toward her could be considered arrogant. How else could he explain his misjudgment regarding her opinion of him? During the many weeks that he conducted his internal debate as to her worthiness to be his wife, he had never once considered that his regard for her was not returned. He simply assumed his position and fortune would be sufficient inducement. But, in hindsight, was that really what he hoped would persuade Elizabeth to accept his hand? Oh, if only he had truly considered her reaction. He still would not have her, but the horrible humiliation of his proposal would have been avoided.

In the end though, what did it matter? The results were the same. He had not only lost her, but he now knew that she held him in contempt. That she was alive in the world and thinking so poorly of him caused him a level of despair that he could never imagine overcoming.

But he knew he must. People relied upon him, and not just his younger sister Georgiana. Yet he was about to prove Elizabeths reproof as to his selfishness true by embarking on a sustained plan of self-pity. In an attempt to steel himself, he thought of the grief he had endured over his parents passing and how he had eventually picked himself up to tend to his responsibilities. He knew that in this new despair, he would also have to learn to carry on. In the past, he had thrown himself into the management of Pemberley and the care of Georgiana, but now he questioned his own judgment. How could he be trusted to know the right course of action for others when he had failed himself?

He knew he had to plan a path to a future that did not include her. But he could not envision it. Her rejection threatened to indefinitely cast a pall over everything he did. How could he return to Pemberley after he had spent so many nights fantasizing about arriving there with her on his armbringing her into his bed? London held nothing for him. Bingley was there, but he could hardly face him now that he knew that in addition to his own remorse, he was responsible for causing his friends misery.

As his ruminations swirled, self-doubt quickly turned to self-loathing.

Darcy was finally roused from his torment by the voice of his cousin and traveling companion, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Darcy, what are you thinking of? I have been watching you for the last few miles, and the dark clouds that pass over your countenance are disturbing to say the least. Surely, you do not regret your removal from our aunt?

No, not really, muttered Darcy.

Has Lady Catherines obvious references to the unification of your families become too heavy-handed for even you to bear? Because, otherwise, I thought the visit far more enjoyable than usual. The frequent inclusion of some of the Hunsford party was an unexpected pleasure.

Choosing to ignore the oblique reference to Miss Bennet, Darcy simply replied, Our aunts comments were no more than I expected. Although I think the situation she refers to is just one more area of my life where I fear I have not behaved as well as I could.

What is this, cousin? exclaimed the colonel amiably. Critical introspection? That is a trait I was not aware you possessed. I have always admired your decisive confidence. If I were in your shoes, I would not begin to know how to handle our aunt. I think your studious avoidance of the topic borders on tactical genius.

Perhaps, replied Darcy, but I have of late come to realize that I look on all my interactions solely from my own selfish perspective. The other side of decisive confidence is arrogance. I have never considered how my actions affect others. For instance, I have never thought of whether my avoidance of the topic of Cousin Anne gives pain to Anne or not. It is clear that my disinterest in her as a wife will grievously injure our aunt, but I am content to take the cowards way out and never convey my thoughts on the subject. It seems obvious now that the whole situation is but another example of my selfish disdain for the feeling of others.