Page 39 of The Widower of Pemberley

“Yes. That is to say, will you give me your hand in marriage?”

Rather than joy, misery, or any comprehensible emotion, Elizabeth felt raw terror.

She had girded her mind to marry Mr. Collins, and now she was offered a different choice. A possibility that would either bring happiness or far greater grief than marriage to her cousin but which above all would be different.

And she had to choose now.

When Elizabeth did not reply immediately, Mr. Darcy said, “I see you are surprised.”

“I had no notion—no, that is not wholly true. But I had no idea that you might make such an offer. You have in general held yourself aloof, and we have rarely spoken at any great length, except that time at Netherfield. That you could be in love with me seems—”

“I am not. I do not mean to ever be in love again. But despite that, I must marry again. Emily requires a mother, and I must have an heir, and the sooner he is created, the better it will be. Despite my misgivings, you are a worthy person who will make a good mother and a good wife.”

“I see.” Despite it being utterly stupid, a pain cut through Elizabeth’s stomach at this unhesitating declaration that he did not love her.

“I am determined,” he continued, “to give you no happy illusions. I do not wish there to be any basis on which you can accuse me of having promised you one kind of marriage when you have received another. I will not offer false coin for true return. What I said at Netherfield is the truth. I am a cold man. You cannot expect me to have unending warmth of heart, unchangeable affection despite your own mutable nature, or that fondness for weakness that will make me never think ill of you, no matter how you behave. I cannot give you the flattering conversation that women naturally want. I shall enjoy your smiles, your cheerfulness, and your lively way of speaking, but I cannot act the gallant in return. And I will expect you, if you choose to become my wife, to always behave in an upright manner befitting our station and in your duties as a mother and a wife. But I do not believe that you can hope for any greater companionship or warmth of feeling from Mr. Collins. So far as I can perceive from conversation with him, his sole true affection is for my aunt. Despite my great deficiencies as a husband, my greater station and your affection for my daughter and sister must be inducements to prefer me over him. I do not love you, but I think we can become good friends. I believe even that would be impossible with such a man as Mr. Collins.”

“But—you must wish to marry a woman who has sympathy of character with you. We are most different. You are taciturn and full of judgment for those around you. I laugh fondly at their foibles while chattering endlessly.”

“You must decide for yourself. For my part, when I decided that I must marry again, I determined that I would not find another fashionable society lady who is toasted by all theton. I wished to find a woman from a station in life decidedly inferior to my own. I hoped to find a bride who was nearly penniless, whose looks were plain, and who had no connections of note.At first I dismissed any idea of seeking your hand—you are too pretty, too eager for dancing and friends, and you have too great a consequence in this local society. Only your lack of fortune and connections match what I hoped for. But despite expecting you to display ill-nature and a weak character due to those deficiencies, I have constantly been impressed by your kindness, your cheerfulness, your determination to do what you ought, and your commitment to your duty. In this I have been surprised by you, and in it I have come to admire you.”

Elizabeth swallowed. So, he did admire her in those ways. That was a thing she could cling to. If she accepted him.

“As for other matters,” he continued, “you need have no concern about being thrust into such an unexpectedly high role. You learn quickly, and I know that you will take sensible advice from the servants upon matters of importance until you have been at the estate long enough to know when it is prudent and right to demand your own way. I have complete faith in you in this matter.”

“I thank you for that, sir.”

“Then I must ask you, what is your reply? Will you have me?”

Elizabeth hardly knew what to say. “Are you sure, Mr. Darcy? Are you sure this is what you wish to do? To marry without affection—that is a serious thing.”

“I have married once with affection, and it was a mistake with dreadful consequences to all involved. I desire to embark upon a different scheme. It is upon you that the decision rests.”

There was something about the gentleman’s manner that half suggested to her that he was not certain whether he hoped she would accept his offer or refuse it. That idea made her, oddly, feel warmer towards him.

“I swear, this was a wholly unexpected request,” Elizabeth said. “When I imagined what you might say when you requested this private conference, the notion that you might wish to marry me did not cross my mind. Oh, I had once dreamed that I would only marry for the deepest affection. And you express no affection for me—you only say that you think I shall be a good mother and that you must have an heir. And, of course, I am penniless and from a station in life beneath your own. Oh, let me think. Let me think!”

“I have done you a great favour by making this offer.”

“Mr. Darcy, ifthatis what you wish me to acknowledge, that you have shown me great kindness by extending such a proposal, I shall willingly do so. You were most kind to me. You did me a great favour. I acknowledge that you have lowered yourself to make me an offer, that you had no obligation to do so, and that you would be in every comprehensible way a superior husband to Mr. Collins. If all you wish for is a woman to say that much, you do not need to marry me. I shall confess your superiority freely.”

“Then why do you hesitate?”

“Have I not said enough to explain? Is not surprise a sufficient motive?” She hurried to the fence and then twirled around to face him again. “Oh, but I have little enough choice. Papa might have another attack, and he might be dead in an hour’s time. I must marry one of you.”

“You know that you must marry and that you must marry well. I would be utterly astonished if you ever received a more eligible offer,” he said in a tone that suggested some offence at how Elizabeth had replied. “I do not preach affection to you. I tell you no sweet lies. I do not demand that you say you have lost your senses due to your desire for me. I do not believe that affectionis a sound basis for marriage. Perhaps there is no sound reason ever for marriage, except that it is necessary for the continuation of human society. You are a woman who meets my chief requirements, but if you do not wish to accept my hand, I shall not dangle it before you endlessly.”

“Please, Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth looked him in the eye. “Let me compose myself and come to know my own mind. You cannot object to that, and if you do object to giving me twenty minutes to think, I shall know that I ought to risk Mr. Collins instead.”

Rather than becoming yet more offended—as Elizabeth had half expected and perhaps hoped, for she felt the uncertainty of the decision as a dreadful thing—Mr. Darcy instead smiled. “I apologise. You would be a fool to accept a man without knowing your own mind, and I would be a high-handed brute if I demanded that. You are quite right.” He now smiled in such a friendly way that it made Elizabeth’s heart jump. “Take what time you require and freely ask me any questions that you consider as important in making your decision.”

“In deciding whether Mr. Collins is your superior?” Elizabeth said, unable to keep herself from returning his smile.

“No, no. I cannot conceive of myself as not being his superior.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Proud, proud man. And vain. To think that you are the superior to another man simply because you are cleverer, of higher station, and of greater fortune than him. And taller, with a better formed figure, and more handsome also.”

He pressed his lips together in another smile. “That does make me sound vain. Yet it is how I see the matter. But I must add this—perhaps my flaws are also greater than his.”