A Different Angle
During the Hunsford proposal, Elizabeth unwittingly compares Mr. Darcy's and Mr. Bennet's affection for her, with surprising results.
Rated: G
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or plot of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice
“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
Elizabeth stared, doubted, and was silent. She listened to Mr. Darcy’s declarations, and then to his reasons for withholding his feelings for so long. According to them, she would be a degradation to his precious sister, and the match would be considered a disgrace by his family and the world in general.
Her first reaction was anger. How dare this man? How could he even utter those words- ‘I admire and love you’? He knew nothing of love. He had probably never felt it. What he felt for his sister and family probably amounted to nothing more than clannishness. Inside, Mr. Darcy’s heart was as cold as a rock. Whatever he thought he felt for her could not be anything more than a delusion.
It was she who knew love. Love, for instance, was what she shared with her father. Mr. Bennet would never, ever tell her that she was a degradation! Her Papa loved her, completely and unconditionally. He had showed her how men should treat her.
Satisfied with this mental verdict on the relative worth of her father and unexpected suitor, Elizabeth sat back in her chair, not noticing that the prolonged silence was being to wear on Mr. Darcy’s bravado. His eyes grew truly anxious, and he quit leaning against the mantelpiece.
The lady continued her reflections, ignoring him. Her father respected her, and enjoyed her wit. But on that point, a most unwelcome realization suddenly hit her: Mr. Darcy also enjoyed her quick rebuttals and admired her mind, did his words not imply that it was those very things which had ensnared him? Elizabeth quickly shrugged off the thought. That was where the resemblance between her father and suitor began and ended, she reminded herself. Papa loved her and would do anything for her, while Mr. Darcy would not.
Her father had played with her when she was a little girl, had spent countless hours with her in the library. In the family circle, he had…and here her traitorous mind brought up unwanted memories. Elizabeth unwittingly remembered times when Mrs. Bennet would insult her love of walks in the countryside, her frankness, and her lack of effort of inveigling a husband, while Mr. Bennet sat quietly in the corner without bothering to defend his daughter. Sometimes a chuckle or two even escaped his lips.
Then the entire affair concerning Mr. Collins flashed before the poor girl. Her father had known the man to be an unworthy suitor, but he had insisted that Elizabeth walk with him to Meryton nonetheless just so that he could have the library to himself once more. Only when the entire situation had threatened to disturb his peace had he exerted himself to state that he would not wish Elizabeth to marry the visiting cousin.
Sitting in the parlor, Mr. Darcy still before her, Elizabeth’s spinning mind abruptly realized what it had failed to grasp for twenty years. Her father’s affection for her was…rather…shallow. Even the letter which Mr. Bennet had sent a few days ago to hasten her return had not inquired whether she were enjoying Kent or stipulated that she remain for longer if she did not yet wish to part with Charlotte; it had simply ordered her to return home since the master of Longbourn was tired of his wife’s and younger daughters’ company.
Why had she not seen it before? Her father did have some affection for her, but what he truly loved was his solitude and the comfort and entertainment she provided. But not one instance befriended her in which Mr. Bennet had sacrificed something for her behalf.
Elizabeth’s eyes roved the room in despair, fell upon the young man, and only then did she remember that she was not alone. By this time, not a shard of Mr. Darcy’s security remained. He grasped at the mantelpiece for support, and panic was vividly portrayed in every line of his countenance. He was staring at her as if she were a rare treasure which had slipped from his fingers and was slowly sinking out of sight as he watched helplessly.
She noticed his eyes. The way they gazed at her sent shivers down her spine. No person had ever looked at her so before, as if she were the most precious and cherished thing in the world. And then she remembered the words of his proposal. Unlike the first time she had heard them, they invoked no anger. This time, Miss Bennet was impressed- that unlike her Papa, Mr. Darcy was sacrificing a great many things for her.
Real love was so rare. Even the man who had raised her had never given it to her. How could she turn it down when, for the first time in twenty years, it had finally come to her abundantly?
As in a dream, she remembered her other provocations against Mr. Darcy. Mr. Wickham’s tales, for one. But it was possible that in that case she had made a mistake; how could she correctly judge Mr. Darcy’s fault or innocence in the matter when she had not realized the true worth of Mr. Bennet’s affections for all those years? And Mr. Wickham had been a little overeager to utter those reputation-tarnishing tales.
And then there was Colonel Fitzwilliam’s assertion that Mr. Darcy had been instrumental in warning Mr. Bingley away from Jane. But what of that? Mr. Bingley was a reasonable man, and it was he who was ultimately responsible for taking or leaving his friend’s advice. Besides, with her family’s comportment the way it was, it had probably been the easiest thing in the world for Mr. Darcy to convince Mr. Bingley of the unsuitability of such a match. And yet, here he stood, willing to take her to wife along with all the evil which such a marriage would entail.
“Miss Bennet? Did you hear what I said?” Mr. Darcy finally deigned to ask, hesitantly and nervously, at last. He was almost mad with anxiety.
Elizabeth met his eye. Slowly and deliberately, she rose from her seat.
“You asked for my hand in marriage,” she replied quietly, before crossing the room. She stopped about a foot away from him, and held out her hand. “Here it is,” she concluded with a slight smile.
Mr. Darcy reached out and clasped her hand tightly as he continued to gaze into her eyes, relief sweeping into his face.
“You were silent for so long…I was being to fear that I had said too much,” he sighed, contented and profoundly reassured.
“I confess that I was at first quite taken back by your…frankness…Mr. Darcy, that is true. But in retrospect, I am very grateful that you did tell me all, for your struggles and your ability to overcome them prove the depth of your affection!”
That said, Elizabeth allowed him to draw her into a tender embrace.
“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
Elizabeth stared, doubted, and was silent. She listened to Mr. Darcy’s declarations, and then to his reasons for withholding his feelings for so long. According to them, she would be a degradation to his precious sister, and the match would be considered a disgrace by his family and the world in general.
Her first reaction was anger. How dare this man? How could he even utter those words- ‘I admire and love you’? He knew nothing of love. He had probably never felt it. What he felt for his sister and family probably amounted to nothing more than clannishness. Inside, Mr. Darcy’s heart was as cold as a rock. Whatever he thought he felt for her could not be anything more than a delusion.
It was she who knew love. Love, for instance, was what she shared with her father. Mr. Bennet would never, ever tell her that she was a degradation! Her Papa loved her, completely and unconditionally. He had showed her how men should treat her.
Satisfied with this mental verdict on the relative worth of her father and unexpected suitor, Elizabeth sat back in her chair, not noticing that the prolonged silence was being to wear on Mr. Darcy’s bravado. His eyes grew truly anxious, and he quit leaning against the mantelpiece.
The lady continued her reflections, ignoring him. Her father respected her, and enjoyed her wit. But on that point, a most unwelcome realization suddenly hit her: Mr. Darcy also enjoyed her quick rebuttals and admired her mind, did his words not imply that it was those very things which had ensnared him? Elizabeth quickly shrugged off the thought. That was where the resemblance between her father and suitor began and ended, she reminded herself. Papa loved her and would do anything for her, while Mr. Darcy would not.
Her father had played with her when she was a little girl, had spent countless hours with her in the library. In the family circle, he had…and here her traitorous mind brought up unwanted memories. Elizabeth unwittingly remembered times when Mrs. Bennet would insult her love of walks in the countryside, her frankness, and her lack of effort of inveigling a husband, while Mr. Bennet sat quietly in the corner without bothering to defend his daughter. Sometimes a chuckle or two even escaped his lips.
Then the entire affair concerning Mr. Collins flashed before the poor girl. Her father had known the man to be an unworthy suitor, but he had insisted that Elizabeth walk with him to Meryton nonetheless just so that he could have the library to himself once more. Only when the entire situation had threatened to disturb his peace had he exerted himself to state that he would not wish Elizabeth to marry the visiting cousin.
Sitting in the parlor, Mr. Darcy still before her, Elizabeth’s spinning mind abruptly realized what it had failed to grasp for twenty years. Her father’s affection for her was…rather…shallow. Even the letter which Mr. Bennet had sent a few days ago to hasten her return had not inquired whether she were enjoying Kent or stipulated that she remain for longer if she did not yet wish to part with Charlotte; it had simply ordered her to return home since the master of Longbourn was tired of his wife’s and younger daughters’ company.
Why had she not seen it before? Her father did have some affection for her, but what he truly loved was his solitude and the comfort and entertainment she provided. But not one instance befriended her in which Mr. Bennet had sacrificed something for her behalf.
Elizabeth’s eyes roved the room in despair, fell upon the young man, and only then did she remember that she was not alone. By this time, not a shard of Mr. Darcy’s security remained. He grasped at the mantelpiece for support, and panic was vividly portrayed in every line of his countenance. He was staring at her as if she were a rare treasure which had slipped from his fingers and was slowly sinking out of sight as he watched helplessly.
She noticed his eyes. The way they gazed at her sent shivers down her spine. No person had ever looked at her so before, as if she were the most precious and cherished thing in the world. And then she remembered the words of his proposal. Unlike the first time she had heard them, they invoked no anger. This time, Miss Bennet was impressed- that unlike her Papa, Mr. Darcy was sacrificing a great many things for her.
Real love was so rare. Even the man who had raised her had never given it to her. How could she turn it down when, for the first time in twenty years, it had finally come to her abundantly?
As in a dream, she remembered her other provocations against Mr. Darcy. Mr. Wickham’s tales, for one. But it was possible that in that case she had made a mistake; how could she correctly judge Mr. Darcy’s fault or innocence in the matter when she had not realized the true worth of Mr. Bennet’s affections for all those years? And Mr. Wickham had been a little overeager to utter those reputation-tarnishing tales.
And then there was Colonel Fitzwilliam’s assertion that Mr. Darcy had been instrumental in warning Mr. Bingley away from Jane. But what of that? Mr. Bingley was a reasonable man, and it was he who was ultimately responsible for taking or leaving his friend’s advice. Besides, with her family’s comportment the way it was, it had probably been the easiest thing in the world for Mr. Darcy to convince Mr. Bingley of the unsuitability of such a match. And yet, here he stood, willing to take her to wife along with all the evil which such a marriage would entail.
“Miss Bennet? Did you hear what I said?” Mr. Darcy finally deigned to ask, hesitantly and nervously, at last. He was almost mad with anxiety.
Elizabeth met his eye. Slowly and deliberately, she rose from her seat.
“You asked for my hand in marriage,” she replied quietly, before crossing the room. She stopped about a foot away from him, and held out her hand. “Here it is,” she concluded with a slight smile.
Mr. Darcy reached out and clasped her hand tightly as he continued to gaze into her eyes, relief sweeping into his face.
“You were silent for so long…I was being to fear that I had said too much,” he sighed, contented and profoundly reassured.
“I confess that I was at first quite taken back by your…frankness…Mr. Darcy, that is true. But in retrospect, I am very grateful that you did tell me all, for your struggles and your ability to overcome them prove the depth of your affection!”
That said, Elizabeth allowed him to draw her into a tender embrace.