Words in the Darkness

The old Mr. Darcy had been rigid and stubborn in his opinions, and one such opinion was the necessity of self-sufficiency for his family, particularly in regard to his son. The younger Darcy had been taught from the earliest days of his childhood to be completely independent and to work out his problems through his own intelligence and industry and to seek the help of others only when a superior or specialized knowledge was required. Personal problems were to be kept to oneself, as to show weakness before anyone, especially someone not of the family, was unacceptable. Because of this, Darcy had always kept his own counsel, never imposing upon his friends for trivial matters which concerned only himself.

Although he was loath to share any of his problems, even with his closest friend, the sight of Bingley standing there—the look of sympathy so evident on his face—caused Darcy to reconsider his father’s teachings and to begin to open up with another person for perhaps the first time in his life.

“You have met both of my problems yourself, Bingley,” said Darcy as he passed a hand over his face in a weary gesture. “Do you doubt the rest?”

“Yes, I have met them, old man. But I think you highly melodramatic if you refer to two such lovely and amiable ladies as problems.”

Darcy snorted with some amusement. “They are both acceptable as prospective brides. However, I shall think you quite the simpleton—or quite blind!—if you persist in calling one of them lovely.”

“Perhaps you are right,” said Bingley with a smile. “But I have often found that talking about a problem to a sympathetic friend can lessen the burden. I would not wish to increase your burden by referring to either young lady as less than attractive.”

It seemed Darcy had no choice but to capitulate, although he was not distressed by his surrender in this circumstance. Taking a deep breath, he began thusly:

“Having already met the ladies in question, Bingley, you can hardly be at a loss for my present feelings of confusion. I have been taught all my life that duty to oneself, one’s family, and one’s legacy are paramount and that duty demands that I marry my cousin Anne. Yet you have seen us in company and will no doubt be unsurprised when I tell you that I cannot imagine anyone for whom I could possibly feel less attraction. Anne is everything I do not desire in a wife—she is sickly and frail and is possessed of a cross and serious disposition. I know you would gladly point out that she is too much like myself if I allowed you to, and in this instance, I find that I must agree. We two would suffer for having a serious companion rather than a livelier one who could more easily lighten our own demeanors.”

Bingley’s soft chuckle was all that greeted Darcy’s declaration, and after a moment, Darcy joined in, amused at his own succinct way of describing his troubles.

“As for Miss Baker, she is quite lively and is graced with beauty and gentle breeding, not to mention fortune—in short, everything I find attractive in a partner. Her moments of—how shall I put this delicately?—stupidity are somewhat troubling, yet they are diverting at the same time. I think I should be very happy with her.”

By this time, Bingley was openly laughing, and his voice when he spoke could only be understood with great difficulty. “Oh, yes, Darcy—very delicately put indeed.”

The room was filled with laughter for several moments before the seriousness of the discussion once more settled into Darcy’s heart.

“So, you see, my friend, I struggle between the duty demanded by my heritage and that required by my own inclinations, which lead in a very different direction.”

“Well, my friend, it appears you find yourself in a quandary.”

“I do, indeed, Bingley. In fact, a chance for some time away from the ladies in question is what prompted me to accept your invitation with such alacrity.”

“Then why not enjoy your time away from those two ladies? Anything must be better than wandering assembly halls with a face resembling a thunder cloud and a manner so frigid as to cause the entire party to suffer from frostbite.”

Mr. Darcy shook his head at his friend’s irreverent manner. “Really, Bingley, having already confessed that my present indisposition is due to a dilemma concerning two young ladies, why would I complicate matters further by adding another to the mix?”

“Did you have any particular young lady in mind?”

Angry with himself for revealing so much, Darcy rose to his feet and planted himself in front of the window, gazing down on the grounds of Netherfield. Bingley was showing entirely too much shrewdness recently, and Darcy could hardly reconcile him with the young man he had originally known. Awed and grateful to be the recipient of friendship from a man such as Darcy, Bingley had been almost vacuous in their early acquaintance, and Darcy had initially despaired of his ever being a companion who could carry his part of an intelligent conversation. But as Bingley had grown more comfortable in his presence and more certain of their friendship, he had begun to show a disconcerting level of astuteness of which Darcy would never have considered his unassuming friend capable.

“Do not fret, Darcy. I doubt any of the Miss Bennets were the wiser, but I have the benefit of a much longer acquaintance with you. Although you seemed to consider Miss Catherine worthy of your attention after your dance with her, I am certain you were more affected by one of her older sisters. Am I not right?”

Darcy merely gave a noncommittal grunt.

Bingley smiled knowingly. “Ah, so I was right! Then, am I to believe you do not find her so plain as you originally stated?”

“You know very well, Bingley, that I said what I did to convince you to hold your tongue about a subject on which I was reluctant to speak. I am distressed not only that she heard me utter so blatant a falsehood, but also that I offended a young lady with my ill-judged words.”

“Yes, Darcy,” said Bingley, a hint of mischievous humor lacing his voice, “you seem quite able to recommend yourself to any and all Bennets, if your performance of the past few days is any indication.”

Darcy shook his head. “Bingley, I am deeply mortified by my actions. Even if I do not consider Miss Bennet to be a pretty young woman, I still could never excuse myself for rudeness.”

“So apologize to her,” said Bingley in an offhanded fashion while rising to his feet. “After all, you have already had practice in that particular exercise. She is, as you put it, a pleasant young woman and would be willing, I am certain, to accept your offered olive branch should you offer it earnestly. I will warn you, however, that my impression of Miss Elizabeth Bennet is that she is very intelligent and would not appreciate any insincere sentiments. I suggest you mean what you say, not that I would accuse you of dissembling.”

With this, Mr. Bingley slapped his friend on the back and then exited the room.

Reflecting upon the last few moments of his conversation with Bingley, Mr. Darcy acknowledged that following his friend’s advice was the only proper course he could take.