Page 27 of Eavesdroppers Never Hear
When their mirth had run its course, Elizabeth asked, “By your own admission it would have been more sensible to wait to ask to call on me. Why court disaster by acting precipitously?”
“Your question is a good one, and something that I only understood after I asked. The main reason is basic honesty. Do you remember when we followed you home to Longbourn? The last thing you did was carry Miss Bennet into a back door. You looked to me and instead of turning your nose up, as would have been your right, you still, even then, gave me the respect of a proper leave-taking.”
“My politeness is stronger than my common sense, I suppose.”
“Bingley and I headed back toward Netherfield, and when we reached the lane, we decided to race.”
“I suppose getting yourself killed might have seemed an improvement to the day you were having,” Mary said with a laugh.
“Perhaps… but would you like to know what I said to Bingley before I kicked my horse into a gallop?”
“Dying to know,” Elizabeth said, far curiouser than she wanted to admit.
“I said—and I quote—I intend to marry Miss Elizabeth Bennet!”
The sisters stared at him in wonder for a moment.
Neither lady had any rebuttal, so Darcy continued.
“I asked you because to know my intentions and not tell you would be dishonest, and disguise is my abhorrence. Everyconversation we had as I worked up the nerve to call on you or ask your hand would be burdened by that dishonesty. It would make the English courtship system go from bad to terrible.”
Both ladies seemed confused.
“Might I explain?” Darcy asked, then continued at their nods.
“Let us take your Reverend Fordyce. His advice for courtship mirrors the general standards of modern society. For women, he blathers on at great length about the need to be passive and yielding, rather than active and assuming. You are supposed to give no real hint about your feelings, or if you do, to make them so subtle it would take an oracle to intuit them. The duty of the man is to take the lead and to act with prudence and honour.”
“And what is wrong with that?” Mary asked acerbically.
“It is dishonest and inefficient. A couple who follows the rules of society will spend a couple of months talking about the weather, or their family, or the gossip of the neighbourhood… anything really, except what is most important. What is in their hearts is what matters, but a lady is considered too forward if she says what is in her heart before the man states his intentions; while the poor lunkheaded man is supposed to guide them both toward the alter, making all decisions for both, without ever actually being able to discuss it. If a man discusses these things, he can easily become obliged, and if a woman brings it up, she is considered fast.”
Elizabeth squeezed his forearm and replied, “You are correct. Can you imagine if I had not overheard you in the parlour? I would have taken care of Jane for a few days. She might have spent an hour or two with Mr Bingley, and their nascent courtship might have proceeded to something more permanent. I doubt the gentleman would have ever really gotten to know her before marriage, because with a mother like ours, Jane must err on the side of caution regarding propriety. The success of their marriage would be entirely a matter of chance.”
Mary appeared deep in thought, so Darcy said, “I understand you like the reverend’s works, Miss Mary, and I applaud quite a lot of what he writes, but not all. You are wise enough to separate the wheat from the chaff.”
“I have not been that wise thus far,” she said dejectedly.
Darcy chuckled. “Cheer up. You must be what… around eighteen? If so, I can assure you that when I was your age, I was as dumb as a bucket of rocks but thought I knew everything.”
Mary giggled, while Elizabeth laughed openly. “You still were this morning.”
“Point taken,” he said with a smile.
Elizabeth sighed. “I suppose it is fortunate the good reverend is dead these fifty years, as we have broken nearly every rule he had.”
“If you allow it, I will break one more.”
“Feel free,” Elizabeth said nervously.
“The problem with an ordinary courtship is the uncertainty and unfairness… especially to the woman. You are supposed to remain demure, docile, and uninvolved—all characteristics you will have to abandon if you want to be a successful mistress of a significant estate. Docility in a mistress is an enormous deficit, and no man with the slightest bit of sense would marry one of Reverend Fordyce’s exemplars.”
“Agreed… I suppose,” Mary said confusedly. “When you put it like that, everything from the expected behaviour to the worthlessness of most accomplishments seems counterproductive. Music is useful to a family, as are sewing and embroidery; but painting screens and the like are a waste of time and talent.
Elizabeth said, “I never really thought about it before, but it does seem ill defined. A woman is supposed to sit docilely waiting for a man to ask for her hand, and then she has only the power of refusal… if that. The man, in the meantime, is supposedto look at this opaque lady who society requires to hide her true nature, and then eventually decide to make a move. It sounds exhausting.”
“It is… which is why I wish to turn it on its head.”
Both ladies looked curiously but decided to remain silent and give him his head.
