I honestly didn't appreciate the Netherfield interactions enough when I first read Pride and Prejudice; but they are a great example of Austen's ability to reveal character traits without stating them directly. I'm thinking of one exchange in particular, where Bingley is being naturally charming and accidentally interesting, while Darcy is likely performing for Elizabeth and indirectly boasting.

>"Whatever I do is done in a hurry," replied [Bingley]; "and therefore if I should resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off in five minutes. At present, however, I consider myself as quite fixed here."
"That is exactly what I should have supposed of you," said Elizabeth.
"You begin to comprehend me, do you?" cried he, turning towards her.
"Oh yes—I understand you perfectly."
"I wish I might take this for a compliment; but to be so easily seen through, I am afraid, is pitiful."
"That is as it happens. It does not necessarily follow that a deep, intricate character is more or less estimable than such a one as yours."
[...]
"I did not know before," continued Bingley, immediately, "that you were a studier of character. It must be an amusing study."
"Yes; but intricate characters are the most amusing. They have at least that advantage."
"The country," said Darcy, "can in general supply but few subjects for such a study. In a country neighbourhood you move in a very confined and unvarying society." (ch. 9)

On the morning when Mrs. Bennet visits Netherfield, Elizabeth and Bingley fall into the type of easy banter Darcy can't navigate.

On one hand, Bingley is effortlessly friendly. He's not trying to impress Elizabeth; he simply converses in a manner that makes him pleasant to be around. When Elizabeth says that she has been studying him, he turns it into a joke about being too easily understood. He unintentionally does something Darcy struggles with throughout the novel: he makes his flaws socially attractive by owning them without ego, which causes Elizabeth to treat his impulsiveness as endearing.

On the other hand, Darcy reacts very differently in this situation. The moment Elizabeth reveals that Bingley has captured her attention (by admitting she's been observing him) AND mentions that she enjoys studying "intricate characters," Darcy abruptly inserts himself into a conversation he was previously not participating in. It's a strange shift. Bingley and Elizabeth were in a playful mood, and suddenly Darcy turns the discussion into something more serious and abstract. There's an element of jealousy here; I don't mean romantic jealousy, but a jealous impulse on the basis of competence. Bingley can easily entertain Elizabeth, the woman Darcy is attracted to, while Darcy can't match his friend's sociability. With Elizabeth's comment about complex people, Darcy suddenly has an advantage over Bingley. He is precisely that sort of difficult-to-know person she claims to enjoy studying, and he instantly tries to establish himself as the deep thinker in the room.

>"That will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline," cried [Bingley], "because he does not write with ease. He studies too much for words of four syllables. Do not you, Darcy?"
"My style of writing is very different from yours."
[...]
"My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express them; by which means my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my correspondents."
"Your humility, Mr. Bingley," said Elizabeth, "must disarm reproof."
"Nothing is more deceitful," said Darcy, "than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast."
"And which of the two do you call my little recent piece of modesty?"
"The indirect boast; for you are really proud of your defects in writing, because you consider them as proceeding from a rapidity of thought and carelessness of execution, which, if not estimable, you think at least highly interesting. The power of doing anything with quickness is always much prized by the possessor, and often without any attention to the imperfection of the performance. When you told Mrs. Bennet this morning, that if you ever resolved on quitting Netherfield you should be gone in five minutes, you meant it to be a sort of panegyric, of compliment to yourself; and yet what is there so very laudable in a precipitance which must leave very necessary business undone, and can be of no real advantage to yourself or anyone else?"
"Nay," cried Bingley, "this is too much, to remember at night all the foolish things that were said in the morning. And yet, upon my honour, I believed what I said of myself to be true, and I believe it at this moment. At least, therefore, I did not assume the character of needless precipitance merely to show off before the ladies." (ch. 10)

Later that evening, Bingley makes a joke at Darcy's expense, which paints him as overly pretentious and formal. At first, Darcy reacts dismissively, but once Elizabeth joins in to praise Bingley's humility, Darcy seems to become more self-conscious about his own stiffness and launches into a lecture to compensate with intellect. He simply can't let Bingley win points for being both charmingly flawed and humble.

Provoked by Elizabeth's earlier comment that "intricate characters" are fascinating, as well as that she enjoys studying people, Darcy almost seems to begin dissecting Bingley's behavior in order to present himself as the better reader of character. Essentially, he hijacks the spotlight from his friend in an attempt to prove to Elizabeth that he's the one worth studying. Of course, I'm not sure how much of this is conscious. That's part of what makes it interesting: Darcy may not even realize what he's doing at this point in the narrative.

Notably, Bingley doesn't respond by turning the same analytical lens on Darcy, even though Darcy has clearly escalated things; he does make a comment about Darcy's brooding on Sunday evenings though (but with the intention of putting an end to it). Rather than defending himself further or competing for more attention, he eventually asks Elizabeth and Darcy to postpone their argument until he leaves the room, which reveals a great deal about his personality. If he was petty and prideful, he would have responded with a counterattack, but his instinct is to smooth things over rather than win the argument.

---

Thinking about this made me realize that Bingley and Darcy are literally the male versions of Serena and Blair from Gossip Girl and now I'm laughing.

I know it’s a bit cliche, but I love retellings from the POV of the other protagonist (e.g. Twilight and Midnight Sun); which is why I’m currently looking for such from Darcy’s perspective.

I currently bought Stanley Michael Hurd’s Darcy’s Tale trilogy (they’re looking promising from what I’ve read so far—the first half of Book I). But I need more. However, I’m very fastidious (like Darcy himself I guess), and if there’s many inconsistencies with canon, they bother me to no end. For instance, I tried that one book which is meant to be Darcy’s journal, but noticed so many inconsistencies with the canon timeline that I abandoned it. Please, I’d appreciate any recommendations, especially if you have some niche ones.

So I just got a membership; and I see that the Bundesliga schedule will be published tomorrow, on July 2nd. Now, what? When can I expect for ticket draws to be available (on the Ticket Request Portal) so I can participate?

And how does it work; on the website, it says that tickets for all requests will be allocated by drawing lots approx. 4-6 weeks before the respective match and will be sent out digitally by e-mail. Does that mean I can participate in as many draws as I want and hope to get tickets for one? Do they give you a timeframe in which you need to respond (=buy) after getting an email?

And finally, can I get 2 tickets?

Long before the Hunsford proposal, Jane Austen has both Elizabeth and Darcy fixated on each other's marital destiny; and she beautifully builds this up to Elizabeth's scathing "the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry" (ch. 34) declaration and Darcy's disastrous confession of love, which focuses too much on class, reason and obligation.

I believe that, as usual, Austen is making a brilliant observation about human nature through their personal struggles: before we are mature enough to admit that something makes us vulnerable, we tend to engage with it in hypothetical terms to manage the feelings we aren't ready to face yet.

---

Elizabeth's obsession with who Darcy will marry and, especially, what kind of husband he will be is a running theme throughout the first part of the novel. Being the vulnerable party (a woman at a time when women had to depend on the kindness of men; and a woman, who has been insulted by Darcy), she uses cynicism and contempt to protect her pride.

She repeatedly envisions Darcy in loveless unions (whether with Anne and Caroline, or the more general idea of a submissive wife), turning marriage into a sort of punishment for him. It could be argued that, after being slighted by him, she's reassuring herself that she isn't missing out on anything worth having.

>"I like her appearance," said Elizabeth, struck with other ideas. "[Anne] looks sickly and cross. Yes, she will do for him very well. She will make him a very proper wife." (ch. 28)

She takes great comfort in pairing him with a "sickly and cross" wife—a marriage bound to be unhappy and emasculating even. In her mind, he deserves a physically weak (= undesirable, unable to participate in social life or fulfill her responsibilities as a wife; it sounds very cruel when stated like this, but this is essentially a revenge fantasy), ill-tempered (like her mother, Lady Catherine) wife, who would make him just as miserable as he would make her.

>Elizabeth looked at Darcy, to see how cordially he assented to [Anne]'s praise: but neither at that moment nor at any other could she discern any symptom of love; and from the whole of his behaviour to Miss De Bourgh she derived this comfort for Miss Bingley, that he might have been just as likely to marry her, had she been his relation. (ch. 31)

Elizabeth is convinced that Darcy is cold and immune to sentimentality, and assumes that he is likely to marry just about anyone if he would have sufficient material gain from the union. She reduces his marriage to one of convenience and duty only, entirely devoid of passion.

>"I imagine [Darcy] brought you down with him chiefly for the sake of having somebody at his disposal. I wonder he does not marry, to secure a lasting convenience of that kind." (ch. 33)

This seemingly casual comment to Colonel Fitzwilliam is actually very dark. She projects onto Darcy the worst possible motives; painting him as a domestic tyrant, who would only ever marry so he can have someone available 24/7 to order about.

---

The idea of Elizabeth being his wife dominates Darcy's thoughts long before he consciously admits to himself that he wants to marry her. Being the privileged party (in contrast to Elizabeth; he is a powerful, wealthy man at a time when men have significant influence over women and in society), he uses logic, rank and irony to protect both his heart and pride.

>"That is exactly the question which I expected you to ask. A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me joy." (ch. 6)

When Darcy complimented Elizabeth's eyes, he's already lowkey crossing a line. His instinct then is to distance himself from the fact that he publicly admired a woman beneath his station, which is why he tries to frame it as predicting what "a lady" would imagine. But by twice saying that he "expected" and "knew" Caroline's mind would jump to matrimony, he accidentally exposes his own thoughts, revealing that his own mind had already mapped out that exact trajectory. He wants to dismiss his own feelings of attraction in an 'I'm just admiring her appearance' sort of way, using Caroline's words to police his boundaries.

>"If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside," cried Bingley, "it would not make them one jot less agreeable."
"But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world," replied Darcy. (ch. 8)

When Darcy speaks of "men of any consideration in the world," he is quite literally talking about himself. This isn't just a general sociological observation; he has already assessed Elizabeth's suitability as a potential wife for a man of his stature, and found her wanting by his own standards. But he's attracted to her, so he actively tries to build a wall between inclination and his worldview, hoping that reason would win in the end.

>[Caroline] often tried to provoke Darcy into disliking her guest, by talking of their supposed marriage, and planning his happiness in such an alliance.
"I hope [...] you will give your mother-in-law a few hints, when this desirable event takes place, as to the advantage of holding her tongue; and if you can compass it, to cure the younger girls of running after the officers. And, if I may mention so delicate a subject, endeavour to check that little something, bordering on conceit and impertinence, which your lady possesses."
"Have you anything else to propose for my domestic felicity?"
"Oh yes. Do let the portraits of your uncle and aunt Philips be placed in the gallery at Pemberley. Put them next to your great-uncle the judge. They are in the same profession, you know, only in different lines. As for your Elizabeth's picture, you must not attempt to have it taken, for what painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes?"
"It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expression; but their colour and shape, and the eyelashes, so remarkably fine, might be copied." (ch. 10)

Here, Darcy is playing a dangerous game. On the one hand, he is perversely enjoying this conversation. Caroline is desperately trying to disgust him with the prospect of marrying Elizabeth by listing all the possible objections to such a match. But he doesn't react with disgust; instead, he engages with the fantasy, as it allows him to visualize a future with her under the safe guise of humor. On the other hand, he pretends that the concept of marrying Elizabeth is so absurd that he can joke about it with ease to protect himself...

>"To Mr. Darcy it was welcome intelligence: Elizabeth had been at Netherfield long enough. She attracted him more than he liked; and Miss Bingley was uncivil to her and more teasing than usual to himself. He wisely resolved to be particularly careful that no sign of admiration should now escape him—nothing that could elevate her with the hope of influencing his felicity; sensible that, if such an idea had been suggested, his behaviour during the last day must have material weight in confirming or crushing it." (ch. 12)

This quote is also about marriage. Darcy assumes that if Elizabeth realizes how much he admires her, she will immediately start hoping that he will propose. But he's currently trying to convince himself that he will never make such an offer, which is why he resolves to act in a way that would discourage her.

---

I honestly find these instances very interesting and think they deserve to be discussed properly.

This might be a rather obvious question... But I've read Pride and Prejudice twice now, and both times I interpreted it that while Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner suspected that there was secretly more going on between Elizabeth and Darcy than openly stated, they never thought that an actual confession of feelings/marriage proposal had taken place.

Their suppositions come from observing Darcy: to them it's "evident that he was very much in love with her" (ch. 44); they have "the full conviction that [he] at least knew what it was to love" (ch. 44); to them it's "evident enough" that he is "overflowing with admiration" (ch. 44). But they are unsure about Elizabeth's feelings: "of [her] sensations they remained a little in doubt" (ch. 44); and Mrs. Gardiner can't help but notice that "[Darcy's] name had never been voluntarily mentioned before them by [her]" (ch. 48). There's no reason, I believe, to analyze any of this as the Gardiners being under the impression that there's a secret understanding/engagement.

BUT what if, after Darcy's involvement with the Lydia/Wickham scandal, they actually start thinking Darcy and Elizabeth are, in fact, engaged or very close to it. This line could be suggesting just that:

>"[...] my dear Lizzy, you may rest perfectly assured that your uncle would never have yielded, if we had not given him credit for another interest in the affair." (ch. 52)

This is from Mrs. Gardiner's explanatory letter to Elizabeth; and, until now, I always assumed that by "another interest in the affair," Mrs. Gardiner meant Darcy being in love with her and planning to propose soon. But maybe she's saying that his "[other] interest in the affair" is him practically being family with the Bennets at this point, only waiting to be approved by Mr. Bennet and announced.

>"I thought him very sly; he hardly ever mentioned your name. But slyness seems the fashion. Pray forgive me, if I have been very presuming, or at least do not punish me so far as to exclude me from P." (ch. 52)

Of course, the implication here is super obvious once you start reading it in this way.

However, going further back, there is another interesting quote that is very enlightening.

>"Mrs. Gardiner went away [from Longbourn] in all the perplexity about Elizabeth and her Derbyshire friend, that had attended her from that part of the world. [...] the kind of half-expectation which Mrs. Gardiner had formed, of their being followed by a letter from him, had ended in nothing." (ch. 48)

She actually half-expected that he would write to Elizabeth, or maybe even to her father to ask for her hand (I guess that would also make sense for what is going through Mrs. Gardiner's mind). Would it not have been slightly uncommon for Darcy to send a letter to Elizabeth, or anyone at Longbourn for that matter, unless they are quite serious?

And then this can be further supported by Elizabeth's response to her aunt:

>"You supposed more than really existed. But now suppose as much as you choose; [...], and unless you believe me actually married, you cannot greatly err." (ch. 60)

Before I read this as: 'you assumed that we were secretly courting, but that wasn't the case.' But what if it is: 'you assumed that we were secretly engaged, but that wasn't the case?'

---

Would the simple explanation be that before the Lydia/Wickham crisis, the Gardiners strongly believe Darcy is in love, and likely planning to propose; but after his eager involvement in the family affair, they begin to suspect an understanding/engagement already took place, since his behaviour crosses the line from 'a man in love' to 'a man acting with the rights of a fiancé'? And she does call him "sly."

So which interpretation is it? I love discussing such nuances.

I don't know if it's just me, but I've always found Darcy's letter so charmingly petty! One can easily see that it was indeed "written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit." I can 100% envision him fuming while composing it! Not to mention that it's approx. 2600 words!!! That's a whole essay, sir!

Let's dissect (and, most importantly, laugh)!

>"Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of those sentiments, or renewal of those offers, which were last night so disgusting to you."

He doesn't even start with the proper "Dear Miss Bennet" opening. And he's so dramatic, too! Beginning with a "be not alarmed" reassurance; then insinuating that she must feel "apprehension" of him renewing his proposal; and my favorite—"so disgusting to you"!!! He's determined to pretend he's above caring!

>"I write without any intention of paining you, or humbling myself, by dwelling on wishes, which, for the happiness of both, cannot be too soon forgotten..."

He's basically saying 'just so you know I don't plan to grovel, so don't flatter yourself.'

>"You must, therefore, pardon the freedom with which I demand your attention; your feelings, I know, will bestow it unwillingly..."

Now, this is positively hysterical! Her feelings, HE KNOWS, will bestow her attention UNWILLINGLY... Brilliant! In the introductory paragraph, he keeps framing her reactions as predictable, almost dismissively so, likely in an attempt to appear nonchalant. He states that he's simply writing to defend his honor (which he certainly is... in part), but the sheer commitment to detail and the several emotional slips scream that he's also hurt and disappointed.

>"But from the severity of that blame which was last night so liberally bestowed..."

Oh, he's MAD mad! Peak passive-aggressiveness!

>"I had often seen him in love before."

Not Bingley catching strays!😭 Casually dragging his friend's perceived fickleness in the middle of this mess...

>"If you have not been mistaken here, I must have been in an error. Your superior knowledge of your sister must make the latter probable."

He still lowkey thinks he's right. The audacity! The possibility of Elizabeth being right is framed as hypothetical.

>"But amidst your concern for the defects of your nearest relations, and your displeasure at this representation of them, let it give you consolation to consider that to have conducted yourselves so as to avoid any share of the like censure is praise no less generally bestowed on you and your eldest sister than it is honourable to the sense and disposition of both."

The backhanded compliment! Translation: 'your family is embarrassing; but you and Jane are not; so you should feel... grateful I guess.' Hmmmm???

>"There is but one part of my conduct, in the whole affair, on which I do not reflect with satisfaction; it is that I condescended to adopt the measures of art so far as to conceal from him your sister’s being in town. [...] Perhaps this concealment, this disguise, was beneath me. It is done, however, and it was done for the best."

The "perhaps" kills me. Just say sorry, man!

>"Here again I shall give you pain—to what degree you only can tell. But whatever may be the sentiments which Mr. Wickham has created, a suspicion of their nature shall not prevent me from unfolding his real character. It adds even another motive."

He's totally dying to know how deep Elizabeth is in with Wickham. Even the way he phrases it... He doesn't say 'the sentiments you have for Mr. Wickham,' instead he says "the sentiments which Mr. Wickham has created." This is straight-up coping. By framing the attraction he suspects she has as something Wickham inflicted on her, Darcy preserves his view of her as intelligent and good. At the same time, he doesn't scruple to expose Wickham—in fact, his suspicion of her feelings "adds even another motive." I'd say he's being mostly protective (because Wickham is a literal predator), but also petty jealous (in a 'since you like him so much, I'll show you what he is' type of way).

>"[Mr. Wickham's] circumstances, he assured me, and I had no difficulty in believing it, were exceedingly bad."

HAHA, yes, roast that scoundrel!

---

And to think that he believed himself "perfectly calm and cool" while writing this!

Much like how Colonel Fitzwilliam is universally "Richard" in fanon, I’ve noticed that many Pride and Prejudice fanfics feature an OC by the name of “John Lucas,” who is, of course, a member of the Lucas household—usually younger than Charlotte, and around Lizzy’s age, often described as a childhood friend of hers.

Is there a specific story or author who popularized this? Or did it just happen on its own somehow?

I honestly feel like some authors overdo it. Especially in P&P stories.There’s enough of characters to work with, including even characters that are mentioned by Austen, but not properly sketched out (Colonel Fitzwilliam’s older brother and parents, Darcy’s judge uncle, etc). In light of this, I’d love recommendations for stories without OCs.

A comment on a recent post of mine made me wonder about this. In the following paragraph, is the omniscient narrator presenting us reality as it is OR is the omniscient narrator telling us what Elizabeth's assessment of the situation is? Maybe even both?

>Not a syllable had ever reached [Caroline] of [Georgiana]'s meditated elopement. To no creature had it been revealed, where secrecy was possible, except to Elizabeth; and from all Bingley's connections [Darcy] was particularly anxious to conceal it, from that very wish which Elizabeth had long ago attributed to him, of their becoming hereafter her own. [Darcy] had certainly formed such a plan; and without meaning that it should affect his endeavour to separate [Bingley] from [Jane], it is probable that it might add something to his lively concern for the welfare of his friend. (ch. 45)

The first time I read the novel I glossed over this detail, not giving it much importance. But, upon further reflection, perhaps Darcy was indeed partial to this match.

He's protective, fastidious, private and doesn't easily trust people, especially when it comes to Georgiana. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Bingley are the only close friends he is shown to have—and since the former is his sister's co-guardian, that leaves only the latter as a potential candidate for her husband. It would explain why Darcy is so intent on advising his friend as well as meddling in his affairs. As we know that he genuinely admires Bingley, he probably thought he would be a perfectly kind and respectful husband. He also finds his position in society to be acceptable, and maybe considered that by matchmaking them, he would always be on good terms with his sister's husband, which is preferable to having her marry someone distant. Also, Bingley is 22/23, Georgiana is 15/16 throughout the novel. In a modern context, it's an absolute no-no for a brother to encourage such a relationship, yes, but the novel is set in the early 19th century AND I assume Darcy would've waited at least 2-3 more years before subtly suggesting it (I'm also sure he wouldn't have pushed Georgiana if she was opposed to it; but it was an option he liked to have).

It must be noted that in her letter to Jane, Caroline also hints at Darcy's interest, not just her own. Maybe she's not so delusional on this matter after all, and the fact that it helps her own prospects is only a bigger incentive to be in support of it. Darcy has repeatedly expressed his high regard for Bingley, welcomed him and his family warmly to Pemberley, and allowed Caroline and Louisa to openly dote on Georgiana. Perhaps Caroline picked up on his very real compliance... and, of course, weaponized it to serve her own agenda.

>I really do not think [Georgiana] has her equal for beauty, elegance, and accomplishments; and the affection she inspires in Louisa and myself is heightened into something still more interesting from the hope we dare to entertain of her being hereafter our sister. [...] My brother admires her greatly already; he will have frequent opportunity now of seeing her on the most intimate footing; her relations all wish the connection as much as his own; and a sister's partiality is not misleading me, I think, when I call Charles most capable of engaging any woman's heart. With all these circumstances to favour an attachment, and nothing to prevent it, am I wrong, my dearest Jane, in indulging the hope of an event which will secure the happiness of so many? (ch. 21)

I'm interested in discussing Darcy's conception of marriage prior to meeting Elizabeth.

At the start of the novel, he can neither be described as a romantic idealist (like Bingley), nor as a cold pragmatist (like Lady Catherine); which is why he's such an intriguing male lead. But I suspect that he leans more towards the romantic idealist without actually realizing it: it's likely that he tells himself that both practical and emotional considerations matter to him (as I simply can't see him consciously settling for a woman he doesn't esteem), but he puts more emphasis on the practical, until falling in love with Elizabeth forces him to realize how greatly he values affection and compatibility.

>"If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside," cried Bingley, "it would not make them one jot less agreeable."
"But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world," replied Darcy. (ch. 8)

He's very responsible and proud, meaning he definitely planned on eventually honoring his duty of producing an heir, and precisely because of his position in society, he likely convinced himself that rank and connections were a decisive factor in the selection of a wife. This thought process is revealed on several occasions throughout the story, and especially in his first proposal–when he confesses to Elizabeth that he loves her "against [his] will, against [his] reason, and even against [his] character," (ch. 34) he's basically expressing that until now he was guided by practical considerations.

HOWEVER, I wonder if that is truly the case? He has never admitted it to himself or maybe never stopped to dwell on it long enough to properly realize it, but I think that, in his heart, he has always cared about feelings when it comes to marriage. The ultimate proof of this is his attitude towards Anne de Bourgh. Darcy's a dutiful man, he's not a rebel by temperament; he fulfilled his father's wishes regarding Wickham, despite it costing him dearly and him not approving of the man. Similarly, his mother was partial to the idea of her son marrying her sister's daughter; but Darcy never addresses this as an obligation he has. In fact, he never even speaks of it. It's a pretty big deal because even Wickham is aware of this expectation, it's not just Lady Catherine's fantasy, yet Darcy dismisses it entirely and not even once acts like a man breaking a promise. This is striking because it confirms that, even if he wouldn't own up to it, he has always seen marriage as a personal choice and parental wishes cannot compel him to go against the desires of his heart. If he genuinely championed practical considerations as much as he claims to, he would've simply offered for Anne. She's the perfect candidate for his wife.

Another thing to be taken into account is his main argument in his interference in Bingley and Jane's relationship–that being his assumption that Jane is indifferent to his friend. This both shows that Darcy is wary of fortune-hunters, but also that he expects spouses to share mutual regard for one another. A marriage of unequal affections, or no affection at all, doesn't seem very appealing to him, which is perfect for the massive irony of his first proposal to Elizabeth. When he comes to her, he hopes to be rewarded precisely because he finally reached the realization that his pride and prejudices don't govern him and dared to act on it; he also mistakenly thinks that they are on the same page more or less–they match well, and there is, in his mind, a clear unacknowledged thing going on between them.

Realistically, I believe that had Elizabeth (or another woman he could love in a similar way) not entered his life, Darcy would've remained a bachelor until his early/mid-30s, delayed and delayed, and then, when pressured by time, he would've suffered quite a bit–that is, I can't imagine him being as content as Charlotte in a practical arrangement. I'm not insinuating that he would be deliberately cruel to his wife, but that he would probably be extremely dissatisfied. He's too principled and intense to comfortably enter into a purely strategic alliance. He thinks he's a practical man, yet much of his behavior suggests that he's very romantic by nature. Someone like Bingley could perhaps be happy with many pleasant, attractive women. His requirements for domestic felicity are relatively simple. While Darcy appears capable of loving only a very particular kind of person; not because he's fastidious, but because he's deeply emotional.

What are your thoughts?

But at the same time keeping the characters not too OOC. Please. And, ideally, without too many original characters.

I've always wondered if Bingley's return to Hertfordshire reveals more about his agency than is discussed.

The narrator informs us that, according to rumors, the Netherfield housekeeper "had received orders to prepare for the arrival of her master, who was coming down in a day or two, to shoot there for several weeks" (ch. 54). In terms of historical context, it makes perfect sense, because from my understanding after the London season wrapped up in August, gentlemen headed to their country estates for shooting parties. However, I can't help but wonder if there is more to Bingley's return.

We know that by this point in the story, Darcy still hasn't confessed his interference to Bingley: he does it "on the evening before" his trip to London, after the two men had been to Longbourn several times, giving Darcy enough time to "narrowly observe" Jane and become fully "convinced of her affection" (ch. 58).

This means that Bingley returned to Hertfordshire on his own initiative, supposedly "to shoot," in mid September, still operating under the assumption that Jane is indifferent to him.

What makes me think that there is more going on with Bingley behind the scenes is that just a month and a half before his return to Netherfield, he met Elizabeth in Derbyshire, and I suspect that the unexpected reunion affected him strongly. It perhaps made him regret not following his heart and allowing his friends and family to influence him the previous year.

>In seeing Bingley, her thoughts naturally flew to her sister; and oh! how ardently did she long to know whether any of his were directed in a like manner. Sometimes she could fancy that [Bingley] talked less than on former occasions, and once or twice pleased herself with the notion that, as he looked at her, he was trying to trace a resemblance. [...]; and two or three little circumstances occurred ere they parted, which, in her anxious interpretation, denoted a recollection of Jane, not untinctured by tenderness, and a wish of saying more that might lead to the mention of her, had he dared. He observed to her, at a moment when the others were talking together, and in a tone which had something of real regret, that it "was a very long time since he had had the pleasure of seeing her;" and, before she could reply, he added, "It is above eight months. We have not met since the 26th of November, when we were all dancing together at Netherfield."
Elizabeth was pleased to find his memory so exact; and he afterwards took occasion to ask her, when unattended to by any of the rest, whether all her sisters were at Longbourn. There was not much in the question, nor in the preceding remark; but there was a look and a manner which gave them meaning. (ch. 44)

Bingley is clearly very eager to learn more about Jane, and deliberately makes his more obvious inquiries privately to Elizabeth when the others are distracted ("at a moment when the others were talking together," "when unattended to by any of the rest"), likely to avoid Darcy's potential censure. His love for Jane is such that even being told that she doesn't care for him has not lessened his feelings. I think this interaction is very important as it probably makes him start questioning if there is still any hope of winning Jane's heart. It would fit very well narratively if here Bingley was inspired to act, because then the meeting in Derbyshire becomes significant for both couples (and both are equally crucial thematically; Austen is not just criticizing what happens when you have too much pride and prejudice, she's also exposing what happens when you have too little pride and prejudice; I guess the message is that happiness is somewhere in the middle).

And, in this excerpt, as soon as Bingley and Darcy are back at Longbourn, Bingley can't resist Jane's presence, and he's even throwing Darcy glances of "half-laughing alarm" almost as if to say "look what I'm doing":

>On Tuesday there was a large party assembled at Longbourn; and [Bingley and Darcy] who were most anxiously expected, to the credit of their punctuality as sportsmen, were in very good time. When they repaired to the dining-room, Elizabeth eagerly watched to see whether Bingley would take the place which, in all their former parties, had belonged to him, by her sister. [...] On entering the room, he seemed to hesitate; but Jane happened to look round, and happened to smile: it was decided. He placed himself by her. Elizabeth, with a triumphant sensation, looked towards his friend. He bore it with noble indifference; and she would have imagined that Bingley had received his sanction to be happy, had she not seen his eyes likewise turned towards Mr. Darcy, with an expression of half-laughing alarm. His behaviour to her sister was such during dinnertime as showed an admiration of her, which, though more guarded than formerly, persuaded Elizabeth, that, if left wholly to himself, Jane’s happiness, and his own, would be speedily secured. (ch. 54)

I feel like fanfiction/variations and discussions often paint him as a bit too passive and without any agency of his own. He was, indeed, very discouraged by everyone telling him that Jane doesn't return his feelings (anyone would be), but by the end, I think that he has made a conscious decision, even if cautious, to try again and Darcy's confirmation only alleviated his anxiety. Jane, too, had her little growth moment of realizing and acknowledging the duplicity of Caroline and Louisa, so it's not too far-fetched to assume Austen intended the same for Bingley.

Well, yes, there is certainly a social gap between them. The difference in wealth is astronomical; and Mr. Darcy has connections to the aristocracy, while some of Elizabeth's relatives aren't even part of the landed gentry. It's certainly a bit of a mismatch, but I can't help but wonder, if we were to look at the context realistically (and ignore potential fictional dramatization for plot purposes), how much of Mr. Darcy's original perception of the divide between himself and Elizabeth is exaggerated as a result of his pride, and how much could be accepted as a very real concern that reflects Regency attitudes? Would many people in Mr. Darcy's circles have truly been very critical?

As Elizabeth says in response to Lady Catherine, she and Mr. Darcy are "equal," she is the daughter of a gentleman, after all (ch. 56). She isn't a working-class girl, this isn't a Cinderella story, or the fourth season of Bridgerton.

Yet, Lady Catherine (also guilty of pride) strongly believes that marriage to Elizabeth would "disgrace" Mr. Darcy "in the eyes of everybody," and "ruin him in the opinion of all his friends, and make him the contempt of the world" (ch. 56).

But then Colonel Fitzwilliam (not prideful, simply realistic) implies that if younger sons could afford the luxury of marrying without paying "attention to money" (ch. 33), he possibly would've considered pursuing a love match (though he would definitely never dare to think of marrying anyone outside of the gentry/aristocracy, but he would perhaps be fine with the woman being poorer than him and not having grand connections if he genuinely liked her).

In the end, Mr. Darcy is not said to be grievously injured by marrying Elizabeth; his friends don't abandon him, he doesn't suffer financially, neither does his marriage affect the future prospects of his sister; even Lady Catherine eventually succumbs (and I'm sure that if he had married an actress, for example, she would've never forgiven him). So my question is, especially for those familiar with Regency reality and perhaps even real-life similar cases, is Mr. Darcy exaggerating how much the world would be against such a match due to his own pride and prejudices, or did Austen carefully omit the negative aspects that would've plagued this union in order not to spoil the romantic conclusion for the reader?

I've been wondering for quite some time about Regency etiquette when it comes to morning calls and visits between fiancés. I'd love some context if anyone here is familiar with this topic.

From my understanding and brief research, morning calls (held between 12PM and 3PM despite the name) were approximately 15-30 minutes long and anything more was considered a major social faux pas and even an imposition on the host. But then, as I was reading Pride and Prejudice, I couldn't help but notice that once Mr. Bingley and Jane are engaged, he is pretty much free to spend full days at Longbourn.

>"Bingley, from this time, was of course a daily visitor at Longbourn; coming frequently before breakfast, and always remaining till after supper" (ch. 55)

If I'm not mistaken, it was the custom to have breakfast between 9AM and 11AM, while supper would take place at around 10PM-11PM (though it depended on the household). Austen tells us that Mr. Bingley stays with the Bennets "till after supper," which would mean that his visit lasts at least 10-11 hours. How did society reason this drastic shift from barely seeing one another during morning calls to being together for the whole day? Was it because the engagement elevated Mr. Bingley's status to future son-in-law and therefore made it okay for him to not worry about bothering the family? Was it to allow engaged couples to get to know each other better (with chaperones, of course)? Or was Mr. Bingley pushing the limits of politeness a bit? Could women visit their fiancés for the whole day as long as there was a female hostess (like Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley)? I doubt it. I assume Jane's stay at Netherfield early in the novel was only acceptable because she was the particular guest of Caroline and Louisa, originally going there for a dinner invitation, and because she developed an illness. Am I missing something?

AND what puzzles me even further is Mr. Darcy tagging along with his friend on these long visits. When he comes to Longbourn "early" (ch. 58) on the day of his second proposal (when him and Elizabeth lose track of time and wander around while discussing their feelings), he isn't tied to the family in any way, apart from being Mr. Bingley's friend, but still stays for dinner (ch. 59). How acceptable was this? I'm assuming it definitely wasn't scandalous, as I doubt he would be so bold as to cross any boundaries of propriety, but Mrs. Bennet was certainly annoyed by him on his subsequent visit with Mr. Bingley:

>"Good gracious! [...] if that disagreeable Mr. Darcy is not coming here again with our dear Bingley! What can he mean by being so tiresome as to be always coming here? I had no notion but he would go a-shooting, or something or other, and not disturb us with his company" (ch. 59)

And how would his extended presence be perceived by the neighbors (if no formal engagement was announced soon)?

As the title suggests, I’m looking for stories where the main focus is on Mr. Bingley and Jane, set in Regency England, with both of them characterised as in canon?

>“You cannot have a right to such very strong local attachment. You cannot have been always at Longbourn.” (ch. 32)

Mr. Darcy says this when he visits Elizabeth at the Parsonage and finds her alone, and they begin talking about how important distance from home/family is in a marriage. In another post, I interpret this as him trying to compliment her while at the same time (either unconsciously or maybe quite deliberately) insulting her family. I'll just copy-paste from my other post for the sake of brevity: "Mr. Darcy has spent the better part of the novel being horrified by the lack of decorum of [the Bennets]. In light of that, we can infer that apart from testing the waters on her willingness to live away from home, he is also trying to express that she is too intelligent and too refined to be a product of that environment."

I was strongly convinced (and still am) that this analysis is correct; but yesterday I bought a Bulgarian translation (Hermes, 2023) of Pride and Prejudice, which renders Mr. Darcy's implications in a completely different light.

>"Точно вие не бива да сте толкова силно привързана към Лонгборн. Не може точно вие да останете завинаги там." (ch. 32)

This is basically saying "someone (as lovely) as you should not be so attached to your home/family, because someone like you will never have to remain there forever," or more humorously "don't worry you'll never be a spinster, because someone (me) will certainly want to marry you." I wonder if the translation is just bad or if I'm misreading the original Austen line? Still, even if it is wrong, it's not wildly off the mark—if anything, it's more romantic as there is no hidden dig at her family and it fits with him hinting that she would be staying at Rosings Park, rather than the Parsonage, when visiting Kent in the future (ch. 33).

So my question is: What do you think is the correct interpretation of this line? I'm more inclined towards my original understanding of it as it's more in line with Mr. Darcy still being plagued by pride at this point. Can anyone provide further insights with other translations? I'm curious to hear.

* Edit! The literal translation of the Bulgarian would be something along these lines: "You precisely (=of all people) should not be so strongly attached to Longbourn. It cannot be that you precisely (=of all people) would remain there forever."

Wow, I must say I'm quite fastidious when it comes to characterization in fanfiction/variations (or whatever they are called), but I have to admit that these two authors really impressed me with how they portray Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy. I believe they really manage to capture their essence as close to canon as possible, considering it's a fanwork. The stories I'm referencing are:

Lin Mei Wei: Stranded with Mr Darcy and Mr Darcy and the Murder at Rosings. Despite the unconventional narratives (she's SO good at making complex plots feel exciting and should highkey consider writing an original novel), Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy are exactly as Austen would've written them in these circumstances I would say.

Lara S. Ormiston: Yielding to Persuasion (I just loved this one!!!), Unequal Affections and Adventures at Morecastle.

I will continue with Lin Mei Wei's other stories, and then Elizabeth Adams is next on my list. But wow, these two impressed me. Does anyone know if they plan on/are in the process of writing more?

While much is said and written about Mr. Darcy's pining, I feel like we, as readers, rarely focus on Elizabeth's own longing once she begins to fall in love. Honestly, it's a very overlooked aspect of Pride and Prejudice, and certainly deserves more attention, as Austen is (like usual) brilliant at in her portrayals. Let's unpack and discuss in the comments.

>As soon as they were gone, Elizabeth walked out to recover her spirits; or, in other words, to dwell without interruption on those subjects which must deaden them more. Mr. Darcy’s behaviour astonished and vexed her.
“Why, if he came only to be silent, grave, and indifferent,” said she, “did he come at all?”
She could settle it in no way that gave her pleasure.
“He could be still amiable, still pleasing to my uncle and aunt, when he was in town; and why not to me? If he fears me, why come hither? If he no longer cares for me, why silent? Teasing, teasing man! I will think no more about him.”
Her resolution was for a short time involuntarily kept by the approach of her sister. (Ch. 54)

After Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley's visit to Longbourn towards the end of the novel, Elizabeth goes outside for some fresh air to supposedly 'recover her spirits,' or that is what she tells herself—because Austen promptly clarifies that she is, in fact, simply going to continue to 'dwell without interruption' on whether Mr. Darcy is still partial to her or not after the whole Mr. Wickham/Lydia incident. This is a proof of how strong her fixation has grown: she is unable to think about anything else, even when the thoughts are painful.

She compares his behavior to her aunt and uncle ('amiable') to his behavior to her ('silent, grave, and indifferent'). This contradiction and the suspense it gives her make her irritated. By labeling him 'teasing,' she is sort of framing his behavior as a provocation aimed at her (though we are well-aware that he was simply embarrassed and nervous); Elizabeth creates a narrative where his coolness is a challenge to be solved rather than a final rejection, because she now loves him and does not want this romance to end.

And then, she vows to not think about him anymore. She is extremely affected by how much power he now has over her; though, as every person who has ever been in love knows, such resolutions are often short-lived and 'involuntarily kept' by other distractions (in this case, Jane). She is now so emotionally dependent on his regard that the only way to protect her ego is to pretend she has the power to end it.

Elizabeth is a creature of wit and liveliness. For her, silence is a vacuum that she anxiously feels compelled to fill. In their early acquaintance, his silence was 'pride' (he was, indeed, prideful; but his silence around her was definitely not because of pride). In this scene, she fears his silence is now a sign of him being 'indifferent,' just when she has finally began to return his feelings and it scares her.

>She was in hopes that the evening would afford some opportunity of bringing them together; that the whole of the visit would not pass away without enabling them to enter into something more of conversation, than the mere ceremonious salutation attending his entrance. Anxious and uneasy, the period which passed in the drawing-room before the gentlemen came, was wearisome and dull to a degree that almost made her uncivil. She looked forward to their entrance as the point on which all her chance of pleasure for the evening must depend.
“If he does not come to me, then,” said she, “I shall give him up for ever.” (Ch. 54)

The first thing that stands out in this passage is the fact that she is so 'anxious and uneasy' about whether they will get a chance to talk that evening or ever, that she has become 'uncivil'—something very uncharacteristic for someone as spirited as her. This is also a direct reference to an opinion she herself professes earlier in the story. When Mrs. Gardiner asks her how 'violent' Mr. Bingley's love for Jane was, Elizabeth says: "I never saw a more promising inclination; he was growing quite inattentive to other people, and wholly engrossed by her. Every time they met, it was more decided and remarkable. At his own ball he offended two or three young ladies by not asking them to dance; and I spoke to him twice myself without receiving an answer. Could there be finer symptoms? Is not general incivility the very essence of love?" (Ch. 25)

What is more, her yearning is so strong that 'all her chance of pleasure for the evening' depends on them having a moment. Again, she does the same thing as in the previous passage—in an attempt to regain control of her emotions (a classic defense mechanism), she again decides to 'give him up for ever' unless he approaches her then and there, giving him a deadline of sorts, which she, of course, does not intend to hold him to meet. You don't threaten to 'give up' someone you don't desperately want to keep.

>“Dearest Jane! who could have done less for her? But make a virtue of it by all means. My good qualities are under your protection, and you are to exaggerate them as much as possible; and, in return, it belongs to me to find occasions for teasing and quarrelling with you as often as may be; and I shall begin directly, by asking you what made you so unwilling to come to the point at last? What made you so shy of me, when you first called, and afterwards dined here? Why, especially, when you called, did you look as if you did not care about me?”
“Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement.”
“But I was embarrassed.”
“And so was I.”
“You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner.”
“A man who had felt less might.”
“How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer to give, and that I should be so reasonable as to admit it!" (Ch. 60)

Being the very direct person that she is and having finally returned to her true cheerful and playful self, Elizabeth plainly asks him about his seemingly indifferent behavior on his return. She is no longer 'wearisome and dull,' because the anxiety of the unknown has been alleviated. Her love has found its safe harbor, allowing her to tease him about her past doubts from a place of security.

---

Can I just add that Mr. Darcy's line here—'a man who had felt less might [have talked more]—is perhaps the most romantic admission in the book!!! It recontextualizes his earlier perceived coldness (on his return to Hertfordshire) as a symptom of overwhelming emotion. And the cherry on top? This line serves as the ultimate proof of Elizabeth’s earlier theory about incivility. It confirms that true passion is paralyzing.