more pride, more prejudice
It’s a terrifying book. Austen only wrote horror stories. One is dumbfounded by the narrowness of their escape. Lizzy’s predicament is up in your face but I am acutely aware, this time, of Darcy’s. Magnificent estate schmagnificent schmestate. His chances of happiness are slimmer even than hers. Lizzy’s constant companion since earliest childhood? Jane. Darcy’s? That bastard Wickham.
Darcy was raised by wolves.
He’s so constrained. He is so alone. He is twenty-six years old and running the equivalent of a Fortune 100 company. He has hundreds of dependents. His mother and father are dead. Georgiana may turn out to be bright, and poor old Colonel Fitzwilliam is sadly underused, but Bingley and his sisters are not clever people (Caroline has rat-cunning but no real wit) and Lady Catherine de Burgh is a vicious fool.
Why does Darcy fall in love with Lizzy? Same reason anyone does. A person looks at you out of their eyes. Suddenly you are no longer the only person in the room.
