The Very Essence of Love

by Andreea Catana

  “It is a most rewarding friendship, Lizzy,” Elizabeth read in Jane’s letter, “other than you, I have never met anyone more sincere or warm than Miss Darcy. She has taken to the Gardiner twins instantly and I cannot tell you how lively the household is when she is here.”

  Elizabeth replied to the letter in much more tranquil terms than she had started the day; she was truly happy that her sister had found a distraction to improve her stay in London and expressed her feelings of joy and satisfaction. She ended her letter by encouraging Jane to send more details of the encounter as soon as possible, for she was eagerly awaiting such novelties.

  After she had given her letter to a servant for posting, Elizabeth suggested to Mrs. Collins and Maria that they take a walk, but neither lady wished to join her as the weather was not promising, and the game of cards they were playing was much too entertaining to abandon. Elizabeth was not discouraged by the threat of rain and after giving assurance she would be back in an hour, put on her bonnet and left the house.

  She was not considering walking far, just to the entrance of the park, where the Hunsford woods ended. The path was distinctly marked, so there was no chance of her straying out of the way, after all. The cold air did her good, making her pace alert yet playful, knowing she was not under any scrutiny. When she arrived at the park gate, she stopped and admired with tranquillity the splendid architecture of the mansion, clouded in silence. Like its inhabitants, the house had its history and each generation had added to it, exhibiting the excesses of the people who had lived there over the years.

  Elizabeth could not say how much time she spent contemplating the scenery. She had begun her walk back when she realised it was already late, if not for the dimming light, but for the rain that started pouring all of a sudden. She quickened her pace, praying she would make it back to the Parsonage quickly, but soon it proved impossible.

  The curtain of water prevented her from advancing any further. The land was muddy and slippery by now, and she stopped to seek shelter under a large tree. She felt the cold biting through her soaking wet clothes and involuntarily started shaking. She wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed up and down as rapidly as she could, striving to find some warmth, but it proved insufficient as the rain continued to pour. Unfamiliar sounds seemed to be coming from every direction and Elizabeth spotted several small foxes, creeping into a hole and laughed nervously.

  “Lizzy, this is just rain, and there are no wild animals to fear around here,” she repeated to herself several times.

  The noises continued and Elizabeth startled again after hearing another creak to her right, “I cannot be scared of frightened animals.” Suddenly, she heard the muffled galloping of a horse. She knew it could not be someone coming to her rescue, for Mr. Collins was afraid of horses and Sir William had never taken to riding.

  “This can only be a stranger, and the last thing I need is to meet a stranger under these circumstances.” Elizabeth guessed how much time she had until the rider would be upon her, and she judged it to be safe to find a better shelter. Determined to evade the encounter, she braced herself and started running to the opposite side of the path where a sturdy tree was growing. She was about to reach it when her gown got caught on the thorns of a wild bush and she was unable to release herself from it. The galloping was louder and clearer now and she knew it to be only a matter of seconds before she would see the rider. She pulled at her dress, but the thorns held it fast. Suddenly the rider was upon her, pulling forcefully on the reins in an attempt to control the animal.

  “Miss Elizabeth,” he said, and Elizabeth recognised the gentleman at once. “What are you doing here? Are you lost?”

  Mr. Darcy dismounted his horse at once and after a quick glance at her dress, his gaze moved to her face and he saw her shaking violently with cold and fear.

  “You are trembling, and you will catch a cold if you do not get back to the Parsonage as soon as possible. Allow me to help you,” Mr. Darcy pleaded in a gentle voice, hoping that it would be enough not to cause a rejection. Elizabeth nodded in silence, and watched as he removed his coat and placed it on her shoulders. As Elizabeth slipped her arms through the sleeves, she felt his hands on her back.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, self-consciously raising her eyes briefly to meet his, mortified by the state she had been found in.

  Mr. Darcy nodded, “I shall take you home. At least, as close as I can get you to Mr. Collins’ home. I do not wish to cause you harm.”

  “I cannot,” she spoke in a trembling voice, “I cannot move.” The gentleman frowned in confusion, so she added with a little smile, “My dress is stuck.”

  “Right,” he said and approached Elizabeth, who was tightly grasping the edges of his coat. He ripped the gown away from the bush with ease, causing part of Elizabeth’s stocking to be seen. “I apologise for the dress, but I am afraid it was the only way.”

  He stopped talking suddenly, realising this was not an appropriate subject to be discussing at the moment, and turned to his horse, who was patiently waiting nearby. He picked up the reins and brought the animal towards them.

  “Miss Elizabeth,” he said simply, while placing his hands around her waist. She leaned on his shoulder as he lifted her into the saddle with ease, then mounted himself behind her.

  Elizabeth suddenly felt the heaviness of the coat, soaked by the rain, and so must the horse have done as well, for it refused to move at first. However, Mr. Darcy guided him gently onto the path, and soon the animal became much more docile.

  The rain poured now openly onto Elizabeth’s heated face, but she found it a most refreshing sensation. She was not sure whether the warmth she felt was due to Mr. Darcy’s closeness or if she was about to catch a cold. The warmth of the body behind her confused her mind. There was truly nothing between them. She had never been in such close proximity to a man before. During dances, when she had touched the hand of a gentleman, it had never produced such sensations in her, but now, being almost as one with Mr. Darcy elated her. The intensity grew when he put his hand on her waist once more to adjust her in the seat as his breath fell upon her skin. Elizabeth was glad he could not see her face, for she was certain she was in high colour.

  She felt the ribbon of her bonnet loosen, but there was little she could do to arrange it as she was determined not to delay their journey through the woods. When the bonnet finally fell to the ground, she watched it roll in the mud without much regret, enjoying her hair half loose, wet with the rain.

  “We are almost there, Miss Elizabeth. You will be safe soon,” she heard Mr. Darcy speak encouragingly as she began to shake again with the cold wind coming from in front of them. Elizabeth grabbed his arm in silent gratitude.

  Mr. Darcy stopped his horse at the last turn of the path, just before the Parsonage came into view. He jumped to the ground and lifted Elizabeth down with the same ease as he had mounted her on the horse. Elizabeth turned and gave him his coat back without saying anything.

  Mr. Darcy gazed at her face, as she thanked him and their eyes locked. She was aware that her damp hair was stuck to her face because of the pouring rain, with drops of water falling onto her neck, but she kept looking mesmerised into Darcy’s eyes. No words were spoken for a few seconds, and Elizabeth was astonished to find Mr. Darcy raising his hand to gently push her rebel locks of hair back to where they belonged. She allowed it to happen, as though they had done this a thousand times before, as if they were something more to each other. She realised with a certain shock that she was enjoying it and smiled in confusion.

  “I need to go, Mr. Darcy,” she uttered at last and turned to leave. Darcy remained to watch her disappear from his sight, mounted his horse again and then left.

  For the rest of the evening, Elizabeth strove to make up stories of how she had returned home. She was confident she was convincing, even about her torn dress, although she reproached herself for having gained the capacity to lie so efficiently.

  Later in her room, she wa
s served hot coffee and some warm wine on the recommendation of Sir William, who swore by this recipe against a cold from his own experience. Mr. Collins looked upon Elizabeth’s venture with a bit more scrutiny; as head of the family, he felt obliged to lecture her on the danger of walking alone and forbade her from ever doing such a thing again. Even though Mr. Collins was as tedious as ever, Elizabeth thanked him for his care and promised she would not repeat the incident.

  Elizabeth chose not to think about what would happen if it was discovered that it had been Mr. Darcy who had returned her home. The suspicions of impropriety would be enough to create a scandal that would reach Lady Catherine’s ears, as well as tarnishing her reputation with unpredictable consequences. The revelation would of course compromise Mr. Darcy as well.

  Elizabeth’s sleep was full of dreams that night, most likely caused by the wine she had drunk. In them, Mr. Darcy, proud and arrogant as she had known him at the Meryton Assembly, repeatedly appeared and then disappeared from the crowd of people in which she was standing. Jane was dancing with Mr. Bingley off to one side and she saw her sister truly happy again. Then the scenery changed and she was suddenly in a different room, accompanied by Mr. Wickham, who was feeding her stories about Mr. Darcy’s wickedness. She saw Mr. Darcy everywhere, but each time she sought him, he disappeared as if by magic.

  “Who are you, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth asked him when she came face-to-face with him again.

  “I feel you know already, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, before vanishing yet again. The fear that she would never see Mr. Darcy again woke Elizabeth abruptly. She felt exhausted, yet she had no fever, nor symptoms of a cold, and was relieved that that particular danger at least had passed. Apart from a mild headache, she felt well. As she heard movement in the hall, Elizabeth dressed and went to greet the Collinses, who were, as always, the first to rise, and thus all appeared to have returned to normality.

  The morning passed quickly with Elizabeth catching up with her correspondence; the day before she had managed only to reply to Jane, but now she had her dear father on her mind also. She missed him dearly. “With so many days gone by and no word from me, his anguish must have been terrible.” Elizabeth was in the midst of finishing the letter when Charlotte entered, announcing that she had a visitor.

  “Mr. Darcy has come to see you, Lizzy!” Elizabeth saw in Charlotte’s gaze an unasked question, which she strove to ignore and after checking her attire, she went into the small parlour where Mr. Darcy was seated. When he bowed to her, Elizabeth was surprised at how thrilled she was to see him again. She wished to say something at once, but feared her voice would betray her eagerness. Instead, she took the seat opposite Mr. Darcy and awaited his words.

  With the odd atmosphere in the room, and as no one was speaking, Charlotte offered to bring refreshments, to which Mr. Darcy agreed politely, and Mrs. Collins left the room. For a few moments, silence still reigned, yet Elizabeth realised that Mr. Darcy was, in spite of his calm exterior, beset by agitation. She perceived his struggle and rejoiced in it, feeling little shame about it. “I surely cannot be imagining all of this.”

  Determined to confirm her suspicions, Elizabeth allowed Mr. Darcy to be the first to talk, and at last he managed to do so.

  “Are you well Miss Elizabeth?” Elizabeth blushed and smiled, amused that his first words were such predictable ones, yet revealing so much, for the tone of his voice added tenderness and genuine care to his question.

  She immediately replied that she was and added how fortunate she had been to have been taken care of so attentively by Mrs. Collins and treated with all the remedies to prevent her from catching a cold. “I am pleased to hear it,” he replied, “I have thought of you incessantly.” His sentence promised more than it delivered, for even Mr. Darcy paused, taken aback at what he had said aloud. Elizabeth stared into his eyes, barely breathing, her surprise obvious. Before Elizabeth could fully grasp the meaning of his words - for Mr. Darcy was about to continue - Mrs. Collins returned with the refreshments and silenced him on the subject.

  When Mr. Darcy left, Charlotte expressed her confusion over the visit Elizabeth had received. It had been most odd, for Mr. Darcy had spent the entire time staring at Elizabeth, leaving most of the conversation to Charlotte, who was struggling to find a subject that would interest the gentleman.

  “If I had not known better, I would have presumed Mr. Darcy came to declare his love for you, Lizzy. It almost felt like he had come here to speak of something important.”

  Elizabeth was flustered by her friend’s admission, for it meant that even Charlotte had noted Mr. Darcy’s uneasiness. Still, Elizabeth made a pretence of not comprehending her words and only remarked that Mr. Darcy was as he always had been.

  “Yes, I know. He is very proud. That is why I say it is impossible that he had come here for a love declaration. Do not fear, Lizzy,” she added in jest, laughing at the remembrance, “you are not handsome enough to tempt him!”

  Elizabeth knew Charlotte’s words were never meant to hurt her, but she could not deny that the comment made her wish to cry.

  Chapter 7

  Darcy paced in the shadows of his room, considering what he had almost done, if it had not been for the sudden arrival of Mrs. Collins. He was about to declare his love for Miss Elizabeth. He did not know if it had been fortunate or sheer bad luck to have been interrupted, and the agony of the thought felt too much to bear.

  “I came so close to telling Miss Elizabeth how ardently I love her, for I do love her. I have been a fool not to see it until now, and even madder to have denied it. All these days of torment have finally come to an end in admitting that I do have feelings for her.”

  Darcy sat down in the chair at the desk and looked with sincerity at the figure reflected in the small mirror to his left. He was dishevelled, hardly a sight to recommend him in society.

  “What would she have said? That I must have lost my mind? What if this is a madness of some sort?” Darcy recalled Elizabeth’s confused look as he left and could not blame her; he was a man who had lost his wits, coming to visit and not saying anything other than the usual pleasantries, when he could have done the same by sending a carefully constructed letter. But he had to see her, to make sure that she was well, to be near her once more.

  Darcy closed his eyes, remembering how small and frail she looked standing in the rain before she disappeared from his sight to return to the house; her damp hair framed her face perfectly and it was more than he could bear. It was only when he touched her hair and face that he realised that all his opposition had disappeared, that he had forgotten his pride and all that he was – a Darcy nevertheless!

  None of it was of importance. Her family did not concern him All their ridiculousness and their lack of manners in society did not matter, their lack of connections and Elizabeth’s pitiful dowry were of no significance. Darcy suddenly found he could not justify any of his previous arguments for preventing him from entering into marriage with her.

  “My thoughts may not be clearly formed, but I know what I must do. I shall ask her to marry me. By God, I should have done it earlier in the day when I had the chance. I should have said: “Be my wife, Miss Elizabeth. I have loved you as I have loved no other.”

  His words were true. No other woman had existed before her. All that had been before her were now shapeless figures left somewhere in the past without a name or a history. Now, there was only Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire, opinionated and stubborn.

  He had to ask her to be his wife. There was no possibility of going back; the prospect both terrified and delighted him. He would have to speak to Lady Catherine as well; he was perfectly aware of what she would say. Still, he saw no impediment in her opposition, because his choice of bride would always have been of his own making.

  “She has to be mine! If I wait any longer, there might come someone else to claim her.” He paused. “Wickham!”

  He knew how cunning Wickham could be and what great damage he could
cause once he knew he could inflict pain on his former friend. He had heard often – even from his father – praise and admiration for Wickham’s manners or his charm. He himself had called Mr. Wickham a friend, only to be so viciously betrayed by him. “What if he has already managed to reach Miss Elizabeth’s heart with as little as a handful of clever, deceitful words? I struggled so hard to separate my heart from her when I left Netherfield Park that I did not even consider that Mr. Wickham could have benefitted from my error.”

  Darcy felt nauseous at the prospect, and let his head fall into his hands, defeated. “Wickham has hurt me once, leaving my family almost on the brink of destruction and now to have him repeat the same… only this time, destroying my heart, it is too much to be endured! For my sake, and also for Elizabeth’s sake, for she does not deserve such a scoundrel.”

  At least, in him, Elizabeth would find an equal, Darcy was certain of that. Elizabeth had a vivacious mind and he could show her so much more if she wanted. He wished to show her the world, to charm her at any cost. “If she does not love me…” He knew the answer and it pained him. He would still be willing to take her into marriage. He would take her in spite of everyone, in spite of himself, if she said she would be his. She would be friends with Georgiana. Oh, the dreams he had.

  In the morning, Darcy arrived first in the dining-room. The servants greeted him, and he went to sit in his usual place. He saw his post for the day was already arranged for him. On one missive he recognised Georgiana’s handwriting and smiled gladly at the prospect of reading her news. The letter, although short and rather formal, was concise and eloquent, speaking of how much she loved being in town, for the presence of a certain lady among her circle of friends had reinvigorated her stay and she was most grateful for her company.

  “Miss Jane Bennet visits me as often as she possibly can, brother. She is delightful indeed, for she can play the pianoforte almost as well as I play it myself.”