Yet Charlotte had never been one for gossip or idle fantasies. The very fact that she felt she could and should bring up the matter gave Elizabeth more pause than anything. Elizabeth continued on, deep in her thoughts walking at rather a good clip convincing herself of the silliness of it all.
Mr. Darcy, having feelings for, the entire idea was laughable. Yet, Elizabeth didn't find herself laughing, and promptly spun around on her heels to return immediately back to Mrs. Collins and prove her theories wrong, slamming directly into the source of her unease.
CHAPTER FOUR
Startled, she let out a yelp, and Mr. Darcy took her by the shoulders as though she were about to fall, which she was, she realized. She'd lost her footing on the gravel path and was most certainly on her way to hitting the ground. At least she would have been if Mr. Darcy hadn't interceded.
He stood there with his arms around her for a moment, forgetting himself, and every thought in her head floated away with the clouds.
"Miss Bennet," he started, still holding onto her, staring deeply into her eyes. So deeply in fact that Elizabeth forgot where she was, who she was.
"Mr. Darcy," was all she could reply, returning the gaze as though they were the only two people in the world.
Elizabeth realized she might be about to be kissed, and she hadn't a concern in the world for anything but what might happen.
Until Mr. Darcy suddenly remembered himself and set her to rights. A crimson flush rushed up her body to her cheeks. Did he know what she was thinking? Could he possibly have meant the same?
Oh for shame, she was ruined.
She jumped back a bit as though she could reverse the last few moments in time and Mr. Darcy reached out toward her. Then looking down at his hand he promptly remembered himself yet again and corrected his posture.
"Miss Bennet, I-"
"Mr. Darcy, I'm terribly sorry-" she interrupted.
"Miss Bennet, you must allow me," he began again, struggling to get the words out quickly, as though they might burst out of him. He took a deep breath and started again, this time with greater speed. "In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."
Elizabeth took a step back, her heart nearly bursting with the impact of his words. Her astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, colored, doubted, and was silent.
He did love her.
She remained quiet, incredulous, and the avowal of all that he felt and had long felt for her immediately followed. He spoke well, but there were feelings besides those of the heart to be detailed, and he was not more eloquent on the subject of tenderness than of pride. His sense of her inferiority -- of its being a degradation -- of the family obstacles which judgment had always opposed to inclination, were dwelt on with a warmth which seemed due to the consequence he was wounding, but was unlikely to recommend his suit.
He continued on and any fanciful ideas she'd harbored evaporated as he spoke. She had been a fool, he did not love her, she couldn't for certain understand what he thought he felt for her, but this expression was not one of love. She retained her composure trying not to feel the surprising disappointment at having correctly judged his character. How could she have entertained Charlotte's fanciful ideas for even a second? This man stood here telling her he loved her all the while explaining to her how he'd suffered at the very idea of loving someone such as herself.
The mere fact that she managed to keep silent while he hurled his barbed declarations of love at her was a testament to her gentility. His speech seemed endless, and her ire grew with each new statement.
He concluded with representing to her the strength of that attachment which, in spite of all his endeavors, he had found impossible to conquer; and with expressing his hope that it would now be rewarded by her acceptance of his hand. As he said this, she could easily see that he had no doubt of a favorable answer. He spoke of apprehension and anxiety, but his countenance expressed real security.
Such a circumstance could only exasperate farther, and when he ceased, the color rose into her cheeks, and she said, "In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned. It is natural that obligation should be felt, and if I could feel gratitude, I would now thank you. But I cannot -- The feelings which, you tell me, have long prevented the acknowledgment of your regard, can have little difficulty in overcoming it after this explanation."
Elizabeth felt the tears arriving. How could she have been such a fool? As she continued though, her tears faded into a righteous indignation. She betrayed herself repeatedly blurting out such falsehoods, such as that she had never entertained any desire for his good favor. Certainly, she would never admit her silliness now. Her wounded heart lashed out first, followed by her mind. A mind that earnestly returned to its former insistence that Mr. Darcy's character was less than desirable. She spoke wounded words from a wounded heart that had for a moment allowed itself to think ridiculous thoughts. Being proved wrong in this way was almost more than she could bear, so she pivoted her mind to focus on the two very immovable wrongs available for her accusations; That his manipulations of Mr. Bingley in regard to her sister Jane along with his wretched treatment of Mr. Wickham proved him unworthy of her good opinion, a phrase she used knowingly as a weapon. She was ruthless in her use of his own words to cut him to the quick and she could see it was having its intended effect.
When finally she'd finished explaining to him that she felt not even the slightest regret at her refusal, given it's insulting delivery, she stood in silent anger. Without concern for decorum or civility, she had wounded him in the only way she knew how, and she could see by the look on his face that she had been successful.
He stood motionless while she hurled her barbed accusations and insults at him until she finally stopped. He took a breath, straightened up his person and spoke. "You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness." With that he turned on his heels and headed off in the other direction, leaving Elizabeth to stare in astonishment.
The woods were not far off the path and Elizabeth made her way quickly to them to release the torrent of tears rising in her chest. She cried for nearly half an hour, turning the event over and over in her mind. Charlotte had been correct in her observations, not only of Mr. Darcy's intentions toward her, but of her own response to them.
Try as she might, Elizabeth couldn't shake the feeling of anger that kept resurfacing every time she thought she'd gotten a hold of her emotions. Once the tears abated she made her way back to the parsonage, feigned a headache and went to bed, failing miserably in achieving anything resembling rest.
CHAPTER FIVE
The following morning Elizabeth struggled to exit the safety of her dreams and reconcile herself to the reality of the events of yesterday. As sleep had been brief she had the good fortune of being the first to rise and subsequently dressed and exited the house quickly to spend as much time walking as would be required to soothe her wounded soul.
No sooner did she enter the pathway than she came upon the cause of her distress. Mr. Darcy had, it seemed, been of the same mind in taking a walk, but his walk, only consisted of a length of ten feet whereupon he would turn and go back in the opposite direction.
Was he awaiting her arrival? Surely he knew at this point in his visit that she walked these grounds near daily, and at such an early hour. What on earth could have overcome him to presume such a thing as to knowingly stalk her on her morning walk?
This man was a complete enigma.
He forcefully and willfully imposed upon her propriety, simultaneously exclaiming his love for her and insulting not only her but her family as well. Now not only had he stalked her like a criminal, his behavior bordered on
mad.
She remained firm on her ground waiting for the man to exit the gardens in whatever stealth way he had appeared, but he continued his pacing, seemingly unaware of her presence.
For a moment she considered that he may have fallen from his horse and hit his head, after all, there was nothing she could imagine to explain this erratic and frantic behavior as she'd made herself clear yesterday in her refusal, and he, had his own part in turning his back on her.
Suddenly, and without warning, Mr. Darcy turned back toward Elizabeth and headed straight for her, a look of determination in his eyes that bordered on criminal. Elizabeth felt a twinge of fear rise up on the back of her neck as he strode toward her with a look upon his face that she felt might only be used in cases of dire emergency. Reaching into his breast pocket he pulled out a letter with such a force he nearly ripped the lining of his waistcoat.
"Ms. Bennett, I have," he stammered, holding the letter out toward her, coming nearly close to taking her hands and placing the letter in them. "You must," he tried again and failed to find the right words.
How dare this man, this haughty prideful man who no less than twelve hours prior had spoken with such disdain at her inferiority, further impose his will on her. Did he expect her to dance like a puppet at his whim? She would not. She stood firmly waiting for him to find some shred of the gentleman he so vehemently defended himself to be and silently waited for an explanation.
Elizabeth considered for a moment turning and walking in the opposite direction if only to end this torturous debacle of a meeting. A small part of her reveled in Mr. Darcy's sudden inability to form a sentence, but the steadfast voice of Jane in her mind scolded her for such hateful thoughts. Try as she might she could not understand why it was she continued to await Mr. Darcy's desperate attempts to gain his composure. She didn't want to enjoy his discomfort, but enjoy it she did. A thought she allowed herself to enjoy in the privacy of her mind.
"Please accept this letter," he said, jolting her out of her reverie. She startled and grabbed at it with a lack of decorum even her sister Lydia wouldn't entertain.
"Please, you must allow me to explain," he blurted.
Elizabeth interrupted him, giving him no chance to entertain the slightest idea of explaining his actions of the evening prior, or his behavior in this moment. She hurled a verbal barb at him equally repelling his attempts and insulting him.
He stared at her for a moment, just long enough to make Elizabeth even more uncomfortable than she thought humanly possible, and spun on his heels, making off in such haste Elizabeth wondered how he didn't break into a run.
She found herself standing, still rooted to the very same spot, watching him make his way out of the garden. A small gasp escaped her lips, followed by a shot of pain the likes of which she couldn't explain. What was this? In his departure, he had taken with him all the air left to breath, and she nearly doubled over in the agony of it.
Forcing air into her lungs she let her mind console her wounded heart. Did he think that his wealth afforded him a consideration that her poverty did not? They were both of the same class, she and him. Her unfortunate financial situation in no way marred her gentility. Did he think so little of her that he treated her with such familiarity?
Her ire threatened to boil over as she made her way back toward the parsonage. No amount of walking would soothe the growing beast rising up inside her. This man, this impudent man who thought that his status somehow afforded him the ability to manipulate those around him. His insistence that everyone and everything bend to his will.
She nearly found herself muttering aloud as she stormed her way through the fields, nearly tripping on occasion in her haste.
Periodically she stopped to examine the letter, opening one fold then hastily putting it back to rights. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of reading his words. What could he possibly have to say for himself, she wondered.
She vacillated, making her way thoroughly in the opposite direction of the parsonage as her indignation ebbed and flowed. Occasionally sitting on a fallen tree, opening the letter without looking at the words, then hastily re-folding it before rising quickly again. On the last such occasions when she'd come to realize she must look just as foolish as Mr. Darcy did stuttering in the garden, she caught the hem of her dress on a broken branch of the log she'd sat upon.
She let out a tiny scream of irritation without so much as a second of concern for anyone nearby hearing her.
Now she'd torn her dress, what other difficulties could Mr. Darcy heap upon her. She felt a rise of tears welling in her eyes as she examined the dress. It was actually only a minor tear, along the gathers along the ruffle, encircling the hem of her dress. A needle and thread would be all that was needed to remedy the accident, with none the wiser to it's having occurred. Yet Elizabeth somehow couldn't stop the tears from streaming down her face as she fingered the relatively tiny tear in the seam. The dress was not ruined, and in fact wouldn't even suffer any further damage as she walked back, yet her tear ducts were behaving as though she'd just lost a limb.
This just wouldn't do. How this man vexed her, she thought, pausing her nearly hysterical mind to look down at the letter again, not noticing that she'd veered from the path heading not for the small bridge that crossed the shallow brook ahead, but indeed for the brook itself.
Her error met her mind too late, as, upon looking up from the letter to get her bearings she had one foot set nearly to step into the water. Her arms flew up in an awkward attempt to stop the inevitable and she lost her footing, the force of her abrupt stop knocking her backward, thankfully away from the water, but unfortunately onto her backside.
A sharp pain shot through her back and her pride, subsiding slowly as she struggled to her feet. Thankfully the last few days had been without rain and save her pride and a potential bruise, Elizabeth was none the worse for wear.
Without hesitation she found herself blaming poor Mr. Darcy. Had he not distressed me so I would never have found myself in such a harried state, she thought. She looked down at her empty hand where the letter has so recently been clutched.
A jolt of energy surged through her, where had it gone? She must have released it in her fall. She searched the ground around her, making larger and larger circles with each pass. It was nowhere to be found, and she felt a growing pain in her chest with each passing moment. What concern was it she should lose the letter? The letter he had so rudely shoved into her hands. The letter he had given her unsolicited, without even a suggestion of propriety. Her distress in losing the letter nearly doubled in the few seconds that passed between the realization of its loss and the realization of its importance to her. Again for a second time she questioned her vexation, until, upon seeing the letter wedged in between two stones in the brook, she felt a sense of relief that bordered on elation.
Her relief abated shortly thereafter as she plucked the letter from its moorings. It had taken on all the water it could be made to absorb, and, opening it gingerly, it was now just a saturated paper with a smearing of ink. The last vestiges of which the running water hadn't taken.
For the second time today a small hiccup of pain erupted in her chest, unwelcome and unsolicited.
Mr. Darcy is a most disagreeable man, and I'm glad to have had the opportunity to have put him properly in his place, she thought to herself. Certain of her belief in this she took a deep breath, dismissing her body's betrayal as a reaction to such a distressing few days.
A voice calling her name startled her and she turned to see Charlotte walking toward her along the path. Without thought she folded the letter surreptitiously and tucked it into her bosom, ignoring the discomfort of the water for want of avoiding an explanation.
CHAPTER SIX
Fitzwilliam Darcy paced about his bed chamber till the wee hours of the morning turning over all that had passed between himself and Elizabeth Bennet. Where had he gone wrong? How could she turn down an offer of marriage that was so clearly above her sta
tion? Was there something lacking in him? He nearly wore a hole in the rug with his contemplations until finally, the merit of Elizabeth's observations struck him with such a force he nearly fell onto the bed.
She was so superior of character that she was willing to chance a life of poverty rather than risk an unhappy marriage with himself, a man who up to this point had given her no reason to love him. He had in no way shown her the truth of his character or the strength of his esteem for her. How could he have been so blind? What possible reason would she have to accept his offer based on their limited experiences together? To this point, he had been nothing but a repulsion to her and as he thought more on the subject he realized that she had come to a reasonable conclusion based on the evidence. His behavior at the Meryton assembly appeared to the naked eye to be abhorrent. How could he justify his social awkwardness?
Even so, the true cause of his behavior still did not excuse its actual outcome. The moment he set eyes on Miss Elizabeth Bennet a strange feeling occurred in his person that he had up until this moment never experienced prior. A kind of stomach disturbance bordering on nausea that made him unable to speak even beyond his normal truncated speech.
Perhaps this bizarre behavior on his part had less to do with her and more to do with their discord. No, no, that's not it, he thought. He knew that it was his behavior entirely that had caused her to develop her false impressions of him. His behavior at the Meryton assembly seemed to the country genteel to be haughty and prideful. How could they possibly understand the ever present lore of his fortune? Every introduction to the female species had to be met with care and caution lest he find himself on the unwanted end of an agreement not of his own choosing. Not that it excused his statement of Miss Bennett's not being handsome enough to dance with. The truth as he acknowledged it, was that indeed she was far beyond handsome and his reaction to her was so singularly unknown to him that he immediately dismissed it as being false. In the days and weeks that followed he had since come to realize that every interaction with Miss Elizabeth Bennet felt like walking on lily pads across a pond. Perhaps they would hold, perhaps he would fall in and be drowned. Drowned in the abyss of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
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