Darcy's Winter Ball

by A J Woods

  Oh, it was so hard not to let her mind run away with such imagining…walking back into Hatchards in the future to find her own story sitting there amongst her favorites. No one would know her true name, of course, but that hardly mattered—because Elizabeth would know. She would know it was hers, and she would run her finger along the spine, and…

  “Lizzy,” Jane said, causing her sister to jump a half-inch off her chair by the waning fire.

  Pulled quite abruptly from the reverie she should not have allowed in the first instance, Elizabeth’s cheeks warmed as she caught the trace of a grin on Jane’s lips. Her sister paused just inside the door and tilted her head, and a very unladylike curse passed through Elizabeth’s mind at the reminder that she could not hide her innermost thoughts from her eldest sibling.

  “You were thinking about the offer, were you not?” Jane asked, striding closer.

  Elizabeth pulled her wrap tighter around her shoulders. “Thinking about what?” she asked, feigning innocence. “I know not of what you speak.”

  Jane sat in a chair on the other side of a small table that separated the two. “Nonsense,” she said. “You were imagining what it would be like to cease this ridiculous pouting and allow Mr. Billings to publish your book.”

  Elizabeth’s mouth involuntarily opened and closed again, making her feel rather like a trout. “I was not,” she argued, crossing her arms.

  Jane rolled her eyes, but Elizabeth noticed that there was something different about her sister—a glow emanated from her as if she had swallowed the sun.

  “Never mind me,” Elizabeth said, leaning closer to inspect Jane’s features. “What has gotten into you?”

  Jane’s entire being practically erupted with happiness; it spilled out of her presence with such exuberance that, despite her terrible mood, Elizabeth could not keep herself from mirroring Jane’s smile.

  “I do not wish to ignore your plight, Lizzy, but I have such wonderful news; I cannot keep it to myself a second longer.”

  “Then do not, sister,” Elizabeth said, reaching over to grasp Jane’s hands. Like their owner, they were warm, regardless of the lingering chill in the room.

  Jane paused, holding the news within herself just a moment longer before speaking it aloud. “It is just that Mr. Bingley has…he has proposed marriage!” She took a breath. “To me, Lizzy!”

  “Tell me everything. I want to know exactly how it transpired.” Elizabeth’s heart overflowed, and she forgot her own feelings as she shared in her sister’s fervent joy.

  “It was magical, just magical.” The words rushed out of Jane on a river of bliss. “I could hardly breathe when he revealed that he has loved me all along, and that he never should have allowed Mr. Darcy to convince him that I did not share his feelings.”

  Indeed, he should not have, Elizabeth thought but did not say aloud.

  “But they have been friends for so long, and I imagine it would be much the same if you had said something similar to me. He felt he had no choice but to trust his friend. And he did say, in Mr. Darcy’s defense, that Mr. Darcy truly believed I did not feel the same as Charles at the time, and that he was only trying to keep him from getting his heart broken. Oh, it was all nothing but a dreadful misunderstanding, which has since been sorted.”

  At this, Elizabeth nodded. Charles’ account mirrored Mr. Darcy’s, and she was very glad that Jane had received the happy ending she deserved.

  “But he does love me after all, Lizzy, and he has done so since first we danced. He asked if he could have the privilege of making me happy as we grow old together. He has written to Father to ask his blessing, and I have no doubt that he will receive it tenfold. I cannot even imagine what Mama will say.”

  Jane leaned back in her chair and breathed a sigh of pure contentment.

  Then she paused and peered at her sister with uncharacteristic intensity, quite alarming Elizabeth.

  “What is it?” Elizabeth asked, her merriment over Jane’s engagement subsiding in the shadow of her sister’s suddenly solemn expression.

  “Mr. Darcy was here with Charles, you know,” Jane began hesitantly. “I told him gently, out of Uncle’s and Aunt’s hearing, that it was probably best he call another day. I explained that you are not feeling well—in light of recent, unexpected news—and I believe he understood my meaning.”

  Jane studied Elizabeth’s face carefully. “Was I wrong to turn him away?”

  “No, no,” Elizabeth answered. “You were quite right.”

  “It is only that I know how strong-willed you can be when you are angry, and I did not wish to see him hurt.” Jane wrung her hands. “Though, in the end I was the one to cause harm. He seemed so eager to see you, and when I discouraged him, he looked as though he had lost all hope.” She seemed a little guilty at this admission. “After all, whether it was right or wrong for him to go forth without first seeking your approval, he did do a kindness for you, Lizzy. He obtained for you something that you may never have been able to achieve on your own.”

  Elizabeth glared at her sister.

  “I mean nothing by it, dearest. Only that…we are women; opportunities to find success in work we enjoy, without the judgment of our peers, do not abound for us. You know that better than anyone.”

  Jane waited, gathering her next words as the former began to settle on Elizabeth’s heart.

  “Perhaps Mr. Darcy was only trying to help you realize your grandest dream because he believes in you. Perhaps he even loves you, sister.”

  When Elizabeth looked up into Jane’s eyes, tears began to form in her own, and she rubbed them quickly away with the back of her hand.

  “Forgive me, Jane, but I believe I require a little time on my own to think this through,” she said, offering a soft smile of reassurance. “You know I adore your company, but you have brought some things to my attention that I must ponder in private.”

  She breathed a deep sigh, letting her shoulders loosen for the first time since she had received the letter. “I fear I may have overreacted, and I need to decide what to do next.”

  Jane nodded, her sympathy palpable. “Take all the time you need, dear. I will tell our aunt and uncle that you are suffering a headache and will take your supper here.”

  “Thank you, Jane,” Elizabeth whispered, reaching forward to embrace her greatest ally. “I do not wish to imagine what sort of mess I would have turned out to be, if I had not been born after such an excellent sibling.”

  Jane grinned and brushed a hand over Elizabeth’s curls. “It is fortunate then that you do not have to find out.”

  Something dawned on her and Elizabeth frowned. “You will not allow your Charles to take you very far from me, will you? I do not know how I could survive at Longbourn without you. Mama and the girls are not the most suitable companions for me.”

  Jane’s features softened with affection. “Of course I will not go far. And, if I may say, I do not believe it will come to pass that you will be long at home without me anyway.”

  Chapter 10

  Reeling from Elizabeth’s refusal to see him when he had called at Gardiner House the day prior, Darcy could not find peace.

  Over and over, he reviewed the events of the past few days, until he thought at last that he might lose his mind. Finally, he decided that the only way to learn why she had rebuffed him after they had shared what he’d thought the finest evening of his life, was to ask her himself.

  After they had opened their hearts to one another, and he had gone to Billings to seek publication for his beloved’s first novel as a gift to her, he had hoped to propose marriage.

  It would have been an evening of such merriment, securing a future with the woman he loved, even as his oldest friend did the same. He and Charles would have been brothers, and, he had believed, would have been the two happiest men in all of England.

  But alas, something had altered in Elizabeth since last they’d spoken, and he had the terrible idea that perhaps he had once again misjudged her sentiment wh
ere he was concerned. Though much had changed within his own heart, he reminded himself that he could not yet be certain if the same could be said for hers.

  It was with all of that weighing heavily on his heart and mind that Darcy decided to call again at Gracechurch Street, never mind Elizabeth’s initial rejection; he would demand to be seen…except doing so would require that the lady was in fact at home, and he discovered quickly that such was not the case.

  “I am terribly sorry, sir,” the butler informed him as he stood in the hall of Gardiner House. “She has gone out, accompanied by a member of the staff, of course, to a bookstore.”

  “In this dreadful cold?” Darcy asked, shaking his head as he prepared to leave.

  The butler nodded. “Would you like to leave a card, sir?”

  Darcy replied that the courtesy was not necessary under the circumstances, and headed immediately back out into the frigid air. He knew exactly where she would be found, and he did not hesitate to follow her.

  It had been his fault the first time, but he simply would not stand losing her again.

  Elizabeth was loitering in the poetry section of Hatchards, the shop deserted on such an awful day so that she was rewarded with the privacy and quiet she craved.

  Perhaps one day, Uncle Gardiner’s footman would forgive her for requiring his services that afternoon, when persons possessing more logic and reason than she had opted to stay indoors. As she watched him standing nearby, she imagined what he might be thinking—why could she not read all the same back at Gracechurch street.

  But she could not.

  Incessant thoughts about Darcy would not leave her, and, despite her hopes, they had followed her all the way to the bookshop. She was beginning to surmise that they might follow her for the rest of her life. It was likely she would never forget such a man.

  Those penetrating dark eyes and the way they stared right into her heart. That dark hair that she could not help but imagine running her fingers through in a moment of passion. Those broad shoulders and strong arms that might embrace her, should she ever gain the courage to tell him how she truly felt…

  But it would not come to pass.

  Instead, she stood alone, in a drafty corner of a shop, reading something utterly wretched. How dare they—poets who had known true love—force their melodramatic emotions onto the public, when unsuspecting readers might wander upon their musings while nursing wounded hearts.

  It was cruel behavior indeed, Elizabeth grumbled to herself as she slammed together the covers of the thin volume and shoved it back amongst its mates upon the shelf. Perhaps a history tome would prove a better balm to her foul mood.

  She had turned to head toward that very section when she saw something that made her sore heart stop altogether…

  It was him. Standing there across what seemed a great chasm but was really only a few yards.

  A few days hence, they had sat so close together that their knees touched—a sensation she would never forget—yet now she felt so very far apart from him.

  Elizabeth was no longer angry, but she knew not how to say what she felt.

  Jane had been right; she had been too hasty in her judgment of Darcy for submitting her book to Billings. And she had chastised herself relentlessly when she’d realized that what he had done had been a true gift. Maybe he had gone about it not in the best way, but from what she had witnessed of his character at the ball, he had meant well.

  Nobody was perfect, least of all her.

  They had both blundered in their assessment of one another, and now she wished only to make amends and tell him what was in her heart: she loved him.

  She had protested too much when first he declined to dance with her at Netherfield, and now she knew exactly the reason. His rejection of her at that ball had stung precisely because she had been drawn to him, despite what she had thought to be pride and arrogance. And, quite the opposite, his reception of her at his own ball, and his admission of error regarding the first instance, had revealed to her his true character.

  He had changed. He had listened to her and opened his heart to her. He had accepted her correction of his behavior and made adjustments accordingly. And beside all of that, when they had spoken together in that library, the warmth of the fireplace no match for the electricity that sparked between them, she had experienced the first inklings of love for him.

  It had only grown in his absence, even as she’d raged over his attempt to please her.

  And he had illustrated his honor by keeping his promise to rectify the relationship between Mr. Bingley and her sister. He was, by all accounts, a good man—one with whom she could now envision spending the rest of her life.

  Except that it was too late.

  Wasn’t it?

  “Elizabeth,” Darcy said, reaching out a hand without moving his body any closer. He hesitated as though he did not know what to say next.

  “Darcy,” she answered, unable to form any other words of her own.

  “I”—he paused, then seemed to resolve something within himself, and moved in her direction—“I have much I would like to say to you, if you will be so kind as to offer me a moment of your time.”

  She nodded, still at a loss for words, and he directed her to the fireplace, close to where they had stood and spoken tense greetings not so very long ago, when her feelings had been so different than they were now.

  “Mr. Darcy, I have things I would like to say to you as well.” Her voice quivered and she swallowed back the lump forming in her throat.

  “Please, Elizabeth.”

  Her name on his lips did unsettling things inside her chest, and she breathed deeply to counter the effect.

  “Allow me to speak first, as I am the one at fault for what has caused your recent anger toward me,” he insisted.

  She wanted to argue, but the eagerness to hear what he would say took precedence; thus, she simply nodded.

  “Upon calling yesterday at your uncle’s home, I received word from your sister that you were not feeling well due to, as she stated, unexpected news. After some thought, I surmised from her words that you had caught wind of Mr. Billings’ devotion to publish your novel after seeing the portion of it that you left in my library. And, well, I confess I am as surprised as you are that Billings would have contacted you directly.” He raised his palms in submission. “I fully expected to hear from him first myself. He must have been so thrilled with your work that he could not wait to make you an offer, and the situation quite escaped my grasp.”

  He reached forward, but stopped, closing his palms. “I am so very sorry.”

  Darcy’s eyes pleaded with her. “I never intended to read your work without your permission. However, after we spoke and danced and dined together that night, I could not sleep for the idea that I had missed something. It was then that, leaving my bed, I remembered that you had been writing when I discovered you in the library. As far as what transpired after, I can only say that something overcame me, and I had to know what you had written.”

  As he verbalized the things he had been holding inside, Elizabeth knew what her response would be, but longed to know more about the decisions he’d made. She wanted to hear, in his own words, why he had gone out of his way to ensure that her book would be published.

  She struggled to maintain even breaths, but she nodded and bid Darcy continue.

  “I wanted to know you better, you must understand.” He paused to take a deep breath. “Please allow me to say that, as I have come to know you more intimately, I have discovered that you far surpass any first impressions I had of you.”

  His eyes softened as Elizabeth’s own filled with moisture.

  “As to why I then brought your pages to Mr. Billings, I want you to know that my only aim was to assist you in achieving what I already knew you deserved. I wanted to show you that I was truly remorseful of my actions, which separated Bingley and your sister, and more importantly, I wished to prove that your work is excellent and that others should have the
privilege to enjoy it, as I have.”

  She brought a handkerchief to her eyes and dabbed at the liquid. “And you are so certain that they will?” she asked. “Enjoy my work.”

  “Strong faith in one’s convictions is not always a bad thing,” Darcy answered, grinning mischievously. “Especially when one is right.”

  She could not help but smile. “I understand why you did this,” she said softly. “But you see, I wanted to succeed on my own merit.” She looked straight into his eyes, hoping he could understand. It was not easy to explain a woman’s hurdles to a man of name and means.

  “I do see,” he said, and she believed him. “But if I cannot use my position in society to lift up your work when it is so commendable of its own accord, then what good am I?”

  Oh, how close she had come to a life without Darcy. Surely he could not say anything to make her love him more.

  “You are wise beyond your years, keen of thought, and sharp of tongue, which—I fear I must admit—I enjoy to no end. I love you, Elizabeth, and I wish only for your true happiness. I will do anything in my power to secure it.”

  And yet he had already done exactly that.

  She could scarcely speak. Her heart was full to bursting and she worried that if she said anything at all, or merely moved an inch, this would all turn to dust and she would wake up in her bed at Longbourn, realizing it had all been just a dream.

  But he stared at her as though her next words held the weight of the world, so she would try.

  “So, Mr. Darcy, am I to understand that your first impression of me has altered, and I am now handsome enough to tempt you?” she asked, teasing him.

  What he did next would have caused her to faint, if she had been the fainting sort. But he was right about her—she was nothing if not a force to be reckoned with—and when he took her hand, removed her glove, and wrapped the exposed flesh of his fingers around her own, Elizabeth merely smiled and held on tight.