by P. O. Dixon
“I am quite comfortable here. In fact, there is nowhere else I would rather be. However, if you would rather we wait elsewhere, I shall not object.”
Elizabeth was comfortable as well. In fact, it was unseemly to be this at ease in Mr. Darcy’s presence in view of all that had gone unsaid between them. Indeed, the cloud of unspoken sentiments in the room—his proposal, her rejection—was apparently not to be addressed. However, Elizabeth was not built for the discomfort of dwelling on things best left forgotten. She had suffered enough of such idleness of late.
Her mood turning to playfulness, she said, “Surely there is somewhere you would rather be. It is the height of the London Season, after all. What would you be doing were you in London?”
“Other than missing you?”
He is incorrigible! “Yes, Mr. Darcy, other than that.”
“I suppose I would be wandering around the house with one question uppermost in my mind—would I ever see you again.”
“I beg you to be serious, Mr. Darcy. It is the London Season replete with private soirees and elegant parties. Whilst I know you do not relish the prospect of dancing, I am sure there are a number of young ladies in town who are handsome enough to tempt you.”
Darcy coloured. He shifted his position on the sofa.
“What is it, Mr. Darcy? Did you suppose I did not overhear you at the assembly?”
He smiled apologetically. “I never suspected you heard me. Surely you must know it was nothing more than a poorly worded ruse on my part.”
Elizabeth arched her brow. “A ruse, sir?”
“Indeed—an inane attempt to discourage Bingley’s attempts to have me dance with you. How could I when the very sight of you rendered me breathless?”
His voice animated, he said, “Why, even now I find it nearly impossible to think and talk at the same time. Not only does your presence render me mindless, speechless—I find you to be utterly and wonderfully intoxicating.”
“Again, I beg you to be serious, sir. I simply will not allow you to escape our earlier conversation of the excitement to be enjoyed in London. Surely being here in Hertfordshire pales by comparison to a single evening at Almack’s.”
“No—not in reality. Were I to patronise Almack’s, I would be beseeched by the attention of eager mammas desperate to secure husbands for their daughters. That is far from a favourite pastime.”
“I should say not, Mr. Darcy, but since you mentioned eager mammas and their wishes to secure husbands for their daughters, there is the matter of your cousin Anne. I would be remiss if I did not remind you of her expectation of marriage.”
“I know it is the fondest wish of my aunt, Lady Catherine, but I have never heard such nonsense from Anne.”
“Yet, Anne speaks of her disappointment in every letter I receive, and she closes each one with a mention of her hopes that her warmest wish will be granted someday. It is not fair that you should leave her in suspense, Mr. Darcy. At the risk of provoking you and interrupting our own amiable accord, I have to say your behaviour, or lack thereof, is cruel.
“If you truly do not intend to honour Anne’s expectations of marriage, then you should tell her. Your pretence that she has no feelings for you because you have no feelings for her does not make this matter go away, sir.”
“Enough said, Miss Elizabeth. I shall write to Anne and tell her I have no intentions towards her if that will make you happy.”
Elizabeth placed her hand on her bosom. “It is not my happiness that begs you to show your cousin this courtesy, sir. You should not do it for my sake.”
“Everything that I do—I do for you.”
She was astounded—nay, mesmerized—by the tender, melodic vein of his rich voice and the smouldering look in his eyes when he uttered those words. Had it not been for her fascination, Elizabeth’s heart would not have slammed against her chest when the parlour door flew opened and in stormed her father.
Chapter 14
Flummoxed, Mr. Bennet looked about the room, even behind the door, as though he were expecting to find someone other than his daughter and Darcy. Seemingly satisfied the two young people were alone, he said, “I thought I heard voices in here earlier, but I supposed my old mind must have been playing tricks on me.”
He peered over his spectacles at Darcy, “I did not realise Longbourn was still the beneficiary of your estimable presence. Pray, have you been with us the entire time since leaving my library?”
Twitching his fingers, Darcy opened his mouth to answer and then Elizabeth nervously chimed in. “Yes, Papa, I asked Mr. Darcy to come inside the parlour. We were merely discussing—”
“Pray, Lizzy, you need not complete your defence of Mr. Darcy’s being here when I have little doubt it has to do with our earlier conversation.” Mr. Bennet harrumphed. Arching his thick brow, he said, “If I did not know how much the two of you dislike each other, I might insist that Mr. Darcy ask for your hand in marriage, my dearest Lizzy.”
Had the wily old gentleman intended to injure Darcy, he surely had accomplished his mission. Had the woman he loved held such a low opinion of him that her own father would consider her sentiments fodder for mirth? Darcy could not help looking at Elizabeth to gauge the weight of her father’s taunt on her composure.
Mr. Bennet tucked his folded newspaper under his arm. “The time has come for the two of you to be on your way to the west parlour.” Looking at Darcy pointedly, he said, “Your friend Bingley has arrived. Shall I assume I will be seeing you at dinner, young man?”
“Indeed, sir.”
“Very well then—until dinner. I shall trust you two to find your way to the others on your own.” Leaving the door wide open, Elizabeth’s father quitted the room.
As soon as he was gone, Elizabeth turned to face her companion. “Oh, Mr. Darcy, I fear I must apologise.”
“Why are you apologising, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Why, because—because, my papa was mistaken when he said I disliked you.”
Darcy placed his hand on Elizabeth’s arm. “Oh—how do you feel towards me?”
Elizabeth looked as though she were truly at a loss for words. “I—I, Mr. Darcy, you will forgive me if I say I honestly do not know.”
His arm fell to his side.
Elizabeth reached for his hand. “Please do not misunderstand me, sir. So much has happened—so quickly.”
Darcy immediately regretted allowing Elizabeth to see his disappointment. I should not have asked her such a question. I am not being fair to her. It is too soon. Darcy squeezed her hand. “I understand, Miss Elizabeth. I do not need to tell you that your father was wrong in his opinion of my sentiments. You, better than anyone know how I feel about you; nevertheless, I will apologise for anything I have done to leave him with such an impression.”
Was that a spark of affection aglow in Elizabeth’s eyes? How Darcy wished it were so! A man who had not been as mistaken as he once had been would take one look into her eyes and discern all he needed to discern about her sentiments—even if she did not yet realise it. Still, with so far to go to earn her good opinion, he was happy for the faintest of signs. “Shall we proceed to the west parlour, Miss Elizabeth?”
*
Later that evening, when Darcy and Bingley were returning to Netherfield, Bingley pulled his horse side by side Darcy’s. This afforded their first opportunity to confer in privacy what with the plethora of excitement a day in the lively Bennet household entailed.
“By the time I arrived downstairs this morning, Caroline said you had already left for Longbourn. Were you so eager to avoid my dear sister’s company at breakfast that you would race off to spend time in Mrs. Bennet’s company instead?”
Darcy furrowed his brow. I am not certain which of the two choices I prefer the least—Miss Bingley’s fawning over me or Mrs. Bennet’s fawning over Bingley. “I needed to speak with Mr. Bennet.”
“Good God, old fellow, do you mean to tell me that you appealed directly to Mr. Bennet for Miss Elizabeth�
��s hand, and he denied your petition too?”
Darcy was not amused. Indeed, he was beginning to regret confiding in his friend Bingley the details of the unpleasant exchange of one of the worst moments in his life—the unfortunate misunderstandings, the unfounded accusations. In spite of the progress he was making with Miss Elizabeth, the sting of her rejection pained him still.
“No—that was not the purpose of my visit. Actually, he supposed the reason for my visit was to request Miss Bennet’s hand—”
Taken aback, poor Bingley’s mouth fell wide opened, just as Darcy had intended.
“Please, calm yourself—he thought I was there to speak on your behalf.”
“I reckon I deserved your deliberate attempt to rattle me. But, pray, if you did not go there to seek Miss Elizabeth’s hand, then why did you go?”
Darcy had never spoken to Bingley about the Ramsgate incident. He did not mean to do so now—even if he had divulged parts of the incident to Mr. Bennet. He would never have confided his personal affairs to Mr. Bennet had he not supposed it would help Elizabeth.
“My purpose in seeing Mr. Bennet had to do with a matter that weighs heavy on Miss Elizabeth’s mind. She fears should her father allow Miss Lydia to travel with Colonel Forster and his wife to Brighton, the young girl might meet with disadvantageous circumstances—the likes of which no young girl ought to face.”
“By your tone and your willingness to act on Miss Elizabeth’s behalf, I would say you agree with her.”
Darcy nodded. “Miss Elizabeth has a legitimate reason to be concerned.”
“Does your concern have to do with Lt. Wickham? I realise you detest the gentleman, but surely it was not always that way.”
“No—not always, although he has revealed himself to me in a manner which few people are privy. Now I cannot abide the man.”
“Indeed—it is a good thing the gentleman had the decency to decline Mrs. Bennet’s invitation to dinner this evening.”
“Of course, this must render me even more unpleasant in the woman’s opinion.”
“To be honest, I envy you in that, for Mrs. Bennet’s approbation for me is greater than any single man ought to endure.”
“Yes—but, as it is her business in life to secure husbands for her daughters, is there any surprise she likens your return to the second coming?”
Bingley sighed. “I suppose there is a general expectation I will soon request Miss Bennet’s hand in marriage, but I am beginning to question whether Miss Bennet holds me in any particular esteem. What do you think, Darcy? Are you still of the same mind that she only tolerates me—that she is not in love with me?”
What do I think? What could Darcy say? Bingley’s insecurity is no doubt a result of my interference.
Bingley said, “The truth is that as much as I enjoy this time with Miss Bennet, whenever we are together, it seems I am the only one who talks, whilst she is content to smile and listen. Not that I do not enjoy her smiles, mind you, for Miss Bennet’s smiles are the loveliest I have seen in all my days. However, that does not shed a light into her heart.”
Darcy failed to hide his mirth. “It is no wonder Miss Bennet does not speak more than she does. Who amongst us stands a chance of getting a word in edgewise when you are in one of your animated spirits, which tends to be more often than not, especially when you are in Miss Bennet’s company? I recommend you cease your rambling for a while and allow the lady to speak. You might even encourage her by inquiring of her dreams and her expectations.”
Bingley snorted. “But I know exactly what they are. Women want to be married, to be provided for, and to have a good home. I am exceedingly capable of providing all those things and more.”
Darcy rolled his eyes. “I assure you women want more than those things. However, if there is the slightest chance that all Miss Bennet seeks in a marriage is security, then I wager you may not be happy after all.”
Darcy’s mood turned pensive. Perhaps it was not fair for him to ascribe his desires in marriage to his friend. Excitement, challenge, passion—all those things he was sure he would find if married to Elizabeth. He would settle for nothing less.
Darcy said, “Do you want to marry Miss Bennet?”
“You know I do! Of course, I do,” Bingley said, “but it would help to know my future wife does not want to marry me simply for the sake of appeasing her mother and being away from her family—in her own home, which Caroline insists is the case with Miss Bennet. I know Mrs. Bennet demonstrates a desire for a match much more violently than does her daughter.”
“And that bothers you? Is that not the way of things? Mrs. Bennet is doing what any other woman would do in that regard. You alone must decide what is in your best interests. Until you can rid yourself of these uncertainties, it is best you give it a bit more time whilst you get to know Miss Bennet’s true character. No one would fault you—no one, that is, except Mrs. Bennet.”
Bingley chuckled. “We make quite a pair, do we not?”
“Why do you say that, Bingley?”
“Because, I hesitate to request Miss Bennet’s hand in marriage, fearing that owing to her sense of obligation to her family, she will say yes, whilst you hesitate to request Miss Elizabeth’s hand in marriage fearing that owing to her sense of obligation to a friend, she will say no.”
*
Elizabeth sat in the window seat of her bedroom and stared out over the moon-lit courtyard. She gathered her long hair from her shoulders and began braiding it. How wonderful it would be if Mr. Darcy and I were enjoying a lovely moonlight stroll. Elizabeth paused. Where did such a fanciful notion come from? Too many romance novels, I suppose. After all, she had spent most of the day in the company of the newly acknowledged handsomest man of her acquaintance—who just happened to be Mr. Darcy.
A scratch at the door caught her attention. Seconds later, Jane poked her head inside. Spotting Elizabeth sitting in the window seat, Jane joined her.
“You are having no more luck in falling asleep than I am, dearest Lizzy.”
“I am afraid not. This has been one long day.”
“Indeed—one you enjoyed mostly in Mr. Darcy’s company.”
Elizabeth smiled then resumed her task of gazing out the window.
Jane said, “I am glad Mr. Wickham and Mr. Denny did not accept our mother’s invitation to dine with us. It would have made for a most awkward evening. Instead, the evening was delightful.”
Elizabeth recalled how Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy had looked at each other when Jane, Bingley, Darcy, and she returned from their walk. It was the first time she had seen the gentlemen together since making Mr. Wickham’s acquaintance upon his arrival in Meryton. How awkward it had been then, but that was nothing compared to earlier that day in the parlour. What a fool she had been in thinking Mr. Wickham was a better man than Mr. Darcy.
Even her mother had noticed the cold uneasiness between the two gentlemen. As much as she clearly preferred the charming and amiable Mr. Wickham over the haughty and reserved Mr. Darcy, she had been wise enough to realise if Mr. Darcy left, then Mr. Bingley might surely follow. She could not have that. She had taken painstaking effort to ensure their family dinner with Mr. Bingley as the guest of honour would be perfect.
“Indeed—had Mr. Wickham chosen to remain at Longbourn for dinner, I doubt Mr. Darcy would have done likewise. Although, I am sure our father would have been amused by the consequent discomfort had both men graced his table.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Jane, I hesitated to say anything before owing to my uncertainty of whether it would actually come about, but Mr. Darcy spoke to Papa earlier today.”
Jane’s face brightened with pleasure, prompting Elizabeth to correct her sister’s misinterpretation. “Oh, no! It is not what you are thinking. Mr. Darcy’s visit had nothing to do with me. He went to Papa to advise him of the perils Lydia might face should she be allowed to travel to Brighton with the Forsters and the militia.”
“Oh, Lizzy, do
you suppose Mr. Darcy was able to persuade Papa against the scheme?”
“That, I cannot say. Mr. Darcy is not entirely satisfied the visit served his purposes.”
Jane clutched her arms together, her disappointment evident.
Elizabeth said, “However, one thing that was made perfectly clear is how much Papa respects and admires Mr. Wickham and how he would rather deride Mr. Darcy.”
“Why do you say such a thing?”
“Well, earlier today, Papa interrupted—or rather, came upon Mr. Darcy and me in the east parlour, and he took great pleasure in teasing both of us that our being there alone occasioned an expectation of marriage.”
Jane gasped. Elizabeth said, “Oh, Jane, you know Papa. He was merely speaking in jest, but in light of my past with Mr. Darcy, suffice it to say that neither of us received Papa’s teasing with pleasure.”
“I am sorry, Lizzy, but I cannot help wondering—that is to say—you and Mr. Darcy seem to have put aside any past acrimonies. Do you suppose Mr. Darcy will renew his offer of marriage?”
Elizabeth’s stomach fluttered. “Jane, I suppose anything is possible. However, I do not see how a man who has been refused once would risk a second refusal. As much as my sentiments are beginning to undergo a change since Kent, I would be unable to do anything but answer him in the same manner as I did then.”
“Lizzy, how can you say that? If I did not realise how much he admired you before, I certainly do now. You should see how he looks at you when he thinks no one else notices.”
“How can I say otherwise, Jane? The situation with Anne is what prevents me. I am not the sort of female who would enjoy a romantic entanglement with a friend’s beau.”
“Yes, but did you not say Mr. Darcy does not return his cousin’s affections?”
Jane had a point, but not one Elizabeth meant to concede. “I suppose it is rather convenient to allow such reasoning as a determining factor. However, I am afraid that is not enough to tempt me to betray a friendship. I can think of nothing more dreadful than unrequited love—no, I say a love that is not returned in kind is one of the worst possible sentences for any woman. Besides, there are far too many gentlemen who are worthy of consideration to compete for a man’s affections with one’s own friend.”
