by Sophia King
But how did she feel about him? He seemed determined to correct her low opinion of him. Indeed, he seem most keen to become a better man overall, and to think better of others. And he was far more generous and honourable than she ever realised. She stared to feel he was a man she could like very much.
Her attention was caught by a man on the other side of the busy street. She was struck by his tall figure and curling brown hair, just the same shade as Mr Wickham’s. Indeed, he looked excessively like Wickham. The man disappeared down a side street and was quickly swallowed up by the crowd.
Elizabeth laughed at herself. Of course it was not Wickham. He was hundreds of miles away in Brighton, no doubt planning his wedding to Mary King. The man across the street was simply one of those people who puts one in mind of another. But as she examined her own feelings on thinking she had seen him, she was pleased to notice there was nothing more than the same jolt one would feel on seeing anyone they knew in an unexpected place. If she had seen Miss Bingley, or Mr Collins, she would have felt the same surprise.
But there was nothing beyond that. No pounding heart, no blushing skin, no weak knees or sense of longing. Her infatuation for Wickham was at an end, and had clearly not been enough to survive a separation of a few weeks. And she was pleased by it. She could not have borne holding onto feelings for a betrothed man.
“Ah, here we are. Do you think they have those tea cakes with the jam? Or the lemon squares? I love those. Mary says such rich food is an indulgence that will lead one to other sins, but what do I care for that? I told her that to sin is to know you are alive, and she looked ever so shocked. Do you not think that was diverting of me, Lizzy? Oh look. That man in the carriage looks like the Prince Regent. Can you imagine if it was the Prince Regent? And he splashed us with his carriage and was obliged to take us to the palace to give us clean clothes, and while we were there, he fell in love with me, and left his wife, that smelly Princess Caroline, and married me instead and made my children his heirs instead of Princess Charlotte? That would be hilarious. I think I should die laughing. He is awfully fat though. But I believe I could endure it for the sake of a crown…”
Elizabeth was already beginning to regret suggesting this outing. She did not think Lydia had said one word of sense the entire journey. If anything, she seemed to talk more than ever, and had not paused to draw breath. If there was any hope that herself, her aunt and uncle could have a steadying influence on Lydia, it seemed to fade by the moment. She had been in high hope that Lydia was starting to learn some humility, but for this afternoon at least, she seemed to be back to her old self.
They settled near a window with a plate of tea, cakes and sandwiches laid before them. As Lydia kept up the endless chatter about her chances of finding a husband and being the first of her sisters to marry, Elizabeth put her cup down and looked at her sister with curiosity.
“Why are you so keen to find a husband before your sisters, Lydia? What would it signify for you to do so?”
Lydia coloured and laughed as if not at all concerned by the question. “Oh, I suppose that I am superior to my sisters in one area at least that the world at large will acknowledge,” she said. “Papa is so proud of you and Jane. He cries up your virtues and no matter what I say to him, he looks at me as if I am the greatest idiot he has ever encountered. It would be nice to be someone people approve of for once.”
Elizabeth was surprised. “I did not know you thought so,” she said. “You always seem as if you could not give two straws for what anyone might think of you. How long have you felt this way?”
Lydia shrugged and tried to laugh as if it was of little concern. “Do not look so grave and serious, Lizzy. I am speaking in jest. You are right. I could not give two straws for what Father thinks. You must not pay attention to anything I say.”
In vain, Elizabeth tried to speak more with her sister, but she would not be baited. Instead, Elizabeth relented and joined her in commenting on passers-by and what their business might be. But she knew she had caught a glimpse into her sister’s heart, and she did not know what she should do about what she saw there. She would speak to her father if she could. She had always longed for him to take more of an interest in his younger daughters, and thought his guidance could be as much help to them as it was to her. It pained her that he preferred to mock them rather than be a father to them.
As they returned to Gracechurch Street after tea, Lydia was unusually quiet. She looked around her as if fascinated by the busy streets. Her gaze fixed on something. Elizabeth looked to see what it was. All she could see were crowds of people swarming around past a milliner’s shop on the corner of a laneway.
“I have heard they have the most beautiful ribbons,” said Lydia. “Would you be awfully angry with me if I went across? I need not hold you up. You can continue on home and I shall follow along when I am finished.”
“I can accompany you,” said Elizabeth. “It is no trouble.”
But Lydia shook her head with a determined smile. “I have heard much of this shop and plan to spend a lot of time there browsing every bit of merchandise they have. You will scold me, Lizzy, and ask me to hurry up. I do not wish to be rushed. Continue on home, and I will join you later.”
Elizabeth was about to argue, but she relented. Lydia was right. While she would not have been adverse to a quick browse, she knew Lydia’s desire to have the shop owner carry out every product they had while she examined it in painstaking detail would be profoundly irritating. So she smiled. “Have a nice time. And do try not to spend all your money. We do not know how many weeks we have left to spend here, you know.”
Lydia laughed her usual thoughtless laugh. “And that warning is yet another reason why I do not wish you to accompany me. I will see you later.”
Elizabeth watched as Lydia ran across the road, narrowly avoiding horses and carriages. She shook her head and continued on her journey home.
Chapter 23
Mr Darcy smiled across the carriage as he watched Elizabeth and Georgiana chat eagerly as they rolled towards Hatchard’s. He delighted to see how relaxed Georgiana was in Elizabeth’s presence. It was far easier than she had ever been even with Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst, although she had known both for several years.
When they had returned from the gardens the night before last, Georgiana had been full of praise for Miss Bennet, and gave her opinion of her in far more decided a manner than he had ever known from her.
“She is wonderful, Fitzwilliam. I like her so much,” she’d said as they returned to their quiet house in Grosvenor Square. “She is so full of life. So playful and merry. Do you like her?”
“Georgiana,” he’d exclaimed, surprised and pleased with her bold manner. “That is very forward of you.” Georgie’s face had quickly looked crestfallen so he was hasty to add; “I speak in jest. I do like her, very much. I am hoping that she can like me too.”
Georgiana had stared at him in utter astonishment. “How could she not like you?” she’d cried. “You are the finest of men. You are far too generous and indulgent of me as a brother, and the loyalest friend. Why on earth would she not like you?”
Darcy had felt uncomfortable with the outpouring of hero-worship his little sister rained on him. What would she think of him if she knew how ungallantly he had spoken of Miss Bennet twice in her presence? She would be shocked and horrified that her beloved brother could behave in such a way. She would look at him differently.
“I have sometimes not behaved as I ought to in Miss Bennet’s presence,” he admitted. “I have allowed my own sour mood to colour our interactions. I thought I could forget her until I saw her here again.”
Far from looking disappointed, Georgiana was sympathy itself. “You will win her, Fitzwilliam. I know you will. She will see what a fine man you are. And I think she will make you very happy. I know you can make her feel so.”
Darcy had smiled at his little sister’s confidence in him. He wished he could feel so himself. “I will do what I can
,” he promised. But secretly, he felt himself to be the most inept lover that ever lived.
And now, Elizabeth sat across from him, her eyes shining as she pointed out various attractions to Georgiana. The two girls laughed and smiled. It gave Darcy an idea of what life would be like for them if he were to win Elizabeth’s hand in marriage. He could have Georgiana live at Pemberley with them, and they could all be a family. Pemberley was the most beautiful place in the world in Mr Darcy’s eyes, but it had been a lonely place since his mother died, and worse again since his father followed her. Elizabeth would make the house ring with life and laughter once again.
“This is Hatchards,” he said as the carriage rolled up to an enormous building. Elizabeth leaned against the glass and he was gratified to see her eyes widen.
“And it is all filled with books?” she breathed.
“Possibly more than I have at Pemberley.”
As the driver opened the door and Georgiana jumped out, Darcy leaned a little closer to Elizabeth. “You shall have to stay close to me so you do not get lost.”
It was the most direct, daring thing he had ever said to her. His heart thundered as he waited for her response.
She turned to look full at him, her eyes searching his. Then, a slow, shy smile spread across her face. She said nothing, but it was enough for now. She was not displeased at the thought of staying by his side.
The bookstore was the largest store Elizabeth had ever been in. From floor to ceiling, the shelves were lined with books of every type of description. Shakespeare and ancient Greek philosophers. Sermons and romances. She was so mesmerised, that she hardly heard Georgiana when she announced she would search for new music sheets and would find them later.
“Which would you prefer to look at first?” asked Darcy. He was looking down at her with a smile, enjoying her delight. At her request, he led her to where the latest books were displayed.
“I know I am not supposed to admit it,” admitted Elizabeth with a grin. “I am supposed to prefer highbrow literature, and spend hours translating works from Greek to Latin. But I do love a good novel. I suppose you think that rather silly?”
“Why should I?” asked Darcy with surprise. “I have read all of Mrs Radcliffe’s books and several of Lord Byron’s. In fact, I mean to find more of them while I am here.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him to see if he was teasing her. He laughed.
“You do not believe me? Will you believe me when I say that the moment Vivaldi was arrested by the Inquisition was one of the most frightening moments I had ever read? Or that when Pierre discovered the skeleton in the chest, I could not sleep as I had to continue reading to discover what would happen next?”
“Why Mr Darcy,” said Elizabeth, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “You are full of surprises. I would not have expected that of you.”
He laughed. “And I have told you many times that you have misjudged me. Are you prepared to concede that fact yet?”
“I am prepared to concede nothing but that you have far worse taste in literature than I gave you credit for, and I must commend you heartily on the fact.” She gave him a mischievous smile as she moved towards the book shelf. “Poor Miss Bingley. All that time reading second volumes of your books, and you would have far preferred to be travelling through Germany, avoiding a band of murderers.”
“I enjoy serious books as well,” said Darcy. He smiled. “But if Bingley’s library had had a more extensive supply, then I should have hidden Mrs Radcliffe between the covers of a worthy book of sermons and enjoyed it immensely.”
Her mention of Miss Bingley troubled him a little. He remembered how she had said they were charmingly matched. He had never thought much of Miss Bingley’s airs and high-handed remarks and it bothered him that he should be seen as like her. It was not at all how he wished Elizabeth to view him.
“Do you see much of the Bingleys when you are in London?” asked Elizabeth as she straightened up with a thick volume in her hands.
“Not as much as I should like,” said Darcy carefully. “We both have many concerns to attend to when we are in town. I hope we shall see one another again soon.”
It sounded to Elizabeth as if they had fallen out, but she did not like to pry any further. It was obvious the conversation made Darcy uncomfortable, and she did not want to take anything from the playfulness of their conversation. So she changed the subject.
“I think there are more new volumes than can satisfy even you, Mr Darcy.”
“Which shall you choose?” he asked, coming to stand by her side. Elizabeth was very aware of his nearness, and her heart raced faster.
“I am not sure. It is hard to choose one.” She moved closer to the shelves. Darcy watched her. He wished he could buy her every book in the store, but he knew it would be grossly inappropriate to buy gifts for a woman he was not engaged to. If he could convince her to be his, he would give her everything her heart desired.
“There are some plays here,” said Elizabeth in amusement. “I think I shall buy one. It is always amusing to act them out with my sisters at home. We make fine performers, I believe.”
Darcy tilted his head to read the cover. “The Wedding Day.” His eyebrows raised at the title.
“Now, do not tell me you act as well, Mr Darcy. You have shocked me in many ways, but I do not believe you can shock me there.”
“I do not know if I disappoint you or not when I tell you I most certainly do not act,” he said with a smile. “It is a talent I do not possess.” He took a breath and looked directly at her. “If I could do so, I would act the part of a man who is everything desirable to a lady. But I can only be who I am and try to always be a better version of it.”
Their eyes locked and Elizabeth could scarcely breath. She blushed, but she could not look away. The powerful feeling she saw in his eyes both excited and frightened her. Among her many reasons for thinking ill of him, she had often criticised him for not being as charming and sociable as Wickham.
And yet look at what good had come from that. Wickham had been charming to her, while engaged to another lady. He could still play the devoted lover to her, while pledging his life to another woman.
Darcy on the other hand, had never pretended to be anything other than what he was. It meant she despaired of his bad qualities, but it also meant she could trust completely in his finer ones, such as his generosity and honesty and kindness. It also meant that unlike Wickham, she could also trust in his feelings. He was not a man who could pretend to feel something for a lady he did not. He was not capable of it. Which meant she could not be wrong about the emotion she saw in his eyes right then as he looked at her.
“I do not know if that is a fault,” she said softly. “I cannot laugh at it.”
“Then I am sorry to deprive you of a laugh,” said Darcy. She noticed how his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. They were standing very close to one another. Elizabeth could hardly understand the feelings flooding through her. She had never known anything like this before. Not even Wickham, with all his smile and pretty words, had made her feel this way.
She moved away from him, pretending to be engrossed in the play in order to give herself time to think. She had begun to allow herself the possibility that she had judged him far more severely than he deserved, but she also feared she was allowing herself to be blinded by a man who had wealth and good fortune. She was extremely flattered by his behaviour towards her, but she could not allow it to cloud her judgment. She remembered the story Wickham had told her of Darcy’s dealings with him.
Was it possible Wickham had told her the story with his own resentment colouring the facts? He would have been less than human if he had not felt some resentment towards Darcy. But perhaps Darcy had his own reasons for depriving him? Maybe he felt he was ill-suited for the church? Darcy could have provided him a compensatory sum for the living, but again, he might have had his own reasons for not doing so.
Or perhaps he had once been as small-min
ded as Wickham said, but had endeavoured since then to be a better man.
She sneaked a look at him. He was engrossed in a book. She admired the way he rubbed his jaw as his serious eyes perused the words. She did not know if she could quite forgive him for the things he had said about her behind her back, but much of that was her own vanity. After all, he only said what other people thought. Elizabeth was no fool. She knew her family’s connections made her a poor prospect for a marriage partner. She also knew her looks was not to everyone’s taste. It had hurt to hear Darcy say it out loud. And it had not been flattering to hear. But considering his behaviour towards her now, it seemed apparent that he had changed his mind about her.
And what of her? Had she changed her mind about him?
Chapter 24
The carriage was laden down with books by the time they returned to Gracechurch Street. Elizabeth sat with her own small bundle on her lap, very pleased with her purchases.
“I cannot wait to start reading them,” she said. She patted the top of the leather covers with a grin. “My aunt and uncle will despair of me. I shall not come out of my room for several days.”
“I hope that is not true, Miss Bennet,” said Georgiana. “We should be very sorry to discover we have been the means of depriving ourselves of your company. Should we not, Fitzwilliam?”
“Of course,” said Darcy. He had been quiet for most of the journey home. It had begun to rain and he’d watched the beads of moisture run down the glass as if lost in thought. “But I am glad we have been of service to you, Miss Bennet. And I cannot blame you if you do spend the next few days with your books. I would expect no less from a great reader.” He smiled at her, then turned to stare out the window once again.
