Love Will Grow: A Pride and Prejudice Story

by Dixon, P O

  Surprised, Darcy struggled to compose himself in the aftermath of her resentful words. Is this how she intends to comport herself at such an important time? “I caution you to be reasonable and consider your words with care.”

  “Reasonable, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth drew a long breath and then slowly exhaled. “Setting aside the fact that the struggles you speak of having endured and the degradation that must await you should you receive a favourable reply, do you think any consideration would tempt me to accept the man, who has been the means of ruining, perhaps forever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?

  “Your unjust and ungenerous acts render you the principal, if not the only means of dividing Mr. Bingley and Jane from each other, of exposing one to the censure of the world for caprice and instability, the other to its derision for disappointed hopes, and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind.”

  With a dismissive wave of his hand, Darcy said, “You are upset. However, I urge you to be sensible. We will move beyond this. I shall speak with Bingley when I return to town. I shall convey your entire account of your sister’s anguish. I shall confess my role in separating them, as well as my motives, if you believe it will help. Perhaps it will be enough to persuade him to call on your sister, especially if she is still in town.” He laced his voice with condescension. “Will that make you happy?”

  “Whether or not it makes me happy is of no consequence, Mr. Darcy. It is my sister who was aggrieved. It is her happiness that matters most to me.”

  “Then consider it done. Our own life together, as man and wife, is what concerns me most. Please, end my suspense at once. Say you will be mine.”

  She shook her head. “I cannot. I will not. Your interference in my sister’s life is not my only objection, sir. Another reason exists—one that you ought to know better than anybody.”

  His mind flashed back to their dance at the Netherfield ball when she took a particularly keen interest in George Wickham’s affairs. It would be just like the scoundrel to attempt to poison her mind against me. He narrowed his eyes and stepped closer. “Surely your grievances against me do not revolve around any of Wickham’s lies and scurrilous accusations. I would think you too sensible to believe a word from the likes of him.”

  “No, my sentiments are not affected by Mr. Wickham’s assertions. My reasons are formed by Anne’s sufferings. It is inconceivable that I would accept the man who has not shown the decency to declare his intentions, or rather lack thereof, to the woman who professes her ardent devotion—devotion founded on the basis of a tacit engagement and sealed by the promise of obligation and duty.”

  Once again, her accusation set the wheels of his mind in motion as he endeavoured to list all the women of their mutual acquaintance whose given name was Anne. Nothing came to mind.

  “Anne?”

  “Your cousin—Anne! Do you deny that your family expects you to marry her?”

  “My family’s intentions have no bearing on my choice of a bride.”

  “Are they aware of your sentiments, Mr. Darcy?”

  “I suffer no obligation to discuss the intimate details of my life with others. I am my own master. I answer to no one.”

  “Then perhaps you should, Mr. Darcy, for your cousin is pining her poor heart out waiting for you to declare your intentions. How dare you place me in such a wretched position?”

  Elizabeth had gone too far in levying her unfounded accusations. His temper he dared not vouch for. “This is your opinion of me—that I would court you in front of the woman to whom I am already engaged? What have I done that you would think so little of me?”

  “In such a case as this, it is more a matter of what you have not done, sir.”

  “The fact that I have done nothing to encourage my cousin should serve as declaration enough of my intentions. My conscience is clear!”

  She stepped closer. “Only you would utter such a callous, ungentlemanly remark.” She narrowed her eyes and regarded him with obvious distaste. “From the very beginning, from the first moment of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form that ground-work of disapprobation, on which succeeding events have built so immoveable a dislike, and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.”

  The last man in the world—

  Those words alone were enough to compel him to rethink the struggle he had made in declaring himself to her—the sacrifices he had been willing to make.

  His plans for his future life flashed before him: the way her eyes would brighten when he brought her to Pemberley, her passionate embrace of her new life as his wife—the mistress of his heart. The woman who would turn his house into a home—the mother of his children—his heir. How could he possibly have been so wrong about her?

  The last man in the world?

  This was not happening. He shuddered at the thought of the future he believed was nigh, eluding his grasp. They were standing so close. His eyes traced a path from her eyes to her lips, her slender neckline, back to her lips, her eyes.

  The roar of thunder, lightning, and pounding rain faded into the distance. Time stood still.

  He could not tear his eyes from Elizabeth’s. Likewise, she did not seem inclined to look away from him. Dark, beautiful, bewitching eyes stared back at him—taunted him. Mocked him!

  His voice cracking, Darcy said, “There is no legitimate cause for you to express such venom towards me when I have done nothing but revere you.”

  Her lips parted. A long, agonisingly enticing moment passed by. “Perhaps your sentiments are just, by your own account, sir. However, from where I stand, it is painfully obvious you and I have been acting at cross purposes. Any consideration I have shown you, I can assure you, was done solely on your cousin’s account. As I said before, I have never sought your good opinion, sir. I certainly have never considered you as worthy of my tender regard.”

  I am Fitzwilliam Darcy. No one speaks to me this way. Walk away. Walk away.

  Darcy and Elizabeth stared into each other’s eyes. She is naïve, immature, imprudent. She does not know what is in her own best interest.

  Walk away.

  The sharp blade of her rejection began whittling his heart into fractured pieces. She is beautiful, charming, engaging. She is all I have ever wanted.

  He swallowed, easing his pain a bit. This is foolish. I am Fitzwilliam Darcy. I might have any woman I desire.

  He furrowed his brow. Yet, I desire her.

  Uncertainty crept inside his battered ego. Have my intentions been so muted? My affections so well concealed?

  They stood as close as two people could—too close if she truly did not intend to accept him.

  His entire life had been defined by his getting whatever he wanted. I must have her.

  She kept rattling on, cataloguing his many faults, no doubt. He heard not a word she spoke.

  Darcy closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. She will not have me, and I begin to question my reasoning in ever wanting her.

  He opened his eyes and took one last look into hers. “You have said quite enough, madam. Once again I find myself begging your pardon. If you will, please accept my apologies for all that I have done and said this afternoon.”

  Capturing her likeness for the sake of eternity, he looked at her lovely face, her exquisite neckline, and her tempting lips. “Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.”

  And with those words he hastily left.

  *

  Elizabeth wrapped her arms tightly about herself. She commenced pacing back and forth. A sickening, ominous, emptiness crept over her body.

  For a while she had forgotten she stood outside in freezing rain wearing only her thin coat and light muslin gown, such was the intensity of their impassioned argument. His nearne
ss—their heated debate—had rendered her fiery, emboldened. Coldness and loneliness made their presence known through her soaking wet clothes. Trembling, Elizabeth steadied herself against the stone wall of the temple.

  Her mind a whirlpool, she brushed her fingers along her brow. She had done nothing wrong—nothing she should be ashamed of. Mr. Darcy’s behaviour had been abhorrent—his officiousness towards her sister, unpardonable. He deserved her contempt. She rubbed her aching temple.

  Weighing all she thought she knew about Mr. Darcy and this latest unpleasant encounter, the sum total of her impressions of him was negative. What had she done to inspire his ardent love? Moreover, why did she suffer even a modicum of his pain?

  Shock and disbelief accompanied her on the lonely path home. One glimpse of the gate in front of the Parsonage and Elizabeth’s heartbeat pounded anxiously from anticipation of what must certainly await her once she went inside the house. She simply was not up to Charlotte’s scrutiny. Not just now—later, perhaps. Dripping wet, she hastened up the stairs and headed for the sanctuary of her bedroom. Safe inside, she changed into dry clothing—a warm, plush robe—and curled up in a comfortable chair to rest before the fire, or rather, to dwell upon those thoughts that plagued her equanimity.

  Chapter 8

  Daylight poured through the window awakening Elizabeth to the same thoughts and meditations that had accompanied her to sleep. She could not yet recover from the surprise of what had happened at the temple with Mr. Darcy.

  She found it was impossible to think of anything else. Totally indisposed for socialising in a manner one might deem civil, in lieu of breakfast, she resolved to indulge herself in air and exercise. Still not ready to share her burden with Charlotte, she was grateful to escape the house undetected.

  The weeks which she had passed in Kent had made an appreciable difference in the countryside. Every day added to the verdure of the early trees, the vibrant fragrance of the flowers, and lushness of the shrubs. What a difference the passage of time had made in her opinion of herself as well, starting with the awareness of Wickham’s frailties—the disclosure of which had sown the seeds of her friendship with Miss Anne de Bourgh. The discovery of Mr. Darcy’s affections compounded it all. To have engendered in the haughty gentleman such a tender regard as he had expressed, and to have been altogether unaware of it, was unfathomable.

  Having come across him unexpectedly on other occasions such as the one at present, she wondered at the possibility of seeing him again that morning. In keeping with her essential nature, Elizabeth smirked. Their encounters had not been coincidental at all. Mr. Darcy had planned them. He had looked stunned when she reminded him of his obligations to his cousin. He had declared that to be inconsequential. He avowed that I had been expecting his address.

  How absurd! Mr. Darcy thought he was courting me, and here I thought I was acting in the service of friendship to Anne.

  After wandering along the lane for two hours, giving way to every variety of thought—reconsidering events, determining probabilities, and reconciling herself as well as she might to the consequent changes in her life as a result of Mr. Darcy’s declaration and her own actions in refusing him as violently as she had—the onset of fatigue and the gentle pangs of hunger stabbing at her stomach persuaded her to head back to the Parsonage. Ready to face her perceptive friend, and if necessary her ridiculous cousin, she entered the house with the wish of appearing as cheerful as usual.

  Charlotte met her at the door. “Elizabeth, I am glad you are back. You missed the pleasure of seeing Mr. Darcy and the colonel off. The gentlemen called during your absence. Mr. Darcy stayed only for a few minutes before taking leave, but Colonel Fitzwilliam sat with us at least an hour hoping for your return. He almost resolved to walk after you until you could be found.”

  It was just as well the gentlemen had left before saying good-bye to her. After the turmoil she had endured when Mr. Darcy had come after her the way he did, surely everyone concerned would have questions, if not expectations. Elizabeth resisted a sigh of relief. “So they took their leave this morning?”

  Charlotte arched her brow. “Did you suppose they would not? Was this not their plan all along?”

  “I fear, Charlotte, where Mr. Darcy is concerned, I do not know what to expect anymore.”

  “Pray tell.” Charlotte responded to Elizabeth’s silence by helping remove her coat. “I knocked on your door soon after you returned last evening. When you did not answer, I supposed you had gone straight to bed.”

  Again, Elizabeth said nothing. In truth, she had heard Charlotte’s light raps and had chosen to ignore them.

  Charlotte said, “I am glad I worried needlessly, for you seem in good health—even if your spirits are a bit downcast. I will ask you again—how is it you are unsure of what to expect of Mr. Darcy?”

  Elizabeth ignored her friend’s pointed enquiry and posed a question of her own. “How was Mr. Darcy when he called this morning?”

  “I confess he was just as he always is in company—quiet, reserved—the exception being yesterday in the countryside. Mr. Darcy made no attempt to mask his concern when you did not return with us from the walk. He was beside himself when he took off after you. Am I correct in assuming he found you?”

  Elizabeth released a quick breath. “Indeed he did find me, Charlotte. If I am to be honest, I would have to say you were correct when you earlier surmised Mr. Darcy held me in esteem. I had no idea until yesterday.”

  “Pray, what happened when Mr. Darcy found you?”

  “Oh, Charlotte, suffice it to say my purposes in advocating on Anne’s behalf have all been in vain, for he professed his love for another.”

  “You need not tell me who the other person is, for it has been no secret to me. The question is what do you intend to do—what have you done? What shall you do as regards Anne?”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “There is nothing to be done. I had no idea of his sentiments. Had I suspected, the afternoon would not have turned out any better, for I heard from the colonel that Mr. Darcy was instrumental in separating Jane and Mr. Bingley.”

  Charlotte opened and closed her mouth. She placed her hand on Elizabeth’s. “Did you take Mr. Darcy to task for his interference?”

  “Indeed, I did. He made no attempt to deny what the colonel had said, nor did he display any semblance of regret. He owned his part in the entire scheme with pride and insolence. He expressed no regret for what he had done in a manner which might have satisfied me. His style was not penitent, but haughty.”

  By now, the two ladies were seated in the parlour. Elizabeth silently replayed parts of the troubling scene whilst Charlotte prepared tea. Mr. Darcy did say he would speak to Bingley on Jane’s behalf. At the time, she supposed he would have said most anything to carry his point. In the wake of her harsh rebuke and refusal of his hand, she knew not whether to rely upon his declaration. Elizabeth spread her fingers across her face. What if her ill temper towards him was the means of destroying any remaining shred of hope for Jane?

  Charlotte sat her task aside. “My dear Eliza, what has got you so concerned?”

  “Oh, Charlotte, I fear the manner in which Mr. Darcy and I separated does not lend itself towards a timely resolution of my sister’s dilemma.”

  “Oh dear! What will you do now?”

  “Charlotte, although my plans called for me remaining with you for another couple of weeks, after what has happened, I find I can no longer wait to be by Jane’s side. I shall leave as soon as arrangements can be made.”

  “I understand, but I cannot say I am pleased with your decision to leave ahead of schedule. I think Lady Catherine and Anne will be equally displeased.”

  “Granted. However, the prospect of spending even another day in the company of the de Bourghs is insupportable. Especially now.”

  “Will you tell Anne what has happened?”

  “How can I? She is depending upon Mr. Darcy to honour their family’s wishes for an alliance between the two of
them. Even if the gentleman has since made his lack of intentions clear to Anne, do I dare to confess my part in the scheme?”

  Elizabeth frowned. Besides, is it up to me to tell Anne what Mr. Darcy will not?

  *

  Mr. Collins burst through the doorway, kicking up a cloud of dust bunnies in his wake, eagerly bearing news from Rosings Park. As ridiculous as her cousin was, there was something to be said about his ever-mindfulness of his duty as a loyal and faithful servant. He had gone to visit her ladyship as soon as her nephews’ carriage drove past the Parsonage, aiming to console her and her daughter in what could only be described as an inconsolable turn of events. Her ladyship’s reward for his dedication satisfied him immensely as his testimony to his wife and his fair cousin attested.

  “Indeed, my dear Mrs. Collins, Miss Elizabeth,” said he, nodding all the while, “her ladyship imported that she felt herself so dull as to make her very desirous of having us to dine with her this evening.”

  Charlotte drew in an excited breath and smiled. “How lovely!”

  His gratified grin stretched from ear to ear. “Indeed! Her ladyship is most impressed with the prospect of seeing you, my dear cousin.”

  Mr. Collins’s happy news was a mixed blessing to Elizabeth’s way of thinking. Having made up her mind to leave Kent, she had but two matters to attend: writing the necessary letters so proper travel arrangements could be made and saying good-bye to her Rosings Park acquaintances. Steeling herself against the prospect of entering the lion’s den if word of Mr. Darcy’s declaration had reached her ladyship, Elizabeth suspected her evening would be filled with strife. Nevertheless, it must be done. Her courage rising, Elizabeth smirked for she could not see Lady Catherine without calling to mind that, had she chosen it, she might by this time have been presented to her as her future niece. Then what would she have said? How would she have behaved? Such were the questions with which she amused herself.

  Alas, her amusement quickly subsided with the thought of how such a presentation would have seemed to Anne. Traitorous, duplicitous—those were just two of the words describing her malfeasance riddled mind. It would not do. Even if the two young ladies were not the dearest of friends, they were close enough for Elizabeth’s heart to ache over the prospect of Anne’s shattered dreams.