Truth about Mr. Darcy

by Susan Adriani

  “Though your charms are numerous, fair Cousin Elizabeth, I see no cause at this time to lay any blame directly upon you, per se, for even I, a man of such humility and condescension in the eyes of God, have found myself recently under the spell of your feminine arts and allurements…”

  Mr. Bennet cast Mr. Collins a look of warning.

  Darcy could hardly believe this ridiculous man had not only failed to arrive at his point but had actually managed to insult Elizabeth with his offensive accusations. “Good God, man, have you anything of even marginal sense to impart?” he demanded with irritation. “As of this moment, you have done nothing but ramble on in a completely reprehensible manner and insult a lady. I will not have it. Either come to your point or have done.”

  Catching Mr. Bennet’s eye, which had been fixed firmly upon him with a look of displeasure—and misinterpreting it entirely—Mr. Collins contorted himself into a bow of capitulation. “Yes, of course, my dear Mr. Darcy! Please allow me to take this opportunity to offer you my most humble apologies for my unforgivable failure to properly apprise my patient young cousin of the important news I have yet to impart on behalf of you and your aunt, the most affable and generous Lady Catherine de Bourgh, a woman of the highest condescension…” and on he went as anxiety began to intrude upon Darcy, for he had suddenly realized what it was his aunt’s clergyman wished to tell Elizabeth and had probably already told her father.

  He was furious but somehow managed to convey nothing stronger than contempt. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Collins. We all know how much you admire my aunt, but I have reached the end of my patience. I now feel with absolute confidence I can guess precisely what it is you are trying so inarticulately to convey to Miss Elizabeth, and you can rest assured, sir, it is a matter that does not concern you.”

  Mr. Bennet spoke then, his voice harsh. “Perhaps not, Mr. Darcy, but I believe you might agree that, as Elizabeth’s father, it most certainly does concern me.”

  Elizabeth did not know what to think; she had not been able to make sense of anything that had been said thus far.

  Seeing her confusion, Mr. Collins addressed her yet again. “My poor, naïve cousin, forgive me for saying so, but you have been most injuriously deceived, for I am certain beyond a doubt Mr. Darcy could never have been serious in his attentions to you, no matter how marked they appeared to have been. I have it on excellent authority, from Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself, he is engaged to be married to her very own daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh of Rosings Park in Kent.”

  Elizabeth started at this declaration. Her eyes met Darcy’s with disbelief. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head with vehemence. “No. Everything you have said to me—everything that has passed between us—it is not true. What Mr. Collins says cannot possibly be true.”

  Darcy moved immediately to her side and, against propriety, took both her hands. “You are quite right, it is most definitely not true,” he said with feeling, and then, so softly only Elizabeth would hear his words, he added, “my dearest love.”

  Still retaining her hands, he fixed her father with a level stare and proclaimed, “Mr. Bennet, any rumor of a pending alliance with my Cousin Anne is precisely that and nothing more. I can heartily assure you, sir, neither she nor I have ever desired such a union between us, nor will such a union ever take place. For many years now it has been solely the wish of my aunt, whom you may readily imagine is not used to brooking opposition on matters she has long ago arranged in her mind to suit none but her own purpose. I do not answer to her, Mr. Bennet, and I believe you are well acquainted with my wishes and intentions regarding your daughter.”

  Mr. Bennet visibly relaxed. “Yes, Mr. Darcy, that I am. I hope you can understand why I felt moved to question you regarding your intentions toward Lizzy in such a situation. Indeed, it could not be avoided.”

  Darcy nodded curtly, and both men glanced at a nearly apoplectic Mr. Collins.

  Elizabeth’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. No matter what anyone else might be persuaded to believe, she was absolutely certain her cousin’s intentions were motivated by malice. Without even so much as a glance toward any of the gentlemen, she pulled her hands from between Darcy’s, ripped open the library door, and fled from the room.

  Darcy immediately made to follow her, his concern propelling him, but found himself prevented from crossing the threshold to the main foyer by Mr. Bennet’s firm voice. “Let her go, Mr. Darcy. If I know my daughter, she is only in need of some time to herself. I believe all will be well, but for now, I suggest you indulge her. She will return to us in due time.”

  * * *

  Elizabeth lay upon her bed, a stream of tears flowing across her cheeks and onto the embroidery of her pillow. So consumed was she by her roiling emotions and her fear of the loss she had very nearly incurred, they now eclipsed even her hostility toward Mr. Collins for his perverse machinations. After her cousin’s display, she could no longer deny that what she felt for Darcy was far more than simple warmth or excessive fondness. No, after the conversation that had taken place in her father’s library and her powerful reaction to it, Elizabeth knew in her heart she was far beyond mere friendship. She was in love with him. She was in love with Fitzwilliam Darcy.

  Should Mr. Collins’s words have been true, the disappointment Elizabeth would surely have suffered would have been beyond painful. She now knew that, had Darcy actually been engaged to his Cousin Anne—bound to her by honor and by duty—she would never have recovered from such a loss. The thought of living the rest of her life without him, without his searing touch, his ardent looks, or his superior society suddenly made the insistent pounding in her head increase to an almost unbearable level.

  Jane’s concerned voice called to her from the other side of the door, but feeling unequal to facing anyone at the moment, Elizabeth choked back the hot lump that had lodged in her throat and ignored her. It was not long, however, before the last fragments of her composure crumbled completely. With a muffled sob, she shed bitter, resentful tears for what had nearly been taken from her—the only future she could now envision for herself—a future with Darcy. A future as his wife. Collapsing under the strain of the morning’s events, she soon cried herself to sleep.

  * * *

  Elizabeth did not return for several hours. When she did finally make an appearance, however, it was obvious to all in attendance that she had been crying. Darcy felt a new surge of contempt for Mr. Collins, but, if only for the sake of Elizabeth’s serenity, he swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat, and held his tongue.

  Understanding their need to discuss what had occurred, Mr. Bennet decided to bend the boundaries of strict propriety and allow Darcy a private interview with his daughter in one of the smaller parlors in the rear of the house. The room was light and airy, and the last rays of the setting sun could be seen filtering through the sheer curtains. It was a room Elizabeth favored on those cold, wet days when she would find herself confined to the house for extended periods of time. It was, in a sense, a sanctuary for her, a refuge from the constant badgering of her mother and the tittering and arguing of her youngest sisters. She was grateful to her father for his unexpected gesture.

  Leaving the door open, Darcy guided her to a sofa near the fire. To his surprise, she did not take a seat beside him but settled herself upon his lap and wrapped her arms about his neck, holding him close. He closed his eyes and enfolded her in his embrace, more than happy to breathe in her heady lavender scent and feel the warmth of her body pressing against his own. After several minutes of silence, however, Darcy felt compelled to speak and, in a low voice, said, “I am so very sorry you had to bear witness to such a ridiculous display earlier.”

  His apology was cut short by Elizabeth’s firm voice. “There is no need to say anything, Fitzwilliam, and there was certainly nothing ridiculous about what transpired. I am afraid everything that was said today was uttered in a vindictive spirit and was aimed to harm us, perhaps irreparably. Wretched, hateful man! I cann
ot forgive his interference.” She drew away from him, but only far enough to gaze upon his face and brush an unruly curl from his forehead. “My love,” she whispered, “if you had truly been promised to your cousin, however could I have learned to live without you?”

  Darcy’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at her. “Elizabeth!” he whispered urgently, “Please, dearest, will you not say it again?”

  “Say what again, Fitzwilliam?” she asked as she proceeded to kiss his jaw, her hands leaving a delightful path of fire across his shoulders.

  He closed his eyes briefly as he reached out his hands to still the movement of hers. “You called me your love, Elizabeth,” he said with a hitch in his voice. “I have dreamed of hearing those words fall from your lips for so very long. I have prayed every day to be granted the privilege of knowing such sweetness as it flows from your beloved mouth. Elizabeth, I beg of you, please tell me this is not merely another dream from which I will again awaken to disappointment.”

  “Oh, Fitzwilliam,” she whispered, “after all we have shared, after all that has passed between us, how could you doubt it? How could you not feel it? Indeed, I love you with all my heart.” After all she had allowed him, the idea that Darcy might need verbal confirmation of her love seemed incredible.

  He reached for her, and she wrapped him tightly in her arms. Breathing deeply, Darcy buried his face against the curve of her neck and murmured, “I have loved you for what seems to me an eternity, Elizabeth. Indeed, I have long been in need of you, even before I came to know of your existence. You can have no idea how much it means to me, after months of despair and weeks of uncertainty, to hear you say you love me. You have made me so happy. Indeed, I could wish for nothing more, nothing more except…” The words died on his lips as he realized it was probably too soon to broach the subject of marriage once again.

  “Except for what, my love?” she entreated, her voice soft and filled with tenderness.

  Darcy raised his head, brushing her cheek with his. Their eyes met and then closed as he rested his forehead against hers. “More than anything, you know I wish to have you for my wife, yet I dare not ask again for fear of your rejection.”

  Elizabeth stroked his cheek as she feathered her lips against his. Darcy inhaled sharply when he heard her whisper, “I assure you, Fitzwilliam, your fears are entirely unfounded.”

  A burning hope suddenly flowed unchecked through Darcy’s veins. He forced himself to take several deep, calming breaths before saying, “Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, will you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?”

  Tears of love and emotion burned in her eyes as she drew her head just far enough away to look into his eyes once more. He loved her almost beyond reason, and only now did she truly understand what it was to be able to return such a love. “Fitzwilliam, I love you now so very dearly. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to have you for my husband. I am only sorry it has taken me so long to commit myself to you. You are truly the best man I have ever known. It will be an honor for me to become your wife.”

  * * *

  The remainder of the day passed without further incident, aside from Darcy’s joyful application to Mr. Bennet for Elizabeth’s hand, which he was not denied. The happy couple spent the last hour or so of the waning afternoon pleasantly with Bingley and Jane, much to the consternation of Mr. Collins, who had stubbornly declined an invitation to dine with Charlotte at Lucas Lodge. After witnessing Darcy’s denial of familial duty to Miss de Bourgh, the clergyman was convinced, more than ever, that the master of Pemberley had been infamously drawn in.

  Chagrined by his cousin’s unwarranted accusation toward his future son-in-law, and his own recently inflicted injustice in the same quarter, Mr. Bennet was resolved to give the lovers one more day of peace by delaying the announcement of Elizabeth’s engagement until the following evening, thus insulating Darcy against further insult from having to bear witness to the endless raptures of his future mother-in-law.

  Just before dinner, in an effort to defuse some of his mounting anger toward Mr. Collins’s persistent and offensive scrutiny, Darcy asked Elizabeth to take a turn with him in the garden. The night was clear, the moon was full, and stars twinkled in the heavens. As they made their way toward a little copse on the far side of the garden, Elizabeth shivered from the chill of the night air.

  The spot was a pleasant one and had become a favorite of theirs, as it afforded them some degree of privacy from several sets of prying eyes that might be observing them surreptitiously from the house. Settling himself upon an intricately carved bench, Darcy pulled the woman he loved into an embrace upon his lap.

  “How I have longed these past hours to kiss those tempting lips of yours, my lovely Elizabeth!” His voice was soft and filled with urgency, and before she could respond, Darcy had captured her mouth with his in a gentle yet thorough kiss that bespoke all the emotion of the day. When his lips finally released hers, both lovers were breathless.

  Darcy gazed with love upon the woman before him. He wanted to touch her, to feel her, to know every inch of her, and impatiently tugged his gloves from his hands so he could delight in the softness of her skin. With a contented sigh, Elizabeth leaned into his caress and, tilting her head, placed her lips slowly and firmly upon his warm palm.

  Darcy was mesmerized as she cradled his hand in her own and proceeded to dust kisses from the tips of his fingers to the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrist. Her eyes were closed, her breasts rising and falling rapidly with each breath. His own breath was beginning to come faster, and he hardly knew how he had willed himself to remain so still when such a lovely sight was before him, tantalizing him with her sweet lips.

  No longer able to remain passive, Darcy nuzzled her neck, then feathered his lips slowly, seductively along the contour of her jaw, down to the hollow of her throat, and back again to reclaim her mouth in an ardent kiss.

  To Elizabeth, his ministrations were heavenly, and this time, when his hands wandered ever so sensuously past her waist to caress her hips, she arched herself against him in an unspoken invitation.

  With measured deliberation, Darcy dared his hands to move upward to her full breasts, where he stroked her with his fingertips, eliciting from Elizabeth a soft moan. It was almost more than he could stand, and he pulled his head just far enough away to look upon her beauty illuminated by the moonlight.

  “My love, does this please you?” he asked, still caressing her through the velvety fabric of her spencer.

  Elizabeth was almost beyond herself with desire. “Yes.” Her voice was barely audible, her breathing ragged as she leaned into his touch.

  “Good.” Darcy worked several buttons on her spencer free and slipped his hand inside. Her body was warm, welcoming, and unbelievably responsive as his fingers grazed the flesh at the neckline of her gown, his thumb applying the slightest circular pressure to her nipple through the soft fabric. Again, Elizabeth moaned as though with delighted ecstasy, and with a surge of burning desire, Darcy parted her lips and drank from her mouth.

  Elizabeth was lost to everything around her except Darcy and the exquisite heat his caresses ignited deep within her body. She could feel the tension of the morning melting further away with every teasing stroke of his fingers and every embrace from his lips. She was desirous of more; every fiber of her being cried out for him.

  It was Darcy who, through the haze of his own passion, finally realized the danger of their situation. Her passionate responsiveness to him, her unprecedented generosity in permitting him such liberties with her body, her obvious desire, all brought an acute pang of warning that finally forced him to rein in his passion. Gradually, he lightened his kisses and withdrew his hands, which shook as he refastened the buttons of Elizabeth’s spencer. He drew her head down to rest upon his shoulder, unbuttoning his greatcoat and wrapping it around them to further warm her trembling body with the heat of his own.

  There they sat in the middle of her father’s garden, in
the dark and most likely facing an engagement of at least three or four months. Their actions were more than unwise—they were dangerous. How on earth am I ever to survive months of this blissful torture before I can make her truly mine in every way?

  Elizabeth’s thoughts, unsurprisingly, were very much along the same lines.

  They remained thus for a long while, holding one another in the crisp silence of the evening, lost to all else. Then there was a sound just behind them—the snapping of a twig beneath stumbling feet—and Darcy stiffened. Elizabeth raised her head and, scanning the darkness, suggested they return to the house. It was just as well, as they espied, not half a minute later, the meddling Mr. Collins, who, judging by the appalled look upon his portly face, had very likely observed Darcy brushing Elizabeth’s lips with a lingering kiss as she secured the last several buttons on his greatcoat, her fingers dancing over his chest while he proceeded to pull on his discarded gloves.

  * * *

  Dinner that night at Longbourn was an interesting, strained affair, to say the least. Elizabeth was mortified and angry that Mr. Collins had witnessed the intimate exchange between her and Darcy. Darcy was furious that his aunt’s insufferable clergyman had the audacity to forget himself so far as to dare to meddle in his personal affairs. Mr. Collins was absolutely indignant on behalf of himself and her ladyship for the unscrupulous and scandalous behavior of Darcy and his Cousin Elizabeth.

  Jane felt for Elizabeth; Bingley felt for Darcy; Mary felt for Mr. Collins and busied herself by wracking her memory for a few appropriate words of reflection from Fordyce’s Sermons; Kitty and Lydia bickered for the duration of the first course; and Mrs. Bennet could be heard above it all, talking away in her shrill voice about trousseaux, new carriages, and frippery for Jane’s upcoming nuptials. Mr. Bennet observed them all with amusement.