“I did not mean to give offense—” he began, his voice tight, but Elizabeth held up her hand.
“I beg you, do not. I do not know what you meant to do, Mr. Darcy, but I know what you have accomplished. You must excuse my anger, but I do not feel you fully realize the impact of your actions.”
“Unfortunately, I have just become aware,” Mr. Darcy said with a heavy sigh. “I did not know about the entail. I spoke in truth, and for that I cannot apologize, but I understand your despair. Though I believe Mr. Collins has come to a necessary truth, I know you feel obliged to family duty.”
Elizabeth, at loss for something to say, remained silent.
“I am no stranger to the burden of familial responsibility. If I was faced with a situation such as yours, with one clear path to salvation, I would be angry with the man who closed that path, whatever his intentions,” Mr. Darcy said, his voice becoming softer. “Indeed, I would hate him.”
The clock ticked in the silence of the dark hallway, as Elizabeth struggled to fight back her earlier tears.
“Do you truly think me immoral, sir?” Elizabeth asked at last, surprising herself with the question. Beside her she could see Mr. Darcy go stiff.
“I do not. I have seen great kindness and concern from you, and a pure tenderness of heart,” Mr. Darcy said at last, clearing his throat in an attempt to dispel the intense discomfort he felt. “I do not think you capable of malevolence. Following this evening, I’m sure you would not willingly say the same of me.”
“I do not hate you, sir!” Elizabeth practically yelled, her frustration almost exploding out of her as she threw her hands into the air. “It would be easier if I did, but instead I simply find you endlessly aggravating. If you were truly as arrogant as you act, I would be more inclined to dismiss your actions, but I have seen understanding and compassion from you which, frankly, sir, makes your unthinkable cruelness tonight all the more untenable!”
Her outburst shocked both of them into silence, and she sat breathing heavily as she attempted to avoid his stare. Her face was flushed a deep red, both in anger and humiliation from her speech, and for the second time that evening Mr. Darcy looked as though he had been struck. When the nearby clock began to chime out the hour, both of them physically jumped in surprise. Whipping her head up, she stared at Mr. Darcy in surprise, remembering the plan she had abandoned with Lydia.
“Please, I wish to speak of this no more. You have your forgiveness Mr. Darcy, let us return to the ball now, for we have been gone too long,” she said in a rush, quickly standing up from the bench. But Mr. Darcy had reached out and clasped her hand without rising, forcing her to turn back to look at him.
“Sir!” she began, her voice rising in panic and surprise, but he ignored her.
“Miss Elizabeth, you do not overcome your anger that quickly. I know it is not forgiven. Please allow me to explain,” he said, his voice still tight and his eyebrows furrowed as the clock chimed again behind them.
“It is done, sir, and best not to dwell. Please, let me go,” she said as she attempted to pull her hand from his. He hesitated for a moment, but as the clock struck eleven, he released her hand with a hiss, shaking out his own as if burned.
Elizabeth felt it too, like lightning racing up her arm from the point where they had been joined, and she loud out a loud cry.
“What the devil was that?” Mr. Darcy muttered, cradling his hand as he looked toward Elizabeth.
“Miss Elizabeth, are you hurt?”
Elizabeth’s heart was beating wildly and her eyes were wide as she stared in horror. Had the spell hit them? How could she have been so stupid as to forget all about it? But aside from the shock, she did not feel anything different. Maybe the spell had backfired, and she and Mr. Darcy had simply felt the pain of its failure? She slowed her heavy breathing as she attempted to quell the anxiety roiling in her stomach.
“I am fine, sir. Please, we should go.” She turned on her heel and strode quickly down the hallway, nearly breaking into a run as she attempted to get back to the ballroom and as far away from Mr. Darcy as possible.
As she entered the ballroom once more, she saw Lydia hovering in the corner and rushed toward her. Her sister’s eyes were large and she looked concerned.
“Lizzy! Where have you been? Jane is still here and—” but Elizabeth gave a curt shake of her head and cut off her sister.
“It is too long, I will explain later. It was too dangerous to go through with the plan, so I did not try to find them,” she whispered. Lydia stared at her in annoyance.
“But I went through all that for nothing? I don’t understand,” she pouted, looking like she was on the verge of stomping her foot. Glancing over Elizabeth’s shoulder, Lydia’s mouth narrowed into an “o” shape, just as there was the sound of a throat clearing.
“Miss Elizabeth, I believe it is time for our set,” came Mr. Darcy’s deep voice from behind her. Elizabeth closed her eyes for a brief moment and took a breath. Was she never to be free of him?
Turning around, she met his gaze and curtsied.
“Indeed,” she said in a clipped tone, taking his outstretched arm. As they made contact, a ghost of the earlier spark traveled up her arm, and she glanced sideways, curious to see if he had felt it as well, but he made no indication that he had.
They processed onto the floor as the music began, and Elizabeth felt her cheeks grow red as she heard her mother loudly yell to Lady Lucas to look at Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy. If Mr. Darcy heard this, he made no indication of it. Taking a deep breath, she attempted to compose herself.
You survived a set with Mr. Collins, she told herself, you can get through one awkward dance with Mr. Darcy.
The gentleman across from her remained silent as the dance began, and Elizabeth glanced at his hand with some apprehension, not looking forward to taking it for their set. But eventually the dance moved down the line, and she was forced to accept it. A small spark shot through her fingers as they joined hands, and she winced slightly.
If the spell did impact us, it means nothing. I already know I do not like the man, and if anything it will have just made his dislike of me even deeper.
“Are you well, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked her quietly. Her head shot up and she made eye contact as they stepped sideways, and at once she felt like the air had been pulled out of her lungs.
“Why do you ask?” she responded, her voice almost a whisper. Her eyes remain latched onto his, and a horrible reeling sensation filled her stomach.
“You look distressed, and I believe I was the cause,” he responded, releasing her hand to circle around the couple next to them. Of course he was the cause, that abominable man!
“I told you that we are resolved, sir. Let us speak no more of it. I believe that silence is your preference,” she said, avoiding his eyes as they came back together. He tilted his head slightly but said nothing more, and instead took her hand and lead her through the motions silently.
As he turned, she felt compelled to follow, and as he moved, she couldn’t help but watch. When they parted momentarily throughout the dance, she felt a strange coldness wash over her, and her feet carried her quickly back to him to join up again. When she glanced back up to his face once more, she knew she had made a mistake, for his eyes were drilling into hers, his brow crinkled, his eyebrows knit together. Whether it was in consternation or confusion, she could not tell. But she could not bring herself to tear her eyes away again.
The music swelled within her with each turn, and she felt — for a brief, maddening moment — as if the room had emptied; the voices of all in the background were gone, the bustle of the other couples removed.
“You look very fine tonight, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy said, his voice low and his tone slightly uncomfortable. He looked surprised that he had even said it, and Elizabeth was shocked to hear it. Though she felt unaccountably flustered, she smiled slightly, unwilling to miss such an opportunity.
“That is a fine compliment, Mr. Darcy,
especially as I have heard before that my appearance is ‘merely tolerable.’ I thank you for your kind words.”
The music wound down, and she curtsied to him as he stared at her in confusion. She felt a flicker of self doubt. Did he not remember? He bowed stiffly and took her hand in his arm as if to lead her off the dance floor, but instead of beginning to walk, he leaned over closer to her so that just she could hear.
“I was a fool to say that, but not so great a fool as to believe it. Nothing could be farther from the truth,” he said quickly, before straightening up and leading her into the adjoining room where supper was set up.
A chill ran through her, and she felt raw and unsettled as she took her seat. Jane, who had danced the supper set with Mr. Bingley, was sitting directly across from her, along with her partner, who was across from Mr. Darcy. Next to Elizabeth was Mary, and she found herself pleasantly surprised by her sister’s presence. Though dull and sometimes overly judgemental, Mary had a stalwart, calming presence that Elizabeth desperately needed in that moment.
Across the room Lydia and Kitty were screeching with several officers, and down the table her mother could be heard planning Jane’s wedding, repeatedly interrupting Lady Lucas to do so. Charlotte, who was seated next to Mr. Bennet, shot Elizabeth a sympathetic look, but it did little to ease the anxiety which was roiling so violently in Elizabeth’s stomach that she felt she was sure to be sick.
Throughout the meal, she barely looked at the gentleman next to her, nor said more than two words to him at a time. But she was acutely aware of each of his movements, the proximity of his arm to hers, and the stiff feel of his coat sleeve when he accidentally brushed against her during the first course.
She and Mr. Darcy had never gotten along, but she had never felt so nervous around the man before. Elizabeth allowed that Mr. Wickham’s warning had put her on edge, but she hardly thought the gentleman was going to accuse her of witchcraft right there at the table.
Though she had not wished to discuss the point further with him, she was still furiously angry over his comments to Mr. Collins. What right had he to interfere? Why had he thought it acceptable? And his apology — if one could even call it that — seemed to have been made more out of discomfort and duty than true penance.
And, just as she had attempted to extract a small revenge on him by mentioning his hateful comments at the assembly, he had deflected! It occurred to her belatedly that despite his pretty words, the man had not even apologized. Was he capable of understanding another’s feelings enough to offer a sincere apology?
Though she allowed it was unexpected of him to even attempt one, she had to remember that, though his manners were rude, Mr. Darcy was a gentleman. His pride, which made him so unappealing, likely forced him to attempt a courtesy apology, simply in order to maintain his high opinion of himself. The man prided himself on his lack of disguise, and yet had fooled himself so severely that he could not see how truly horribly he acted.
Elizabeth suppressed a small smile. So the spell did work, she thought dryly, and it has shown me how deeply I detest the man.
She wished to feel relief at this realization, but none came, and she still felt as raw and jittery as she had before. Perhaps it hadn’t worked, then? From the back of her mind, the same voice that had first questioned Mr. Wickham’s story reawoke.
Was he truly all bad? He had shown a softness to her at times, and a true concern for her welfare and that of her family. He was a good friend to Mr. Bingley, and was keenly concerned for that gentleman’s wellbeing. She had seen him express an openness of mind and willingness to help, even when not expected. She had seen kindness from him, and an intelligence, and a deep rooted commitment to family that she begrudgingly respected. Had he not spoken to Mr. Collins purely because he was asked about his aunt? Was his dogged defense of his family and friends so very much worse than the things Elizabeth was willing to do to protect her own?
How could such a man be good and kind, and yet frighteningly arrogant at the same time? She exhaled loudly in frustration, annoyed at these thoughts and the dual versions of the man that seemed to war in her mind.
At the sound of her sigh, Mr. Darcy turned away from his conversation with Mr. Bingley and looked down at Elizabeth.
“Miss Elizabeth, have I been neglecting you?” he asked with a small attempt at a smile. Elizabeth’s eyes traveled up from his mouth to his eyes, and yet another thunderous shock streaked through her as they met. She gasped, unbidden, as every candle in the room simultaneously flickered out, and they were plunged into darkness.
Cries erupted around the table, and just as Elizabeth was grappling with the horrifying realization that was washing over her, a large hand reached out through the dark to grip hers, and she grasped it back without thinking.
He dropped her hand almost immediately, and when the first candles had been relit by the servants he was turned away from her. Elizabeth felt physically sick, on the brink of fainting, as she turned to Mary.
“Please help me home,” she whispered to her sister. Mary did not hesitate, and put her arm around her sister for support as the two hurried out of the room. In the commotion, Mr. Darcy did not see them leave, and when he turned back around, both Bennet sisters had disappeared into the dark.
After finding their father and calling for the carriage, Mary helped a silent Elizabeth into her cloak as they fled the brightly lit halls of Netherfield for the cold winter night. Mary did not ask Elizabeth what was wrong, which was for the best, as Elizabeth could not have answered. For there was nothing physical that ailed her, but rather the all encompassing and terrifying realization that she was in love with Mr. Darcy.
XIII
Elizabeth did not come down for breakfast the following morning, much to her mother’s aggravation, as Mr. Collins had asked particularly after her. Upon learning that Elizabeth felt too ill to join the family downstairs that day, Mr. Collins excused himself from the household, citing a standing invitation for tea at Lucas Lodge. Mrs. Bennet then retired to her own room due to a sudden attack of her nerves.
Though she could not truly ban Jane from the room, Elizabeth turned away all family members who came to check on her, claiming a severe megrim. When Jane came up later in the morning, Elizabeth ignored her questions and crawled back into bed, and promptly feigned sleep. At length Jane left, and Elizabeth returned to her former perch on the window seat at the far end of the room.
She had spent the day in contemplation and yet still felt no clearer about the events of the previous night. How could she love such a man? At every turn she had only seen reaffirmation of his worst traits: his pride, his arrogance, his disdain for her family.
How could she love a man who had been so barbarically rude the first time they met, who had insulted her appearance so casually? How could she love a man who had possibly ruined her family’s chances at keeping their magic? How could she love a man who had been so heartless and vile to Mr. Wickham? How could she love a man who hated and distrusted magic so intensely — who essentially hated the thing she loved most about herself?
Her mind sorted through every memory, attempting to understand how she had even come to love him at all. She allowed that when they were alone, he seemed like a different man; one who was kind and gentle, who sought after her comfort and happiness. And though he made her blisteringly angry, she admitted that she enjoyed the thrill of his challenges. He was handsome and intelligent, and if he were not so proud, she realized that he was very much the kind of gentleman she would have wished to see herself with.
By the time the afternoon shadows had shifted and begun to creep along the wall, Mr. Collins had returned to the house and been denied an audience once more. A cold, hard determination had built up in Elizabeth’s stomach. His determination to meet seemed clearly indicative that Mr. Darcy had not ruined Mr. Collins’ opinion of her so thoroughly, and she was filled with both relief and terror that the man apparently wished to go forward with his proposal.
But he
r hours of reflection had left her sure of only two things; she could not respect herself for loving Mr. Darcy as she did, and she could not bear the thought of a life with Mr. Collins while loving that other, abominable gentleman. She did not need magic to tell her that these feelings were not likely to fade, but she attempted every form of magical consultation she could to determine if this pain would go away.
Elizabeth consulted runes, enchanted prayers over candles, sought her tea leaves, and in every reading the same answers of constancy, enduring faithfulness, and great love were repeated over and over. If it was her fate to love Mr. Darcy, she would do everything she could to change her lot.
When the family had retired to bed and Elizabeth heard the soft sounds of Jane’s breathing even out, she crept out of bed silently, wrapped only in a blanket, and retrieved the small box she had hidden under the bed. Unwillingly, she left her shoes behind her, knowing that magic was best done barefoot.
Creeping down the stairs she heard the faint sounds of Kitty and Lydia giggling, and endeavored to be as quiet as possible as she slipped out of the back door and made her way toward the small wooded area on the edge of the Longbourn garden near the stream where she had called the rain with Mary. She shivered slightly in the frigid night air, but she bit her lip to fight back the cold. Magic such as the kind she was about to attempt could not be gained without some sacrifice.
An Unnatural Inheritance: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 13
