Mr. Darcy's Undoing

by Abigail Reynolds

  This occasion was unlikely to be a pleasant event in any case—if he did not have to face Elizabeth, it would no doubt mean dealing with some of the more difficult members of her family in her stead. At least he need no longer concern himself with the possibility of those connections becoming his own, but somehow this thought was of no consolation whatever.

  He sighed as he drew up at the church. The sooner this farce began, the sooner it would be over. Bingley had not even waited for him, but had gone in on his own. No doubt anxious to see his beloved after the long separation of a night, thought Darcy sardonically. Try five months, my friend, and see how that feels. Try forever.

  He removed his hat and strode into the church. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the midwinter church, he saw Bingley and Miss Bennet standing near the altar with Mr. Roberts, the rector, who was gesticulating some instruction. It was only then that he made out, off to the side, a shape he knew intimately from his dreams. He caught his breath at the sight of her. Time had changed nothing. He walked up the aisle to meet the others, mechanically greeting Miss Bennet and the rector, but his attention was all for the figure he could see only from the corner of his eye. She acknowledged him with a nod and a curtsey, but came no closer.

  He listened to Mr. Roberts with only a fragment of his attention; the rest was on Elizabeth. As soon as he could reasonably look away from the others, his eyes fixed on her. She was not oblivious to his presence; her lips were curved in a subdued version of that familiar arch smile in response to his look.

  He could not understand why she was standing apart; he could hardly go to her when she was obviously keeping her distance, but it made no sense. She was not making any effort to ignore him, and in fact seemed as inclined to watch him as he was her, albeit with more amusement. With good reason, he thought—everyone in Meryton was going to guess his feelings about her if he could not stop staring at her like a damned soul seeing his only hope for salvation!

  The rector droned on, far longer than Darcy thought necessary, but finally brought the discussion to a close. Elizabeth at last joined the group, and as they made their way outside, Bingley said, “We are all invited back to Longbourn; will you come with us, Darcy?”

  As if he had a choice in the matter! He accepted the invitation courteously.

  “Good!” said Bingley energetically. “I will take Jane in my carriage, then; will you bring Lizzy?”

  “It would be my pleasure,” he murmured, glancing at Elizabeth to see how she took this suggestion. “You are for Longbourn as well, then?” he asked her, not yet able to bring himself to pronounce her new name.

  She raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Mr. Darcy.”

  Bingley, eager to be alone with Jane, was already halfway to his carriage, while Darcy and Elizabeth set a more sedate pace. She seemed to have recovered from her unusual reticence, and began to ask him about his travels. It was a blessed relief to have the distraction of a simple conversation as he handed her into the carriage, a surge of desire racing through him simply from the light touch of her gloved hand.

  Darcy climbed in on the other side, and spurred the horses on with a quick flick of the reins. He glanced sideways at her, relieved to discover that his behaviour at their last meeting seemed to have joined the rather long list of events regarding him that she was pretending had never occurred. She seemed to relax and smile more freely as they spoke of insignificant matters. He had observed her for months, however, and he could sense her underlying tension, and finally heard it put to words when she asked, “How long do you plan to remain in Hertfordshire, Mr. Darcy?”

  So his presence did make her uncomfortable. With a sardonic smile, he responded, “Not long, Mrs. Covington. I have a sister I have neglected far too long.”

  Startled, she looked up at him. “It is still Miss Bennet, sir,” she said, her voice a trifle unsteady.

  He felt a moment of shock, and then violent embarrassment as he realized his error. “My apologies, then, Miss Bennet; I had not realized that your wedding had been delayed as well as your sister’s.”

  She smiled with just a trace of her old mischievous look. “My wedding is not to take place at all. Mr. Covington and I ended our engagement some time ago; I thought you would have heard.” She drew her arms more tightly around herself against the chill in the air. Her distress at the position in which she found herself was substantial; this meeting was quite trying enough for her, and it was an unhappy surprise to discover he was unaware of all that had transpired.

  Darcy did not know what to think, or even how to think. At first the incredible rush of relief was overwhelming, but then he looked at her drawn face and realized what must have occurred, and felt a sudden violent urge to strangle Covington with his bare hands for hurting her. What a fool, to break off his engagement simply because of the disgrace of Lydia’s hasty marriage! For a moment he did not feel sufficiently in control of himself to speak, then he said savagely, “I am sorry—it had never occurred to me that he would not honour his promise to you.”

  Elizabeth winced; this was worse than she had imagined. She did not look at him this time as she answered. “You mistake my meaning, sir. I was the one who broke off the engagement, not Mr. Covington.”

  She had done what? He could not credit what he had heard. She was no longer engaged, and by her own decision? It was all he could do not to halt the carriage that minute and take her in his arms. It will not help matters if you insist on behaving like a lunatic! he scolded himself. Control yourself! Unfortunately, it seemed he very much wanted to behave like a lunatic. “My apologies,” he said quietly. “This news is quite surprising. I am… sorry for any pain it occasioned you.”

  She smiled as if at something only she could appreciate. “It is old news here, sir; there is no reason to be concerned.”

  No reason to be concerned! No reason, after the hell he had been through these last months, haunted by images of her as Covington’s wife? Even Vienna had not been far enough away to keep the spectre of Elizabeth Bennet from his mind and his dreams. His only consolation had been the thought that she would be happy with Covington. He would not have returned now, had it not been for the hope that the sight of her as a married woman would at last prove the cure to his obsession. A pathetic hope, but neither time, nor distance, nor force of will seemed able to change his feelings, and he had been desperate.

  Now all his suffering proved to have been for naught. She was free once more, free, and not objecting to his company. Free, and she had allowed him once before to kiss her without scolding him for it now. Free, and by her own choice—was it too much to hope for that he might have played a role in her decision? It was more than he could comprehend all at once. He reined in the horses, bringing the carriage to a stop at the side of the road, so as to be able to give her his entire attention.

  He took a deep breath. “I am clearly behind the times. May I impose upon you to help me understand what has occurred in my absence?” Although his words were courteous enough, he had no right to ask such a question—he could simply not bear to remain in ignorance.

  The intensity of his interest was palpable as his dark eyes seemed to bore into her. She did not know how to understand him; there had been no word of him at all for months, and now suddenly he appeared, feeling entitled to ask her deepest secrets. She had forgotten how easily he had always spoken to her of matters no one else would dare broach, and she knew she must be cautious with him. In such a case as this, there could not be too little said.

  “You have the greater part of it already, sir,” she said in a light, social voice. “You know of my youngest sister’s elopement. Mr. Wickham, as you will have heard, was eventually prevailed upon to marry her, but it was too late to hush it up; all of Meryton was already talking. I terminated my engagement, and Jane’s wedding was delayed to allow both scandals time to pass.”

  He did not fail to notice sh
e had neatly sidestepped his unspoken question. “Miss Bennet,” he said, his voice tight, “it is not my desire to force your confidence; however, I do find myself very much wishing to understand what led you to take such a step. I cannot believe you would undertake such a course of action without extreme provocation.”

  She closed her eyes, realizing he must think she had expectations of him. It was understandable enough, she supposed; she would have to make clear she recognized just how hopeless her position was. “Mr. Darcy, the rules for a woman in making a marriage are much like those at a dance. A woman may not choose her partner; she has only the right of refusal, and even that comes at a price. If she refuses to dance with a gentleman who has invited her, she must then refuse to dance with anyone else who asks, or be thought ill-bred and improper. When I chose to break my engagement, I did so with a very clear knowledge of the price I would pay. I knew it would mean I would be a scandal, that I would never marry, never have children of my own. It was not a decision I entered into lightly.” She was being far too serious, she thought, and in a lighter tone, she added, “I am quite resigned to my lot, Mr. Darcy. My sister and Mr. Bingley have invited me to live with them after their marriage, an offer which I have accepted. I will always have a home with people I love, and I will grow old helping to care for Jane’s children and grandchildren. There are far worse fates; I have no complaints to make.” She prayed that he would not press her further.

  He was silent for a long moment. Did she honestly think he would just let her go, now that she was free? If so, she had a few things yet to learn about him, and about his feelings for her. He said determinedly, “You may be resigned to that fate, Miss Bennet, but I am not. I can understand it is too soon for you to accept another suitor, but a few months will remedy that. I can wait.”

  She felt a treacherous surge of joy at his words, at the knowledge that, in defiance of everything, she was still dear to him. Yet it was a joy that carried pain in its wake, because its culmination could never be. She did not dare look at him, for fear she would weaken. “You would wait in vain, then. I will accept no suitors, now or ever,” she said flatly, answering his directness with her own.

  There was a tense silence, long enough for Elizabeth to feel the regret for chances lost. Oh, why had he come to disturb her hard-won equanimity?

  “Why?” he asked finally, his voice clipped.

  She took a deep breath. “Mr. Darcy, I am unmarriageable. When you have had time to reflect, you will know this as well as I. Even were it not for the matter of my sister’s marriage to Mr. Wickham, you cannot ignore the disgrace I brought upon myself by breaking my engagement.”

  “I care nothing for any of that,” he said fiercely.

  “It is perhaps easier not to care when you do not have to live it,” she retorted with unexpected bitterness. “You do not have to ignore the silences when I walk into a shop in Meryton, you do not have to endure my mother’s anger and constant reminders of what my decision has cost not only her but my entire family. You are not the one who has to walk into that church, knowing that Mr. Roberts, who baptized me, now views me as little better than a fallen woman. You would care more for it then, I assure you, so please do not torment me by suggesting it is of no consequence!”

  He paled at her anger. “I am very sorry you have been put through such a trial,” he said, wanting nothing more than to kiss away her pain.

  Elizabeth, looking at his face, realized she had said too much, and strove to lighten the air between them. “Do not pity me too much, sir,” she said with a forced smile. “I have avoided the greater part of it, spending the last months visiting my aunt and uncle in London, waiting for the scandal to die away. It will be forgotten—mostly—when some other outrage gives the gossips something new to harp on. So, shall we not continue on to Longbourn?”

  “No,” he said firmly. “You have not yet told me why.”

  She could not bring herself to pretend she did not understand his meaning. “I believe that is something which should remain between Mr. Covington and me,” she said steadily.

  To her mystification, she saw a smile beginning to grow upon his face. I will never understand this man, she thought impatiently. “Well, Mr. Darcy,” she said tartly, “perhaps you would care to share what you find so amusing about all this.”

  He shook his head with a bemused look. He had just experienced the startling revelation that what Elizabeth had not said was more important than what she had. It would have been simple enough for her to say her broken engagement was the result of her sister’s disgrace; the mere fact that she had not done so suggested there was more to it. She had not said a word to suggest she did not welcome his affection, just that his suit was not acceptable. The rapid shift from months of despair to the very near reality of happiness was like strong drink on an empty stomach, and he was intoxicated by it. “I am more amazed than amused, my dear Miss Bennet—oh, yes, quite amazed,” he said, reaching out with his fingertip to stroke her cheek.

  Elizabeth felt a shock of sensation at his touch. “Mr. Darcy!” she protested.

  He laughed, the laugh of a man who has been released from prison. “I am afraid you have betrayed yourself,” he said. He knew his behaviour was outrageous, but he could not bring himself to care.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Betrayed myself? How so, sir?” she asked suspiciously, finding his mercurial change of mood both incomprehensible and unsettling.

  Exhilarated, he caught her hands in his. “You forget, Miss Bennet—my dear Miss Bennet—that I am not inexperienced in the manner in which you reject an unwanted suitor, and today you have told me only why I should not want to marry you. You have not,” he said, pausing to kiss her hands, “indicated that I am the last man in the world whom you could ever be prevailed upon to marry. You have not even,” he continued, turning her hands over to press more light kisses into her palms, “addressed my arrogance or conceit—though perhaps you will be tempted to do so now—nor so much as shown surprise at my declaration.”

  Elizabeth, stunned by this unexpected frontal attack on her defenses, and undermined by the flashes of exquisite sensation caused by his caresses, could not even think to pull her hands away. In weak protest, she exclaimed, “You assume a great deal, sir!”

  “Oh, yes,” he replied, looking deep into her fine eyes, and not displeased with what he saw. Moving closer to her, he bent his head to caress her lips with his own, then whispered, “I assume a very great deal.” Before she could respond, he captured her mouth once again with a kiss that tugged at her senses with a mixture of tenderness and passion.

  It was a combination she could not resist. His nearness stole away her power of thought—even though nothing touched but their lips and hands, the very intensity of the forbidden act sent tremors of pleasure through her in ways she had never imagined. Without conscious intent, she yielded to her own deep need, allowing her most private self to emerge to meet his kiss with an honesty and directness she had not known she possessed. She had missed him for so long, and despaired of ever having more than a casual meeting with him again, and now he was here, declaring himself and kissing her with an ardency that left her awash in the intense exhilaration of love long denied. It was her first taste of the delight a lover’s touch could give, and she could not immediately bring herself to turn away from the captivating pleasure of his kiss.

  Darcy felt the shift in her as her desire rose to meet his own. The physical pleasure of tasting her lips was as great as he had imagined so many times, but to feel her response, her acceptance of the power of the bond between them, exhilarated him in a way he had never dreamed. He felt the danger of it, too—he had spent far too long hoping for any crumb she might toss his way, and to suddenly have the entirety of her was enough to undermine the strongest self-control. Long before he was ready, he pulled away, his heart pounding as he gazed into her passion-darkened eyes.

  “Oh, my dearest,” he sai
d, his voice laden with emotion. “You cannot know how happy you have made me.”

  He could not have said anything that would have returned Elizabeth to painful reality with greater force. She knew all too well that she had no choice now but to make him very unhappy, and she wondered at her own lunacy in breaking through her reserves to give him hope that could never be fulfilled. She could feel for herself the bitter taste of the loss of the closeness they had shared so briefly, and before her courage vanished, she pressed her fingers to his mouth before he could say anything more. “Please do not,” she entreated him. “Let us not make this any harder than it already is.”

  He looked at her in disbelief. Surely she could not be denying him now? He was not such a fool as not to recognize her response for what it was. “What do you mean?” he asked with deep unease.

  She smiled sadly. “Nothing has changed, my dear—except perhaps that I now know my own weakness better than I did a few minutes ago. My situation is no different.”

  His mouth went dry. “I will not allow you to deny this,” he said, a feeling of desperation beginning to make itself felt. He grasped her hands again, willing her to listen to him.

  “I must remind you, sir, we are on a public road, and my reputation is in sad enough condition as it is, without further provocation,” she said, averting her eyes. “Please, take me home now, I beg you.”

  Nervelessly he released her hands and picked up the reins, but could not bring himself to use them. He looked at her once more, hoping for some kind of softening, and saw instead a kind of misery he had never perceived in her before. It occurred to him that while he had indulged his sorrow in Vienna in near complete freedom of circumstance, she had made greater sacrifices and been subject to the cruel whims of society, without the power to choose whether she might see him again or not. Was it such a surprise that even her resilient spirit was a little bowed and weary? Was he not being selfish, to focus on his own pain and feelings of rejection when she was suffering?