Fitzwilliam Darcy

by Cressida Lane

  Elizabeth raised her chin. “I knew you before you were Matlock; you do not intimidate me.”

  “You like the boy,” he said, making it sound like an accusation.

  “He’s hardly a boy,” said Elizabeth. “We are the same age.”

  “He is a boy to me.”

  “Your behavior towards him thus far has rendered this unsurprising, my lord,” she said.

  “I have been perfectly cordial,” he said, taken aback.

  “You have been nearly rude with every instance I’ve heard you speak to the man,” she said. “When you deign to speak at all.”

  He made her no answer but paced to the snow-speckled window.

  Elizabeth was not of a mind to humor him and did not solicit his attention again. She set about addressing and sealing her letter to Jane. What did it matter if she mentioned Mr. Charleton?

  “You have not answered my question,” said Matlock without turning.

  “Which question was that, my lord?” she said, not bothering to glance at him in her pique.

  “I’ll summarize. Are you engaged to him?”

  When she didn’t immediately answer, he turned.

  Elizabeth looked at his face then; finding no indication of the directions his thoughts had taken and annoyed by the accusation in his manner, she gave the most disobliging answer she could come up with.

  “We have been in Newcastle but two days, my lord,” she said. “Without the benefit of bedridden illness, I have not yet found the time to become engaged.”

  In three strides, he crossed the room. Darcy reached out to grip her shoulders, holding her captive. His face seemed lit from within, his look was so intent. He bent and pressed his lips to hers.

  The last and otherwise only time Elizabeth had been kissed, it had been a boy of fifteen who claimed to be desperately in love with her. Considering she’d never laid eyes on him after that momentous declaration, she’d come to believe he’d been mistaken. Even so, the memory was sweet; it lightened her heart to think of it.

  Darcy’s kiss was neither light, nor sweet.

  It was over almost as soon as it had begun. Darcy stepped back, releasing his grip on her so suddenly she stumbled. He helped set her to rights without meeting her eyes, but did not speak. With a sharp nod, he left the room.

  Elizabeth sank into a chair, pressing her fingers to her mouth as tears slipped down her cheeks.

  * * *

  Darcy strode through the halls, not stopping to spare so much as a glance for anyone he passed, until he found the door to his rooms. Once safely inside, he pressed his back against it and shut his eyes.

  Elizabeth was enamored of the Charleton boy. She’d as much as said so; certainly she’d taken no pains to deny it. Darcy had come to heel too late.

  He felt more sympathy now for those men he’d known who’d lamented their lost loves. Darcy had never understood before – if you lost the woman you love to someone else, simply love another woman. The concept seemed very straightforward in his mind. Could he then apply the same logic here?

  Find another woman; forget Elizabeth Bennet.

  His rationale failed him there and against all odds, Darcy began to laugh.

  How very like him, to discover he loved the woman whom he was no longer pretending to court.

  He could not bear the humiliation of it, not even in the solitude of this room. He would quit Byrne Hill as soon as it could be arranged.

  As for the madness of kissing Elizabeth – Miss Bennet – Darcy would apologize. He would wish her well and take his leave, and be done with her forever.

  * * *

  Dear Jane,

  Why do you not write? I expect to hear from you every moment. It will amuse me to hear more about how many times Mr. Bingley asked you to dance at the assembly; I want to know if I’ve guessed the number. You may keep news of his sisters to yourself, if you like.

  I confess, the hope of news from home buoys me more than I like to admit. Byrne Hill is lovely and its residents are by and large amiable. And yet –

  I dare not write more at present on that subject, for I expect to be interrupted this morning. Suffice it to say I’ll grant you any detail you like when next we meet.

  I don’t believe I mentioned the storm in my last letter to you. You ought to make a point of seeing Newcastle upon Tyne in winter, sister dear. I have not seen its equal, not in beauty nor in sheer volume of snowfall. It is elegant and beautiful, and too cold to enjoy out of doors but lovely to watch from the warmth of my room. We very nearly had to turn ‘round on our arrival, the snow was so thick; fortunately, we were able to pass the streets and we arrived tardy but whole.

  Mr. Henry Charleton has proved himself the readiest conversationalist in England this week. I think perhaps my aunt and his mother have been conspiring to see us attached for quite some time. He is a kind, charming fellow. I think he should have more than his share of my attention if not for—

  But again, I am mindful of discovery and will say no more.

  It is fortunate that young Mr. Charleton is a sensible sort of man, for we are much thrown together these last several days. The roads are not yet improved enough to pay calls, though we’re told just this morning that this Saturday’s assembly will be held as scheduled. I am glad of it, for beautiful though the snow may be, I have been indoors too long. Provided the roads have improved we still expect to make our way north on Sunday.

  Give my love to all our dear family. I hope to hear news of you soon.

  Yours, etc.

  Lizzy

  Chapter 22

  The residents of Newcastle had spent nearly a fortnight fearing the worst for their seasonal assembly. The storm seemed sure to doom its fate for that year, but the city was reprieved and the storm finally quit the region midweek. The roads were made passable enough to brook the vendors, and spirits rose rapidly.

  Mrs. Gardiner and Mrs. Charleton were particularly looking forward to the evening, as for all the last ten days or more, Elizabeth and Henry Charleton had been nigh inseparable. His charm and her wit made them easy partners; theirs was the most desired table at cards every evening, though it was noticed by some that the earl never sought them out.

  Elizabeth took in the assembly as she entered the hall Saturday night. Being new in town, no one would suspect her to seek out anyone in particular; she seized on the opportunity to look for Darcy.

  For Darcy he was once more in her mind, after that kiss in the library. He’d managed to avoid being alone with her in the days following their argument, and Elizabeth was nearing her wit’s end because of it. She would find him at the assembly tonight, and she would demand he speak with her.

  Elizabeth knew Darcy had been trying to leave Newcastle since that day. Mr. Gardiner had mentioned twice that Darcy’s business had been mysteriously concluded early on in their stay despite the storm, even while he entreated his new friend to stay awhile longer.

  Privately, Mrs. Charleton would not be sorry to see Darcy go; she did not begrudge his surly manner for she saw her son’s rival for what he was. Mrs. Gardiner was of the same mind, though both ladies were too well bred to talk of it, not even in private. Mrs. Gardiner loved her niece as one of her own daughters, and it pained her deeply to see Elizabeth so deeply mired. Though she certainly held her nephew in preference Mrs. Gardiner would see Elizabeth happy and settled, no matter who she married.

  The ballroom was crowded with locals exuberant in their newfound freedom. Elizabeth’s stature proved no advantage against the crush. If she was to find Darcy in the teeming mass, she’d have to move.

  “There you are!” cried a voice at her elbow. Elizabeth slowed, giving the faces around her one last look before turning to the man who’d stopped her.

  “Hello, Mr. Charleton,” she said with a smile. “Are you enjoying the ball?”

  “I’d enjoy it better if you would honor me with the next two dances,” he said, bowing low over her hand.

  “Far be it from me to stand between you and
happiness,” said Elizabeth. The young Mr. Charleton’s charm had been a pleasing balm, an antidote to the unpleasantness of the last few weeks.

  Elizabeth gave up her search for the moment, letting her partner lead her up the line of dancers. Twice during the first set, she lost her footing when she spotted Darcy among the crowd around the dancers. Deft in the dance as he was charming in conversation, Mr. Charleton caught her up smoothly and restored her. Elizabeth grew flushed with the frustration; she was determined to catch Darcy out, once and for all.

  She made curtsy at the end of the second dance and was about to excuse herself when Mr. Charleton spoke.

  “Miss Bennet,” he said. The hesitation that followed was so out of character that he claimed her full attention on the instant.

  “Yes?”

  “Would you speak with me privately? I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

  “Of course, Mr. Charleton,” she said, taking his arm once more. “But you look so very serious. Is something the matter?”

  “I’m quite well,” he said. “But I would speak to you without the whole town listening for a moment.”

  They wove their way through the crowd. Mr. Charleton led her to a corner of the ballroom which, on approach, opened to a wide hall. They turned two corners before finding an open door.

  “This should do,” he said. He gestured for her to proceed inside.

  It appeared to be a large waiting area, containing only a fainting couch, four chairs, and a few small tables. A dusty service set sat on a shelf in the corner. A set of double doors opened to another empty hall on the opposite side of the room. The noise of the ball muted as he shut the door behind them.

  “Are the people of Newcastle usually so keen for a ball?” she asked, studying the only painting on in the room; calling it garish would be gracious. No wonder it was hidden back here.

  “More so tonight, I think, because of the storm,” said Mr. Charleton. “I expect they’re anxious for new society.”

  “Our very good fortune, then,” said Elizabeth, turning to smile at him. “For we were in town a full fortnight and met no one besides your family. I shall be quite in demand the rest of the night, if your estimation proves correct.”

  “I expect you are quite in demand wherever you go,” he said quietly. Elizabeth blushed.

  “You wished to speak with me?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “Miss Bennet – Elizabeth – I’ve enjoyed the last two weeks more than I thought possible, thanks to the pleasure of your society.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she said. “I would say the same for you. I certainly did not expect to spend our time in Newcastle snowbound, but I must say I enjoyed it despite the storm.”

  “Yes,” he said again. For the first time in their acquaintance, Elizabeth perceived some nerves about him. “You know I will finish school in a few months’ time, and that after that I’m to apprentice with old Matthews in Hatfield.”

  “Yes, we shall be near enough by that you might visit at Longbourn,” she said.

  “I rather hope, my dear,” he said slowly, “That you might consider leaving Longbourn for Hatfield, and that we might then visit your family together.”

  Elizabeth fell silent.

  “Two weeks is scarcely enough time for anyone to become fully acquainted,” Mr. Charleton continued. “But you and I have made such a promising start. And happiness in marriage is very much a matter of chance, don’t you agree? Any one person is wont to change throughout his life, or her life, that no amount of familiarity before the match can yield any degree of certainty about one’s felicity. I expect it is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life.” He laughed a little then.

  “Understand, I speak only of my own defects, if you consider giving me a chance to exhibit them thusly. Miss Bennet, our present situation, compounded by your leaving tomorrow prompts my every feeling to ask you: Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Elizabeth could not immediately respond. A shadow crossed the open double doors, but no one entered and her mind was too full at present to mark it.

  “Indulge me a moment,” said Mr. Charleton, noting her obvious hesitation. “I will be provided a comfortable living, though not yet as high as what your uncle has in Cheapside. We may not be wealthy, but we’ll have more than enough.” Henry stepped nearer and took her hand in his. “And perhaps I go too far but I think, Miss Elizabeth, that you are not wholly indifferent to me. Will you give me a chance to make you happy? Will you make me the happiest man in England?”

  * * *

  At the young man’s speech, Darcy’s stomach threatened to revolt. He’d come down this hall to escape the ninth woman who’d claimed he was the perfect fated match for her unmarried daughter. He’d been the talk of the Newcastle tonight, or so he’d been repeatedly told by his growing number of new acquaintances. The town was distressed to have had an earl whom nobody had met in their midst for nearly a fortnight. Their enthusiasm would have perhaps been easier to absorb had he not been occupied with finding Elizabeth Bennet.

  On the pretext of needing to walk, he’d escaped down a hall that was blessedly empty. His trunks were packed, his carriage waiting to return to Derbyshire. It was long past time for him to depart Newcastle but he could not leave without making an apology to her – nor would his heart let him leave without saying goodbye.

  He’d lost sight of her when she left the ballroom with Mr. Charleton. Darcy had been about to exit this deserted hall when he heard Charleton’s weighty words: “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Nervous energy climbed his throat, seizing his voice when he ought to have intervened, to have stopped the audacious fop, to have declared once and for all that engagement or none, she was his.

  His voice was captive long enough for his reason to return. Darcy said none of these things.

  In the long silence that followed, Darcy turned on his heel and made his way out of the hall.

  * * *

  The sound of steps in the hall outside the waiting room was enough to jolt Elizabeth from her stupor.

  “Mr. Charleton, you know how fond I am of you,” she began.

  “I hope I do,” he said with a smile.

  “You honor me with your proposal. I think I should be a fool to decline your generous offer.”

  His smile wilted somewhat. “But you are. Declining it.”

  She squeezed his hand where he still held hers fast.

  “I’m afraid I must,” she said softly. “The life you imagine for us paints an idyllic picture in my mind, but I regret to say my heart has been long engaged elsewhere.”

  “Ah,” he said, releasing her hand at last. “I suspected as much, but I never heard mention of the man.”

  “I think I hardly knew it myself when I arrived here,” she said. “I am sorry.”

  “You’ve no cause to apologize, Miss Bennet,” said Henry. “Shall we part as friends?”

  “I should like that very much,” she said. He bowed deeply. Elizabeth quit the waiting room with haste; Henry did not follow her.

  There was no sign of Darcy in that corner of the ballroom. Elizabeth could not identify why, but she knew somehow she must find Darcy immediately. It was paramount.

  She’d just rejected a man who very likely would have made her life a happy one – rejected him all because she could not rid her mind of the Earl of Matlock. She had to find him, if for no other reason than to scold him for that kiss or for his behavior after it, at least.

  Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed again, though whether it was a reaction her memory or the heat of the room in general, she did not wish to examine.

  “Miss Bennet,” came a voice directly behind her.

  It was Darcy.

  “Hello,” she said, suddenly breathless. The rest of the world receded to a faint din somewhere behind her. All the power of her considerable focus narrowed to this man in that very moment.


  “Miss Bennet, if you will permit me,” he said slowly. “I owe you an apology for my behavior toward you when last we spoke privately. It was wrong of me; I should not have abused you in that fashion, and I am very sorry.” Darcy bowed, drawing more than a few gazes in their direction.

  “You’re leaving?” asked Elizabeth.

  “It is time,” he replied. “The weather is agreeable, the roads have been cleared, and my carriage awaits. There is no reason to delay my return any longer.”

  “No reason?” said Elizabeth, incredulous. She’d begun to think he was on the point of declaring himself; what he said made no sense. He’d apologized for kissing her?

  “Darcy, I’ve something to tell you,” she began, screwing up her courage despite her confusion. If he intended to leave, there was every chance she may never see him again after this night.

  “Yes, I suppose I should apologize for that as well,” said Darcy. His voice had gone tight. “As a matter of chance, I overheard the poignant solicitations you received earlier this evening. My congratulations to you, and to Mr. Henry Charleton, on your future happiness.”

  Elizabeth could no longer read the expression on his face. Whatever he’d meant to convey was lost as he closed himself off from her.

  He did not want her; he did not love her. He was leaving. Darcy had no intention of pursuing her, in falsehood or in fact, any longer.

  What was left but to preserve her dignity? She’d made too much a fool of herself already. She gathered what remained of her pride and let him go.

  “Thank you, sir,” she whispered. With that small utterance, Darcy inclined his head, turned, and walked out of the ballroom.

  Chapter 23

  Miss Bennet,

  * * *

  This notice is to provide you a receipt from Bank of -------, confirming the deposit of ---- thousand pounds in an account bearing your name. If you have any questions about its dispensation, you may contact me at any time, else please refer to Mr. L----, who acts as manager there.