The Last Waltz: . . . another pride and prejudice journey of love

by Pat Santarsiero

  Elizabeth took Jane’s hand.

  “I held on to that hope for many years, Jane, but the truth is: It has. It is remarkable to me how the events of one night changed everything; not only how other see me, but also how I see myself. Yet, I know deep down in my heart that I am the same person that I was before the accident, the same young woman who at fifteen had dreamed of one day being carried away by passion.”

  Jane was never shocked by her sister’s frankness, for it was just another one of Lizzy’s many loveable traits.

  Elizabeth coloured slightly as she thought of Mr. Darcy and the passionate kiss they had shared. Since the day of Dr. Graham’s final prognosis, she had never thought anyone would kiss her with such feeling—so much feeling that he had convinced her it was done, not out of pity, but desire, and she had responded with a self-assurance she had not felt in such a very long time.

  His desire for her had awakened her own as she acknowledged that despite knowing that he could never return her love, she would gladly welcome another opportunity to relive that passion with him once again.

  But now even that prospect was lost to her; for if Mr. Bingley’s words were true, Mr. Darcy was now a married man. The memory of that passionate kiss on the balcony at Netherfield was all she would ever have.

  “Even if I learn to completely overcome my unease with my situation, that still will not change how others see me. I am afraid I shall always be judged by my . . . my . . . my limp.”

  Elizabeth took a deep breath and sighed. “I do not know why it is so difficult for me to say the word; perhaps it is because it sounds so harsh. There should be a softer, less severe word to describe such an affliction.”

  Jane watched her sister’s expression as she spoke. This was the most that Lizzy had ever revealed to her of her feelings regarding her injury.

  “Well, we shall just have to invent one, ourselves,” said Jane as she pressed lightly on her sister’s hand. “It is only a word after all. Certainly we are clever enough to come up with a more agreeable one.”

  Elizabeth looked down, her face reflecting a somber demeanour, and Jane feared she had somehow offended her sister by making light of such a serious matter.

  After several moments had passed in silence, Elizabeth raised her eyes and met Jane’s.

  “How about zypher or perhaps soussal?” replied Elizabeth with a grin. “They sound far less severe.”

  Jane breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I don’t know about zypher, but soussal sounds quite intriguing. I would think any gentleman would be delighted to court a young woman with a soussal,” replied Jane as she tried to mask her amusement.

  Elizabeth could not help but laugh. “Oh, Jane, I’m so very glad I have you for a sister.”

  “I am sure, Lizzy, you will find a man to love who will look beyond such inconsequential concerns and see you for all the wonderful things you are. I will not give up the hope that you will find happiness one day.”

  For Jane’s benefit, Elizabeth produced an optimistic smile.

  “Now that you are betrothed and Mr. Bingley will be requiring all of your attention, I believe I shall take our Aunt and Uncle Gardiner up on their kind invitation to visit with them. I have not seen London since . . . since we visited almost six years ago. I should very much like to see it again.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Darcy looked at his reflection in the pier glass while his valet took pains with his cravat. A night at the theatre awaited, and Alyssa was expecting his carriage within the hour.

  He had yet to officially ask for her hand in marriage, though speculation was running rampant throughout the ton. The London gossip columns had more than hinted on several occasions their assumptions of a forthcoming betrothal.

  Darcy searched his mind for a valid reason for his hesitancy in making Alyssa his wife. He certainly had society’s approval; even his Aunt Catherine, who no doubt had thoroughly researched Alyssa’s connections, was hard pressed to find a reasonable objection to the young lady.

  This evening seemed as perfect a time as any. When they returned from the theatre to Alyssa’s townhouse tonight, he would take the opportunity of proposing.

  It had at first been his intention that he and Alyssa travel together to Pemberley for Christmas, where he would introduce her to his sister. But before he could tell Alyssa of his plans, she informed him that she would be leaving London in early December as her family was expecting her and her aunt to spend some time in Northumberland during the Christmas season.

  He could not say why, but he had been somewhat relieved that Georgiana would not be meeting Alyssa just yet. Perhaps he was afraid she would be disappointed in his choice of Miss Marston, or perchance she might perceive that theirs was not a love match. Despite the unpleasant experience of George Wickham, Georgiana still believed in such romantic notions. He was not going to be the one to spoil her optimism in that regard.

  Taking advantage of Alyssa’s absence, he made the journey to Derbyshire much earlier than usual, happy to spend the extra time in his sister’s company. Upon his arrival, he had informed Georgiana of his renewed acquaintance with Elizabeth Bennet.

  “Oh Fitzwilliam, how I have longed to hear some news of her. Was she well? Did she ask after me?”

  “She was very well. I found her . . . I found her company most enjoyable. She has grown into a perfectly lovely young woman. And yes, Georgiana, she asked about you almost immediately upon our first meeting.”

  “I should very much like to see her again one day. Perhaps we might correspond! Oh, Fitzwilliam, do you think she would be willing to write to me?”

  “If the opportunity arises, I shall ask her,” he replied as he could not help but smile at her enthusiasm.

  When he told her next of his imminent engagement to Miss Marston, Georgiana showed the same enthusiasm, and the battery of questions she fired at him regarding his soon to be wife not only surprised but also embarrassed him at his lack of knowledge when responding.

  “Tell me everything about her, Fitzwilliam,” Georgie had begged.

  “Does she enjoy reading? Have you seen the proof of her embroidery skills? Does she play the pianoforte? What of riding; does she enjoy such sport? And dancing… is it something you have shared, and have you held her in your arms in a most romantic waltz?”

  Finding it almost impossible to keep track of each of his sister’s many inquiries, he sat for a moment in silence and considered each one. He could not honestly say if Alyssa liked to read or if she embroidered. Did she play the pianoforte or ride? He had never asked. As to dancing, they had danced on one or two occasions, though never a waltz, and he suddenly wondered why he had never sought to enjoy that pleasure with her.

  He also could not help but recognize the fact that had his sister asked every one of those very same questions with regard to Elizabeth Bennet, he would have been able to answer each one with authority.

  But it was Georgiana’s next two questions regarding Miss Marston that had unsettled him the most.

  “Did you kiss her, Brother?” she asked.

  Well at least that question he could answer.

  Yes, he had kissed her; he had kissed her many times in darkened rooms and hidden passageways and within the confines of private carriages. His hands had touched her intimately, and she had not only allowed, but encouraged liberties that should have made his blood pulse with desire. But despite her willingness, nay eagerness, he had refrained from furthering their intimacy. He could not say why his body did not respond to her, not the way it had responded to . . .

  “Despite the fact that you are quickly growing up, I do not believe that is a subject I should be discussing with you, my dear sister,” he said as he affectionately cupped her chin, “but yes, Georgie, I have kissed her.”

  “And was it everything you had hoped?”

  Such a simple question, asked innocently by a young and naïve girl, and yet he was reluctant to answer. For his thoughts, once again, were no longer on Miss
Marston.

  ********

  She was excited to be in London again, but for some reason Elizabeth did not feel it shined as brightly as it had so many years before. Had London lost some of its luster; had it changed so much, or had she? Of course, the prospect of attending another London dance as she had so longed for all those years ago was now out of the question. However, there were still many other delights that she hoped to experience, accompanying her aunt and uncle to tonight’s play being one.

  They were seeing a romantic melodrama entitled Timour, the Tartar. From all the accounts that she had heard, it was quite passionate in content, and she was most eager to witness it.

  As their carriage transported them to Covent Garden, Elizabeth was a combination of anticipation, nerves, and determination. When they arrived, she held on to her Uncle Gardiner’s arm tightly and took a deep breath as she looked up at the numerous steps leading to the grand entrance of The Theatre Royal.

  Though the theatre season was still a long way off, the popular play was drawing a rather large crowd. As her uncle was guiding them down the corridor towards their seats, Elizabeth startled and her complexion turned a subtle shade of red at the familiar figure that approached in her direction. As their eyes met, Darcy offered her a warm smile, while the young woman by his side stared quite blatantly at her limp. At my soussal, she reminded herself.

  She suddenly felt awkward and clumsy compared to the lithe and elegant young lady on Mr. Darcy’s arm, but she boldly lifted her chin in defiance of her own insecurities.

  “Mr. Darcy.”

  “Miss Bennet?” he said as apprehension overtook his countenance. “It . . . it is still Miss Bennet, is it not?”

  When she nodded, his smile returned.

  The moment he saw her, he could not help but think upon their brief stolen moments of passion and the kiss that had left him wanting so much more. The gaze he bestowed upon her held for several moments, and Miss Marston looked up at him curiously.

  Breaking their intense stare, Darcy turned his attention to the rest of their party.

  “Mrs. Gardiner, a pleasure to see you again.”

  “Likewise, Mr. Darcy,” she responded, and then introduced Mr. Gardiner. There was a moment of silence as they all waited for the attractive companion on Mr. Darcy’s arm to be presented.

  “Oh, may I introduce Miss Alyssa Marston.”

  As his words registered, Elizabeth stood perfectly still. He has not yet married. By the way Miss Marston clung to his arm, however, she was sure it was just a matter of time. As she looked upon the young woman, she could not help but agree with Miss Bingley’s assessment; yes, she was quite the perfect beauty. She was exactly the perfect kind of woman Mr. Darcy deserved.

  Miss Marston smiled and curtsied as she was introduced and greetings were exchanged. She then noted with some annoyance that Mr. Darcy’s gaze had once again returned to Miss Bennet. She pointedly gave him a bemused look.

  “Miss Bennet was a neighbour of mine while I resided in Hertfordshire,” Darcy explained to Alyssa’s unasked look of inquiry.

  “And what brings you to London, Miss Bennet?” asked Miss Marston as she tightened her hand more securely on Darcy’s arm.

  “Visiting with my aunt and uncle; it has been far too long.”

  “And are you enjoying your visit?” Darcy inquired.

  “Yes, they have kept me well occupied,” she answered, perhaps a little too brightly. “Tomorrow we shall visit Bond Street, where we hope to find dresses for the upcoming wedding.”

  Elizabeth was sure he knew she spoke of Jane and Mr. Bingley, but the look he displayed was one of surprise.

  “Surely Mr. Bingley has written to inform you of the wedding.”

  Believing that it was her wedding to Mr. Collins of which she spoke, he did not wish to reveal that he had purposely avoided Bingley’s letters for just that very reason. He prevaricated. “Yes, yes, of course.”

  The bell sounded announcing that the play was soon to begin. He felt the slight tug on his arm as Miss Marston was ready to hasten their retreat.

  “We should find our seats, Fitzwilliam.”

  Elizabeth’s gaze met Darcy’s upon hearing the intimacy of Miss Marston’s address, and as she looked into the dark pools of his eyes, she could not help but feel regret that she would never speak his name in such a manner.

  As they parted company, Miss Marston seemed eager to express her opinions. “What a terrible shame,” she mused. “That poor, unfortunate girl; a pretty face, but such an unattractive limp. I cannot imagine any gentleman of the ton abiding such a fault. Perhaps she has fortune or family position to make her more appealing?”

  “She is a gentleman’s daughter, but as far as fortune or connections, I believe she has little to recommend her.” Although his reply was in every way truthful, it somehow seemed a betrayal of the friendship that he and Elizabeth had shared.

  “Well then, it seems her fate is sealed. I would imagine her prospects for marriage are rather dim.”

  He could not help but speak in Elizabeth’s defense. “In the short time of our acquaintance, I found her company most pleasing.”

  “Oh, yes, I am quite sure she will make some farmer or some other such undistinguished gentleman a most suitable wife.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Elizabeth sat in her wooden balcony seat and looked down at the stage. She pretended full attention to the play but her thoughts were divided. For every so often she would stealthily point her opera glasses in the direction of the private box that Mr. Darcy and Miss Marston occupied.

  It was one thing to imagine him courting a picture of perfection, but to actually see the flawless Miss Marston by his side was quite another matter. She almost wished that he had already married. At least then she could completely abandon any foolish hope. Why did she so cruelly allow herself to cling to the smallest of possibilities? She knew if she was ever to get on with her life, she must put away the recollections of what they had shared in a deep hidden part of her heart where such memories belonged.

  She heaved a heavy sigh and determinedly focused all her attentions upon the play she had once been so eager to see.

  While on the opposite side of the theatre, Darcy sat uncomfortably in his cushioned chair. His soon to be betrothed sat next to him, her hand skimming lightly over his knee as she moved it slightly higher with each subsequent caress. But it was not Alyssa’s hand on which he was concentrating, for he found himself searching the rows of seats in the balcony across from them.

  When his eyes finally alit upon Elizabeth Bennet, his body suddenly reacted to the gliding movements that had now reached the upper most part of his thigh. Reaching for Alyssa’s hand, he grabbed it, holding it securely as he hurriedly turned his eyes away from the source of his arousal.

  The scene they were watching was between two young women: Liska explaining to Selina her superiority and contempt when asked if she has ever been in love.

  “Oh fie, to be sure not! Love would be quite beneath my dignity. None but the vulgar are allowed to marry for love, but we who happen to be distinguished for rank or beauty most espouse the first King or mogul who comes in our way.”

  As the young performer on stage professed her lines, Darcy dared a glance at Alyssa who, just a short while before, had expressed nearly the exact same opinions. It was those very sentiments that had once convinced him of their compatibility, but for some reason, tonight they had sounded rather callous.

  At intermission Darcy again looked across the theatre and noted that Elizabeth now sat unaccompanied.

  “I will bring us back some refreshments,” he said as he made his excuses to Alyssa.

  He followed the passageway of the rotunda’s curve to the opposite side of the theatre where Elizabeth sat. He stood undetected for a moment, observing her unpretentious, understated beauty. Her eyes lit up the moment she turned and met his, and he responded to her smile in kind.

  “I was on my way to retrieve some refreshmen
ts and wanted to see if you required anything, Miss Bennet.”

  She started to rise from her seat, and he took her hand to assist her. “How very kind of you, but my aunt and uncle are seeing to my needs. I would have accompanied them, but I had no idea there would be so many stairs.”

  “Please sit,” he offered, but she remarked that she had been sitting much too long and preferred to stand for a while. He lowered his arm but did not disengage her hand.

  “Have you been well?” he asked in earnest.

  “Yes, I must admit, I have been quite well; you would be impressed with my progress, Mr. Darcy. I believe you have had a positive influence on me.”

  “Oh? Have I?”

  “Indeed, sir. I have taken your advice and am riding again. I am getting quite proficient at it, if I do admit so myself. But I am sure Mr. Bingley has already written to inform you of my exploits with Florio.”

  Darcy could not help the pleasure he felt at knowing she was enjoying the horse he had chosen for her. “Yes, of course,” he lied, once again reflecting upon Bingley’s letters which lay unopened on his desk at Pemberley. “I was glad to hear it. Is Florio continuing to meet with your approval?”

  The look on her face alone was proof enough of her delight.

  “He is the most wonderful horse I have ever seen, Mr. Darcy,” she gushed. “Though I am not one to easily lose my heart, I must admit it was love at first sight, and he continues to be a constant source of happiness. And while I am enjoying my aunt and uncle’s company and the many diversions of London, I must also admit, I miss seeing him every day.”

  He watched her face intently as she spoke, and upon hearing her words, he could not help but think that her enthusiasm was almost that of the girl he had first met nearly six years ago. He could not deny the great admiration he felt for her.

  “And what of dancing, Miss Bennet; have you taken up that pursuit again as well? Perhaps you have even had the opportunity to enjoy a waltz.”