Her wish was not to be granted, however. Instead, she felt his hand touch her arm lightly. “Please, Miss Bennet,” he said, his voice pained. “I am not worth your tears.”
His words only heightened her own sense of loss and she began to cry harder, covering her face with her hands. He stood looking at her in indecision for a minute, feeling helpless in face of her pain which he could not explain; and then, with an exclamation, he gave in to instinct and put his arms around her in hope of comforting her.
She had no wish to fight him. Holding her handkerchief to her eyes, she rested her head upon his shoulder and wept uncontrollably. She knew only that his embrace offered her comfort and relief, and that she felt no desire to be anywhere else.
Darcy’s heart ached for her pain, and he spoke words of consolation, urging her to calm herself; yet he found himself in the extraordinary position of both wanting to comfort her and hoping she remained in tears so he could hold her a little longer. This memory of having her in his arms would have to last him a lifetime, and he was not eager to let it go, especially after her free hand stole around his waist. He knew that she was not aware of what she was doing, but he allowed himself to imagine that she knew and was accepting him. “Please, Elizabeth, do not cry,” he said, calling her by the name he always used in his thoughts, but had no right to speak. “It will not matter, it will be over soon.” He only wished he understood her better, that he might have some clue as to why his appearance had upset her so deeply. “My sweet Elizabeth, I am so sorry; I never meant to hurt you,” he said.
Gradually her storm of tears passed, and he waited for her to push him away, but instead she rested quietly in his embrace, making no move or protest. He tried to still his pounding heart, cautioning himself not to read anything into her choice when she was clearly still upset, but it was hard not to hope, and when hoping, to wish for more. He knew that he should release her and step away, but he could not bring himself to do so. Finally, when his conscience could no longer tolerate taking advantage of her distress, he said gently, “Miss Bennet?” She looked up at him from within his arms, her fine eyes still luminous with tears.
He could no more have kept from kissing her than he could have stopped the sun from rising in the east. Gently, tenderly, he brushed his lips against hers; and then, when she made no protest, he tasted the sweetness of her kiss again, allowing his lips to linger until he felt the intense pleasure of her own mouth pressing against his in a response that he had barely dared to dream of.
Elizabeth did not know what was the greatest surprise to her - that Mr. Darcy was kissing her, that she was allowing him to, or that the mere touch of his lips could give her such happiness. She wanted him never to stop, yet she knew they must stop, and that she should have stopped him long ago. Just once more, and then I will stop, she thought, and felt the pleasing rush of sensation as their lips met again. She knew if she kept looking at him she would be unable to resist the temptation he offered, so she laid her head on his shoulder once more. Her pulses fluttered as she thought of what had happened, and that she was finding happiness from being in his arms. She wished she could ask him whether he had meant the words he had said while she was crying, but she was afraid to speak. It was as if words might break the spell, or worse yet, lead to a resumption of the quarrelling, and that was a possibility she could not bear.
It seemed that he felt similarly since he was also silent, employing his time more gainfully by pressing slow, gentle kisses on her hair and forehead. It seemed far too short a time before he ceased his attentions for a few minutes and, with a formality that seemed foreign to the circumstances, said, “We have been away from the party far too long; people will be remarking on it, and it is not long before I must leave for London.”
She could hear the remoteness in his voice, and it brought back in an instant the tightness in her chest. He regrets this; he did not mean it to happen, she thought. She could see all too easily how a man who had once had strong feelings for her would have been unable to resist the temptation she had offered, even if it went contrary to his current expectations and wishes. Well, she would not deny him his triumph; the tables had been well turned on her this time. Her pride, however, would not allow him to see how deeply she was wounded. She extracted herself from his embrace and stepped backwards, her chin held high. “I understand perfectly, Mr. Darcy,” she said coolly.
He looked at her in puzzlement, but dared not ask what she meant. Instead he said only, “Shall I go back first, then?”
She inclined her head. “I think that would be best.”
He could not understand her withdrawal - one moment she had been warmly compliant in his arms, and then the next as distant as the moon. Was she angry at him for his presumption? Anger did not seem to be in her mien, though. He resolved to move cautiously so as not to jeopardize their fragile understanding, and instead of the question he was longing to ask, he said humbly, “Miss Bennet, when I am able to come back to Netherfield, after Mr. and Mrs. Bingley return from their journey, would you permit me the honour of calling on you?”
The relief Elizabeth felt at his words was both extraordinary and transparent, as she realized that she had somehow misapprehended his previous expressions. For a moment she could not trust herself with words, but then she said, “I should like that very much, sir.”
A rare smile grew slowly on his face, making him look quite appealing. He said softly, but with meaning, “Thank you.”
Elizabeth could only watch as he turned to leave, feeling as if he was taking her heart with him. At the doorway, he paused and turned to look at her for a moment, then, without warning, he was at her side again, bending his head to kiss her once more. It was merely a light caress of his lips on hers, yet their mouths clung to each other. She was left gazing up at him longingly when he raised his head, and the look in his dark eyes assured her that he was no happier to stop than she.
Almost without thought he brushed her lips with his one last time. “I just wanted to be certain I had not dreamt it,” he said softly.
“It would be a very sweet dream, then,” replied Elizabeth with more of her usual vivacity than he had seen all day.
He touched her cheek lightly. “Very sweet indeed. I do not know what caused you to change your mind, but I am very glad you did. I will await you in the dining room....Elizabeth,” he said, quietly invoking her name as if it were a privilege.
The intimacy of hearing him deliberately speak her name sent a shiver through her and she could only look at him, her heart in her eyes, as he left the room.
She sank into a chair, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what had passed between them. How could so much have changed so quickly? She had been so miserable, and now she was happy. She could not wait to tell Jane.
Her mouth twitched with amusement as she realized she had completely forgotten the greater change; that Jane was Mrs. Bingley now, and Elizabeth would not be sharing this news with her that night as they prepared for bed. No matter; it can wait, she thought with a smile. What could not wait, she decided, was rejoining Mr. Darcy; if she had only a brief time with him before he was to depart, then she wished to make the most of it.
She stopped quickly in the dressing room to tidy herself. She splashed cool water on her face until she could no longer see traces of tears when she looked in the small mirror, but nothing would disguise the heightened color in her lips and cheeks. She pressed her hands to her face, remembering his kisses. Nothing would ever be the same again.
Finding her way back to the dining room, she felt a moment’s hesitation when she entered; a sense of disorientation, as if somehow once she saw him again, he would again be the hostile stranger from the church. But as she came up to him, he turned a look of such pleasure on her that she could think of nothing else.
“Miss Bennet, I hope you are feeling better,” he said with a suppressed smile.
Elizabeth saw their neighbours’ eyes turned on her. “Ah... yes, thank you; it was merely a touch of h
eadache. A little fresh air was all I needed,” she said.
His eyes caressed her. “I am glad to hear it.”
She coloured; and in her embarrassment she felt somewhat lost for words, until she recalled his earlier comment wondering what had changed her mind. She turned a lively look on him, and said, “Mr. Darcy, I do not believe that I mentioned to you I had the opportunity to travel to Derbyshire earlier this summer.”
“Did you, Miss Bennet?” Darcy’s tone was rather more suited for lovemaking than casual conversation, and Elizabeth swallowed hard.
“Yes, I was touring with my aunt and uncle, and we saw many of the sights - the Peaks, Chatsworth, Dove Dale - it is a lovely region, I must say. I even had the opportunity, at my aunt’s insistence, to tour Pemberley.”
His eyebrows shot upward with surprise. “You were at Pemberley?”
“Yes, quite a coincidence, is it not?”
“Yes, it is,” he said slowly, as if uncertain what to make of this intelligence. “And did you enjoy your tour?”
“Oh, very much. The house is delightful and the grounds are quite charming,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I must admit, though, that my favourite part was talking to your housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds.”
He looked somewhat dubious. “Though I am very fond of Mrs. Reynolds, and she is a valued member of my household, I find it rather surprising that you would find her the most interesting part of Pemberley.”
“Perhaps it was because I found her conversation very enlightening, especially on the subject of the family,” said Elizabeth. Dropping her voice, she added, “She gave you what my aunt called a most flaming character. She gave me a great deal to think about.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes, and he smiled slightly. “I clearly should recompense Mrs. Reynolds better for her services,” he said. He sought out her hand under the table with his and clasped it tightly.
Elizabeth was rather startled, but not displeased, to find the sober Mr. Darcy to have an element of the playful and not quite proper schoolboy about him. He moved the conversation to obtaining her opinion of the more usual attractions of Pemberley, but as he did so, he caressed the back of her hand with his thumb in a manner which she found unexpectedly distracting.
When the meal drew to a close not long after, Darcy, although maintaining every evidence of propriety, made no effort to disguise his intention to monopolize her company until his departure. He was surprised that Georgiana did not attempt to join them immediately; she clearly was making great strides in conquering her shyness. But all too soon it was time for him to make his departure. He convinced Elizabeth to accompany him as he bid his farewells to Mr. and Mrs. Bingley.
As soon as they reached them, Bingley looked at Darcy so expressively and shook hands with him with such a warmth as left no doubt of his observation of the change between them, a fact which made Elizabeth colour and Darcy to look at him with the lively suspicion that only one who had moved so recently as he from a state of desolation to one of elation could manage. If Jane had noted any difference, she was more subtle in her reaction than her new husband, to the relief of Elizabeth, who was not yet prepared to reveal to the world in general, and her mother in particular, Mr. Darcy’s intentions.
She found herself accompanying him out to his carriage. Georgiana, who had decided to ride back to London with her brother instead of with the couple who had previously arranged to take her, stood nearby, suddenly fascinated by the trees in front of Netherfield as her brother took Elizabeth’s hand and kissed it lightly. He managed to caress her fingers as he released them, and Elizabeth shivered.
“I hope we shall meet again soon, Miss Bennet,” he said, his voice tender.
“I shall look forward to it, sir,” she replied with the lively smile which had first attracted him to her all those months ago.
“Georgiana,” Darcy said, his eyes still lingering on Elizabeth, “it is time for us to depart.”
Georgiana turned, and to the surprise of all, threw her arms around Elizabeth in a warm embrace. She had watched them closely earlier, noticing first their sobriety, then their joint absence, and her brother’s obvious happiness after his return. She had been relieved beyond measure to see his smile again, and amused by the realization that he was holding Miss Bennet’s hand under the table.
Over Miss Darcy’s shoulder, Elizabeth’s startled eyes met her brother’s. Georgiana whispered, “Thank you,” then allowed Darcy to hand her into the carriage. With one last, serious look at Elizabeth, Darcy entered the carriage as well. As it drove off, Elizabeth stood and watched until it had disappeared from sight.
With the evidence no longer before her, she began to feel a certain confused disbelief - could it truly be that Mr. Darcy had held her in his arms, had kissed her. She hugged herself for a moment, then silently turned back to the house.
No sooner had she put in an appearance than Jane sought her out and drew her aside. “Dearest Lizzy, I must know - what has happened?” she said quietly.
Elizabeth’s eyes danced mischievously. “What has happened?” she teased. “You have married Mr. Bingley - that is what has happened!”
“Oh, please, be serious, Lizzy - with Mr. Darcy, of course! You cannot be so cruel as to let me go away for so long without knowing,” she said persuasively.
“And I am sure Mr. Bingley is waiting eagerly to hear this as well!”
Jane coloured. “Well, he is very concerned - he has been so worried about Mr. Darcy, and then he arranged to seat you together, hoping you would have the opportunity to work out your differences.”
So it had not been a coincidence, thought Elizabeth with some amusement. “Well, then, you may tell him that his plan succeeded, and Mr. Darcy now has a good understanding of how my views of him have altered. He asked to call on me once you and Bingley have returned.”
Her eyes lit up. “He did?” she exclaimed excitedly. “What did you say, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth was quite tempted to tease, but she could see how much this meant to Jane. “I told him I would like that,” she said warmly.
Jane threw her arms around Elizabeth. “Oh, I am so happy! This is the best gift I could have received today.”
“Yes, and you have a new husband who thinks you are the best gift he has ever received, and you should return to him,” Elizabeth said lightly. “I will write you a letter and tell you everything, I promise.” Well, there might be a few details I shall leave out, she thought with good humour, recalling the feeling of his arms around her and the exquisite sensation of his kiss.
Elizabeth thought over her meeting with Darcy frequently in the next days, trying to recall each word and intimation, often with pleasure, but sometimes with anxiety when she thought of how long it would be until she saw him again. It would be a full two months before the Bingleys returned to Netherfield, and a great deal could happen in that time - including a change of heart towards a woman who, on reflection, had given him far more pain than pleasure. To make matters worse, she had no way to know whether his feelings had changed, since there could be no contact between them. She even half-hoped that Miss Darcy might think to write, just for news of his existence, but she knew that their acquaintance was far too slight to warrant such correspondence; so she resigned herself as best as she could to waiting.
She had decided not to tell her family about Mr. Darcy’s interest in her until she was certain he intended to return - which would, unfortunately, likely not be until she learned of his return to Netherfield, if it did indeed occur. She did not want to face the foolishness of disappointed hopes in public, and she knew without the shadow of a doubt that her mother could not possibly keep such news to herself.
Mr. Darcy had been quite clear she was not to expect him before the Bingleys’ return to Netherfield, so it was with no little surprise that only two weeks later she heard Kitty announce the news that he was riding up the lane. She coloured; surely this must mean that his intentions were unchanged, but why would he be return
ing so early? More importantly, how was she to explain it to her family? She quickly turned her mind to the question of how to most quickly extricate him from the bosom of her family, but had only a moment before his knock at the door.
She waited anxiously for him to be announced, but as she watched the door, she saw Hill leading him past the sitting room. He glanced in for only a moment as he passed, just managing to catch Elizabeth’s eye; his expression was serious, almost grave, as she had known it to be in the past. Her pulses fluttered as she realized where he must be going, and an even deeper flush stole up her cheeks at not only the idea of him speaking to her father, but how her father was likely to receive him.
“Lord, I wonder what he is doing here?” asked Lydia.
“No doubt he is passing through, and has a letter or some intelligence of Mrs. Bingley,” Mrs. Bennet replied. “Well, any friend of Mr. Bingley’s will always be welcome here; but else I must say that I hate the very sight of him. Why, he is too proud to even stop to pay his compliments to us!” Mrs. Bennet’s delight in pronouncing Jane’s new name was undiminished in two weeks of practice. Kitty and Lydia looked at one another and giggled.
A Pemberley Medley (A Pride & Prejudice Variation) Page 3
