by Jennifer Joy
Rising quickly from the table, hoping they did not see, Elizabeth begged to be excused from the table.
She had been wondering how William’s touch would feel.
“You are beautiful, Jane,” Elizabeth said, wishing she could be as certain of William as Jane was of Mr. Bingley. Not that she considered William fickle or misleading — never that!
If only his behavior were more consistent toward her, Elizabeth might be more certain of him. One day, he was as attentive and gentlemanly as a lady could hope. But the next, he was withdrawn and mysterious. Both intriguing and confounding. A puzzle Elizabeth dearly wished to understand … if only William would not withhold the pieces she needed to properly sketch his character.
Jane fussed with the pearls Betsy had woven into Elizabeth’s curls, straightening the pin holding them. “As are you, Lizzy. I know it is presumptuous of me, but I cannot help but hope tonight will be significant for both of us.”
Elizabeth dared not hope. She craved William’s attentions while anticipating her first meeting with Mr. Wyndham. Was it possible to love two men at the same time — one of them a man she had never met or even seen from afar? What did that say about her as a woman?
“For you, my dearest Jane. That would be enough excitement for one night,” Elizabeth said, feeling wretched and indecisive. Why could she not decide? Was it so awful to just see Mr. Wyndham on the morrow? One look, and she was certain she would know. She hoped.
“Mr. Darcy holds you in high esteem,” Jane said, smoothing another curl down and pinning it in place.
“I think very highly of him as well,” Elizabeth said, more to herself than in answer to her sister.
Jane stepped back, forcing Elizabeth to look at her fully. “Do you love him, Lizzy?”
That was the question that caused Elizabeth so much grief. She did love him. But she also felt an attachment to Mr. Wyndham that would not die.
She could not lie to Jane. “I do. However, I have loved Mr. Wyndham for so long…” She sighed, continuing, “I cannot in good conscience offer half of my heart to Mr. Darcy when he deserves all of it. I would never have believed myself capable of this treachery — of admiring two men so distinct from each other — but neither can I deny that my heart is divided.”
Jane caressed Elizabeth’s cheek. “Then, you must go to London on the morrow. Mr. Wyndham will arrive at his reading with his wife and eight children in tow. You will see he is not the man you have imagined him to be, and you will return to Hertfordshire free to love the man who loves you despite the obstacles you and our family have thrown before him.”
Elizabeth tried to laugh, but her chest was tight. “If he will have me. I would not blame Mr. Darcy if he did not choose me. There are many other ladies who would be happy to give him their full devotion, ladies of circumstance and connections.”
Jane squeezed Elizabeth’s hands, but she said nothing. What else could be said?
Elizabeth was an indecisive, disloyal wretch … who wanted nothing more than to dance with William that evening and to meet Mr. Wyndham on the morrow.
Chapter 31
Netherfield Park sparkled and beamed, much like its master did when he saw Jane. Mr. Bingley had already claimed her first set as well as the privilege of seeing her in to dinner later in the evening, but even that was not enough. He decided he ought to take a turn around the room to see to his guests before the music began, offering Jane his arm so she might accompany him.
Mother was in raptures. Not only did she have one daughter well on her way to settling most advantageously, but the daughter she had assumed would be a spinster was well on her way to securing Mr. Collins (which had the added advantage of securing Longbourn in their immediate family.) Mary, unaccustomed to the approval of their mother and the attention of an eligible gentleman, fairly blossomed before Elizabeth’s eyes. Flattery lent a pleasant rose color to her cheeks and a contented gleam in her eyes, which her spectacles enlarged.
Mr. Wickham was nowhere to be found, and Mother lost no time in confirming his absence.
Elizabeth had suspected her mother held certain hopes regarding Mr. Wickham, hopes which Elizabeth did not entertain.
“Oh bother,” Mother said, her cheeks bunched up in disappointment. “I had hoped he would make a good match for you, Lizzy. Mr. Wickham is such a charming, handsome young man. Not at all like that unpleasant Mr. Darcy.”
“Mama!” Elizabeth exclaimed, “Mr. Darcy has been a perfect gentleman lately. Do you not remember how kind he was when you last called at Netherfield Park? He even called with Mr. Bingley at Longbourn to return Jane’s ribbon.” How her own attitude had changed! How quickly she rose to William’s defense when weeks before Elizabeth would have agreed with her mother.
Mother clucked her tongue, tapping her fan against Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Of what use is that when he refuses to dance? I daresay Mr. Darcy believes himself above such activity and will not condescend to dance tonight.”
Elizabeth’s heart slowed, and she looked up to meet eyes with the very man her mother maligned. Good God, he was handsome.
With a curl at the corner of his lips that suggested he had overheard her mother’s comments about him, William bowed and inquired after Mr. Bennet (who had already detached himself from Mother’s company in pursuit of deeper conversation than that of the lace on Miss King’s gown or the poor prospects of an aging maiden.)
Grasping onto the opportunity to advance one of her daughters’ prospects, Mother cast her net. “My Lizzy is looking exceptionally well tonight, is she not, Mr. Darcy? She is not so lovely as Jane, but she is often regarded as very handsome in her own right.” She paused, waiting for William to reply.
Elizabeth felt embarrassment crawl up her neck and burn her ears. William would sooner ignore her than acknowledge her before such bold speech. He was not one to allow himself to be blatantly manipulated.
But William surprised her.
“I cannot allow for that, Mrs. Bennet, for I have not met Miss Elizabeth’s equal in all of the Kingdom in wit and beauty,” he said.
Mother was too shocked to say anything at all — a rare miracle, and one William did not waste. Before she could say something else unfortunate, William extended his arm to Elizabeth, asking, “May I have the honor of dancing the first set with you, Miss Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth nodded dumbly, wishing she could think of something clever and worthy of the moment … and coming up woefully short.
William did not pay compliments freely. And what a compliment! Said in the hearing of her mother!
Elizabeth groaned. “You ought not to have said that in front of my mother. You will have no peace if she sees you as a potential suitor for one of her daughters.”
“Would you mind?” he asked, surprising Elizabeth further.
“You cannot mean it. Would you raise hopes in a mother intent on improving the prospects of her unmarried daughters? It is cruel.”
“I do not mean to be cruel, nor is it my custom to speak carelessly. I assure you, I meant every word,” he said, letting go of her hand and standing across from her as they fell into step with the dancers around them.
All the objections William had presented against her before bubbled forth from her tongue. “You despise my family. We want for connections and fortune and quite often manners. You said I was — and I can quote you directly because the words stung — ‘not handsome enough to tempt me.’”
“Cruel, careless words a true gentleman never should have thought, much less spoken. I stand corrected. However, if you will be so kind as to recall, I did apologize to you and have taken greater care to act and speak as befits a gentleman worthy of the name.”
Elizabeth did not want to be right. She wanted… she wanted… What did she want? Here was a perfectly good man — now whatever possessed her to describe William as “perfect” when he was far from it? Never had she met a more maddening man, full of pride and confident in his superiority. And now, he had the audacity to humble hims
elf? To lift her up to his glorious heights, and to knowingly do so before her mother? The very evening before she would finally be able to meet the one man who truly was perfect (at least, in her own mind)?
Too tangled in her own thoughts to draw any new conclusions, Elizabeth said the one truth in which she was confident. “It is so much easier to converse with you when we do not agree.”
“Then, you do agree I would make a tempting suitor?” William said with a wicked smile and piercing eyes that were too serious for Elizabeth’s liking.
What a fool she was! William was handsome, wealthy, from a good family… He had everything to recommend him. His conversation was informed and lively, and he was not intimidated by her as others often were. He was humble enough to allow himself to be corrected by her when she challenged his behavior, his very character. And he was complimenting her — flirting with her! If she had any respect for her future prospects at all, she would flirt back and encourage him.
But her heart was divided. She could not love in halves, and she could not expect William to accept anything less either.
She had taken so long to respond, his teasing smile had disappeared, replaced with melancholy. Elizabeth could not decide which was worse. Both made her miserable.
“You are an elegant dancer,” she said, wishing the music would end at the same time she craved the touch of his palm against hers.
He did not say anything for several turns, and with nothing else to do but perform the steps properly, Elizabeth’s feet faltered too many times to count.
She was tempted to pour out her concerns in the middle of the ballroom. But what precisely could she say?
She bit her tongue. No matter how nicely she tried to string her thoughts together, it all boiled down to this: You are not Walter Wyndham.
Elizabeth cursed her stubborn heart, but she had dreamed of her ideal for so long, she could not give him up without a struggle. Would William fight for her? Her feminine vanity wanted him to while her logical reason argued that she was not worth his effort. Not when she was divided and indecisive.
Tomorrow would bring relief. Tomorrow, she would finally meet Mr. Wyndham. Once and for all, her image would either be confirmed or irrevocably altered.
Yes, tomorrow all would be put right. She only needed to make it through the night. She could manage that. One night.
Elizabeth skipped and turned with a lighter heart, knowing relief was within reach. She would not flirt, though it would be a challenge not to. She would act like the friend she hoped William would continue to be if Mr. Wyndham proved to be everything she had imagined him to be.
“Are you coming to the reading on the morrow?” she asked, instantly wishing the question unasked. He had already given his answer. The thing is, she wanted William to be there … but, why? So he would be there to witness her meeting the man of her dreams?
Selfish, inconsiderate creature!
He snapped, “No.”
If William could read her thoughts, he would have been horrified. He would never stand being a second choice.
The realization hit Elizabeth like a cold easterly gale. Even if Mr. Wyndham was not everything she desperately wanted him to be, she would never be able to return to William. If she went to London on the morrow, she might as well tell William goodbye for good.
The promise of the morrow lost its golden glow, swallowed up in the shadows of bleak reality.
To make matters infinitely worse, William smiled at her, his voice softening. “I have much to do here, but I know the importance of the event to you, and I wish you joy.”
Elizabeth’s throat dried. He knew, and he cared for her enough to wish her joy. She was the worst sort of fool because she knew in that moment that her curiosity had to be satisfied. She would go to London on the morrow … and in so doing, she was throwing away her greatest chance of happiness with a good man. The best of men.
She could dance no longer. Tripping over two ill-placed feet in her way (Who else could they belong to but to Mr. Collins?), Elizabeth stumbled away from William. Wrenching her skirts free from her feet, she continued forward, her eyes fixed on the floor directly in front of her.
She dared not look up. He would be there.
She dared not slow down. He would stop her.
If she peered into William’s eyes and saw any hint of hurt or disappointment, she would break, and then she would spend the rest of her days wondering … dreaming … regretting. “What ifs” would torment her.
Elizabeth could not bear such a life, and William would grow to resent her for it too.
She was a coward and a fool.
A path cleared before her. Smiling faces frowned and dodged out of the way of the madwoman on the verge of bitter tears. Elizabeth did not realize where she had gone until she found herself in the sickroom Jane had occupied. How appropriate, for she was heartsick.
Dropping onto the couch near the window, Elizabeth pulled her legs up to her chest and buried her face in the fabric around her knees.
Chapter 32
Darcy reached for Elizabeth, but she wrenched her skirts free of Mr. Collins and she breezed out of the ballroom without causing herself or another any harm.
If only the same could be said of Darcy.
Mr. Collins was so turned around, he ran straight into Darcy, tripping both of them and nearly colliding into the ladies unfortunate enough to be dancing nearby.
With great effort, Darcy righted himself before they tumbled to the floor, bearing the bulk of Mr. Collins’ weight lest he trip another lady.
The music slowed, and Darcy motioned for the musicians to continue playing. Grabbing Mr. Collins by both of his arms, Darcy steered the clumsy man away from the assembled dancers, looking over his shoulder to ensure Mr. Collins’ dancing partner was not left unattended. His cousin looked rather relieved. Miss Kitty hobbled to the nearest chair, lifting her slippered foot to rub her toes and tossing Darcy such a look of gratitude as would normally appeal to his sense of humor. But he found no humor in the room that night.
Elizabeth had made her choice.
Extricating himself from Mr. Collins once the clergyman was safely sitting on a chair where he could harm no one, Darcy ignored the ridiculous praise he bestowed upon Darcy’s elegance and quick-thinking. Spinning on his heel, Darcy walked with a purpose toward the library.
Just because Elizabeth had made her choice did not mean he was willing to give up his appeal to her heart. If he had not been plain enough before, he would declare his intentions outright. He would give her another chance.
She was not in the library. Nobody was. The curtains were closed, and no inviting fire was lit to welcome and warm Bingley’s guests.
Pulling open a curtain panel to allow a slice of moonlight inside, Darcy sat at the same chair he had occupied during his poetry lesson. What he would give to turn back time to that day — so light, so diverting, so marked by Elizabeth.
He could have told her. He could have put an end to her indecision.
But then he would always know he was not as dear to her as she was precious to him. He wanted — nay, he needed — for her to choose him. To want him.
Laughter invaded the quiet library from the direction of the hall. Annoying laughter and enthusiastic conversation. How could anyone be merry when he felt so wretched?
Darcy allowed himself some minutes to compose himself. He was a gentleman, after all, and he could not fail Elizabeth now. Not when she had rushed away from the dance, drawing several curious glances her way as she barreled through the crowd and disappeared.
He would ensure she was not the subject of talk, then he would resume his search. Perhaps she had fled to the gardens.
Lowering his shoulders and taking a deep breath, Darcy opened the door to the library as Mr. Collins walked past.
Tempted to retreat to the peace and darkness inside the empty book room, Darcy instead stood as still as he could until the clergyman continued on his way.
But it was not to b
e.
Dabbing his damp forehead with a limp handkerchief, Mr. Collins said, “Ah, Mr. Darcy. Just the esteemed gentleman for whom I was searching. It is my intention to humbly apologize for trampling on my cousin Elizabeth, then on your own exalted self. My talents are best reserved for the edification of my flock through the sermons I painstakingly prepare for them, but your good aunt, my esteemed patroness Lady Catherine de Bourgh, has often encouraged me to participate in these occasions which give the parishioners pleasure.”
He paused to take a breath, and Darcy seized the opportunity Mr. Collins’ silence presented to him. “I, too, was hoping to find Miss Elizabeth. She has not returned to the ballroom?” Darcy asked.
“Not that I saw, but I do not have the advantage of your superior height.”
Before Mr. Collins could extol Darcy with meaningless flattery and waste his time further, Darcy said, “I wish to reassure myself she suffered no injury.”
“As a gentleman would do,” Mr. Collins bowed, praising both himself and Darcy for their attentions to a lady’s safety.
“Then, we agree,” Darcy said (words he would never repeat to the ridiculous man ever again and was rather astonished he spoke just then.) “Your partner also appeared to have suffered from our collision. If you will see to her, I will inquire of the housekeeper. Perhaps, Miss Elizabeth requested some liniment for herself and her sister’s trampled feet.”
He left Mr. Collins bowing and sputtering nonsense.
After circling the room, Darcy ascertained that Elizabeth’s flight had been credited to Mr. Collins’ graceless performance, and most assumed she had sought a brief reprieve for her injured feet. However, not one person of whom Darcy discreetly inquired had seen where she had gone.
An eternity later, Miss Bennet approached him. “I thank you for your concern on behalf of my sister, Mr. Darcy, but she would not wish for her headache to spoil your evening.”
