Remembrance of the Past

by Lory Lilian

  She relaxed and calmed herself, her passion replaced by comfort and safety. “Elizabeth, I know I should apologise for kissing you so, but I cannot say I am sorry for doing it. I do not regret it—not for a moment. I have longed for, dreamed of and desired for so long to kiss you, to hold you. But I do regret that my eagerness perhaps made me too intense in my expression. I would not have you be afraid of me, Elizabeth. I shall never do anything that you would not wish for; I hope you know that.”

  “I do know that, William, and I thank you for not apologising, because I felt you did not regret it…any more than I did. I was the one who kissed you first,” she admitted, her embarrassment obvious.

  “Yes you did, but I doubt you expected my response to be so…unrestrained.” He smiled.

  “Well, perhaps you are not as restrained as you used to consider yourself to be.” She laughed back.

  “No, I am not—certainly not when I am with you. Do you remember an evening at Lucas Lodge when you refused to dance with me?”

  She was a little surprised at the sudden change of topic. “Yes, I do, sir.”

  “That evening while we talked, I felt such an urge to kiss you right there in the middle of the room! I could hardly restrain myself from removing the teasing, satisfied smile from your lips.”

  Her hand caressed his face, and he placed a small kiss inside her palm.

  “I was such a ridiculous, pompous fool all those weeks. I tried so hard to repress my feelings for you. During the ball at Netherfield, your beauty and liveliness bewitched me; I wanted nothing more than to be near you. Instead, I resigned myself to staying apart, following you with my eyes. I saw you looking around for Wickham. You were searching for Wickham then, were you not?”

  She nodded with regret and mortification.

  “Then I saw you dancing with Collins and…I felt jealous—jealous of Wickham, jealous even of Collins for being able to dance with you, to hold your hand—

  She wanted him to stop recalling such painful memories—painful and ridiculous because they were the result of their follies and their mistaken pride and prejudice. Nevertheless, he still had more to say.

  “Then I asked you to dance—and it was the most painful torture. I felt you were so perfectly suited to me. I knew we were well matched in our dance, yet we argued bitterly the entire time. And instead of talking to you and attempting to correct your wrong impression of me, I chose to run—taking Bingley with me. Now I know that, in doing so, I broke Bingley’s heart and Miss Bennet’s, too. But no heart was as painfully ripped apart as mine. Until that day, I had never been forced to separate from the woman I loved. In truth I had never loved anyone until I met you, my Elizabeth.”

  She felt warm tears burning and did not struggle to stop them. Her fingers began to unbutton his coat—shyly, awkwardly. He looked at her, mesmerised and incredulous.

  Finally, her hand slide inside his waistcoat, and for a moment, she tensed at the feeling of his warmth smouldering through the thin fabric of the shirt. She felt briefly disconcerted, but her hand explored further and came to rest over his heart.

  “From now on, I shall take excellent care of your heart, William,” she said, lowering her head and placing a soft kiss upon the same spot. Both her hand and her lips were covering his heart.

  He said nothing, but embraced her while her warm, steady breath seared him through the thin fabric. It was not just pleasure, passion, or desire…but pure and complete love.

  “Look, William,” she suddenly cried after they had lain together in utter bliss for a time. “The sun is rising. What a perfectly beautiful sight to behold.” She rose to admire the magnificent view, and he joined her. From behind, he embraced her, she ensconced within his arms. She leaned her head against his shoulder while her free hair tantalised his neck. “You are the perfect beauty,” he whispered, as his lips remained to tease her earlobe.

  “Oh, do be serious! Is it not beautiful? I am so happy I have seen the sunrise with you.”

  “I am serious, my love,” he answered, and his words gave her shivers. “But do you realise that having seen the sunrise together means we have spent the night together?”

  “Indeed, it does mean that,” she replied blushing. She suddenly turned in his arms so she could face him. Their bodies were crushed against each other as her hands found their way around his neck.

  “Elizabeth…” he whispered hoarsely and lifted her off the ground to gently deposit her on the blanket again. “We should leave soon. Someone might appear…”

  “Yes, we should…very soon,” she admitted.

  She knew he would kiss her again, and she desperately wished for him to do so. Under the assault of his hungry lips, she leaned on her back again, pulling him with her. His kisses were different in a million ways, yet so perfectly and equally delightful. Small, tender kisses, gentle and light, tantalisingly spread over her face, her throat, even down to her shoulders, and then daringly to the neckline of her dress—hungry, long and possessive kisses that devoured her mouth and left her breathless, throwing her into a storm of sensations.

  With gentle, warm caresses, his hands explored her arms, her neck, her shoulders, her face—every spot of uncovered skin—and again his right hand encircled her waist for a moment and then moved upward. Elizabeth stopped breathing. Even in that tumult of feelings, she knew what was next; when his fingers brushed lightly against her breast, she moaned, and her back arched instinctively. He slowed his kisses and allowed her to breathe as his fingers continued gently to caress the soft roundness through the thin fabric and then moved slowly toward the other. His touch was so light that she could not say if it was real or only imagined, and it soon turned into a sweet torture—a torture she did not want to end but to turn into something more.

  “My love…we really should be going now,” Darcy said, drawing her shockingly back to reality. “And I think I should accompany you home and speak to your father without delay.”

  Darcy helped Elizabeth restore her hair and arrange her bonnet—not an easy task as, each time his fingers touched her hair, a new storm of kisses followed. Finally, they began walking together in silence, their fingers entwined, as Darcy’s horse followed obediently.

  “Elizabeth,” he said the moment Longbourn came into view. “As soon as Mr. Bennet grants me his consent, I would like you to think about setting a date for our wedding.”

  She looked at him, surprisingly astonished and confused. “A date? I do not know. I thought we would consider it together. How could I possibly decide it alone?”

  “Well, we could consider it together, but I am not sure you would approve the date I have in mind.”

  “You already have a date in mind, sir? What date is that?” she asked incredulously.

  “Tomorrow,” he answered, and she burst out laughing. At her demand of being serious, he replied with perfect soundness. “I am serious, Elizabeth. If it were for my desire only, we would marry as soon as I procure a special license, which might take a few days. But, I shall allow you complete liberty to make the decision for us.”

  Elizabeth stared at him, uncertain whether he was serious or speaking in jest, but she had no time to reply. In front of Longbourn’s main door, Mr. Bennet was looking at them with an impenetrable expression upon his face.

  “Mr. Bennet, good morning, sir.” Darcy bowed properly to the master of the house.

  “Papa! Good morning. Mr. Darcy and I have just met and he was kind enough to accompany me home.” Elizabeth explained, wondering about her father’s countenance.

  “Indeed? It was very kind of him—and such a happy coincidence that you two happened to meet.”

  “As a matter of fact, it was not quite a coincidence, sir; it was my intention to call on you this morning and ask for a private conference, so I was on my way toward Longbourn—

  “A private conference? With me? Well, then this is an even greater coincidence, as I have long desired to speak privately with you, as well.”

  “A happy coin
cidence, indeed, sir. I am at your disposal whenever you wish.”

  “Then let this be the moment for it, Mr. Darcy. If you would be willing to indulge me, let us retire to my library just now.” With a strange look toward his daughter, he turned his back and directed Darcy, who brushed his fingers over Elizabeth’s arm in a reassuring gesture, to his favourite room.

  “Would you care for something to drink, Mr. Darcy,” asked Mr. Bennet as soon as the door closed.

  “No thank you, sir; it is early yet.”

  “It is early indeed; we have not even had breakfast, and I suspect neither have you.”

  “You are correct, sir; I have not.”

  “And you decided to visit me at such an early hour? You must have a very important reason to do so,” Mr. Bennet said, mockery obvious in his voice. “My sister and brother Gardiner have spoken very highly of you and seem to value your character as well as your perfect manners, sir. I confess I have not been in your company enough to form my own opinion on the subject.”

  Darcy’s countenance changed in a moment. Mr. Bennet’s words, attitude and tone were meant to offend him; he was aware of that. Yet, he was Elizabeth’s beloved father, and Darcy wanted his consent and, possibly, his blessing more than anything else at that moment. With prudence, he decided to guide the conversation toward the goal he wished to achieve.

  “I apologise, sir. I realise the hour is highly improper for a visit and in truth—

  “Oh come now, sir, you must not apologise for that! There are many other improper things you have done lately if we are to speak the truth!”

  “I am afraid I do not understand your meaning, sir.”

  “Mr. Darcy, the matter is of too much importance for me to afford being considerate of your feelings. In truth, the offence I might give you means nothing compared to my daughter’s felicity.”

  At that point, Darcy lost his patience. “If you are referring to your second daughter, Miss Elizabeth, I assure you, sir, that her felicity is more important to me than my own feelings.”

  “Truly? Such nice words, sir. But I wonder how it is possible that private meetings on secluded paths early in the morning and ruining her reputation could help my daughter’s felicity.”

  Darcy’s face darkened instantly, and his self-control deserted him. He was not to be spoken to in that manner—not even by Elizabeth’s father—yet he had little time to respond.

  “I am not as inattentive to the behaviour of those around me as some might believe, Mr. Darcy. Last autumn, while my family found great amusement in retelling how you called Elizabeth barely ‘tolerable’ and refused to dance with her, it did not take me long to notice things were not quite so.” Darcy paled and, as rarely in his life, had no apt words in reply.

  “I noticed you during the Netherfield ball, sir. I can still remember how shocked I was to see you staring at my daughter the entire night, following her every movement with your eyes and then asking her to dance. I searched your expression during that dance, and it was not the expression of a man who finds a lady only tolerable.”

  Darcy froze in the middle of the room as Mr. Bennet continued: “But your look was not the look of a gentleman who admires and wants to enter into an honourable arrangement with the lady either, Mr. Darcy. In fact, I also noticed that very night the disapproval—I might say the disgust—in your expression as you looked at us, the other members of Elizabeth’s family—

  “Mr. Bennet, if you would allow me to explain, sir…” Darcy’s face was white and immovable while his wounded pride fought against remorse for his past behaviour.

  “Oh, but please do, sir; please do contradict me. Did you not have a certain interest in my daughter in the autumn? And does that interest have anything to do with a marriage proposal? I admit that I should have said something at that moment, but I did not. I was rather amused by your sudden change of opinion, as I knew how much my Lizzy disliked you and how much delight she found in laughing at your pride and haughtiness.”

  Mr. Bennet paused long enough to pour a glass of wine and gulped it instantly. “But now, things seem to be frighteningly different, Mr. Darcy! I know my daughter met you in London and spent some time at your property in Derbyshire. What happened to her I can hardly say, but I see that somehow you managed to change her opinion. Even more, her behaviour is shockingly altered, and she had no scruples in meeting you privately or sharing all manner of improper attention with you at dinner in front of her family. So, since you are in my library now and others seem to consider you an honourable gentleman, I expect you to tell me how far you intend to take this dishonourable behaviour toward my daughter. Are you only searching for something diverting while you await your friend’s wedding, sir? ”

  Darcy stared at his host; Mr. Bennet proved to be a different gentleman in every respect than Darcy believed him to be. The fact that he managed to recognise all the feelings Darcy had struggled to conceal astonished him exceedingly, and truly, there was little for him to say in his defence.

  Therefore, forcing himself not to allow his hard feelings to affect his voice, Darcy looked straight at his accuser and said, “Mr. Bennet, yesterday I made an offer of marriage to Miss Elizabeth, and she did me the great honour of accepting me. I am here today to ask for your consent and your blessing.”

  A few, awkward moments passed as the two gentlemen stared searchingly at each other. Mr. Bennet’s countenance changed again, this time to a most distracted one. He seemed unable to remain standing and stretched his hand for a chair. Darcy hurried to assist him. Once Mr. Bennet was seated, his gaze returned incredulously to Darcy.

  “You made an offer of marriage to Lizzy?”

  “I did, sir.”

  “And she accepted you?”

  “She did.”

  “How can that be? I was certain that she had a true revulsion toward you.” Darcy cringed at that but tried to keep his countenance. “And you, sir, how could you have made her an offer? I was certain that you had no desire of joining our family. Why did you allow me to continue my offensive speech, sir? Did you find great amusement in my distress, Mr. Darcy?” Mr. Bennet’s tone was sad and bitter, while his manner seemed to bear equal reproach toward himself as toward Darcy. The latter filled a glass of water and handled it to his host.

  At that moment, the door opened, and Elizabeth entered the library. She needed no more than an instant to notice things were not going as well as they should. Without waiting for any invitation, she stepped forward daringly, her eyes meeting those of Darcy. She could see that neither gentleman looked well.

  “Papa…is something wrong?” She approached her father who met her with half a smile.

  “I do not know, girl; you tell me. Is something wrong? Mr. Darcy applied to me with the most astonishing request. Do you know to what I am referring?”

  “I do, Papa.”

  “I see…Mr. Darcy, I should like to speak to my daughter privately for a few minutes.”

  Darcy hesitated only a moment. “Of course, sir. I shall wait outside.”

  “Mr. Darcy, please do not leave. Papa, if you want to talk about Mr. Darcy’s request, there is nothing I shall say that he cannot hear.”

  Her father’s sadness grew more pronounced. “Lizzy, can you not oblige your father?”

  “I can and I will, Papa, in anything else. But if you have something to ask about this subject, I would like for Mr. Darcy to witness it.”

  “Well, my child, in this case there is nothing to inquire about, after all. You seem already to have decided upon the matter, so my opinion is of little importance. Mr. Darcy,” he said, turning to face the gentleman, “have no concern that I will refuse my consent. If my daughter is decided to have you, I will not oppose her.”

  “Papa…” Elizabeth took a chair and sat near her father. Mr. Bennet did not appear pleased with the gesture. “I can see you are upset. Please believe me; this is hurting me deeply. Your opinion does matter to me.”

  “Yes, my opinion matters to you…in any case
except this, is it not so?”

  “But, Papa…is there any reason for your unfavourable opinion of my marriage to Mr. Darcy?”

  “Not exactly, my child. No other reason except the fact that I have always known you to be decidedly against him, and my fear is that you might now accept him for all the wrong reasons.”

  “Papa…” She leaned toward him so she could whisper. Darcy moved to a far corner.

  “My child, I know your disposition, and I cannot understand what has come upon you now. You might have been impressed with his fortune while you were in Derbyshire, and perhaps you became more sensible to the advantages of such a union now that your sister is soon to be married. But I know you will never be happy if you are not able to respect your husband.”

  The distance did not prevent Darcy from hearing what was said. The frustration of being unable to assist in the conversation without interfering made him pace the room nervously. It would have been better for him to be outside the library. More than anything, he was distressed at the thought that Elizabeth’s father had such a poor opinion of him, and he had no opportunity to clear the misunderstandings.

  “Papa, believe me when I say that I am not marrying Mr. Darcy for any wrong reasons, and neither his situation in life nor his possessions have anything to do with my decision. He is the best man I have ever known…and I truly love him.” She took her father’s hands and held them lovingly.

  Mr. Bennet’s eyes were moist with tears. His heart ached for his favourite daughter, and it was caught by an icy fear that she—and he—were making a mistake that would bring her nothing but misery, despite the wealth with which she would be surrounded. Yet how could he refuse her and pain her?

  “My dearest Lizzy, if this is the case, I have nothing to do but trust your judgment.” He leaned, kissed her forehead, and then caressed her hair. “I hope you know what you are doing, my child.”