The 26th of November, a Pride and Prejudice Comedy of Farcical Proportions
Page 15
Go to it, man! And bring her to meet me as soon as you can. I wish to see this paragon of virtue for myself.
B. Darcy
Darcy had grinned and shaken his head at the reply. Leave it to his uncle to make the complicated seem so very simple. Darcy was sure the judge and Elizabeth would get along splendidly.
~
Darcy entered the house on Gracechurch Street with quick steps he had to modulate lest he run over the maid leading them in. He followed Bingley into a comfortable parlor at the back of the house, and there she was. Sitting on the floor of all places, with an adorable baby on her lap. She was smiling—at Bingley, not himself, but he could imagine it was for him. He was instantly flooded with the image of coming home to just such a family scene, but she would be sitting at Pemberley, not her uncle’s house, and it would be their child on her lap, not her cousin. And her smile would be for him, not Bingley.
He saw the instant she realized Bingley wasn’t alone. Her smile fell away and her eyes widened in shock. Perhaps he should have sent a note. Before he could think more, the baby began squalling and Elizabeth was struggling to her feet. She said something that could not be heard over the din of the baby’s cries, and then she was gone.
He stared after her, wondering if she would come back.
Bingley quickly seated himself next to Miss Bennet and Darcy stepped back into the hall, hoping for some privacy and a moment to collect himself. This was not how he had imagined their first meeting would proceed. He would come to the door, she would invite him to sit. He would take the seat nearest her and they would begin to talk. Nowhere in his plans had there been a baby, or anyone sitting on the floor, and most definitely no crying and running from the room.
He heard someone hurrying down the stairs and stepped forward, hoping to meet Elizabeth. She sat on the step, her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands, looking forlorn. He wished to comfort her, but he knew not how, and he was acutely aware that he was the cause of her distress.
Finally, she looked up and he met her eyes. He tried to smile, but his face felt tight and he was unsure of his success. Eventually, she stood and he managed to ask her if she would like to walk out. She quickly gathered her things, informed her aunt, and somehow asked Jane and Bingley to join them.
They were walking down the street, Darcy feeling both thrilled by her presence on his arm and lost for words, when he decided to begin his apology. She forgave him readily, as he had hoped she would. The time was upon him. He must ask her if she would see him again. As a suitor. He swallowed thickly.
“May I call on you?” he blurted. He closed his eyes at his ineptitude, but she did not seem to notice.
“Pardon me?” she asked.
“May I call on you? Here in London? And perhaps in Hertfordshire as well?” Did his voice sound as desperate to her as it did to him?
“You wish to call on me?”
“Yes.”
“In Gracechurch Street?”
“Yes.”
“You are not disgusted by me?”
“Disgusted?” he cried. Wherever had she gotten such a notion? “How could I be disgusted by you? Why would you think such a thing?”
“No reason.”
“Then I may call?”
“Yes, you may call.”
He thought she seemed nervous, but that was to be expected. The important thing was that she had given him permission to call on her. All else would sort itself out, he was certain. He placed his hand over hers where it rested on his arm, content for the first time since he left Netherfield. He led her to the end of the street and into a small park in silence, happier than he had felt in ages.
It was Elizabeth who finally spoke. “May I ask, Mr. Darcy, what changed your mind?”
“About courting you?” He would not pretend ignorance of her meaning.
“Yes.”
“You did.”
“Me?”
She was so artless, so genuine. What had he been thinking when he left Netherfield?
“Yes. I am a Darcy, the son of a rich man and connected to a powerful family. I am young, and therefore something of value on the marriage mart, much as I dislike it. Many women have tried to show me what good wives they would make, and more than one family has approached me for an alliance.” He looked away, feeling all the repulsion of the idea. “None of them were truly interested in me, but in what I could do for them, what I could give them. The status they might attain through me and the lifestyle they could have as my wife.”
She squeezed his arm and he looked at her softly, her compassion once more brought to his attention. He sighed.
“I was disgusted by it. I understand the merits of a political marriage and those entered into for social or financial advantage. I understood them very well in Hertfordshire. But I did not want to live that way. I knew I should, I knew it was my duty, but, I could not make myself do it.” His voice faded away.
“My cousin, Lord Milton, was wed three years ago. Suffice it to say his marriage is not happy. He and his wife are rarely in the same house, let alone sharing a table. They have a son and a daughter and are now happy to have nothing to do with each other beyond what is strictly necessary. They see their children rarely, and each other even less.” He looked at the ground and said quietly, “I want more for myself.”
“I understand,” she said gently.
He looked at her with bright eyes, hoping she understood all he was trying to tell her. “I do not want to forego Pemberley because I am avoiding my wife. I do not want to seek my fulfillment outside my marriage, and make a mockery of my vows, because my wife cannot stand the sight of me. That is not the way of happiness.”
“No, it is not.”
“Your letter was the answer to all my wishes. It taught me to hope, as I had scarcely ever allowed myself to hope before. That you saw me as a man, as a friend, was, is, amazing to me.” He turned to face her and took both her hands in his. “That you saw my attraction to you and did not even attempt to use it to your own advantage—my God, Elizabeth! Do you know how rare you are?”
She looked at him wide-eyed and open-mouthed. He placed a finger beneath her chin and gently closed her mouth, amused at her surprise. “Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth. How could I not love such a worthy woman?”
“But you left!” she cried.
He flinched and stood a little straighter. “I did. I am sorry. I was more than a little conflicted, and I thought I might forget you with some distance.” He looked at her wide green eyes, filled with hurt and betrayal, and he felt all the shame of having caused her pain. He brought her hands to his chest and held them there tightly. “But I could not forget you, and more importantly, I did not truly want to. What folly that would have been! You are a woman worthy of being pleased, and I have learned what it means to live without you. I do not wish to do so ever again.”
She gave him a wobbly smile and he saw tears in her eyes, but she seemed determined not to let them fall. He looked back at her, his heart in his eyes, and stroked her cheek, and she leaned into his hand.
“I have missed you so very much,” she whispered.
He swallowed. She had missed him! “I am so sorry I stayed away, my love. It will never happen again.”
She nodded.
“Does this mean you will marry me?” he asked. It was what he had truly wanted to ask her all along, but he had not wished to rush her. Now, they had shared so much, a courtship almost seemed a step backward.
“I thought you were asking to court me.”
“I was. Now I believe we are beyond that. Will you marry me, Elizabeth? I do not wish to be parted from you ever again.”
“Yes! I will marry you quite happily, Mr. Darcy.” She smiled brilliantly at him and he knew his face was covered with a grin that would do Bingley justice.
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. “Call me Fitzwilliam.”
The End
Truly
For Now
About
the Author
Elizabeth Adams is a book-loving, tango-dancing, Austen enthusiast. She loves old houses and thinks birthdays should be celebrated with trips—as should most occasions. She can often be found by a sunny window with a cup of hot tea and a book in her hand.
She writes romantic comedy and comedic tragedy in both historic and modern settings.
You can find more information, short stories, and outtakes at elizabethadamswrites.wordpress.com
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