Meeting his now troubled gaze, she could feel her embarrassment mounting, but she could neither look nor step away. She was captivated by this most intimate of moments: his scent, his strength and the expression in the depths of his eyes. Tentatively, she reached out and caught a raindrop as it fell from his wet hair to roll slowly down his cheek. His eyelids flickered slightly, then he placed his hand – which felt cold upon the heat of her skin – against the side of her face and stroked his thumb across her bottom lip, slowly, sensuously.
She knew he would kiss her once more but that somehow, this time, it would be different. Closing her eyes in anticipation, awash in the sensations he aroused in her, she waited. A ghost of a touch passed her lips, the lightest pressure, then another, and another. Letting out a sigh, she instinctively pulled him closer, and his mouth met hers fully in a soft, persuasive kiss of such gentleness that she felt tears prick her eyelids. It was a gesture full of love, and desperate to see the look in his eyes once more, she opened hers – to find herself alone, grasping onto nothing but air as the storm raged about her.
Waking with a start, gasping for breath and flushed from her toes to the top of her head, Elizabeth sat up. Startled and disorientated, her gaze flickered restlessly about the room as she became conscious once more of her surroundings and the dream began to recede. Throwing herself back on her pillows with a sigh of relief, she stared at the canopy of her bed. She did not need to put a hand to her face to know that her skin was warm; too warm.
Breathing slowly, she tried to steady the beat of her heart; then, she tentatively raised her hand and pressed the back of it to her mouth. How could a dream of something she had never experienced feel so… real? Her eyes drifted closed as she attempted to regain the sensations she had awoken to; then suddenly, she realized what she was about. She lay abed, still warm from the memory of being kissed by – and if she were totally honest, kissing – Mr Darcy.
With a groan, she flipped over onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillows. That she should dream of such a thing was unconscionable; that she would wish to relive it unfathomable. More disturbingly, her feelings upon waking were not repulsion, of him or their behaviour, but an inexplicable sadness that he was gone from her life.
~o0o~
Colonel Fitzwilliam watched Darcy staring out of the carriage window as Rosings Park receded into the distance. Within moments, their conveyance passed through the main gates and turned westwards onto the lane towards the London turnpike, a direction that would cut through the hamlet of Hunsford, and Darcy shifted his position, turning his back upon the hedgerows, only to meet the solemn gaze of his cousin.
The Colonel studied his companion thoughtfully for a moment, observing the shadows beneath his eyes and the set of his jaw that bespoke both a disturbed night and a determination not to be drawn into conversation. The restless movements of Darcy’s hands were sufficient indication of his present state of mind, yet he knew his intent would be to allude no further to its cause.
A man of action by nature, Richard Fitzwilliam tried to suppress the innate urge to shake some sense into his cousin and demand that he do something to alter his present circumstances, though he must concede he was somewhat confounded over what exactly Darcy could do: curing Miss Elizabeth Bennet of her affection for another - worthless though that man was – and turning her disapprobation of his cousin into admiration could prove an uphill struggle, and there was no guarantee of success at the summit. But what was an obstacle in life if not to be overcome?
With a frustrated grunt, Fitzwilliam’s gaze drifted to the scene outside the carriage, but the realisation that they now skirted the walled garden of Hunsford parsonage caused him to quickly look back over at his companion. Meeting Darcy’s glance briefly, it was no surprise when that gentleman pointedly turned to stare out of the opposite window as the carriage rumbled past the home of the Reverend and Mrs Collins.
~o0o~
Having splashed cold water over her face, Elizabeth pressed a soft towel against her closed eyes but just then heard the unmistakable sound of a carriage and horses coming along the lane. Her eyes flew open as the towel fell unheeded to the floor, yet she willed herself to withstand the temptation to cross to the window. There could be no doubt that it was Mr Darcy’s carriage, for no other would be in the lane at this hour. She held her breath, then let it out in a rush as the rumble of wheels on the dirt road faded into the distance.
Walking over to the window, she pulled the drapes aside and stared out into a morning that was far from old. Dust disturbed by the passing wheels continued to settle upon the ground, and mist still rose from the fields, yet the thinness of the haze across the newly-risen sun portended a warm day to follow, and suddenly eager for the outdoors, Elizabeth let the curtain fall back into place. Hurrying to complete her toilet, she made haste to dress herself, paying little attention to her hair, for which she only had patience to tie back with a piece of ribbon.
Scribbling a hasty note for Charlotte, her eye was caught by the mound of parchment on the table and, realising Mr Darcy’s letter lay amongst it, she quickly snatched the papers up and stuffed them into her case. Having sealed the lock, she slipped the key into a nearby drawer, picked up her shawl and left the room, bent upon restoring her equilibrium in the morning air.
~o0o~
A few miles into their journey, the Colonel detected Darcy’s growing irritation and as such was little surprised by the sudden turn of his cousin’s head as he snapped, “Must you persist in staring at me, Fitzwilliam?”
“There is little else to divert myself with. The scenery is much of a muchness, having travelled this way before; whereas with you, my friend, there is much to ponder.”
Darcy rolled his eyes and pointedly turned his head to stare once more out of the window, a fruitless action, as Fitzwilliam well comprehended, for the London road out of Kent was predicable in all it had to offer by way of diversion, with as little on this occasion to distract the eye as ever.
Yet Fitzwilliam was a firm believer in ousting the beast of burden to free one’s wits and refused to let his cousin keep his counsel, for he believed it would serve him no favour.
“You are too prone to introspection, Darcy. You cannot suppress this, for it will do more harm than good; and consider Georgiana! You must shed this melancholy air, or she will fear something dreadful has befallen you.”
Darcy turned and raised a sardonic brow at this, and his cousin rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. I fully comprehend your point, as I am certain you do mine.” They stared at each other for a moment, neither one speaking; then, the Colonel leaned forward in his seat, arms resting upon his knees, and fixed Darcy with a firm stare. “Speak to me.”
Darcy threw Fitzwilliam a look that clearly bespoke his frustration and, refusing to be drawn, he shifted his position, turning his face once more towards the window, albeit he clearly saw little of what passed.
The Colonel grunted. So be it. A change of tactics was clearly warranted, and if Darcy would not talk, then he would.
“I must offer you a further apology, my friend,” he paused. Darcy had, despite himself, turned once more to look at him. “For relating the direction of my conversation with Miss Bennet last night. Of course, I knew not the implications at the time – but all the same, I can appreciate that the gist of our discourse must have been somewhat distressful in the circumstances. You know I would not intentionally have given you pain.”
Darcy shrugged. “Do not concern yourself, though the sentiment is appreciated.”
The Colonel stretched in his seat, settling himself more comfortably into his own corner. “If Miss Elizabeth Bennet really is determined to wed for nothing but mutual affection, I hope that she is not disappointed in her search. Marriages where the affection lies all on one side are not uncommon, even if not as widespread as those where there is none at all – and I do not know which might cause the most pain. All part of your reasoning with Bingley, was it not?”
Darcy
threw his cousin an exasperated look, then leaned his head back against the cushions. “It was. Thank you for pointing that out. Ironically, it only serves to highlight my interference, self-deceit and hypocrisy.”
The Colonel frowned. “Interference – well, yes - I will grant you that one; but self-deceit and hypocrisy? Are you not too harsh upon yourself?”
A long silence ensued as the carriage rattled its way along the road. Darcy rubbed his forehead, and Fitzwilliam observed him draw a ragged breath before meeting his cousin’s gaze.
“Was it not self-deceit of the highest order that I presupposed Miss Bennet’s immediate acceptance? Such was my arrogance...” Darcy tugged at his neck cloth as it if its restriction troubled him. “So convinced was I that she had understood my interest, that I expected no overt surprise from her upon receiving my addresses.” He sighed. “And further consider that I managed to put aside all my objections to the Bennet family’s condition in life, when I had used the very same against my friend.”
He stared at his booted feet for a moment, and the Colonel held his tongue, his patience rewarded as Darcy raised eyes darkened with suppressed feelings to meet his cousin’s gaze.
“And if that is not sufficient hypocrisy, consider that I sought that very condition you mention, the thing I strove to advise Bingley against – a marriage of unequal affection. If I am honest with myself, did I believe Miss Bennet to reciprocate the depth of my affection for her? I cannot deny it; I never thought it to be so. Thus I am culpable of intending to secure for my wife a woman I have such strong feelings for that I negate her own in the matter. Entering a match of disproportionate affection has no place in my consideration because my own selfish needs are met.”
The Colonel studied his companion thoughtfully as Darcy turned to stare out of the window once more. His cousin shouldered a heavier burden than he had supposed – clearly there was more to conquer than mere disappointment.
Chapter Fifteen
Exiting her chamber, Charlotte Collins paused on the landing to peer out of the small casement window, squinting slightly as the bright sunlight pained her eyes. She could see her husband in his vegetable patch, the book he had spent precious time seeking in Rosings’ library open upon the rug where he presently knelt in worship of its venerable counsel.
Smiling ruefully to herself, Charlotte set off down the staircase, ruminating that not only had she slept heavily, but also she had slept long, for Mr Collins’ presence in his garden and the position of the sun both confirmed the lateness of the hour.
Seeing no sign of Elizabeth in the small dining parlour, she was about to head for the garden herself when she encountered Maisie in the passage, who handed her the morning post, along with the note from her friend. Thanking the maid and requesting a fresh pot of tea, Charlotte tucked the letters into her apron pocket and, opening Elizabeth’s note, headed for her own private parlour.
~o0o~
Darcy shifted his position slightly as he discerned the outskirts of a small town, and by way of confirmation a milestone indicating that Bromley lay no more than a mile distant soon faded into the distance.
Yet though there was more to interest the eye as they neared civilisation, he struggled to pay attention to anything but his own thoughts, which, despite his best endeavours, would persist in considering questions for which he would ever have no answer: did Elizabeth wonder at the manner of his leave- taking? Had she found his swift departure at his cousin’s hands a relief, or had she, like he, wished for an opportunity for further discourse?
With an impatient sigh, Darcy turned his back to the window, heedless of the carriage’s vibrations against his shoulder. Was he some sort of fool, indulging in such thoughts? She believed the very worst of him, had been visibly distressed by their dialogue on the previous evening, and must surely have awoken this morning to nothing but relief at his removal from the neighbourhood.
He reached for his watch and flicked a glance at the time, but the gesture did not aid him, merely bringing unbidden the question as to whether Elizabeth might yet have risen, and if she had, what she might be doing. Having encountered her so often in the park around Rosings, he could not help but surmise that she might be out walking, and how he wished...
“Do we make good time?” Darcy blinked and threw his cousin a startled glance. For a moment he had forgotten his presence, but he nodded quickly.
“Indeed. We should arrive in time for an early luncheon.”
Fitzwilliam nodded his approval and in recognition of the hour striking on a nearby steeple as they passed, pulled out his hip flask and took a hefty swig. He offered it, but Darcy shook his head, patting his pocket to indicate that he had his own supply.
“I have been struck by a notion, Darce.”
“Should we alert the troops?”
“Little point, old man. They know my habits well and are too ably trained – by myself, I might add. Now, no more interruptions, there’s a good chap.” The Colonel took another draught from his flask before sealing the stopper and returning it to his pocket. “Darcy, could you not consider furthering your acquaintance with the lady? Her disappointment over Wickham may be of reasonably short duration. Whilst her misconception over the man might well justify her original disregard for you, it must be overcome now the truth is out.”
A sense of unease flickered through Darcy over the allusion to the origins of Elizabeth’s dislike, and sensing Fitzwilliam’s gaze upon him, he shook his head.
“There is more to it than Wickham. She held two charges against me on Sunday, both of equal resonance.” Darcy stared at the floor for a moment, then raised solemn eyes to his cousin. “She will never forgive my interference over persuading Bingley to remain in London.”
“But if her sister was indifferent to Bingley’s attentions, then surely she would welcome his removal from the district? In that, you did them both a service, not just your friend.”
Darcy fidgeted in his seat. He had all too easily convinced himself that he had acted altruistically, with no one but Bingley’s welfare in mind, until Elizabeth’s passionate disavowal of his assessment of her sister’s feelings had stripped away such pretence.
“Darce?”
“You do not understand.”
“And thus it shall remain, lest you speak of it.”
Darcy dropped his gaze to his hands for a moment, flexing them before interlacing his fingers, his sense of unease growing stronger.
“I may have erred.”
“How is that so?”
He shrugged at his cousin. “It was conjecture, whether Bingley’s admiration was returned. I saw no special attention from Miss Jane Bennet towards him, no openly-displayed affection and, as such, I chose to believe her indifferent to him.”
“Believe? You chose? How could you act if there was uncertainty?”
“I… I…”
Darcy’s voice failed him, as did his argument. Having such recent proof of his inability to comprehend the true state of a woman’s feelings, a woman upon whom he had focused with such intensity during their every meeting, how could he honestly profess to comprehend Jane Bennet’s?
“Darcy?”
With a groan of submission, Darcy sank his head into his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. When he finally raised his head once more, Fitzwilliam had likewise leaned forward and watched his cousin keenly.
“Removing Bingley to London was an act of preservation, protection.”
“Protection?”
“Yes. And not only for him.”
“Whom else were you protecting, man?”
Darcy sat back in his seat, then muttered, “Myself,” before raising eyes raw with emotion to his cousin. “And in the process it would seem I have done irreparable harm.”
There was a long silence, permeated only by the incessant sound of the wheels upon the road.
“I thought I acted for Bingley’s well-being, yet I have worked against him. I have borne him ill will disguised as good.” Darcy hesitated
. “It – it was a sort of justification, yet I have failed to fully determine its true source until now. I admit I did question the depth of Miss Bennet’s regard, and I cautioned Bingley so, especially in the light of her family, but I wonder now whether I would have acted had I not feared for myself also. I persuaded Bingley to distance himself and remain in London, and thus I had no need to examine my own feelings.” Darcy paused, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. “Elizabeth – Miss Elizabeth Bennet – she had become the focus of all my interest, consuming my notice. I felt such powerful stirrings, knew I was in danger and that I might soon be unable to walk away; yet I was convinced I could not offer for her.” Darcy met his cousin’s gaze with troubled eyes. “I genuinely believed Miss Jane Bennet indifferent at the time, because I had convinced myself it was so – yet whether for Bingley’s sake or mine, I no longer know.”
“And how is it that you now perceive yourself mistaken?”
Darcy glanced briefly out of the window, conscious that the carriage had slowed as they arrived at the watering stop for the horses.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She gave me reason to understand that her sister not only received Bingley’s attentions with pleasure, but that she held him in affection.”
“But Darcy, is this not all a misunderstanding, much as the lady’s believing Wickham’s depiction of your character? Surely for all things there can be forgiveness.”
Darcy moved to the edge of his seat as the carriage finally drew to a halt. “You have not heard the worst of it. Miss Bennet has recently been in London – calls were exchanged between the lady and Bingley’s sisters, yet I joined them in concealing such a circumstance from Bingley.”
A Fair Prospect Page 12
