Mr. Darcy, the Beast

by Valerie Lennox

  But Mr. Collins, he seemed unaware of the subtleties of conversation about him. He was a man with no imagination, and she could not marry him.

  However, it seemed rather clear that Mr. Collins intended to ask for her hand. At first, he must have been interested in Jane, but he’d been turned from that path, likely because of Jane’s attachment to Mr. Bingley, and Elizabeth was the next oldest daughter. It all made sense in light of that.

  It became abundantly clear when she had a conversation with Mr. Collins about dancing, and he expressed his belief that dancing was good and proper and even biblical. Did not King David, the man after God’s own heart, dance in the streets of Jerusalem? Was there not a ‘time to dance’ as put forth by Solomon’s Ecclesiastes? In light of all that, Mr. Collins wished to dance with all of his cousins.

  “And, dear Miss Elizabeth, if I could have the honor of your hand for the first two dances, it would please me greatly.”

  The first two dances?

  Lord.

  He was intent, then. He would ask for Elizabeth’s hand. The only question would be when. Certainly not at the ball, she thought. It was not a place for securing an engagement. She should have that long in order to think of some plan to escape marrying Collins.

  She could not marry him.

  No, it was out of the question.

  * * *

  The first hour of the Netherfield Ball was taken up by the dances with the odious Mr. Collins, who was a worse dancer than he was a conversationalist, if such a thing could be believed. He moved stiffly through the first two dances, often performing the steps wrong without realizing it, and apologizing twice for coming far too close to her. Once his hand touched the bare part of her arm, above her gloves.

  Revulsion cut through her, and she had a brief moment of imagining a kiss between her and Mr. Collins, and she thought she might be ill.

  She was relieved when she was released by him and she fled to a corner of the room to hide. At least that was done. Mr. Collins couldn’t ask for another dance, not without declaring to the entire world that they were engaged. Three dances together simply wasn’t done. He would wait to ask for her hand instead of asking for another dance, she was sure of it.

  Of course, she had not thought of any way to escape marrying Collins.

  She had tried, but she had no recourse. If she refused him, her mother would never forgive her. And what of her sisters, what of them? Perhaps if Jane did marry Bingley, it would all turn out all right in the end, and perhaps…

  She turned and realized that she was not in this corner alone.

  Mr. Darcy was leaning on his cane, his gaze so dark and heavy she thought she could feel it on her flesh.

  “Mr. Darcy!” she exclaimed.

  “Miss Bennet,” he said. “I suppose I have not apologized to you.”

  Ah, yes, she remembered his apology to her mother, but she had thought he had skirted the edge of being ironic with that. The exaggerated nature of it all, it had been a bit too much to be truly sincere. “Spare me an apology you do not mean, sir.”

  “Why would you say such a thing?”

  “I do not believe that you are ever sorry,” she said.

  “Now, that is not true,” said Mr. Darcy. “I must make mistakes, must I not? I am a mortal man, like anyone else. It only follows that I should need to apologize from time to time.”

  “Rather more often than that, I should think, judging from the time I have spent with you.”

  He laughed.

  She winced. “Oh, it is I who must apologize, I’m afraid. You do bring out something within me, sir. When I am near you, I am not my best self.”

  “There is a better side to you, then?” said Mr. Darcy. “That I can hardly believe. You are rather exquisite. I cannot dream of any improvements I would make. No, you are perfect quite the way you are.”

  Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat at the compliment. “What are you saying, sir? I had rather the impression that you did not…” She shifted on her feet. “That is, I thought it was mutually agreed that we were not overly fond of the other.” And then she cringed again, because that was still too bald to say aloud.

  He stepped closer, leaning on his cane, his dark eyes glittering. “You are mistaken, Miss Bennet. This lack of fondness you speak of, it is only on your side.”

  She sighed. “Then I suppose I must apologize again.”

  “No, indeed not. I am not an easy man to like. I realize this.” He nodded across the room at Mr. Collins. “You have the attentions of that gentleman, I see. The first two dances. Not that he seems particularly skilled at dancing.”

  Elizabeth shuddered. “Oh, don’t look at him. He might notice us over here.” She turned away, as if she could blend into the surroundings.

  Mr. Darcy was quiet.

  She looked up at him.

  “Am I to understand you are not desirous of that man’s attentions?”

  Elizabeth did not answer. She gazed at Mr. Darcy and wondered how it was that he would say that she was perfect. She thought of the way he had apologized to her mother, how there had been a tinge of sarcasm in everything he said, and she knew that had been absent from his compliment of her.

  But this man had been awful to her. He had cast aspersions on her reputation. He had challenged everything she said to him. He had been rude and ugly and cruel. She did not like this man.

  And yet, he was looking at her in that way again, that way that no one had ever looked at her, and she found herself beginning to speak, words spilling and tumbling from her lips as if she could not stop them.

  * * *

  She was talking, and Darcy was watching her lips, which were lovely and perfectly shaped.

  “You see, my father’s estate is entailed upon Mr. Collins, and he is here to try to find a bride,” said Elizabeth. “If he does so, it will be nice and tidy for the family. We will have no worries after my father dies, and we shall all be looked after properly. I think he would have asked Jane, but my mother thinks that Jane will become engaged to Mr. Bingley by and by, and it is such a good match, she would not ruin it. So, she turned him off her, and so now, Mr. Collins has set his sights on me, and I… oh, I don’t know…” She wrung her hands. “I know what the proper thing to do would be, what I should do for my family, but I don’t know if I can do it.”

  “Marry him?” said Mr. Darcy, looking across the room at Mr. Collins, a chill going through his body.

  “It is what I should do,” said Elizabeth.

  Darcy shook his head. It was one thing to swear off pursuing Elizabeth Bennet in theory. It was quite another to watch her be paired off right in front of his nose. And to be paired off with… with that.

  He had not spoken to Mr. Collins, so perhaps he was being uncharitable. His lone observation of him had been his dancing with Elizabeth, and he had been far from proficient at dancing. It was perhaps unfair of Darcy to judge a man on his dance steps, but Darcy thought it spoke to a lack of any interest in doing this right. If one was going to dance, one put in the time to understand how to dance.

  Mr. Collins clearly had not done that. He had a look about him, something vaguely ridiculous, and Mr. Darcy didn’t like him.

  He might not have liked any man that had danced the first two dances of the night with Elizabeth, however, he had to admit.

  He could have put it down to simply jealousy, but now… now Elizabeth was telling him that she didn’t like Mr. Collins and that she didn’t wish to marry him, and now…

  He drew in a sharp breath through his nose.

  “I suppose he is a proper enough sort of gentleman,” Elizabeth said faintly. “I would marry him and go to Rosings, where he is the parson.”

  “Rosings?” said Darcy absently. “That is where my aunt Lady Catherine resides.”

  “Lady Catherine is your aunt?” Elizabeth seemed surprised by this.

  “Yes,” he said, and he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking across the room at the back of Mr. Collins’s head, a
nd he was thinking about how he could not watch Elizabeth married to that man. He could not do it.

  “I would be able to leave home, be mistress of my own house,” said Elizabeth. “However, I get the idea that I might not be, in truth. Mr. Collins has spent a great deal of time talking about how Lady Catherine has dictated various aspects of his life, from putting shelves in closets to what he has for tea, and I rather think that I would be expected to do exactly as she says.” Elizabeth bit down on her bottom lip. “I’m not very good with doing as I’m told, I’m afraid.”

  Darcy looked at her. “No, I can see that. You shouldn’t.”

  “Shouldn’t what?”

  He cleared his throat. “Forgive me, I’m not sure what it is that I’m saying.” He needed to be careful here. He couldn’t blurt out a proposal to her, not now. Or couldn’t he? He was a wretched man, scarred both inside and out, but if he married her now, wouldn’t he be rescuing her?

  “If I turn him down, I don’t know what he might do,” said Elizabeth. “He might be so angry that he will turn us all out when he inherits Longbourn. He might be quite offended. And if I turn him down, I think my mother will murder me. She will be so very angry.”

  “Listen, Miss Bennet, perhaps I could be of some assistance.” He had means. If she was worried about her family, about her mother—as dreadful as the woman was—Darcy could see to it that they were all taken care of—in style—forever. He could solve all her problems. She would consent to it, wouldn’t she?

  She looked up at him, and he saw the barest flinch when her gaze slid over his scars. “What do you mean, Mr. Darcy? How could you possibly help?”

  “Ah…” He swallowed. She wouldn’t consent. How could she? He was an abomination. She could not look upon his face without being horrified. He looked down at his feet.

  “Mr. Darcy?”

  He looked back up. “Oh, he seems to be coming this way.”

  Elizabeth turned. “He spotted me. He did say that he wanted to stick closely to me all evening.” She grimaced.

  “Would you like to dance, Miss Bennet?” said Mr. Darcy.

  She turned back to him, eyes wide in surprise.

  “He can’t stick close to you if you’re dancing with me.”

  “True,” said Elizabeth. She seemed to force herself to smile. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Darcy. I will dance with you.”

  Of course, she didn’t have much choice, did she? Refusing to dance with him would mean that she must refuse to dance with anyone. He had not done her much of a favor at all. She did not like him.

  * * *

  Darcy bowed to Elizabeth, his leg pulsing painfully at him. He had left behind his cane, of course. It would not do to have it with him when he was trying to dance. But his injuries had given him worse trouble than usual as of late, perhaps owing to the succession of rain the previous week.

  He pressed his lips into a grim line and waited for the music to begin.

  When it did, he was gratified to learn that the dancing seemed to stir within him a physical memory. His body knew what to do, and it seemed that movement was loosening the tight muscles in his leg. It felt almost good.

  So, thoughts of the pain fled from his head, and he watched Elizabeth’s face, and he began to think rather perverse thoughts.

  Elizabeth did not like him, that much was plain. She had been quite clear when she said that she was not fond of him.

  Elizabeth also did not like Mr. Collins. She had made that plain as well. But Elizabeth could not refuse Mr. Collins. She had no choice but to accept him. It was what her family expected of her, and she must do her duty.

  So, in this instance, it was not a question of whether or not Elizabeth could have a happy life married to a man she cared for. Instead, it was the punishing existence of marrying Mr. Collins and dealing with the inexorable force that was his aunt or marrying Mr. Darcy.

  Neither would please Elizabeth, of course, but Mr. Darcy thought that a marriage to him was preferable.

  “It is a very nice arrangement, do you not think?” said Elizabeth in a tight voice. “This version of the music that the musicians have chosen?”

  “Oh, yes, quite,” said Mr. Darcy without paying much mind to her.

  If he proposed to her, she might come to the same conclusion as he did, or she might deny him, simply out of a backhanded horror at the thought of being tied to a man like him.

  If, instead, he took the choice out of her hands, then he would improve her life, and the life of her family, and he would have her for himself.

  It was a monstrous thought.

  But there were monstrous thoughts within him now and monstrous actions too. What had happened on that cliff, with Georgiana, with Wickham, it had changed him. He was capable of things he had never thought possible, this he knew.

  “I say, Mr. Darcy, I have commented on the dance, perhaps you might say something?”

  “Say something?” he echoed. “What would you like me to say?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Anything. Perhaps you might comment on the room or the number of dancers or the light fixtures. Anything.”

  “Certainly. Perhaps you might assume that I have said whatever it is that pleases you and respond accordingly.”

  “Oh, that is…” She glared at him. “Are you always thus?”

  “You know that I am,” he said.

  “You are disagreeable.”

  “Very much,” he said.

  “You cannot be polite to save your life.”

  “No, I daresay I cannot.”

  “And you have no shame or regret about such things either. You have no concern about anyone but yourself, and I try to tell myself this is because you are in pain, but, upon my word, Mr. Darcy, it is becoming a rather thin excuse.” Color was rising in her cheeks, and it made her all the more lovely.

  He moved before he could really think of what it was he was doing. Certainly, he had mused over this course of action only seconds before, but he had not committed to the action, and yet, now, here it was, happening, and he knew he should stop himself.

  He didn’t stop.

  He abandoned the dance altogether, stepping close to her, so that there were mere inches between their bodies. He brought up his hand and he slid his fingers over her jaw.

  She gasped.

  He was touching her, touching her skin, touching her face, and he had no right to do so.

  “Mr. Darcy—”

  “Peace,” he said in a low, awful voice. “I will stop your mouth.”

  And then he was kissing her.

  In the middle of the dance floor.

  In front of everyone.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The minute he pulled away, he regretted it.

  The kiss itself had been rather lovely. Elizabeth had been stunned but eager somehow. Her hands had gone to his shoulders and dug into his skin, and her mouth had opened to allow access of his tongue, and he had swept against her once. Then twice.

  She had whimpered against him, her fingers painfully going into his flesh.

  And then he had some presence of mind and let go.

  Her expression was so shocked and horrified that he hated himself.

  She stepped back, both of her gloved hands going to cover her mouth, her eyes so wide it looked painful. Even through her hands, a noise tore its way out of her throat, a noise of panic and dread.

  He cringed. What had he done? “Miss Bennet, I…” He swallowed. “I should not have—”

  But she wasn’t listening to him. She had turned and she was walking away from him now, going as quickly as she could. She nearly tripped on her skirts, so she gathered them up with one hand, and then she ran.

  She rushed from the room.

  Everyone gazed after her.

  It was utterly silent now, he realized. The music had stopped. The dancing had stopped. Everything had stopped. Everyone was staring at him.

  He was a bit used to that, because people tended to stare now. They could not look away from the horro
r that was his face.

  He knew that wasn’t why they were staring. At least, it wasn’t the only reason why they were staring.

  He bowed his head. Pain surged up his leg, through his thigh, into his hip. Damnation, where was his cane?

  Another moment and he staggered off in search of it.

  Immediately, the room erupted in the buzz of low conversation.

  Darcy limped across the room, gritting his teeth, until he had the cane in his hand. He turned around, and there was Bingley and also another gentleman. Darcy had seen him before, but he wasn’t really sure who he was. He thought he had been introduced…

  Oh, yes.

  That was Mr. Bennet, Elizabeth’s father.

  Lovely.

  Mr. Bennet didn’t look quite as angry as a wronged father could look. He didn’t look angry at all. His face seemed frozen in a state of horrified bewilderment, as if he had not the wherewithal to even comprehend what had just occurred.

  He kept coming at Darcy, closer and closer.

  Bingley reached out and caught the man by the shoulder. “Mr. Bennet!” He sounded out of breath.

  Mr. Bennet turned to Mr. Bingley, gazing at the other man as if he did not know who he was.

  “He wants to marry her,” said Mr. Bingley, who then turned to Darcy for confirmation. “Isn’t that right, Darcy?”

  “Indeed,” said Darcy. “That is, in fact, why I…” He shook his head. “You must excuse me, I did not mean to do what I just did. I did it without thinking. It seemed as if something dreadful came over me.” He cleared his throat. “Should someone go after Miss Elizabeth to see if she is all right?”

  “I’m sure her mother or sisters can do that,” said Bingley. “By heaven, Darcy, I don’t know who you are anymore.”

  “No,” said Darcy. “I’m not sure I do either.”

  Mr. Bennet looked down at his cravat as if he did not even know what a cravat was. Then he looked up at Darcy. “You say you wish to marry my daughter.”

  “I do,” said Darcy. “Very much.”

  “If that is what you wished, sir, I must say I wonder why you did not simply ask her, instead of behaving like a barbarian.” Mr. Bennet’s eyes flashed.