She discovered she did not mind at all, but she could not help but wonder.
She hoped this serendipitous circumstance would resolve the problem of Mr. Collins. Even a hint of interest from a man of Mr. Darcy's wealth and importance ought to preserve her from being bound prematurely to her cousin. Mama could hardly object, Longbourn and entails notwithstanding.
As Darcy had ridden towards her, she had thought of what a complex character he was. Charlotte had said he was a man ten times Mr. Wickham's consequence. He had ten times Mr. Wickham's complexity, too. Mr. Wickham was a simple man, she had concluded, simpler than Mr. Bingley, who could laugh at himself and use his wit capably against the older and likely cleverer Darcy. Perhaps Mr. Bingley was a more intricate character than his open, easy temper made him seem, but that was for Jane to discover. Though Elizabeth's thoughts were still swirling, she felt with growing certainty that she preferred to claim for herself the challenges and rewards of studying the many facets of Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Then Darcy had reached her, and the first words from his mouth showed he had not come to triumph in his superior knowledge or to receive the apology she knew was owed him. What he had done was to ask after her comfort. She had striven to make him as uncomfortable as possible last night, and today he sought her comfort! It had been too much. She had abandoned all efforts to prepare a proper speech and said whatever came into her head. Then she had felt his arms around her for a dizzying moment, and suddenly they were sat close together, his fingers brushing away her tears.
The she had said more things, and....
She could not believe she had been so forward.
Never, never must Lydia know the particulars, nor Kitty, for that would be the same as Lydia's knowing. Mary would be scandalised. Only Jane could be told, if Elizabeth could ever bring herself to reveal how wantonly she had behaved.
But was it wanton to want to kiss such lovely lips? They looked delicious when he smiled.
“Come, you should be at home.”
She shifted in his arms.
“You are cold,” Darcy said.
She was cold. That was part of the reason for her shivering.
“Ride my horse back to Longbourn. I will follow on foot. I would enjoy riding with you, but I do not think it would be quite the thing,” he added, grinning impishly.
After she assured him she was no horsewoman, he decided to walk back with her, leading his horse. For a moment, she almost wished they could have ridden together, but walking was for the best. They smiled and even laughed as they went, but they did not touch, which allowed her some control over her feelings.
His strides were long and quick. He seemed to know and expect that she would keep up with him. She thought his figure was rather fine: not fashionably padded with the evidence of habitual indulgence, but fit and strong, the body of a man used to exertion.
He liked to be acting, moving, accomplishing. Had he been in need of employment and disappointed by a benefactor, he would not have wasted time with malicious gossip. He would have found work and, moreover, had something to show for his efforts. He had inherited his father's property several years ago, and his friends had nothing but praise for Pemberley. His active interest in his sister's welfare had led him to visit her, and that affectionate care had thwarted their enemies.
He was a far more attractive marital prospect than Mr. Collins.
She groaned.
“Elizabeth,” Darcy said, slowing their walk. “Is something wrong?”
It had been an extraordinary morning. After all he had told her by letter, she could tell him this. “I just remembered that Mr. Collins all but promised to propose this morning.”
She caught his brief look of distaste, but this time she was in agreement with the sentiment. “He has the living at Hunsford, does he not? What is his connection to you?”
She was relieved that he was willing to speak of it. She had needed to speak to someone. “He is my father's cousin.”
“Is he your father's heir?”
“Yes.”
“Do you wish to marry him?”
“Are you out of your senses?”
He laughed. Then he became serious. “Though I do not know whether I can say I am in love,” he said, colouring, “I do believe I am in very great danger of it.”
The words warmed her.
“You, however,” he continued, “only liked me well enough to kiss me less than an hour ago.”
She did not know what to say to that, but it appeared he was not expecting a response.
“I do not want you to think it is typical of me to seek out a lady immediately after a dance.”
“So you did not seek me out?”
“Actually, I did.” He stopped, so she did as well. “What I am trying to say is that I have behaved differently with you than I typically do with regard to ladies because you are different from any other lady I have met. I have never longed for the company of any woman as I have longed for yours.” He paused and seemed not to know where to look for a moment, and then he looked into her eyes. “Though we have only been acquainted a few weeks, I do not think my affections and wishes will change. I would ask you this moment to be my wife if I thought you wished for a proposal, but I believe you might appreciate more time. Am I correct?”
Elizabeth stared. “It is uncanny how well you know me,” she said. “I would appreciate a little time to think. I realise my behaviour may have led you to believe otherwise, but I was so caught up in what I felt in that moment.” She watched him, and her embarrassment fled as disappointment flickered across his face. “It is not that my feelings are necessarily fleeting.” She rather thought the reverse, but she was not ready to say that to him. “It is just that they are new, and I have not thought very deeply about how things might change.” Her embarrassment flooded back as she decided to be frank with him. “I admit I was thinking just now that you are a much better marital prospect than Mr. Collins, which reminded me that he means to make his intentions plain today.” It was not so hard to look him in the eye when that eye seemed to brighten at her words.
“At least I am not at the bottom of your list.” His voice sounded nonchalant, but his expression gave him away. He looked relieved and excited. “What should I do to get to the top?”
“Hmm.” She knew her eyes, and probably flaming cheeks, must be giving her away, but she tried to make the tone of her voice match his. “You have made a very good beginning. I do not know if you need any advice from me.”
His smile was brilliant then. “A letter every now and again, when you happen to champion a scoundrel while dancing with me?”
“That might do. You write charmingly.”
“Thank you.”
“What will happen when I champion someone who is not a scoundrel?”
“Ah.” He took a few moments to consider that. “It will depend on the age and situation of the gentleman in question. If it is an elderly man who dotes on you as he would on a granddaughter, that is one thing, but if it is some young, smart fellow who might turn your head, I think I will have no choice but to act.”
“And how will you act?”
Elizabeth waited for a reply as Darcy stared down at her. He silently indicated that they should resume their walk. As they started, Elizabeth was on the verge of demanding to know his thoughts when he told her.
“If you had not just confirmed that you wished for more time, I would have shown you. We must be close to the manor house now, and I would not want to do anything that would compel you to commit yourself before you desire it.”
He was right about their vulnerability to curious eyes. They were nearing one of the paths that led to the hermitage, and soon the house would be in full view. It would be just her luck if Kitty were to spy them from an upper window, or a tenant or servant were to see them and spread gossip in the village.
Still, she was as curious as any onlooker might be. “Perhaps you can tell me of this...demonstration that I am forced by your prudence and gallantry to forego.”
“Elizabeth!” Darcy said with as much fondness as exasperation.
“Yes?”
He raised his eyes to the heavens.
“What have I done?” she asked him.
“As if you do not know, you teasing woman!” Looking at her with a trace of a smile on his face, he said, “I should not have offered to delay my addresses. I never should have given you that option. You will tease me to within an inch of my life before you make up your mind.” His gaze fell to the ground in front of them. “It is true that I thought of you, but I realise now I was also being selfish, even cowardly. I was afraid you might refuse me.”
Elizabeth thought about this. How would she have reacted had he proposed on the spot? If he had asked between kisses, she could not vouch for anything she might have said, but he had a point. They had come a long way since their first meeting, and she told him so, looking ahead instead of at him as she spoke. “So the man who, not so very long ago, was afraid of giving consequence to a lady 'slighted by other men' is now afraid of being rejected by that same lady, who is reasonably sure of another offer. Interesting.”
“The irony is not lost on me, my dear.”
She turned sharply to look at him. He had not sounded affronted, but she had needed to see him to confirm that he was not. This was the same man who had looked with contempt upon her, first of all, and then on her family and friends. Would he be sorry he had given in to his feelings in this matter?
She wondered that he was not married already, and then she remembered something Mr. Wickham had said. “Are you very sure, then?” she asked. “I have no wish to marry my cousin, but will you regret not having married yours? Or was that something else Mr. Wickham lied about?”
“If he said I was engaged to Miss de Bourgh, yes. If he only said a match was expected by some, then he did not lie. My aunt wants the match. I have no desire for it. I doubt my cousin would decline to marry me if I were to ask, but I do not think she holds me in particular regard.”
“All the same, you would not want a richer wife or one with noble connections?”
“I could wish my wife's connections were not so...low.”
The manner in which he said 'low,' clearly referring to more than her family's position, brought Elizabeth to an abrupt halt. A less welcome kind of warmth flared up in her, the kind she had been used to feel during her encounters with Mr. Darcy. While unsurprised by his opinion—her recollections of his early disdain had prompted the enquiry—she felt a sharp disappointment in hearing it flow so easily from the same mouth that had kissed her. Had he made a joke of it, she could have borne that. There were kinder ways to express such concerns, but he had not even tried to find one. Had he still been her enemy, she would have laughed it off, but he was a man who held her in no little affection, a friend who every moment was becoming more. She felt wounded and angry. “I could wish,” she said, attempting to keep the worst of the anger from her tone, “that my husband would have the wisdom not to believe he could be pleasing to me while so casually insulting the people I love.”
“You asked me a question!”
“Which gives you the right to answer whatever you choose, in whatever manner you choose, without the least concern for—” No longer masking her ire, she had muttered through clenched teeth. “You are certain,” she said in a clear voice, “this is what you want?” She struggled to encompass it all in a gesture: the unappealing relations, the discord between them, the belief that he had made an inferior choice.
He just looked at her with wide eyes and said, “You are what I want!”
That he could declare this—that he could still want her despite everything he did not want—was gratifying, but it did not completely satisfy her. “I come with my family,” she felt obliged to say, though in a milder tone, “and I will not have you forget it.” She frowned. “It is possible to combine honesty with consideration. It is the gentleman-like thing to do.” At this, she saw him flinch as if in response to a physical blow. Did no one ever call him to account for his offensive speech? She remembered Mr. Bingley had done so on occasion, but what of others in his circle? He could not expect her to listen with complaisance to his disparagement of her family, whatever their faults.
She recalled her relief that Mr. Darcy had missed seeing several of those faults exhibited last night.
Feeling a sense of defeat settle over her, she said, “Mr. Darcy, we have only just begun to be friends, and see what a bad job we are making of it! I know I have little right to complain of what you say of my relations to my face when I have spoken poorly of you to your enemy behind your back! Perhaps the obstacles are too great in our case. Perhaps there is too much between us.”
His eyes did not leave her face. The interval before his reply was painful, and she wondered if the next words he spoke would put an end not only to the silence between them but also to her nascent dreams.
“Elizabeth Bennet,” he said at last, “there is much between us, and I am by no means done with you.”
Your stories, especially this one, are always so well written and so exciting to read. Thank you very much... and excuse my bad English !
ReplyDeleteWhat bad English? Thanks for your kind words!
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