Deliberation and Doubt, Chapter 12

Elizabeth came downstairs to find Mr. Darcy there. She greeted him, and he pressed something into her hand. Receiving a second letter from the man brought on widely different feelings than those inspired by that first, fateful delivery.

“Fitzwilliam! Thank you!” Elizabeth said, pocketing the letter. “Now I shall have to invent an excuse to leave the room so I may read it in privacy.”

“Exchanging love letters already, Lizzy?”

“Please,” Elizabeth said to Mr. Darcy with exaggerated annoyance, “tell me Miss Darcy is not as impertinent as Lydia.”

Darcy, catching her tone, said dryly, “I cannot imagine Georgiana's being described as impertinent by any of her acquaintance.”

“I am relieved to hear it.”

Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy shared a smile and then both looked at Lydia, who grinned back at them, bold and unembarrassed as ever.

Perhaps Lydia was hoping for another romantic display like the one she had come upon in front of Papa's library. As much as Elizabeth would enjoy the repetition of certain actions with Fitzwilliam, she would not give her sister the satisfaction of observing them embracing twice in one day.

Mrs. Bennet soon entered the room and shepherded them all to dinner. “We need not wait,” she explained. “Charlotte sent a note. Mr. Collins is to dine at Lucas Lodge.”

Fitzwilliam sat near Elizabeth and therefore near her father, and as the meal progressed, Mr. Bennet seemed more inclined to include him in conversation. Elizabeth listened to the men on either side of her speak of ordinary things and imagined their ease with each other would only grow with time, and that scenes like this would be commonplace before long.

“Sir,” Mr. Bennet said as the last of the meal was finished, “you may as well join me in my library. As I have told my family more than once, I am prepared to meet with folly in every room of the house but that one, and I perceive folly is something you may be entirely without.”

Elizabeth and her father both started when Mr. Darcy laughed. “That,” Darcy explained, “sounds very much like something your daughter said to me at Netherfield.” Darcy looked at Elizabeth, and she knew she must be blushing as she remembered that absurd argument about faults. “As I told her then,” Darcy continued, “perhaps that is not possible for anyone.”

“I shall risk it. I can always send you back to the ladies should you prove too nonsensical.” Mr. Bennet's smile made it clear he knew such an outcome would be no punishment.

Elizabeth soon slipped away from the others and shut herself in her room. She pulled out the letter and read:

Dearest Elizabeth,

I have not been inclined to praise silliness before, but if that is what compelled you to write, then I must consider it. I believe this is the first love letter ever requested of me. Today is a day of firsts.

In fact, it may be the first hour in the whole of my acquaintance with Miss Bingley in which she has realised any expectations she has of me are futile. You chose your messenger well, for he stood admirably against Netherfield's hostess and ensured that I received your last.

Can you care for me already, Elizabeth? You have me positively giddy, my love. It is quite abhorrent.

Speaking of abhorrent things, I wonder if the mention of another lady in a love letter to one's own qualifies as such. Please accept my humblest apologies if this is the case, and know that you may exact what punishment you will. Require me to dance at the next assembly. Demand that I procure for you an expensive trinket from an exclusive London shop. Place me next to your cousin Collins at dinner if you must. I shall bear it all without complaint, for the fault is mine. I will even promise, when we are assured of privacy, to soothe your affronted sensibilities and demonstrate just how little attention I have to spare for ladies who are not you.

I cannot be entirely pleased with this first effort of mine, but I am very pleased with you, my dear, and I hope to have many opportunities in future to perfect the art of telling you so in writing.

In anticipation,

Fitzwilliam

After reading the letter through to her satisfaction, Elizabeth put it away and readied herself to endure an evening of insufficient privacy and teasing relations.

The next day, Lydia and Kitty proposed to walk into Meryton after breakfast to enquire after Mr. Wickham, abuse him roundly for missing the Netherfield Ball, and make him promise to dance with them at the next ball, whenever that might be. Elizabeth, always eager for exercise and having no Fitzwilliam currently at her side to distract her, went with them. Elizabeth felt, too, that her younger sisters ought not to be in company with such a man without some protection and intended to offer what she could. She guessed that Jane, to whom she had imparted something of Mr. Wickham's history, felt similarly, and a few quiet words between them confirmed it.

Mr. Wickham had indeed returned from town. He met the Bennet ladies before they reached their aunt's house, and he and another officer accompanied them there. Mrs. Phillips was out, but Kitty and Lydia did not wish part with the gentlemen so soon, so the two girls talked determinedly and eagerly of the ball as the party stood together on the pavement.

Mr. Wickham, after expressing his regrets at missing the delightful entertainment, separated Elizabeth a little from the others and confessed that his absence on Tuesday night had been self-imposed. He was saying something about not wanting to risk being so long in the same room with Mr. Darcy when that very gentleman was seen riding towards them.

“Lizzy, look!” said Lydia.

They all turned.

How odd for the scene of the previous week to repeat itself! Elizabeth glanced at Mr. Wickham, and this time she was certain his reaction was one of fear. She lifted her hand in greeting to Fitzwilliam, and when he was near enough, with no attempt to modulate her voice, she said to Mr. Wickham, “It is lucky for you that we are, at present, not in a crowded ballroom, but on a wide-open street. You can hardly be afraid now, with nothing to bar your escape.”

“Escape!” cried Lydia. “Afraid of what?”

Elizabeth nodded towards Mr. Darcy.

“That is just silly!” Lydia laughed and turned to Mr. Wickham. “You are in the militia. You cannot be afraid of anybody!” She stopped laughing when he did not join in with her. “How will you protect us if you are scared of the likes of Mr. Darcy?”

By this time, Darcy had dismounted. He had a fearful scowl on his face, and it was directed at the silent and disconcerted Mr. Wickham. Elizabeth looked back and forth between the two men as Darcy positioned himself near her. She put her arms behind her, clasping one wrist, and tried to control her expression when Darcy stepped closer and slowly trailed his fingers across her open palm. She need not have bothered; Mr. Wickham's gaze was fixed above her head, his attention completely on his enemy.

Before Darcy had the chance to speak, Kitty, who had been whispering with Lydia, said suddenly, “La! Even I am not afraid of Mr. Darcy, no matter that he is rather formidable. How can you be?”

Mr. Wickham's mouth opened, and he stood looking stupidly at the ladies and then back at Darcy. His fellow officer eventually got his attention, and with a grunt of annoyance, Mr. Wickham bowed and strode away. His companion, confused and embarrassed, made their excuses and followed him.

“Mr. Wickham did not even greet you properly,” Elizabeth told Darcy on their way to Longbourn. “I had no idea your old acquaintance was such a coward.”

“I do not believe I have ever seen his charm fail so spectacularly in the presence of ladies before,” Darcy said. “Even my housekeeper at Pemberley, Mrs. Reynolds, has been prone to smile sadly and shake her head rather than scold him, though she has long known him for a rascal and never had patience for his tricks.”

“I wonder what his new friends in the militia will think,” said Elizabeth. “His fellow officer may have more discretion and less curiosity than I imagine, but my sisters surely will not keep today's events a secret. I predict that word will be all over Meryton before the month is out.”

“That is only two days,” Darcy said dubiously.

“Just wait until Mama and my aunt Phillips hear of it.”

Word began to spread as soon as the girls returned to Longbourn. Mrs. Bennet took the carriage, determined to wait in Meryton for her sister. She later reported that Aunt Phillips had heard something of the incident before she had finished her shopping. The Bennets were engaged to dine with the Lucases, and it was no surprise to Elizabeth that by then, Maria had heard rumours from a mutual friend and was full of questions. Kitty and Lydia were delighted to provide the details; indeed, they could talk of little else. Mrs. Bennet took part in the discussion once she had worn out the ears of her hostess on the subject of her daughter's engagement. Elizabeth was relieved to see that Charlotte kept Mr. Collins too engaged in their own conversation to pay much attention to anything being said between Mrs. Bennet and Lady Lucas.

On Friday, a note was delivered from Netherfield to inform Elizabeth that Darcy, regretfully, had to attend to his correspondence and could not promise to call. While Elizabeth was not happy, she was at least pleased that Mr. Collins spent most of the day away from Longbourn and barely returned in time for dinner.

Mr. Collins was to leave for Kent before breakfast the next day, and when he received from his hostess a tepid invitation to repeat his visit, he surprised them all by voicing his intention of soon returning to Hertfordshire. Elizabeth could not imagine why, for his disapproval of her engagement had not lessened, nor had his habit of expressing it when they were in company together.

“I wonder why he speaks of a quick return,” said Mrs. Bennet after Mr. Collins had retired.

“Or any return at all,” said Kitty with a grimace, and Lydia groaned.

“I only offered him hospitality out of politeness,” Mrs. Bennet said. “I never expected he would accept!”

Elizabeth laughed at her mother's expression. “None of us expected it, Mama,” she said. “His presence has been very trying, and he does not seem any better pleased with us than we are with him.”

The following morning, Longbourn was provided with happier company in the form of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley.

“I concluded my business early and arrived at Netherfield last evening,” said the latter. “I hope my calling now is not an inconvenience.”

“By no means, sir,” said Jane, whose pleasure clearly had overcome all reserve.

Mr. Bingley turned from Jane a moment to offer Elizabeth hearty congratulations. She thanked him and then asked the gentlemen, “Did you time your approach so as to avoid having to farewell my cousin?”

“I would not deny it, were it true, but Mr. Collins was hardly on my mind,” replied Mr. Darcy. Mr. Bingley's attention was already directed elsewhere.

Elizabeth watched fondly as Jane and her suitor settled into conversation and ignored the rest of the room, as was their wont. Her own suitor seemed bent on securing a modicum of privacy as well, and soon she was no more aware of the general goings-on in the parlour than Jane or Bingley.

Charlotte called some hours later and succeeded in pulling Elizabeth away for a private word. Her news was astonishing.

“Engaged to Mr. Collins! My dear Charlotte—” Something stopped Elizabeth from saying more. Had she not, only days ago, endured her father's initial incredulity and disapproval over her own engagement? As silly—as insufferable!—as Mr. Collins was, her friend was a very sensible person and must have a good reason for having agreed to marry the man. She simply must!

But how could a woman who would pledge herself to such a pompous, narrow-minded man have a proper way of thinking?

It struck her that her father's reaction had been very like this. To him, Mr. Darcy had seemed full of conceit, and Mr. Bennet had thought Elizabeth out of her senses to have accepted him. Mr. Collins was not Mr. Darcy, to be sure, but the remembered pain of those moments in her father's library, his lack of trust in her and the threat of the loss of his esteem, made her think twice before giving pain to her friend.

“I see what you are feeling,” Charlotte said.

“I am feeling many things,” Elizabeth admitted. She sifted though them and extracted what she hoped would express truth without offence. “One of those things is that Mr. Collins will be made happier than he deserves. You, my friend,” she said with a little laugh, “are far too good for him.”

She must have struck the right note, for Charlotte's shoulders relaxed. As Charlotte's explanation went on—she had never been a romantic; she only wanted her own home; her chance of happiness was fair enough, considering Mr. Collins's situation in life—Elizabeth could only hope her friend's expectations would be favorably answered. Mr. Collins was rather a large mistake to make, if he was a mistake where Charlotte was concerned. He would have been in her case, undoubtedly. Jane would probably find an excuse for the match or say that Charlotte's temper would allow her to bear a life with such a man, but then Jane would wish to believe there could be something like esteem or even affection between Charlotte and Mr. Collins, and that Elizabeth thought to be impossible.

Elizabeth offered her best congratulations under the circumstances, which proved sufficient. They talked a little longer of how rapidly Charlotte's engagement—and Elizabeth's, for that matter—had come about, and how soon they might expect similar news regarding Jane.

When Sir William came to confirm Charlotte's communication and celebrate the new connection between their houses, Mrs. Bennet's lamentations, though not her incredulity, were just barely checked by the presence of her daughters' suitors. They were almost completely done away with later that same evening by the announcement of Jane's engagement to Mr. Bingley.

Time flew for Elizabeth as November gave way to December. The Bennet ladies were kept busy with wedding preparations and social obligations.

Mr. Wickham, it appeared, quickly wearied of the curiosity and open ridicule of his Meryton neighbours, for he soon left in search of a happier situation. It was generally said that he had fled the presence of Mr. Darcy. Darcy, merely by correcting Wickham's misrepresentation of their history, gave enough of a hint of the latter's character to assure the town they could well bear the loss of the one soldier who had deserted them.

Mr. and Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley also left Hertfordshire. Mr. Bingley's sisters made a surprisingly creditable attempt to appear pleased at the news of their brother's engagement and even that of their brother's friend, but Miss Bingley's determination to spend the winter in town provided relief to all concerned. Mr Bingley and Mr. Darcy were then free to dine at Longbourn every day if they wished it, and they often did so whenever one of the other local families did not insist on sharing the burden of showing hospitality to the two gentlemen.

That there would be little inconveniences and vexations in the weeks leading up to the wedding was to be expected, but Mr. Collins's visit was the only real trial. Before December was half gone, the heir presumptive of Longbourn returned full of pride and self-importance, for Lady Catherine herself conveyed him thither.

That day, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley were in the parlour with Elizabeth and some of her sisters when a commotion was heard in the hall. “Where is that impudent upstart?” said an unfamiliar, unpleasant voice. “Take me to her at once!” Elizabeth could then hear Mr. Collins giving an answer, but her attention was arrested by the expression on Darcy's face. He had such a look of distaste and indignation as she had never seen on him before.

A tall, grey-haired lady in ostentatious dress burst into the room with Mr. Collins striding in behind her, looking quite satisfied with himself.

Darcy stood at once and glared at them both. “Lady Catherine,” he said, ire in every syllable. “What business have you here?”

“I had come to deal with whichever of these girls,” said the lady, looking about with scorn at each Bennet in the room in turn, “has caused you to abandon family duty and good sense. However, since you are here, I need not bother with her.” She gestured impatiently. “Come, Darcy, and leave this place.”

“I think not,” he said.

Lady Catherine stared. Mr. Collins began stammering and spouting his poorly arranged ideas.

While those two were thus occupied, Darcy turned to Elizabeth and her sisters. “Ladies,” he said quietly, “please excuse me and, if you can, pardon this gross incivility. I hope to rejoin you before long.” With a nod to Bingley and a parting look at Elizabeth, he escorted his dumb-struck aunt back to her carriage. Mr. Collins followed, talking the whole way.

Bingley whispered in Jane's ear and then excused himself. Jane came over at once to take Elizabeth's hand.

Lydia sprang up and ran to the door to eavesdrop, no doubt. Kitty followed. The two of them rushed back and forth between the front of the house and the parlour, listening and relaying bits of the conversation to the others.

Lady Catherine did not remain silent for long. The squawk of protest when Darcy made it clear that he was not leaving with her was heard by them all. Lydia and Kitty brought them accounts of the rest: Lady Catherine would not brook disappointment; Darcy must come with her back to town and set a date for his wedding to Anne; Darcy could not be lost to all reason; that penniless nobody would never be mentioned by any of his family.

What Darcy said was of greater interest still: He could not imagine ever insulting Elizabeth by disregarding their engagement; Elizabeth would be his wife; even if Elizabeth were to break off the engagement after seeing what manner of undesirable relations she would have to contend with, he would never, never marry Anne.

The noise eventually drew the remaining Bennets to them—Mrs. Bennet from her conference with the cook, Mr. Bennet from his beloved books, and ink-stained-fingered Mary from her extracts—and for a brief time, to the breathless reports of Elizabeth's younger sisters were added the cacophonous inquiries of the others. Mr. Bennet then left the room to ascertain the situation for himself. Mrs. Bennet, caught between her desire to behold so great a personage as Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her determination to avoid Mr. Collins if possible, was persuaded by her daughters to wait until her husband returned.

When Mrs. Bennet's agitation abated, Elizabeth's restlessness increased. “I ought to be with Darcy,” she said. “It is on my account Lady Catherine is here.”

“Do stay,” begged Jane, pressing Elizabeth's hand. “Mr. Darcy looked mortified when he made his excuses! I believe he would have given anything to spare you discomfort. He will know best how to manage his aunt.”

Elizabeth could only acknowledge Jane's opinion to be quite sensible, but she was glad nonetheless when the question was rendered moot in a moment with the return of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bennet.

“Where is Bingley?” Jane asked.

“He is with your cousin, who will stay at the inn. Bingley has a gift for smoothing ruffled feathers, where I fear I only disturb them further.”

“I am glad he has been of help to you, as he wished.”

Darcy smiled kindly at Jane. Then he turned to Elizabeth with a look of something like trepidation. “My dear,” he said to her, “I do not know how you can forgive me.”

“Nonsense!” Elizabeth said, taking his hand and pulling him to the sofa, where they sat down together. “I rather believe my thanks are in order.”

“I brought upon you needless trouble in the form of my aunt.”

“You made sure I had as little trouble as possible! And she brought herself, I dare say, or my cousin did.”

“Then I sent your cousin away when I had no right to do so!”

Elizabeth laughed. “No one here will reprove you for that,” she said. “Will they, Papa?”

“Hardly,” Mr. Bennet said with a touch of amusement in his voice. “Certainly not when he agreed to cover the cost himself. Do you think Mr. Collins would have given up free room and board so readily? He could not apply to his patroness. Lady Catherine, upon leaving, did not spare him a thought beyond having his trunk removed from her carriage.”

“I considered it an insult for him to expect to be welcomed here after what he dared,” Darcy said.

He looked so adorably chastened that Elizabeth could not help herself. She reached up to hold his face, pressed her cheek to his, and kissed him just below the ear. “Now that is more than I ought to do in company, so I will stop before I scandalise Mary or encourage Lydia's flights of romantic fancy.”

“Bless you, dear Elizabeth,” Elizabeth heard him whisper, but she did not doubt everyone else heard him, too.

“Come, Darcy, and have a drink in my library.” Mr. Bennet led the way, and Darcy followed.

Some two hours after the storm had blown over, Elizabeth happened to see Charlotte walking at a brisk pace towards the house and went out to meet her.

“Eliza,” Charlotte said after pausing to take a breath, “where is your Mr. Darcy? I hope he is here, or I shall have to go on to Netherfield. I must apologise to both of you.”

“Go on to Netherfield?” Elizabeth laughed, bemused. “That sounds unlike you, Charlotte. You speak as if you are not tired already, or as if Netherfield is just beyond the kitchen garden! But there is no need. Darcy is here, playing backgammon with my father. Come with me. You are in quite a state!” She took Charlotte to an unoccupied room, where they could talk privately.

Charlotte held out until the door was closed behind her. “I do not know if I have ever been so angry! I almost threw him over that instant, Eliza! I!” Her voice was quiet but intense. “After all these years, I finally have the chance to marry, and he ruins it!”

It all came pouring out. Mr. Collins called at Lucas Lodge, complaining of the infamous treatment he had suffered at the hands of his relations. According to him, Lady Catherine de Bourgh had been very ill used by these same relations, who had induced Mr. Darcy to betray his aunt and cousin. After a great deal of praise of Lady Catherine, censure of Mr Darcy, and disparagement of the Bennets, Mr. Collins insisted that Charlotte give up the acquaintance of her dearest friend. Charlotte had kept her voice low throughout the recounting, but the unevenness of her tone and uncharacteristic pauses betrayed the depth of her feelings.

“I grew more and more appalled with every word he spoke. By the time he took a breath I was furious.” Charlotte took a breath herself. “Give up my friend? I would sooner give him up! After all, he was stupid enough to offend not only the family that had welcomed him into their home, but also their future connection, who is very likely wealthier and grander even than Lady Catherine, despite having no title. Instead of being pleased to be cousin to Mr. Darcy and trying to help Lady Catherine to weather her disappointment, he presumed to interfere in a matter that has nothing to do with him.”

Charlotte stopped and stared at her hands.

“I do not know what to say, Charlotte,” Elizabeth said.

“You need not say anything,” Charlotte told her. “I know you did not agree with my decision to accept his proposal.” She exhaled and looked up. “I had been so pleased with myself, Eliza, so satisfied with what I had done! I had gained an establishment, and I was able to do it without causing you any harm, even though Mr. Collins had lately been pursuing you. I only determined to try to secure him after I knew of your engagement. I was further encouraged when your sisters showed no interest in him, not even Mary, who I thought might like being a parson's wife.”

“No, even Mary had wearied of him by the time he left us in November. She was irritated by his frequent complaints and his refusal to accept the fact of my engagement. She considered him a poor loser, I think.”

“He is that. I had not realised it until now. I recall he said he had given up his idea of finding a wife among his cousins, but I thought it was just delicacy. He had paid you such marked attentions that it might have been awkward to turn so soon to one of your sisters. Now I think he simply must have been angry with you for accepting Mr. Darcy and with your father for supporting the engagement. It seems obvious, but I was so focused on securing my own future that I did not see it.

“It may be all over now, but I hope you know I never meant to gain at your expense. I should have noticed and not interfered if there had been the chance of a resolution more to the advantage of you all. I can only be glad you and Jane have found men of means—and of character!—and will not need to rely on Mr. Collins.”

Elizabeth was reassuring Charlotte that she had not harmed anyone by the name of Bennet when the door opened and Mrs. Bennet joined them.

“Lizzy, is Mr. Darcy still here? Why are you not with him? Oh.” Mrs. Bennet stopped when she noticed Charlotte there. She did not look particularly pleased.

Elizabeth wondered if her mother did feel injured by Mr. Collins's choice of wife despite the two wealthy sons-in-law she was to gain in a few weeks. She supposed she could understand a little, in a way; she and Jane had always expected to leave home for the best of reasons, but in their mother's case, tragedy alone would remove her from Longbourn. Charlotte's engagement could only remind her of that.

Charlotte stood and said, “Mrs. Bennet, I heard a great deal about what happened here today. Please allow me to offer the apology Mr. Collins will not. I am sorry he felt the need to involve himself in what was no business of his. From all I have learnt of Lady Catherine and her expectations of her nephew, I do not know if you would have been able to avoid her open disapproval entirely. However, it was not the place of Mr. Collins to make it easy for anyone to insult you, and in your own home, no less, when you did nothing to earn it.”

Mrs. Bennet appeared somewhat mollified by Charlotte's words. “I dare say it is just as well that you called instead of Mr. Collins. If Mr. Darcy sees him try to enter the house again, there is no telling what will happen.”

“Mama!” Elizabeth cried. “You make it sound as if Mr. Darcy is a violent man.” Really, her mother's delight in the dramatic would have been entertaining if the situation had not been so serious.

“Well, I will say no more of him,” Mrs. Bennet said with a look at Charlotte, leaving the girls in no doubt as to which man she meant. “He is to be your husband, after all.”

“But that is just it, Mrs. Bennet. I do not know now if I can marry him.”

“But if you cry off—”

“I know! My parents will be ashamed and angry. They have been so happy about my engagement! My sisters' futures may be affected. And I may never find a husband.”

They all three were quiet for a moment.

Then Charlotte continued. “As I told Eliza, when I saw that Mr. Collins no longer intended to seek a wife at Longbourn, I thought I might finally have the chance to marry. And I was right! Eliza had Mr. Darcy, and Jane had Mr. Bingley, and there seemed to be nothing between Mr. Collins and any of the younger girls. When he proposed to me, I felt at liberty to accept.

“We do not have many opportunities in our neighbourhood, as you know. I am twenty-seven and cannot afford to ignore what falls so neatly into my lap. You, Mrs. Bennet, did so well by marrying Mr. Bennet, and your sister married Mr. Phillips and kept your father's assets in the family. Some of the girls my age were half in love with your brother years ago, but we had no money or connections to tempt him, and he had to make his way in the world, which he has done with great success. My mother also did well, for my father was eventually knighted and able to retire from business.

“But what will happen to us, those of us in need of husbands now? For a long time, things did not look very promising. And then—” She sighed. “I felt my good fortune, and it pleased me to think that even in looking after my own interests, it would mean that eventually—forgive me for alluding to it—you and your daughters would have a friend at Longbourn, should you ever have need of one. I know there is a constant competition of sorts between you and my mother, but there is also real friendship and real feeling, and that same friendship exists between the daughters. I would not betray it—certainly not renounce it—even for the sake of a comfortable home, and now I suspect that home would not be very comfortable after all.”

“Hmph!” said Mrs. Bennet, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room, and she patted Charlotte's shoulder. “Hmph,” she said again. “You are a good girl.”

Elizabeth examined her friend's face and suggested that she rest. Charlotte, looking tired and relieved, gave her a thin smile. Elizabeth settled her in the room that, ironically, Mr. Collins had lately inhabited.

Meeting her mother in the hall some minutes afterward, Elizabeth said, “I shall speak to Mr. Darcy and see what can be done.”

Mrs. Bennet looked heartened by this. “Yes! He will know what to do.”

Elizabeth did not know what anybody could do, but she felt certain of Darcy's sympathy and any assistance in his power.

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Next

Holiday at Hartfield: Twelfth Night

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(2022)
Pride and Prejudice
"Twelfth Night"
When the weather keeps his brother John and family at Hartfield an extra day, George Knightley decides a little celebration is in order.

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On the 5th of January, George Knightley called at Hartfield in a hopeful mood. He handed several packages to the butler with quiet instructions that were discreetly followed, and he proceeded to the parlour, where his host and hostess were sat by the fire.

“Are you here again, Mr. Knightley?” Mr. Woodhouse said in a fretful voice. “I hope you will not catch cold.”

“I am in excellent health, sir.”

“I wonder you do not stay at home, as Mr. Elton had done. But now he has gone to Bath!”

“He left before the snow began again,” George said, stealing a glance at Emma. “I had thought to inform you myself. Clearly I am too late.”

“He wrote me a very pretty letter to take leave,” said Mr. Woodhouse less querulously. “Do show it to Mr. Knightley, Emma. It was much better to write than to walk to Hartfield in the cold.”

Emma frowned and relinquished the letter. She somehow looked ashamed, a rarity indeed! George read the note quickly and returned it to her. “Give that back to your father and then come find me,” he whispered. Aloud, he said, “Excuse me, sir, while I seek out my brother.”

John, having heard George was in the house, came downstairs to say the children, one and all, were napping after vigorous exercise on the snow-covered lawn. Assured his brother would stay through the evening, he yawned and went back to Isabella's side.

George was staring after him and wondering what made Woodhouse women so irresistible to Knightley men when Emma entered the hall. They walked together to a room where they would not be overheard.

“You wished to speak to me?” Emma said.

“Yes.” He recalled Elton's letter. “Elton paid your father excessive attention but did not mention you once. It seems a pointed omission. Are you no longer friends?”

“I think he would be satisfied never to see me again. I dare say the feeling is mutual.”

“You were unable to turn him away gently on Christmas Eve?”

“That conversation had little to do with gentleness.”

He smirked. “It could be worse. Be grateful he does not suspect you meant him for Miss Smith.”

Emma turned away.

“You told him?” George walked around to meet her eye. “I warned you Elton would not make an imprudent match. But is that really why you seem ashamed, not merely dissatisfied?”

“You know I could not be afraid of that presumptuous man!” She stared at the floor. “My shame is for Harriet. How can I face her? Harriet will break her heart over him! It is all my fault.”

George paced and watched Emma ready herself for the lecture to begin in earnest. She felt her error; she needed no lecture of his. Besides, he wanted her to feel festive tonight, not forlorn.

“Why not follow Elton's example,” he suggested, “and write to your friend? The wind is fierce. Miss Smith will not wonder at your choosing to avoid an unpleasant walk. If you write quickly, it can be delivered before the new snow becomes an impediment.” And with any luck, before Robert Martin appears at Mrs. Goddard's door with his mother's special blend of tea for Miss Smith and his heart in his eyes, he thought but did not say.

They debated the matter for half a minute before Emma took his advice. It was her idea to cast Elton in the light of a determined fortune hunter to soften the blow. In truth, George would not have been surprised to see Elton return from Bath with a wealthy bride after having been denied Emma and her thirty thousand pounds. George had argued with Emma often enough to imagine what a lively discussion that must have been. He knew he ought to have sympathy for the vicar but primarily felt amusement as he observed Emma putting the finishing touches on her letter to Harriet Smith.

Business dispatched, George said, “Now you can assist me. The children would be sorry to have no presents tomorrow morning. But why should they have to wait until they return to Brunswick Square? I searched the attics of the Abbey for a few items for the boys. Do you think you can do the same here for the girls? And have you anything pretty to wrap them in?”

Emma declared it a delightful notion. They set about it immediately, taking care not to disturb the sleepers. George could not recall when he had last had so much innocent fun.

The evening was better still. A little brandy in Mr. Woodhouse's tea tempered his prognostications of bad weather and rendered him drowsy enough to be convinced to retire shortly after his grandchildren did. Those remaining expressed pleasure at this. Isabella feared the boys had wearied her father; John was relieved not to have to argue against staying longer if the roads proved passable in the morning; Emma was glad her father would be undisturbed by wassailing if there were any intrepid singers about Highbury that night; and George would never have been forgiven for having brought, and their all having consumed, a Twelfth-cake from the Abbey, small though it was. They would feast on it tonight, for they dared not leave a crumb of it for Mr. Woodhouse to discover in the morning.

They ate their cake in peace and enjoyed some excellent wine besides. The men were jolly and the ladies all smiles and cheer. John was at his best in the small, familiar company, and he and Isabella were warm in their thanks to the others for the children's gifts. In a whimsical display, John danced Isabella out of the room as they said goodnight.

Emma rose to go, but George reached for her hand. “Stay.” He twirled her about until she laughed. Then he asked while still holding her hand, “Do you never want to have your own children to surprise on Epiphany?”

“I shall never marry,” she said.

“You shall never marry Elton, but what about someone else?”

“Who...” was as far as Emma got in her reply. George leaned in and kissed her on the mouth.

“Emma, have I offended you?” He watched her blink. “Emma?”

“I did not know. I never thought....I do not know what I thought.”

Perhaps she did not know, but George knew. He could see in her eyes what she was thinking. He almost always could. He saw incredulity, acceptance, joy, love, and then fear, as evidenced by her next words:

“But my father—”

“We will contrive a way,” George said, silencing her questions with kisses and feeling a great relief as she participated fully in this expression of their happiness.

George had not spoken to anyone about his understanding with Emma, but John had discerned it, which meant he had likely hinted at it to his wife. “I do not know how you will manage to remove Emma from Hartfield,” he said to George as he prepared to leave mid-morning. The snow had ceased overnight, and the sun shone.

“That is the question.” George considered it seriously. “The idea will be met with such resistance that in the end I would not be surprised to find myself doing as I did last night.” He looked up and saw such an expression on John's face as to make him exclaim under his breath, “Don't look at me like that! I stayed in my own room, and she in hers.”

John grinned before he turned away.

How dare he call his elder brother to account!

Before long, George felt himself grinning too. He glanced at Emma, who was soothing her father as he worried his way through goodbyes to Isabella and his grandchildren. He caught her eye, and his smile softened as he dwelt on their secret—secret to Mr. Woodhouse, in any case, and perhaps to the children.

He imagined Twelfth Night would be his favourite holiday for years to come.

A Little Night Musing:A Netherfield Short

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(2022)
Pride and Prejudice
Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy settle one of their arguments at Netherfield by moonlight.

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Elizabeth stood in Netherfield's dark, empty drawing-room, wondering at herself. She ought to have gone up to her room before the last candle went out, but her mind was not at rest.

She was no longer worried about her sister's health. Jane was asleep and would be well enough to return home in the morning. Elizabeth's unease stemmed from another source. Had she been in company with more congenial people these last few days and not been goaded into quarreling every evening, she might feel more settled. Once at Longbourn again, she would be content enough. So she hoped, in any case, as she stared at what remained of the fire.

It was strange, this restlessness. It had been strong enough to draw her back to the scene of its beginnings: yet another argument with Mr. Darcy. Miss Bingley might say any thing she pleased, and Elizabeth would reply in kind and find herself unaffected or even amused. The Hursts, whose disdain most often took the form of neglect, required little from her. Mr. Darcy, however, was another matter. Talking to him was like playing a chord that wanted resolution, like singing all but the last note of a song. Something always seemed to hang in the air. She could not leave well enough alone when it came to him, and it irritated her that he had had the last word in their latest skirmish.

She decided to think instead on the benefits of her stay at the grand manor house. How sweet a domestic picture her sister and Mr. Bingley had made this evening, engrossed in their conversation, oblivious to their surroundings! They were a perfect pair. It did her heart good to see Jane so happy.

Miss Bingley interrupted her contemplation by peeking into the room and saying, “Oh, there you....Hmph.” Elizabeth thought her rather rude until she realised Miss Bingley had not looked her way and therefore probably had not noticed her. She supposed her hostess had come hoping to find a certain person and, being disappointed, had left.

Elizabeth heard tapping beyond the door and retreated into the shadows. She hoped Miss Bingley was not returning. Surely not, for she could now hear the lady instructing a servant in one of the nearby rooms. Had the footsteps been less tentative—less furtive, perhaps—and more regular in their rhythm, she would have sworn they were Mr. Darcy's.

The door opened and closed, and her eyes met the tall form of a man as he approached the window. The steps had been Mr. Darcy's, worse luck. She must have made a sound, for he suddenly turned and saw her, but before he could speak, more steps were heard, quick and light, outside the room.

Mr. Darcy positioned himself among the heavy draperies, presumably to keep his presence from being noticed by the next person to enter. Elizabeth smirked and said nothing.

It was only one of the maids, who had come to extinguish the fire. She rushed in and out again, focused only on her task. Miss Bingley's voice was heard once more, this time farther away, from the direction of the stairs.

By unspoken agreement, the two occupants of the room remained motionless until they no longer heard any sound in the hall.

Elizabeth was just wondering how she might safely navigate the path to the door in the dark when a pale but sufficient light removed her difficulty. She stepped forward.

“Lovely, is it not?” Mr. Darcy's voice was pitched at a low, intimate tone that, despite its maturity, put her in mind of a child who did not wish his nurse to realise he had no intention of going to sleep just yet.

Elizabeth turned towards the man, who was now peering through the parted curtains into the night.

“There is something about the moon,” he continued, “so far away and yet so very large and indispensable, that makes me feel my smallness.”

His words reminded Elizabeth of a phrase she had heard not many days ago at Longbourn. She stepped closer until she stood next to him and looked out as well. The words came to her: “When I consider Thy heavens...the moon and the stars...what is man, that Thou art mindful of him?”

“Exactly.”

She slid her eyes to Mr. Darcy's to find him regarding her with interest. “My sister Mary is fond of quoting extracts from the sacred text and her collection of sermons. Occasionally one stays with me, though I have not admitted as much to her.”

He nodded and faced the window again.

It was her turn to regard him with interest, comfortably done while his attention was elsewhere. He was a handsome subject of study, even more so now that he was smiling. She thought about what he had said. It had seemed an odd thing to confide in her, but she never knew why he said the things he did. “I suppose a man of your stature does not often feel small,” she said. “It must be an unwelcome feeling.”

“On the contrary, sometimes I feel that I take up too much space.”

The sentiment did not fit her idea of him at all. “I can hardly believe that of a man who does not consider an excess of pride to be a fault,” she said.

His laugh was a quiet, delectable rumble that made her want to wrap her arms about herself. “You persist in misunderstanding me,” he said.

“You admitted to pride yourself this very evening! How can you claim I have misunderstood you?”

“As I recall it, I implied that pride under good regulation is not a weakness.”

“Exactly!” she said, deliberately choosing to repeat the word he had used. She smiled at how easy the man made it to laugh at him. “Only a person eaten up with pride could make such a statement.” She had not intended to be so frank, but he would provoke her.

He turned to her fully. “I take back what I said. You are determined not to misunderstand but to misconstrue.”

Elizabeth hardly needed his confession to know he was full of conceit. She looked boldly into his eyes. He looked every inch a man completely convinced of the rightness of his opinions, but she was not intimidated. For weeks now, from the very beginning of their acquaintance, he had been looking at her with a critical eye, and she had grown accustomed to it.

“Or perhaps you aim to score a point against me,” he said. He looked at her with an eyebrow raised and his head tilted. “If your beautiful eyes did not sparkle so beguilingly with each hit, I would not find half so much pleasure in this game.” He smiled broadly. “Do tell me, Miss Bennet, are we ever to be on the same side? Must we always be in competition in your mind? You must know I find you a delightful partner for debate, but it would be pleasant to end the day in agreement for once.”

His speech took her by surprise. She could scarcely believe his last several words echoed her earlier thoughts so closely. The disagreeable man was also weary of their constant disagreements! Of the rest, she did not know what to think. She was astonished that he should compliment her and speak to her so...well, so flirtatiously, as if he liked her!

“What, Miss Bennet? Have you nothing to say in reply?”

“I can hardly credit what you say.”

“Why ever not?

“When you first came into the neighbourhood, I heard from your own mouth that I was just tolerable, not handsome enough to tempt you to dance. Now you say I have beautiful eyes, and you speak as though I am trying to tempt you. Utterly ridiculous!”

She watched him breathe. It should have been a crime for the man to be so physically compelling while doing nothing but breathing.

“Did I not, this very evening, confess to admiring your figure?”

She had quite forgotten that was how the evening's quarrel had begun. “That remark was a general one,” she said, recalling the moment and thinking aloud, “as it included Miss Bingley.”

Mr. Darcy made a quiet sound, a small, derisive laugh. “When,” he asked her, “have you observed me to go out of my way to compliment Miss Bingley, or to treat her as more than the sister of my friend? She would read far too much into any particular gesture, and I should not like to give her false hope. My remark was not general, no matter how it appeared, and it was inspired by you. Miss Bingley only caught my attention because she was with you. In fact, I am convinced that is why she was with you. She would have known I could hardly keep my eyes away. I once betrayed my admiration of you to her, unwisely as it turns out, for she has teased me about it ever since.”

“You are serious?”

The haughty look was back. “I am not in the habit of lying.”

“How funny that Miss Bingley should have known what I did not.”

“I never intended—” He stopped there, and the silence stretched on for several seconds.

“You never intended for me to find out,” Elizabeth whispered. “You never intended to act upon your admiration,” she surmised, and she found confirmation in his lowered eyes. She nodded to herself. “I imagine my insignificant dowry is not tempting enough, either. Or perhaps it is my less than stellar connections? I am sure you know that one of my uncles is a local attorney, and the other is in trade.”

“It is not merely your family's position in society but, more importantly, their behaviour that I find objectionable. With the exception of yourself and your eldest sister, of course,” he murmured. He had turned towards the moon again and was not looking so comfortable as he had before.

This time the short, mocking laugh came from Elizabeth. “So the...silliness, shall we say, of some of my family offends you as much as your arrogance offends me.” She saw him stiffen. For her part, she inwardly recoiled from the still-fresh embarrassment that assailed her at the recollection of her mother and younger sisters' visit to Netherfield the day before. She had tried at the time to temper the worst of her mother's excesses. Her mother had admonished her not to run wild on that occasion, and here was Mr. Darcy claiming to admire her while presumably disparaging her mother. What irony.

Elizabeth remembered that Mr. Darcy had excepted Jane from his strictures as well; that was something, but hardly enough. She wondered if he had ever admired Jane, who was certainly more beautiful and amiable than Elizabeth, but she had seen no evidence of it. She allowed the loveliness of the night to calm her spirits so that calmness might be reflected in her speech. “I suppose I should be flattered—I suppose part of me is flattered—that you did not take a fancy to Jane instead,” she admitted. “Or perhaps you did at first, but your friend was there before you? You may yet have some gentleman-like impulses where your intimate friends are concerned. In any case, it is fortunate neither of you took a fancy to the other. The object of her admiration is not so fastidious. If Mr. Bingley were to take your view, Jane would be heartbroken. No, you have chosen well. Your public and very decided disapproval of me some weeks ago ensured that I can have no hopes for you to disappoint.” She ought not to have disclosed such personal matters, but so much had already been shared that there was little point in holding back.

It appeared this time that Mr. Darcy had no reply to offer.

She had had the last word. She ought to be satisfied, but she was not.

She could feel him thinking. She had no idea what he was thinking, of course, but she sensed that he had not just dismissed her words out of hand. He was considering them and considering what he might say, whether there could be anything worth saying. As before, something hung in the air between them.

She had been watching him, so she knew it the moment he heard the sound. He looked towards the room and then at her, and he closed the curtain carefully around them to shield them from view. By that time, she had heard it too. Within seconds, she was caught in an improvised embrace.

She understood at once what he did. With his arm extended between them and the curtain such that they were pressed against the window as well as each other, the fabric was pushed forward only a little. The slight change in shape might go unnoticed in the dark, whereas a pair of bulging silhouettes might catch the eye of a casual searcher.

“He must be here.” Elizabeth thought the door must be open at least a little, for Miss Bingley's voice was very clear.

“Caroline! This is ridiculous! Do you want him to start hiding from you in earnest?” And that was Mrs. Hurst.

“I think his man lied to me.”

“If you start chasing him about the house at night, do not be surprised if he instructs his man to misdirect you. See?” The door was definitely open now. “It is perfectly dark and empty.”

“Oh, very well,” Miss Bingley said. “But he was not in the library or in Charles's study.”

“I would not be shocked to find him in the wine cellar. You will drive the man to drink if you keep up this unseemly pursuit. I have told you again and again: let him pursue you.”

“You are one to talk! You pay him almost as much attention as I do.”

The door closed again, and the voices receded. Soon all was quiet except their breathing. Mr. Darcy's arm had relaxed, and he held her more naturally now.

“I had not anticipated a game of hide-and-seek when I entered this room tonight,” Elizabeth said from her place under his chin, trying to keep her voice even and light. She felt too many different things to name, but first and foremost was that she felt far too comfortable to move out of his arms.

“Forgive me,” he whispered over her head, “for taking up too much space.”

“You did what you must to avoid an unpleasant and embarrassing encounter.”

“That is not what I meant, though I ask your forgiveness for that as well.” He moved back far enough to look into her eyes, but he did not release her. “My views and feelings took up too much space. I was concerned only with myself. I did not make room for your feelings and opinions. Nor did I fully consider the impact of my words and behaviour. It was unkind of me.” He looked away. “It was also a stupid thing to do, considering how well I have learnt from our discussions to value your mind.”

The quiet was exquisite. She looked her fill and thought over his surprising words. Perhaps he had gotten his pride under good regulation after all, or perhaps he really had no improper pride. There was humility behind that confident demeanour he presented to the world. He did not consider himself above correction.

“Do you?” His words broke the thrall. He was staring at her.

“Do I what?”

“Do you forgive me?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you. That is very fortunate.”

She could not imagine what difference her forgiveness would truly make in his life, though she had to admit the brilliant smile he now wore was an appealing consequence of it. “Why,” she asked, “is it fortunate?”

He laughed nervously. “I am half afraid you will leave if I tell you.”

“I may as well hear you out.”

“If you had not forgiven my earlier offences, you would never forgive this.”

He leant forward, and Elizabeth gasped at the brief sensation of his mouth touching hers.

He looked at her intently for a moment. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him, for his lips met hers again, and he cradled her face in his hands.

Even in the midst of such pleasurable activity, after some time had passed, Elizabeth's curiosity got the better of her. “Mr. Darcy,” she said, putting a little space between them.

He looked pained. “I have offended you again.”

“No, no,” she said, placing a hand on his cheek to keep him from turning his face away. “I just want to know what changed. What was it? Or did you not intend to kiss me any more than to reveal your admiration?”

He kissed her once more and then turned her in his arms until her back was to him and they faced the window. “You heard them, Miss Bingley and her sister. There are so many ladies like them: pursue and keep pursuing until you are caught. Some are worse. I would not join a house party with certain women in attendance. Then there are those who show no interest themselves but take the man's interest as their due. Others seem willing to accept any sort of match as long as the man is good enough, and they are not so nice about what constitutes a 'good' man. You are different. You would not only require your husband to be a good man, you would expect him to become a better one if he ought. You would care about the man himself.”

With the kissing and the mention of a husband, Elizabeth wondered if she had just received a rather unconventional marriage proposal.

“I should have taken a turn about the room with you before. Your figure is even more admirable up close.” He snuggled up to her. “But it is cold here. We should not stay long.”

They exchanged few words after that, enough to arrange a discreet exit from the room and a private meeting the next day.

Elizabeth, with her hand in Darcy's, took a parting glance at the window that had framed what henceforth must be considered one of the most important events of her life. The event had not gone according to plan; in fact, it had not been planned at all.

And if, because of this, it was not quite the picture of perfection—though they were perfectly happy with the result—what cared they, with only the moon to witness?

Deliberation and Doubt, Chapter 11

Darcy stared uncomprehendingly at the man before him. He had just told Mr. Collins in six different ways that he was uninterested in Lady Catherine's opinion of his matrimonial duty, but it appeared a seventh may yet be required.

The man did not seem entirely brainless, but Darcy was beginning to wonder whether this distant cousin of the Bennets had a faulty memory or simply a streak of stubbornness that eclipsed all sense. Mr. Collins insisted, as if repetition would make it so, that defying Lady Catherine was not to be borne. In actuality, defying Lady Catherine was not only bearable, it was essential to the sanity of her relations.

Every time he thought he could not tolerate another syllable from Mr. Collins, he recalled that his own aunt bore the greater share of blame with her incautious, unsubstantiated declarations and her expectation of prevailing over everybody, and he refrained from letting loose whatever scathing comment came to mind.

He really wished he could sit down to breakfast, preferably with his beloved by his side and this utter bore nowhere in sight. Just thinking about what he wished he were doing offered some relief. Usually he did not allow himself to be distracted from what a person said to him in the moment, but this was no London soirée, where he had to be on his guard against scheming acquaintances. Nor was it the home of one of his Fitzwilliam relations, where he had to be equally wary of scheming family. Nor was he at Netherfield in the company of Miss Bingley, for that matter.

Just when he came close to losing patience again, he heard a most welcome sound behind him.

“My dear Fitzwilliam, how kind of you to entertain my cousin, but he has breakfasted, or at least made a good beginning, and you have not.” Elizabeth wrapped her arm around his and led him away, leaving Mr. Collins gaping.

Darcy smiled his gratitude. How beautifully simple Elizabeth's solution was! He had not forgotten his duty, however. “What of your father?” he asked Elizabeth. “I have yet to speak with him.”

“We can discuss the details later,” said Mr. Bennet, hurrying towards them. “You have my consent.”

“I thank you,” Darcy said, taken aback. He stopped to offer his hand, which Mr. Bennet shook. Elizabeth's father exhibited no eagerness; he rather had the air of one satisfied with having dispatched an unpleasant but necessary task. Darcy did not know what to make of him.

Breakfast at Longbourn was a noisy affair. Darcy stayed close to Elizabeth and took a seat by her. Mrs. Bennet only troubled him to inquire about his favourite dishes, and after she noted his answers, she conveniently spoke to Mr. Collins at some length. As the minutes passed, he was not sure if he had imagined or actually heard Mrs. Bennet say something about having been chosen over Lady Catherine as his mother-in-law. What an odd way of putting things! As long as he met the right bride at the altar, he could have no objection, and if such a declaration impeded Mr. Collins's flow of words on the subject, so much the better. In truth, he was quickly coming to see the advantages of acquiring a deferential mother-in-law over an interfering one.

It took several minutes, but eventually the chatter and clatter settled into an innocuous, comfortable rhythm. Darcy was able to relax, at least outwardly. Inwardly, his mind was full of the changes his morning ride had wrought. He would be married at long last, and to a woman he could love and who could love him in return.

Miss Lucas called before they were quite through. Her appearance was fortuitous, as it occurred just when Mr. Collins's face had begun to puff up in annoyance at remarks from Mrs. Bennet and Miss Lydia. Just Lydia, thought Darcy; she would be Lydia to him now. He did not want to think too deeply about that.

“Having second thoughts?” asked the woman of whose voice he had grown enamoured in the past weeks. She had stood when he had, eager to see her particular friend, but Miss Lucas was detained by Mr. Collins, who had greeted her and monopolised her company as if he were already the master of the house.

Darcy looked down at his side happily. “Second thoughts? About you? No.”

“You looked terrified for a moment.”

“I was, a little.” He looked into her eyes and tried to determine how to combine frankness with delicacy. He could hardly offend her more than he had already done, but there was no need to be foolish or careless of her feelings. Hesitantly, he leaned in close and said in a quiet voice, “I have one little sister, quite a timid creature, and now I am to gain four more, one of whom is Miss Lydia.”

He did not know what he had expected, but Elizabeth put all trepidation from his mind with her delightful laugh.

“Oh, you poor man! I ought not to feel sorry for you, however, not really. My father hides from the Bennet women in his library. From what I have heard, Pemberley's library is far superior and should offer as much protection as you require from the more boisterous of your new connections.”

When Mr. Collins had satisfied himself as to the welfare of Miss Lucas and her family, that lady made her way over to Elizabeth.

“Eliza, Mr. Darcy, good morning.”

“Charlotte!” Elizabeth exclaimed in concert with Darcy's own sedate greeting to Miss Lucas.

“Is Maria still abed?” Elizabeth asked her neighbour.

“She was when I left, but I would have wished to come alone today in any case,” Miss Lucas replied. She glanced over her shoulder towards the place where Mrs. Bennet and Mr. Collins were again conversing at odds with each other. Turning back, she said, “Eliza, I admit I am surprised not to be your only guest at this hour.” Now her eyes darted between Elizabeth and Darcy. A moment of silence followed. It seemed Miss Lucas would go no further with any vocal enquiry, though her look spoke volumes.

“We are engaged,” Elizabeth told her. The acknowledgement was delightful to Darcy's ears, and he could not help his broad grin.

“Truly? I congratulate you!” Miss Lucas said, looking genuinely pleased and not a bit envious.

Darcy watched with satisfaction as the two friends happily conversed. He could not imagine Miss Bingley announcing an engagement with anything less that the intent to inspire envy amongst her acquaintances. He could say the same of a number of ladies in his London circle.

He had no more time to spare for the supposed feelings of Miss Bingley and her ilk, however; he was still sorting through his own feelings. Did he wish to make his friends envious? No, he cared little whether or not they wanted Elizabeth. She was his, and as such, as long as she wanted him, no one else could have her. He did feel a new sort of pride, and he felt a strong desire, one he realised he never again would have to suppress. He felt relief at having escaped the matrimonial plans of others—those unimaginative, presumptuous schemes.

Most of all, he felt joy.

Just as the tension between Elizabeth and himself had unaccountably resolved into bliss, somehow the various other tangles got sorted—not ideally or completely, but well enough. Mr. Collins cast a disapproving glance his way from time to time but did not resume his argument or even remain in the Bennets' company for long. Miss Lucas invited the parson to Lucas Lodge, and thither he went before an hour had passed. By then, Mr. Bennet seemed less distant, if not exactly welcoming. Elizabeth's youngest sisters left him alone for the most part. Miss Mary seemed still a little scandalised from the earlier amorous display, and the younger girls appeared to have little interest in him.

Once Mr. Collins departed and Mr. Bennet abandoned them with what seemed a rather thin excuse, Mrs. Bennet cried out, “How lucky for us that Charlotte thought to take Mr. Collins off! I shall go out myself to call on my sister and tell her the good news! Lizzy, you must come along, that is, if Mr. Darcy will not mind it.”

“Mama—”

“Oh! Hm,” Mrs. Bennet said, eyeing the couple, “No, Lizzy. On second thought, you had better not go just now. Mr. Darcy, stay as long as you please. Stay for dinner if you like.”

“Kitty and I will go with you, Mama,” Lydia said, jumping up to gather her things.

“Come along, then.” She and her youngest two daughters soon quit the house. Mary excused herself to practice her music, which they heard presently.

When Mrs. Bennet left the room, Elizabeth had moved to sit by her elder sister. The two ladies made a pretty picture. The unstudied elegance of the one, the energetic grace of the other, and the happiness of them both conveyed more loveliness than their physical features alone could do.

Darcy thought he could sit and stare at Elizabeth indefinitely, especially now that they had come to an understanding. However, that did not mean Elizabeth wanted to sit and be started at. She might have plans. She might be exhausted, for she could have had little sleep, though she looked as vibrant as ever.

He did not know what to do with himself until he had the sudden idea to ask Elizabeth her opinion. After all, he had nothing pressing except to please his beloved. He was not at Pemberley or at his house in London, where there might be any number of matters to attend to. Bingley was away from Netherfield and therefore not in need of any assistance of his. He was quite at his leisure, and he might as well use the time to learn how to please a woman worthy of being pleased.

“Elizabeth,” he called out, diverting her attention from Jane. She came to him at once. “I could stay all day, but you might have secret matters to discuss,” he said, looking between her and Jane and smiling. Jane smiled back, and Elizabeth laughed. “I should at least go to Netherfield and let them know I will be dining out. It seems I also have several letters to write.”

“I suppose I have a letter or two to write as well,” Elizabeth said with a curious look in her eye. Then she smiled. “But I do want to talk to Jane. You will be back this evening, then?”

“Yes.” He leaned close and whispered, “I shall miss you.”

“It will only be a few hours,” she whispered in reply, “but I think I shall miss you too.”

Darcy was tempted to embrace Elizabeth and kiss her in front of an audience for the second time that day. By the look on Elizabeth's face, she was well aware of the fact.

Instead, he kissed her hand and took his leave.

Some time later, Darcy was again alone in Netherfield's library, writing a letter. He had written to Georgiana, and he had just begun a note to his solicitor when he heard Miss Bingley arguing with someone near the door. He set down his pen and went to see what had occurred.

“I told you he is not to be disturbed. Our neighbours can have nothing of import to say. Just give it to me!” Miss Bingley insisted.

“Is something wrong?” Darcy asked. A young lad he thought he remembered seeing at Longbourn that day stood with hands behind his back, protecting their contents from Miss Bingley's grasp.

“Mr. Darcy,” said the butler, “this young man asked to see you, sir.”

The boy nodded. “I was told to put this in Mr. Darcy's hands and none other, sir.” Yes, the boy was definitely from Longbourn. He held out the paper, which Darcy took.

Miss Bingley stood by looking frustrated and not pretending to conceal her curiosity. She dismissed the butler, but when she tried to send the boy on his way, Darcy stayed him. “Let me see if an answer is required.” He was concerned now. Had there been trouble? Had Mr. Collins come back to harass them?

Had Elizabeth changed her mind? He hoped not!

Tearing into the letter with something less than his customarily dignified manner, he read over the first lines and sighed in relief. “All is well. Elizabeth is well.” And Elizabeth is still mine, he thought. He bit down on his lip but could not contain a smile. He dispatched the messenger, made slightly richer in thanks and coin, and turned to his hostess. Miss Bingley looked like she had a dozen questions to ask and no desire to hear the answers to any of them. He ought not to continue to smile, but he could not help it. He was too happy.

“I fear I have been indiscreet,” he said to his hostess, feeling a sudden compassion. “I apologise. I shall try not to trouble you any further today. I must finish my letters, and afterward I shall probably be with the Bennets until very late.” He returned quickly to his task, shutting the door behind him.

He now had an extra letter to write, but he would have to read this new one first.

If the words “Dear Mr. Darcy” had ever before caused him such delightful palpitations, he could not now recall it.

I feel silly for penning this note when I have just seen you, and you are but three miles distant. Might a lady be excused for a fit of silliness on the occasion of her engagement? I sincerely hope you will think so. In fact, I hope you will go so far as to write a note in reply. I believe it would be quite pleasant to read your words when you have happier news to communicate than in your last.

I do miss you. I like the feeling, but I shall like seeing you again even more.

Fitzwilliam, how does one know one is beginning to be in love? Is it possible it is happening to me as quickly as all this? Perhaps we can discuss the matter when next we meet.

With growing affection,

Elizabeth

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Next

Deliberation and Doubt, Chapter 10

The unwelcome sound of Mr. Collins's voice startled Elizabeth, and she spun out of Darcy's embrace. She stayed close and wrapped her arm around her lover's as sights and sounds intruded. She paid only scant attention to Lydia and Kitty's laughter and Mary's frowns. Jane's questioning look she sought to ease with her own smiles, but she was not as effective as she wished. She knew full well her happiness eclipsed any mortification, whether that fact showed on her face or not. Before she could say a word to allay Jane's concern, Darcy spoke.

“Good morning, Mrs. Bennet,” he said, “and good morning to you, Miss Bennet, Miss Mary, Miss Catherine, and Miss Lydia.” He bowed to them all, including Mr. Collins. “I begged Miss Elizabeth to let me join you this morning. Oh!” He turned to Jane. “Before I forget, I was charged by Mr. Bingley to convey his deepest regards to you in particular, Miss Bennet, and to your entire family as well. He is likely travelling to town as we speak. I believe he will return on—”

“Saturday,” Jane said before Darcy could finish his sentence. Her face suffused with a delicate blush. “I apologise for interrupting you.”

“Not at all. Saturday is correct,” he replied with a gracious smile. “Now, I must have a word with Mr. Bennet, if he is available.”

“But—but Mr. Darcy!” said Mr. Collins, red-faced and flustered. “You cannot—My cousin—How could—Lady Catherine will be—What will Lady Catherine say? This must be Cousin Elizabeth's fault!” He glared at her and appeared torn between approaching Mr. Darcy to admonish him further and maintaining a respectful distance in honour of his consequence and his connection to Lady Catherine.

“I believe I have grasped the nature of your business, Mr. Darcy,” said Mr. Bennet. Elizabeth had not noticed her father's library door open.

“Good morning, sir,” Mr. Darcy said, turning to face him.

“Yes, well,” Papa began, only to be interrupted by his cousin.

“My dear cousin, you simply cannot allow this match to proceed! It is not sanctioned by Lady Catherine de Bourgh!”

“And what has Lady Catherine to do with whom my daughter marries?”

“Oh! Nothing at all! It is her nephew's marriage in which she must have her say, though I do not doubt my dear cousin would also benefit from her ladyship's sage advice on the matter! In fact, it is my intention to introduce Cousin Elizabeth to her ladyship as soon as possible, for you must know that—my attentions have been too marked to be—”

“Now, Mr. Collins,” interjected Mrs. Bennet, “I tried to spare you this, but you would leave the breakfast table! When I stepped out intending to discover what was keeping Lizzy, I saw her here and could easily tell what she was about. I had no idea of anything of the kind between them until that moment, you understand, or I never would have....Oh, my! But I came back immediately to spare your feelings! I tried my best, did not I, girls?”

“My feelings?” said an ever more agitated Mr. Collins. “Lady Catherine's feelings are the matter for concern!”

“Sir,” said Papa quietly to Mr. Darcy, “I will speak with you shortly. Right now I want to talk to Lizzy.”

Elizabeth looked at her father and then at Darcy, who nodded and smiled, and she slipped into her father's library. She heard Darcy addressing Mr. Collins as the door closed.

“Lizzy,” Papa said, “what do you mean by accepting this man? I can see you do not hate him any longer, but I would swear you did when you woke this morning!”

“I would not say I hated him this morning when I woke.”

“Yesterday morning, then!”

“Fair enough.”

“Do not be tiresome, Lizzy! Explain yourself.”

Elizabeth took a seat but then jumped right back up and began to pace. Her father looked worried now instead of annoyed, so she stood still and smiled at him, which only seemed to increase his worry.

“You have not had a sudden desire to be rich? I know the man danced with you last night. Did you decide to make something of his unlooked-for interest? I have never considered you a mercenary girl.”

“I am glad you have not.”

“Then tell me what this is about!”

He had used that quiet, insistent voice that was almost worse than shouting. Elizabeth looked with compassion at him. Poor Papa! He had expected this outcome no more than she had, and she ought to help reconcile him to it as quickly as she could.

“I will do my best to make you understand. I am not certain I understand it all myself, but I am certain I want to marry Mr. Darcy.” She really was certain of that. She sat down again and waited until her father did likewise.

“And it has nothing to do with pin money and carriages?”

“No.” She shifted in her chair. She was convinced that she was making the right choice: not necessarily an easy choice, but the right one. She thought a moment. “I guess you could say we have misread each other from almost the beginning of our acquaintance.” It had not been easy to own up to her mistakes, but she was the better for it. She was certainly happier for it.

“What mystery has there been in his behaviour? We could all see that he is proud and disagreeable.”

“He was not proud and disagreeable just now!” He had not been too proud to behave civilly, even amiably, towards her family. She knew it was not reasonable of her to expect her father to disregard Mr. Darcy's previous attitude towards the people of Meryton in general and his family in particular, but she found herself short of patience with him nonetheless. She was happy; could that not be sufficient? “The man outside your library is quite pleasant and spoke prettily to my mother and sisters.”

Her father did not appear impressed. For a moment he just looked at her, and then he said, “You barely know him.”

She had to stop herself from saying, 'I know him better than you think.' It would not do to give her father the wrong idea. She took another approach. “If Mr. Bingley were to call on you today and ask for Jane's hand,” she asked, “would you deny him?”

“No.”

“Jane has not known Mr. Bingley any longer than I have known Mr. Darcy, and she has hardly spent more time in Mr. Bingley's company than I have spent in his friend's.”

“I dare say Jane and her Mr. Bingley have not spent their time misunderstanding and insulting each other,” her father pointed out, raising a brow in enquiry. “I find it hard to imagine you have not repaid Mr. Darcy for that injudicious remark at the assembly.”

“Oh, I have. Twice I refused to dance with him.”

Her father seemed to soften at that. He even looked amused. “And the man kept asking.”

“Yes. I was a blind fool.” She shook her head. “Last night I flaunted my foolishness by spending the first dance refusing to speak to him and the second questioning and accusing him. It was awful. Do not laugh, Papa!”

Her chuckling father paid her no heed.

She smiled reluctantly. “I admit to being ridiculous. It was that horrid conversation, however, that led to our present understanding. Mr. Darcy discovered that I did not like him. He had not realised it until then, if you believe it. For my part, I discovered that an old acquaintance of his had spread lies about him and that what I had assumed was mutual dislike was not mutual after all.”

“An old acquaintance? I do not imagine anyone bearing the name of Bingley has said anything derogatory about the man.” His eyes suddenly brightened. “Is it the new officer from the north I have heard you and your sisters giggle and sigh over? I admit to rarely listening to Lydia, but she was quite voluble last week when you all came back from your aunt's. She raved about a certain soldier's looks and then complained that he made several mentions of Mr. Darcy, of all people, during a game of lottery tickets! I remember being surprised even a redcoat could draw Lydia's attention away from lottery tickets, so fond is she of that game.”

“Yes, Mr. Wickham is the man. He is the son of the late Mr. Darcy's steward and something of a ne'er-do-well.”

“So Mr. Darcy has gone from being your enemy to being the man you want to marry! That is a great deal to sort out during a pair of dances—or a single dance, if you refused to talk to him for the first one. How did you manage to settle it all? I know he did not ask you to dance a second time. Your mother would not have kept silent about that. Neither did you appear to be friendly when we left the ball.”

Elizabeth did not wish him to know about the letter, so she did not answer immediately.

Her father looked squarely at her. “Now I may seem an old man to you girls, but I know what manner of sounds I heard outside my library door. Please tell me a few kisses have not turned your head and caused you to throw away your good sense.”

Her shoulders drooped.

She told him as much about the letter as she dared without revealing any specifics regarding Miss Darcy. Her father looked none too pleased, and from his few remarks, she gathered he was less disturbed by the contents of the letter than by the fact that she had received it at all. She waited a moment for his brow to relax and for him to dismiss or make a joke of it, as was his wont with disagreeable things, but he continued to frown at her. It occurred to her that he might suspect her of withholding something from him. If so, did he believe it to be more than it was? Did he perhaps think she had gone further than she ought, further than morality, and not just prudence, dictated? The thought was painful.

“I hope you know me well enough, Papa,” she said unhappily, “not to believe the current state of affairs between Mr. Darcy and myself was built on a foundation consisting solely of improprieties!” She tried to smile despite her consternation, but her father's expression did not change, and that dampened her spirits. She turned from him and said no more.

Elizabeth had not expected to be sat in her father's library this morning, at odds with him over a marriage proposal from Mr. Darcy, of all people! The threat of Mr. Collins's addresses had been nothing to this. Mr. Darcy was no Mr. Collins, whose sole attraction was being heir to Longbourn. If she wished to marry him, especially after having detested him, why could Papa not trust that she must have very good reasons?

She could only guess that her father did not appreciate having to adjust his ideas to these new circumstances. He was, in truth, likely to grant Mr. Darcy anything he should ask, but he appeared to be annoyed because Elizabeth would not spare him the bother.

Jane would never have faced this sort of enquiry or disapprobation over a suitor. Even if there had been any number of letters—or kisses, for that matter—her father would have questioned nothing of consequence. Jane, however, was unlikely to go from hating a man to loving him; she would begin and end thinking well of any man she wished to marry. That would make an application for her hand blessedly uncomplicated.

Elizabeth thought about Mr. Darcy. There seemed little uncomplicated about that man or about her acquaintance with him.

Just as she was considering whether to say something in Mr. Darcy's defence, as defending her own behaviour had accomplished nothing, her mother burst into the room. “Mr. Bennet, you must come quickly! There is such a to-do! Your cousin looks as red as a tomato, and he insists Mr. Darcy is engaged to Lady Catherine's daughter!”

“What is this?” Mr. Bennet said, looking at his wife with interest.

Papa must believe he has found a way round this matter, Elizabeth thought. It would be best for him to be disabused of that notion without delay. “Mama, there is no engagement between Mr. Darcy and his cousin.” She smiled at a sudden thought. “Do you recall last night at supper, when you spoke to Lady Lucas about my marrying Mr. Collins, as if it were a settled thing?”

“Oh, that!” said Mrs. Bennet, catching her meaning with gratifying quickness. “No, no. I see. I see! Never mind that now.”

“Exactly, Mama. Mr. Collins speaks only of Lady Catherine's preferences, and no more. Mr. Darcy has already told me of it. His aunt will not be pleased, but that cannot be helped.”

“I suppose not, but Mr. Collins is so angry, going on and on about his patroness's disappointment! He was even a little rude when I begged him to finish his breakfast and let Mr. Darcy be.”

“I ought to go and rescue Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said, imagining he must be quite weary of Mr. Collins's impertinence. Rising from her chair, she looked up and saw mild surprise fading into resignation on her father's face. Her mother's face was a picture of almost girlish excitement.

It was time to leave this room. “Come with me. Mama,” Elizabeth said, taking her mother's arm. She determined to enjoy this rare moment of accord between them. “If Mr. Collins will not relent, we can remind him that the choice is Mr. Darcy's, and he prefers to have you for a mother-in-law rather than Lady Catherine.”

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Next

Deliberation and Doubt, Chapter 9

Darcy kept pace with Elizabeth and pondered the delicate place they had reached in their acquaintance.

Their walk had begun beautifully. They had engaged in pleasant banter, and when they had lapsed into silence, there were still glances and blushes and smiles. Seeing her smile directed at him so frequently was almost as good as having her kisses. Had things gone a bit further—had she reached out for him, touched him—he might have kissed her again.

Then something went awry.

It had taken him two steps to realise she was no longer at his side. He had been speaking of her family at her instigation. He had kept his strictures to a minimum, and for his pains she had accused him of not being gentleman-like! The words had stung him.

He was every inch the gentleman! That was how they had come to be walking to Longbourn together this morning. He had determined that she should be undeceived regarding Wickham. Upon finding himself alone with her, he had exercised great restraint and only proceeded with such displays of affection that she did not object to or that she actually encouraged. Indeed, there had been no want of encouragement!

For all that, he had not swept her up in his arms, put her atop his horse, and ridden off with her to the next town. Nor had he coaxed her away from the path to some secluded place for the purpose of enticing favours from her. He knew more than a few men who would have done the latter without a second thought and maybe even a few who might have risked a kidnapping charge for the former, but he was not that sort of man.

Yet his admission, however succinct, that he had had the reasonable scruples of a reasoning man had somehow drawn her censure.

He squeezed the bridge of his nose. Was he really congratulating himself for not behaving like a villain, for not being an unprincipled ass, simply because he resented the fact that a single remark of his had been judged and found wanting?

Only Elizabeth could affect him this way.

This was the conundrum that was Elizabeth. She attracted him, frustrated him, confused him, surprised him, and sometimes angered him. She inspired, amused, and delighted him.

She moved him.

He could not remember not being interested in her, even when he had thought he was not interested in her. He had kept looking at her until he had wanted to keep looking—until he had wanted her to look back.

Now she was looking back, and it would be the height of foolishness for him to ruin everything in the heat of the moment. He had said enough to achieve an uneasy truce, but he would do well to come up with something better before they reached her home. He would not like her to bid him goodbye at the door with nary a backward glance.

Oh, but he was piqued! He had been hard-pressed to keep the irritation out of his voice, and there had been an edge to his words. Elizabeth had not left his side, however, and she had not tried to rush him along. He was glad of that. He needed this last stretch of the walk to Longbourn to be a slow and thoughtful journey.

He tried to use the time well. He thought of the content of his remark and sought to understand why Elizabeth had taken exception to it. Were not his feelings about the relative stations of the Bennets and his own family, not to mention the behaviour of some of the Bennets, natural and just?

Bingley would say he was being too fastidious, but Bingley was always saying that.

His earlier thoughts about Lady Catherine's behaviour came back to him. He was suddenly dissatisfied with how easily he had forgotten those musings. Had he dismissed them from his mind because he depended on the distance between Pemberley and Longbourn to keep him from having to reconcile himself to the unpleasant aspects of the match?

He considered his parents, education, and inheritance. He had a heritage to make a man proud, and apparently it had made him proud, but did his position in the world really require him to think meanly of others not similarly blessed? He had taken for granted that it did. Now he began to doubt the rightness and even the practicality of doing so.

He glanced at the woman next to him.

She had her pride too, he realised.

Could he not begin, at least where it most mattered, to take people as he found them and to disregard those foibles he was apt to overlook in others when they were gilded with wealth and consequence?

It would be a challenge, but Darcy was not put off by challenges.

His happiness was bound up in Elizabeth Bennet. There was no doubt on that score, but how was Elizabeth to know she could trust her happiness to his care if she feared he might forever reproach her for circumstances beyond her control? Why would she dare trust him with her heart if she could not trust him to tolerate, for her sake, the people she loved?

His eyes were appraising the old, dignified façade of Longbourn House and admiring the prettiness of the grounds when he had an idea.

Elizabeth was on the point of turning her feet towards the front door. He reached out and gently touched her arm. “Will you direct me to the stables, Miss Bennet?”

She started at that, but he could see no advantage to being anything other than bold now, so he continued.

“Elizabeth,” he said, “I mean to shed all claims to gentleman-like behaviour for the present and invite myself in. If I wish your connections to be mine in future, I ought to have a proper value for them. In pursuit of that, I should like to spend some time with them if I may. You were quite right to chastise me. You would not be the woman I lo—” He stopped, impeded by a wave of embarrassment. He had been fooling himself in refusing to use the word. “I suppose I do love you. It is pointless to deny it. You would not be the woman I am at least beginning to love,” he said, smiling at her surprised face, “if you were afraid to tell me when you think I am in the wrong.”

There was so much emotion in her face that for a moment he thought she might cry again, but then she composed herself and, to his astonishment, grasped his hand.

She led him to the stables, and then, when his horse was seen to, she took him into the house. Thereupon followed a flurry of activity during which they separated only of necessity or expedience, and then only briefly. He had not seen much of Longbourn before and certainly did not know his way about the place. It was a whirl: servants' names and faces; inquiries and glances; that lightness in his beloved's voice that sounded like a smile and hovered on the brink of joyous laughter; and throughout, the near-constant touch of her hand in his, At length, she settled him in a well-appointed parlour with a promise to return to him soon.

He did not have long to wait. He stood at her approach and noticed that slight difference in her height that he sometimes did. Looking down, he saw that she had exchanged her half-boots for slippers. She came quite close and said in a low voice, “I had to hide away my precious letter. Come!” She took his hand and led him down the hall to stop before a door. “Oh! You must be hungry. Had you anything to eat before leaving Netherfield?”

He admitted to not having had much of an appetite then but feeling peckish now.

“We shall remedy that, but first, I thought you might wish to speak to my father.”

“Your father?” he said, nonplussed. Then her nod and her smile and the light in her dark eyes cleared away all confusion as to her meaning but not the reasoning behind it. “But you were not ready! You said you wanted time to think.”

“I have been thinking,” she said, that mesmerising mouth twitching on one side during her pause, “and I now think the idea of a little more time to be over-rated.”

He opened his mouth to reply and found himself unable to utter a word. Elizabeth had pressed herself to him and raised her face while lowering his. With a little leap, her lips met his own. It hardly would have been gallant not to assist her and he held her to himself, indulging their mutual wishes, until the enormity of the moment burst upon him. Caressing her face, with the sound of his ragged breath and his pounding heart in his ears, he asked, “You will marry me? That is, will you marry me, Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”

“Yes, I will marry you, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

“Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy?!?”

The exclamation had not come from his beloved. He lifted his face to discover that they had quite an audience. The youngest two Bennet girls admirably prevented giggles from escaping their mouths while their shoulders shook. Miss Bennet looked as if she could not credit what she saw, but her frown of perplexity and Miss Mary's frown of disapproval were worlds apart. Even Mrs. Bennet was there, looking with something like triumph not at him or Elizabeth, but at her houseguest. As for Mr. Collins, who had cried out his name, that man stood staring at him in horror and indignation.

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Next

Deliberation and Doubt, Chapter 8

Elizabeth wondered how it was that she had begun with a letter and ended with a kiss.

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.”

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