by Lory Lilian
“No, by no means. I could not possibly take you from your intended and your guests. Everyone seems to agree that you organized a perfect ball.” Darcy smiled. “Besides, there is not much any of us can do except for Dr. Taylor.”
“Then please keep us informed, if you can…”
“I am very sorry I could not dance the second set with you, Miss Elizabeth. I shall be in your debt for that.” The colonel smiled, kissing her hand.
“I shall gladly remind you at the first opportunity, Colonel.”
“I trust other opportunities will arise soon…”
“I look forward to it. Please take care of yourself. Both of you...” She could barely speak, turning to Darcy again.
“We shall send word of how we find things at Rosings and what our plans might be. Now please excuse us; we must prepare for the journey.”
They both bowed and exited the library while the other three remained in complete silence. Elizabeth felt too weak even to speak. Countless questions spun in her mind as she struggled to listen to her sister and Bingley agree on an explanation of this sudden departure to their other guests.
Shortly after, they returned to the main hall where music, laughter, and joy flowed freely. Elizabeth saw and heard as in a dream. The torment inside made her oblivious to everything around her.
Rumours of the departure of Mr. Darcy and the colonel quickly spread, and gossip and speculation arose, becoming the only subject of conversation.
In less than half an hour, everything was ready for the journey. They briefly bid farewell to the guests then hurried out.
Elizabeth was left lonely, desolate, and disillusioned. As she looked out the window, she could see that it was snowing and windy. She moved a step closer, willing him to exchange a last glance with her. Fortune was on her side. He turned, met her eyes, and bowed slightly. She struggled to smile, hoping he could see it.
Then she startled as someone called her name. “Miss Bennet, I was looking for you. I believe this is the third set, and I have been waiting eagerly to spend half an hour together. Shall we?”
Mr. Godwin offered his arm, and she reluctantly placed her hand on it.
Then she turned to look outside one more time, just in time to see Darcy standing near the carriage and looking towards her. Then he entered, and the carriage started to move slowly and soon disappeared into the night as she stepped hesitantly towards the dance floor with one man while her heart lay with another.
Chapter 11
The rest of the glamorous ball meant nothing but grief and turmoil to Elizabeth. Absently, she spoke, smiled, danced every set, and forced herself to reply calmly to the questions regarding Darcy and the colonel’s departure. But she heard no music, remembered no dance steps, and recollected no conversation.
Mr. Wickham’s restraint vanished with the two gentlemen, and he soon became the heart of the party as he used to be. Elizabeth was too sad and exhausted even to speak to him again, and her grief overwhelmed her anger in the face of Wickham’s impertinence.
She dared not consider what would happen after Darcy’s hasty travel to Rosings, but she could think of nothing else.
There was no doubt of Miss De Bourgh’s illness. But were Darcy and the colonel summoned every time such a situation occurred? She must have been unwell before. Was it her cousins’ responsibility to always be at her side?
Elizabeth realised she was unreasonable and childish and the panic enveloping her was absurd. He had to leave, but he would return—if he wished to. He had not left her; he simply went to attend to his family’s needs. She was not his family…not yet…
But her fears were stronger than any attempt at common sense. It was unfair to her that they were separated again, no matter how selfish that might sound.
She was relieved when the carriage took them home. She watched Jane’s reluctance to part from her betrothed, and envy gripped her heart.
Her family’s happy chatter, her father’s insistent, inquiring glances, and her mother’s questions about Mr. Adam Godwin were all remote to her. Only at times, when Darcy’s name was mentioned, did she startle and say something of little consequence.
Dawn had almost conquered the night when everyone retired to their bedchambers. With heavy self-blame, she spoke only briefly with Jane, pretending she was tired. In truth, she wished to rest, but that desire—as with many others—was denied her for a time as she struggled to sleep. The last thing she noticed was Jane’s beautiful face, peacefully resting in a dream that apparently brought her joy.
And then she fell asleep.
***
Moments turned into hours, but the storm and darkness remained, so it was difficult for Elizabeth to know what time she woke up. All was silent, and the only light came from the fire burning steadily in the hearth. She heard movement, and through heavy lashes, she tried to see.
“Jane? Is that you?”
No answer came, but the movement in the chamber continued. Steps came closer, and a chilling sensation wrapped her.
A shadow approached—so familiar, yet so strange. It stood beside the bed, and she stopped breathing.
“It is not Jane,” a hoarse voice whispered.
The fire lit a face that wore great weariness; a little smile warmed his handsome yet severe features.
“It is you…” she whispered.
She wished to rise, but he kneeled next to the bed. His warm breath seemed to burn her face. Her hand stretched to him, and he took it tenderly. He smelled of winter and rain.
“You have returned already?” she asked.
“I could not stay away from you…”
“I am so happy to see you…”
“And I am happy to see you so…”
Small kisses caressed each of her fingers while his eyes deepened into hers. With her free hand, she touched his cheek.
“You are so cold…”
He smiled, and his gentle lips tantalised her wrist.
“I was cold for many years until your heat melted me, my love.”
“Am I still your love?”
“Always and forever, my dearest Elizabeth.”
The ardour that burst out from his voice and gaze shattered her body and her soul. Casting away any questions about his presence or worries about his family and the impropriety of their situation, her arms circled his neck.
“Would you allow me to share my warmth with you?”
Surprise silenced him for a moment. Then he took off his coat and boots to rest by her side. He embraced her tightly, and she suddenly found herself where, for months, she had known she belonged: in his arms, near his heart.
His fingers slid into her hair then brushed over her ear as he whispered, “I should not be here; I have never broken so many rules, never ignored everything that is right and proper. And yet, I have never felt so perfect—so completely happy.”
“So completely happy,” she repeated as countless kisses brushed along her jaw to the corner of her lips then lowered toward her throat. His strong body slowly moved over hers. She was trapped under him, prisoner of the restrained passion that he slowly set free, enhancing her deepest desires.
“Lizzy! Lizzy dearest, are you well? I heard you moaning. Are you in pain?”
Jane’s desperate voice and gentle shaking woke Elizabeth up abruptly. She glanced around, confused, ashamed, and frightened by the realisation that her felicity was not real. It had been nothing but a tormenting dream that felt astonishingly real. She sensed his caresses, his kisses, his scent, his strength—his ardent love. Her body still trembled from the memories of their shared passion—her passion—shared with a chimera.
“I am fine. I fell asleep very late, and I might have dreamed something. What time is it?”
“It is quite late and the breakfast is ready. We are waiting fo
r you.”
“I apologise. Please give me a moment, and I shall join you.”
“May I help you with anything?”
“No, thank you, dearest.”
“Lizzy…I know you are sad that Mr. Darcy left, but I am sure he will return soon.”
She attempted a smile. “Do not worry, Jane. It was a wonderful ball. Mr. Bingley exceeded all expectations; everything was perfect.”
“He is so kind and generous, Lizzy! I cannot stop wondering whether I deserve such luck, such happiness. It is just too much, and I fear I am dreaming.”
“You are not dreaming, my darling!” Only I am doing that, she thought as she embraced her sister. “You and Mr. Bingley are as happy as you both deserve. Now go away and let me dress. I am sure your betrothed will be here in no time.”
***
Elizabeth struggled with the decision to join her family. She went toward the drawing room, but Wickham’s loud voice annoyed her even from the hall. She loathed seeing him, so she chose a few moments with her father instead, hoping he was still alone in the solitude of the library.
Instead, through the partially open door, she was astonished to hear both her parents talking to none other than Mr. Collins! Her first reaction was to escape, as she could not tolerate ridiculous conversation at the moment. Suddenly, Wickham’s impertinence seemed easier to handle.
But her mother’s cries stopped Elizabeth; she remained to listen, still and dumbfounded.
“What do you mean, Mr. Collins? Does Lady Catherine believe that Mr. Darcy wishes to marry Lizzy? Dear Lord, can that be true?”
“Mrs. Bennet, let us calm ourselves. This is not a conversation we should have with Mr. Collins,” Mr. Bennet interfered severely.
“I kindly beg to differ, dear sir. I felt it my duty to convey to you her ladyship’s displeasure so that you can act accordingly. This is why I called on you the other day, but unfortunately, our conversation was interrupted.”
“‘Accordingly’ in what manner, Mr. Collins? I have heard of no such prospect from either my daughter or the gentleman of whom you speak. Regardless, he has left the neighbourhood for the present,” Mr. Bennet insisted.
“Indeed he has, as he must be by his cousin’s side. You should know that they have been promised to each other since they were in their cradles. They are bound through a very peculiar engagement. Let us pray that this sad event will make Mr. Darcy finally take the step that is desired by everyone and marry Miss de Bourgh,” Mr. Collins continued.
“Mr. Darcy is engaged to his cousin? But…but…then why did you say he wished to marry Lizzy? And why on earth would I pray for a result that allows him to marry his cousin? I would want for nothing else in my life if Lizzy were to marry Mr. Darcy!” Mrs. Bennet cried while Elizabeth steadied herself against the wall.
“As I said, their engagement is of a special kind. And I did not say that Mr. Darcy wishes to marry my fair cousin Elizabeth but that Lady Catherine suspects she might have tricked him with charms and allurements into such an imprudent step, which would be a disaster for everyone. But the Lord had been good, and Mr. Darcy is now where should be.”
“Mr. Collins, I fear that I either drank too much or too little last night, as I fail to understand you,” said the master of the house. “Please speak coherently. In God’s name, what do you wish from us? Let us settle it now and have breakfast—and a drink.”
“My dear sir, I hope you will wisely advise my cousin against such an imprudent marriage, which will only bring undesirable consequences—that is, if the situation should require it. Lady Catherine would be very displeased. She might convince the rest of the family and members of the ton never to accept such a union and treat Mr. Darcy and his wife accordingly. ”
“You seem to like the word ‘accordingly’ exceedingly well, Mr. Collins. So, if Mr. Darcy happens to favour my daughter and wish to marry her, should I destroy her chance of happiness to such an illustrious man only because his aunt is displeased? And pray tell me, why do you think you are entitled to interfere in Mr. Darcy’s plans? If he should happen to ask my opinion about such a marriage—of which I know nothing at the moment—I shall convey to him your concerns,” Mr. Bennet concluded.
“It is not Mr. Darcy who must be approached, but my dear cousin Elizabeth,” Mr. Collins explained.
Elizabeth startled as she heard her mother’s angry retort.
“Even should we wish to do that—which we do not! —I would expect no success in changing Lizzy’s mind. I am sure you remember my failure to convince her to marry you last year. Surely, you cannot hope I am able convince her not to marry Mr. Darcy if he should happen to propose to her and she decides to accept him!”
“Mrs. Bennet, I am not sure what you mean!”
“Oh, pishposh. Everybody in the neighbourhood knows that you first proposed to Lizzy and she refused you. You then asked Charlotte because you were afraid to go back to Rosings without a wife, just as she accepted you because she needed a comfortable home and a husband. Do not take me for a fool, and do not lecture me on marriage, sir!”
“Mrs. Bennet, I assure you—” Mr. Collins attempted to explain himself without success, as the lady concluded coldly.
“Oh, and I would advise you against saying anything that might upset Mr. Darcy. I understand he is very capable with both the pistol and the sword. Colonel Fitzwilliam said so. It would be a pity if you were not around to inherit Longbourn after all!”
“Mrs. Bennet, this is…I never expected…”
Mr. Bennet abruptly ended the conversation. “Mr. Collins, I feel we have spent too much time speaking about a situation we cannot influence nor even confirm its veracity. Thank you for stopping by. Mrs. Bennet, is breakfast ready, you think?”
“Indeed it must be! And I am sure it is already cold. I did not except a call at such an early and inconvenient hour!”
Elizabeth dashed toward the main hall to avoid being caught in an awkward situation. She could not believe her mother’s bravery. She was certain Mr. Collins had never suffered such a chastisement before.
She could hardly breathe. So, her suspicious were correct. Mr. Collins had the foolish audacity to be Lady Catherine’s messenger and attempt to succeed where she had failed. She did not know whether to be angry or amused. It was certain, however, that such an endeavour would have no influence on Mr. Darcy. He told her as much, more than once.
But, what if he were persuaded to wed his sick cousin. Could he be convinced by compassion for a lady near death? Would mercy toward his cousin be stronger than his affection—his ardent love—for Elizabeth? If so, what would she do? Could she bear such grief?
She hesitated a moment then hurried back to her chamber. No other room in the house was safe for the present.
***
When she was finally composed enough to meet her family, Elizabeth expected embarrassing comments from her mother regarding Mr. Darcy and his intentions. However, except for a joyful welcome and some curious glances, Mrs. Bennet was somewhat restrained.
“I am so happy we came,” Lydia said. “Although I am a married woman, I was still asked to dance almost like an unmarried one! Jane, you are so fortunate to marry such a rich husband! If you love Mr. Bingley half as much as I love my dear George, you will be very happy. And you can have as many balls as you like!”
“It saddens me to see I cannot offer my dear wife as much comfort as she wishes,” Mr. Wickham intervened. “My limited income is such that…I only pray we can live decently on it.”
“Your income is convenient, I would say,” Mr. Gardiner interrupted. “You must feel relieved that it came just at the right time for your unexpected marriage. I started my family with far less. It is all about how well a man accomplishes his duties and struggles to improve himself, as well as his income.”
“True. I might not be a
good example, but at least I was never a burden to anyone,” Mr. Bennet added severely.
“Well, when Jane marries Mr. Bingley, you will at least not have to worry about being thrown out by Mr. Collins once Papa dies,” Lydia declared. “Although I married first, I could not possibly take care of you all. Poor George works hard just to support me.”
“I hope you did not worry excessively, Lydia. I am sure none of us ever imagined such a scenario,” Elizabeth interjected.
Those who understood her meaning exchanged glances in silence. The gentleman who should have stayed silent chose to speak with impertinence.
“I confess I was rather shocked to see Darcy dancing the first set with our dear sister Elizabeth. I cannot remember ever seeing him open a ball. But it is also true that I never saw him leave so hastily in the middle of a ball either.”
“It was so funny that I almost died laughing,” Lydia supported her husband. “I remember when Mr. Darcy refused to dance with Lizzy at an assembly, and she hated him so much that she could not stand to hear his name. Back then, my George was your favourite, was he not, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth felt the blood drain from her face, and rage made her hands tremble.
“I remember those times too. My wisdom betrayed me, and I confused goodness with the appearance of it,” she uttered.
“Would you be so kind as to do me a favour?” Jane suddenly intervened with unusual severity. “I would truly appreciate it if unfavourable comments about Mr. Darcy ceased. He is my future husband’s best friend, and he has proved his loyalty and friendship to us many times. I could not bear to see him offended or to see Mr. Bingley upset.”
“Darcy can please others when he wishes to do so,” Wickham continued. “And he often uses his generosity to impress those around him. He has succeeded with Bingley, as well as with Miss Elizabeth. I, too, recollect those times when her opinion of him was the opposite. But I can easily understand why Miss Elizabeth would change her preference since she is surrounded by gentlemen of importance with excellent situations in life. Her dance card last night was filled with such names.”