That's What Makes It Love

by Iris Lim

  She did not respond immediately, and he hoped her silence manifested an acceptance of his apology.

  “You have my forgiveness, sir – if you promise yours.”

  Fitzwilliam Darcy, eternal victim of manipulative women, found her candor beyond refreshing.

  He extended his hand before he knew what he did. “Miss Elizabeth, I cannot withhold –”

  “Thank you.”

  He felt her fingers – slender and feminine – grasp his. The way his body warmed and woke at her touch surprised him. She let go before he could fully clasp her hand. Awkwardly, he folded his arm back to his side.

  For a few moments, neither of them spoke.

  “Mr. Darcy,” she spoke first, many minutes later. “You prove yourself to bear the mark of a true gentleman by greeting my foolishness with such graciousness.”

  “And you, Miss Elizabeth, are every bit a lady.”

  In his mind, he imagined her smiling.

  “Your friend Miss Bingley, sir, would beg to differ with your assessment.” There was a joyful lilt to her voice – youthfulness, vibrance. He smelled it again – the scent of lavender, mingled with mint. “Your sister, it seems, is the only woman alive to meet Miss Bingley’s standards of what a true lady ought to be.”

  Darcy smiled. “A life lived upon Miss Bingley’s perspectives is a sad life indeed.”

  “And what of a person with yours?”

  “Mine?”

  “In your – particular circumstances, sir – you must notice things the rest of us do not. Your perspective must prove unique.”

  He smiled more. “You believe me to have such powers.”

  “Wise observations are hardly powers, sir.”

  “And yet you attribute them to me.”

  “No more than I attribute them to myself.”

  “I am humbled, madam, to be considered your equal.”

  He didn’t know if she returned his smile, but he did hear her chuckle.

  The sound was satisfactory – and very warm.

  When he spoke again, there was a hope in his tone that had not been there since he first confirmed her identity. “Given your generous assessment of my person, Miss Elizabeth, may I be bold enough to ask for your friendship? I understand I may not have earned this distinction upon my own merit.”

  “But you have, sir,” her reply was instant. “Your sister, though lovely, and your cousin, though lively, have not half the keenness of your insight.”

  The feeling of receiving a compliment for his person was overwhelming. Here was a woman who had not once mentioned his estate – or his family or his face. She did not fawn or flirt. Apart from her first accidental brush against him – and their friendly, fleeting touch today – she had not once attempted to attach herself to him physically.

  In addition, she spoke highly of his mind.

  She was beginning to prove more than refreshing.

  “Your compliments, madam,” he said shakily, “give me hope that your friendship is attainable.”

  He loved the way she laughed.

  “Very well, sir, you have worn me down. I promise to renew our acquaintance with every vigor – and promise to be your friend.”

  • • •

  Twenty Years Ago

  • • •

  “Mother – please.” He knew he was crying, but frankly didn’t care. “Mother, why can’t I run and play with George and Richard? Richard never ever comes anymore.”

  He felt the nurse wipe his ankles. The water felt painful on his skin.

  He tried not to shake too hard.

  “Son, please – do not insist on what hurts you!”

  Mother was never angry, but she sounded angry now.

  Darcy cried. “Richard and George are in the garden, but you want me to stay inside!”

  “What they are doing is dangerous,” Mother said again.

  “I do not care. They’re my friends! Mother, shall I never have friends again?” For one moment, the idea of life going by without any friends made his little heart break.

  “You will have friends, Fitzwilliam, the right friends.”

  “Richard and George are my friends!”

  “Yes, but not this way, son. You cannot climb trees and swim in the lake and ride a horse or –”

  “He will, Anne – he will.”

  Darcy paused, a little awed, at the sound of his father’s sure footsteps and level voice. Mother was always kind; Father always just.

  “He must still learn.”

  He felt Father’s voice beside him, Father’s hand on his back. The powerful scent of oak and wax and some spice he couldn’t name surrounded him.

  “He will not lose his friends,” Father assured.

  Darcy let go and leaned against his father, relieved.

  Father hugged him. “You will not lose your life just because you lose your eyes, son.”

  Fitzwilliam nodded again and again. He wanted very much for Father to be right.

  “But George, he cannot play! It is – not safe.” Mother knelt beside them, hugging them both.

  Fitzwilliam wanted to cry again.

  “Hush, dear, he will be –” Father patted his head again. “Some methods may have to change – but they can rekindle their acquaintances anew. Old friends, son, can be new friends too.”

  Chapter 4:

  The Flirtatious Upstart

  The days in Netherfield, despite Miss Bingley’s constant ill-concealed barbs, passed by pleasantly enough. Armed by her newfound knowledge of Mr. Darcy’s true condition, Elizabeth found compassion in herself for the poor man. He was polite, if assuming, and could only be forgiven for having such finite means in observing people. His sister – trusting and sweet – was a delight to Elizabeth, and she often joined the young girl in chuckling over Miss Bingley’s offenses.

  Mr. Bingley, everything charitable, was particularly concerned with Jane and asked often after her health.

  The smile that graced Mr. Bingley’s face when Jane participated at the dinner table at last was irrepressible. The man beamed of goodness and sentiment.

  He loved Jane – that much was clear.

  Two small, discreet moments of observation were enough to inform Elizabeth that Jane perhaps loved him just as much as he did her.

  “You are certain your sister feels similarly to my friend?” Mr. Darcy asked when Elizabeth, entranced by the scene before her, muttered her observations to whoever sat beside her.

  She was lucky Mr. Darcy could not witness her blush.

  “She seems fond of him, of course. Your friend is perfectly amiable.” Elizabeth found a sort of relief in the fact that controlling her voice before him was sufficient for portraying calm emotions. “They do look finely suited.”

  Mr. Darcy, sitting tall, still, and serene, smiled. “You sound fairly confident, Miss Elizabeth.”

  “I have every right to be, sir.” It was her turn to smile. “Do we not all possess certain abilities in deciphering the emotions of those nearest and dearest to us?”

  The man beside her nodded solemnly. “You read your sister as I read mine. Georgiana is an open book.”

  The answer assured Elizabeth of his agreement, and she returned her gaze to the different individuals in the room.

  The party was large – larger than she was accustomed to. In the corner, Mr. Hurst alternated between sipping from his glass, nibbling on his sweets, and snoring from his chair. Mrs. Hurst, adequately accompanied by her sister, chatted away with Miss Bingley and Jane. Mr. Bingley, loyal and true, sat beside Jane – looking after her with kindness and passion in his eyes.

  From the piano, Miss Darcy weaved the most beautiful music throughout the room. By her side, Colonel Fitzwilliam stood faithfully.

  Elizabeth smiled. “Your sister’s heart, Mr. Darcy, is not hard to discover.”

  A short look of discontent flit through his face – before his gentleness returned. “It is clear to me whom she prefers.”

  “And your brotherly ways do not cens
ure her hopes?”

  “I am insufficient, I am afraid, in sheltering and protecting her as I must.” A hint of remorse touched his voice, if not his face. “Heaven is kind to give her Richard.”

  “Do you believe they suit?” Elizabeth glanced at the couple. The lady smiled sweetly at her cousin, tenderness filling her entire being. The older soldier, perhaps tired from his many campaigns, smiled civilly in return.

  “I can think of no better protector for Georgiana,” Mr. Darcy said beside her.

  Elizabeth looked dutifully back at him. Despite his inability to see it, she smiled nonetheless. “We all wish but the best for our sisters.”

  “You consider Bingley the best for her,” he concluded for her.

  Elizabeth, surprised at his perception, nodded. “I suppose I do. And you, Mr. Darcy – prefer your cousin.”

  He chuckled, fingers readjusting on his walking stick. Pretenses of health were unnecessary within Netherfield. “You speak as if I prefer for him to marry me.”

  Now, Elizabeth laughed. “Would he not prove a faithful companion?”

  “The most faithful of them all.”

  “Would his loyalty and family not bring honor to the Darcy name?”

  “My uncle is an earl. It is an honor indeed.”

  “His dowry, I assume, leaves little to be desired.”

  “Much to be desired, milady.” Mr. Darcy smiled. “It is practically non-existent!”

  Together, they laughed.

  By herself, Elizabeth pondered the sadness of her own state – where a dowry truly barely existed at all.

  “Miss Elizabeth, have I caused offense?” Mr. Darcy’s voice was curious, almost sad, when he spoke again.

  Elizabeth sighed. “No, not at all. You are not to blame for the sad state of my family’s affairs.”

  Mr. Darcy frowned. “Your sister is the epitome of kindness. Her reaction to the revelation of my limitations proved as much.”

  “Jane is the kindest of them all, sir. I dare not vouch similarly for the rest of the members of my home.”

  “Is your father not an intelligent man? I have heard you speak of him often.”

  “He is – intelligent and keen.”

  “Are your sisters not lively? Georgiana has told me often that she wishes to visit.”

  For a few passing moments, Elizabeth almost admired the innocence of the young, curious girl.

  “They are lively indeed,” Elizabeth answered. Around them, the other occupants of the room flitted about in their well-oiled social dance. Here, on this couch, she was inadvertently revealing her every thought to her new, strange friend.

  Elizabeth sighed again.

  “Miss Elizabeth?”

  “I am well – I assure you, sir. It is entirely my fault for causing you alarm.”

  He nodded but frowned, clearly unconvinced.

  She almost wished she could lay her hand on his arm, nudging him in evidence of her sincerity.

  “You are unusually disposed, Mr. Darcy, towards speaking well of my family. I dare say you belong to a rare breed.”

  He paused slightly. “A very rare breed, Miss Elizabeth.”

  “Oh, no – sir, I did not mean to pertain to your –”

  “No, it is no matter.”

  “I meant no offense! Mr. Darcy, you are everything wise and admirable. How could I –”

  “George assists me in everything, Miss Elizabeth. I could hardly pretend I am of the same caliber as the other men who occupy this –”

  “Mr. Wickham is nowhere to be seen!” Elizabeth cried. The edges of her eyes caught glimpses of people turning to watch her. She inhaled deeply and spoke as calmly as she could, “You are capable, Mr. Darcy, of doing whatever you wish to do.”

  The clock clicked into the hollow silence.

  Then, to Elizabeth’s grand and great relief, Mr. Darcy nodded. “You are kind to compliment me so, madam.”

  She nodded repeatedly, profusely. Mr. Wickham was absent often from his master’s side. How dare he allow his employer to think himself inadequate for needing the assistance of a man who was so very often not even there!

  “Miss Eliza.” Miss Bingley’s shrill voice travelled the span of the room with ease. “Have you been disturbing our dear Mr. Darcy?”

  Elizabeth sat quietly, surprised. “I – I meant no disturbance, Miss Bingley. If I had not assumed that Mr. Darcy preferred my company, I would not have –”

  Her explanation trickled away into her thoughts.

  How had she found herself seated with Mr. Darcy tonight – and the many evenings since their conversation in the library?

  She had never consciously attempted to seek his company.

  Did he attempt to seek hers?

  “What a preposterous thing to assume, Miss Eliza!” Miss Bingley erupted, hands in the air. “I have perhaps failed as a hostess to allow you to inopportune our guest so often.”

  Elizabeth swallowed, suddenly fully aware that Miss Bingley tracked the movements of her friends each night.

  “Miss Bingley, I assure you –”

  “Miss Elizabeth assumed quite rightly,” Mr. Darcy interrupted. The fact that he spoke in company at all – much more while other people conversed – surprised everyone into silence. Mr. Darcy inclined his head towards the direction Miss Bingley occupied. “I do prefer Miss Elizabeth’s company, Miss Bingley, for she is an unexpected, wonderful friend.”

  “But she –”

  “There is no reason to shun her or her family for their connections alone.”

  The declaration surprised Elizabeth. Why would Mr. Darcy have been spending thought on her connections?

  “Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley chimed. Her voice had begun to descend into a more venomous sound. “I had thought you capable of warding off the most flirtatious of flirtatious upstarts.”

  Elizabeth clenched her fist. The back of Mr. Darcy’s fist brushed against hers.

  “I hope I am capable, Miss Bingley.” His voice was thin, severe. “Now, if you will, madam, I shall need to find George and settle myself into my chambers.”

  “Mr. Wickham is incapable, it seems. I can assist you, Mr. Darcy, for I have –”

  “No!” Mr. Darcy thundered. Elizabeth watched in surprise as Miss Darcy shuddered – and Colonel Fitzwilliam edged closer to where Mr. Darcy sat. “I shall need no help.”

  Surprising Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy hurled himself off the couch, on to his feet, and – with only slight support from her feminine hands – righted himself and wandered away.

  The anger in Miss Bingley’s eyes made Elizabeth grateful she and Jane were expected to return home the very next day.

  • • •

  “Oh Jane, my Jane, how stupendous of you to have secured that invitation!” Mama cried for perhaps the third time today.

  Despite sending Jane on horseback having been her idea all along, Mama seemed intent to share the merit of the idea – and the inevitability of Jane’s resulting illness – with her eldest child. Their mother’s exultations had begun the moment of Jane and Elizabeth’s arrival this morning, and had not stopped since. As the family partook of dinner, Elizabeth wondered at Mama’s tenacity.

  “Elizabeth was kind to stay with me,” Jane replied, ever generous. Her smile, while still weak, recovered by the hour. “I hope she enjoyed herself with the Bingleys.”

  Elizabeth smiled, grateful for her sister’s consideration.

  “Mr. Bingley was everything amicable, of course. I do believe he and Jane would suit plenty.” Elizabeth teased.

  Elsewhere on the table, Papa smiled from his place, Mama nearly cried, Mary frowned, Kitty sighed, and Lydia – perhaps discontent by everyone’s open admiration of Jane – began loudly, “I have found my husband as well!”

  All eyes gratuitously turned themselves to Lydia.

  The young girl preened. “Mr. Wickham is everything lovely – so handsome and charming.”

  “Mr. Wickham – Mr. Darcy’s aide?” Elizabeth responded immediately. “He
is not a man of character, Lydia.”

  “Nonsense, Lizzy, you’re only jealous of me.” Lydia fluttered her eyelids as if they could manage to make her fly. “George is everything a man ought to be.”

  “Lydia, you ought not to be so familiar!” Elizabeth made no secret of how appalled she felt. Her food lay on her plate, forgotten. “You barely know the man.”

  “I know him plenty! You and Jane were so boring to be trapped in Netherfield for so long. I met my lover every day.”

  “Lydia!” Elizabeth heard her father’s stern reprieve occur simultaneously with her own exclamation.

  “Mr. Darcy is not to be trusted, Lizzy,” Lydia battled on, undeterred. “His father, who was a steward, made an evil scheme with the midwife who bore testimony that let him steal poor Mr. Wickham’s birthright and usurp him as master of Pemberley! The family believed the entire falsehood only because he was blind and sad!”

  Elizabeth, unable to contain her indignation further, shoved herself away from the table and off her chair. She turned to glare at Lydia, hoping against hope that perhaps they were mistaken – and Lydia wasn’t truly her sister.

  “You do not know a thing about these men,” Elizabeth chided. She avoided the sentimental draw of Jane’s wide, teary eyes. “How can you believe a profession so preposterous?”

  “Your Mr. Darcy is nothing but a trickster.” Lydia both sneered and pouted.

  “I do not see why your claims could be true.”

  “Lydia speaks wisely, Lizzy,” Mama interrupted. The embarrassment of being corrected over Lydia was nearly too overcoming to bear. “God knows what blind Mr. Darcy says is true or not. We do not know the man! Mr. Wickham sounded sincere enough.”

  “But you do not know him either!” Elizabeth cried. Conversations she had shared with Mr. Darcy floated through her mind. The man had sounded learned, wise. His coloring, while dissimilar to Georgiana’s, did not strike her as too different for siblings.

  God knew how few features she herself shared with Jane.