by A J Woods
He held out his hands. “Allow me to add that it was never my intention to cause your sister pain. Had I known the depth of her fondness for my friend, I might have been more inclined to weigh that over the conduct I witnessed of your family. For I would not endeavor to deny Mr. Bingley true happiness.”
The lady did not speak, as she appeared to consider what he now viewed as his great transgression.
He was truly sorry for having interfered in Bingley’s pursuit of Miss Bennet, and in light of the information he now possessed, he had no reason not to take confidence in Elizabeth’s explanation; for her superior knowledge of her sister must make her account truthful.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly before opening them again. “It pains me to acknowledge it, but you are not altogether wrong in your assessment of my parents and younger siblings.”
As much as he would have thought otherwise, he was not the least bit pleased to be in the right, under such circumstance.
Elizabeth continued. “I have been aware for quite some time that my father’s lack of guidance and propriety may well be cause for my sisters’ poor chances of securing comfortable futures. As a grown woman, I’ve come to understand that my parents were themselves ill-matched, and over time, they have turned toward their own separate endeavors. My father prefers his books and the country above society, and my mother is not equipped to make up for his lack of attention to the well-being of my siblings.”
The note of sad resignation in her voice was enough to break Darcy’s heart.
“I am all astonishment at receiving your apology, but it is most welcome,” she said, the seriousness in her eyes pinning him to the chair. “You have absolved yourself of guilt where my sister is concerned, but I must insist that you address the issue with Mr. Bingley, and see to it that he is made aware of Jane’s regard for him before it is too late.”
Darcy nodded enthusiastically. “I will do so with haste,” he promised. “Miss Bennet”—he paused, carefully measuring his next words—“It must have been arduous for you to reveal to me that your upbringing was not all it should have been. You and your sisters ought to have been given every opportunity to find security and happiness. Yet, no family is perfect, and you have become a delightful person in your own right. In spending time with you, my respect and admiration for you has increased mightily. You are right to have judged me harshly for my actions. I can only hope that, in time, you might be able to forgive me for the distress I have caused your sister, as well as—I now understand—yourself.”
Elizabeth nodded, and Darcy was overcome with liberation at having shared the burdens that had for so long occupied his mind. As well, his fondness for Elizabeth only increased each time they were in company together, so much so that he now longed to share something else with her…
His heart.
It seemed such a simple thing. After all, he had learned that she embodied everything he could possibly desire in a wife: intelligence, wit, loyalty, and even beauty, which, while not vital to sustaining an excellent partnership, was certainly pleasing.
Yes, it seemed a simple thing, but Elizabeth Bennet deserved the very best he had to offer. Somehow, he knew that finding the right way to convey his burgeoning affection for her would be anything but simple, though that is exactly what he resolved to do.
Darcy stood up from his chair and reached out a hand to assist Elizabeth from hers.
“Though it displeases me that our time together must draw to a close, I am afraid I must return you to the ball, Miss Bennet. We do not want you declared missing and a search party sent out.”
She smiled as she accepted his hand, her eyes sparkling with the same warmth that surged inside his own chest, and never before had he felt such dire hatred of women’s gloves for the barrier they produced between her skin and his own.
“I am glad to know that you no longer despise the very sight of me, Miss Bennet,” he said, guiding her toward the library doors.
“As am I, Mr. Darcy. For it has been a long, harsh winter already, and I do not wish to hold onto the chill any longer than necessary.”
He paused just in front of the fireplace, to relish one last look at her glowing loveliness before he would be forced to share her presence with his guests.
“The winter has been long, perhaps,” he replied, meeting her gaze. “But not so harsh—I am sure—given present company.”
Though she could hardly think of eating when such unexpected events had transpired, it was soon time for supper. Mr. Darcy, having assisted Elizabeth in discreetly exiting the library and returning to the ballroom as promised, followed only after she had re-entered and enlightened Aunt Gardiner to a mythical tear in the hem of her gown as the cause for her lengthy absence, while subtly passing a glance to Jane that only her sister would understand.
After this exchange with her family members, Mr. Darcy had approached their group and, without a single hint that he’d just spent nearly half an hour talking with her privately, asked Elizabeth if she cared to dance. Of course, having neglected to fill her card as a result of her prolonged disappearance from the ballroom, meanwhile engaged in conversation with that very man, she could scarcely answer in any way except the positive, and he whisked her off on his arm.
Much to her wonder, the next half hour was one of the most pleasurable of Elizabeth’s life, and she found when the music ceased that she longed for endless more moments in his arms.
So much had changed in so little time. With the matter of Jane and Mr. Bingley’s parting resolved, there was naught else to stand in her way of sketching Mr. Darcy’s true character…
And she had begun to like what she saw.
As the clock struck midnight just before the meal, guests gathered round to sing “Auld Lang Syne” to ring in the new year, and Mr. Darcy surprised Elizabeth once again that evening by asking her to accompany the vocals, as he stood by to turn the pages of her music.
Ordinarily, she would have refused and insisted that someone with sharper talent play the tune, but how could she do so then? He asked with such obvious enthusiasm alighting his features, and the gesture—in front of his guests at a grand private ball—honored her and warmed her spirit in such a way that she acquiesced almost immediately.
Elizabeth was so delighted at this occurrence, in fact, that she did not even take any particular joy when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Caroline Bingley’s face twist up as though the lady had swallowed a lemon.
After the party had sung the last verse—with far more vigor than actual talent—Mr. Darcy offered Elizabeth his arm and led her into the dining room, where he helped her into the seat next to his. The evening progressed in much the same way, Elizabeth relishing the unexpected but nonetheless lovely consideration from someone for whom, only hours ago, she could not have spared a kind word.
Though Elizabeth was not the only one who noticed his devotion to her; for Miss Bingley declared loudly enough so that the whole of the long table was privy, that Elizabeth had “quite commandeered the attention of their host that evening,” and asked that she “kindly try sharing a little.”
To which Mr. Darcy—his gaze fixed upon Elizabeth so that she felt truly the most beautiful woman in the world—replied that, indeed, he was the captain of his own mind and would not allow it to be steered in a direction he did not wish to travel.
And by the time they’d finished the white soup, cold meats, vegetables, and cakes, Elizabeth was certain the flush in her cheeks and the lightness of her heart were all due to Mr. Darcy, and not the very fine claret.
Chapter 8
A few hours later, as they rode in Uncle Gardiner’s carriage back to Gracechurch Street, Jane was in such high spirits that she could not confine her energy to the space of her own body, and thus grasped Elizabeth’s hand so tightly that Elizabeth was sure she would have a cramp when she tried to write the next morning.
“Jane,” she admonished lightly, “do have a care for my poor bones.”
&nbs
p; “I am dreadfully sorry,” her sister whispered, trying not to draw attention from their aunt and uncle. “It is just that I cannot contain my excitement.”
Elizabeth’s heart swelled at Jane’s wide, contented smile, a sight she had not borne the pleasure of in far too long. “Do you think he will propose?” she asked, unable to help herself.
At this, Aunt Gardiner’s ears perked up and she ceased chatting with her husband to stare at her nieces on the bench across from her.
“Did I hear the word I think I heard?” she asked. “Please whisper a bit louder,” their aunt added, laughing. “For your uncle and I could do with a diversion from this cold.”
Though a footwarmer rested beneath the ladies’ slippered feet, and all were draped in fur blankets, the night air was frigid indeed. Thankfully, the journey back to Gardiner House was not too far a distance.
Jane, eyes wide, cast a glance toward Elizabeth, who spoke for her shy sister.
“We were simply remarking on the attention paid Jane by a certain gentleman we enjoyed the happy occasion of meeting at Netherfield,” she explained, knowing full well her aunt would push for more, and not at all displeased by the knowledge. Elizabeth was only too glad to share Jane’s renewed joy, buoyed by the insight that—this time—there would be nothing to stand in the way of true love.
Aunt Gardiner’s gloved hands clasped together at her chin. “Are we talking of Mr. Bingley?” she asked, hopeful.
“Indeed, we are,” Elizabeth said, grinning as Jane’s already pink cheeks blushed an even rosier shade.
“Oh, how delightful!” their aunt exclaimed. “I know your mother would very much love to see you settled, sweet Jane, and I speak for us all when I say we would be thrilled to see you in a happy marriage.”
She glanced at her husband with soft, adoring eyes. “For such a match has been a lifelong blessing for your uncle and me, has it not, dear?”
Uncle Gardiner returned his wife’s gaze. “Indeed, it has,” he said, adding, “I am convinced there is no greater treasure in life than a joyful marriage and the children it brings.”
“I hasten to add,” Jane said, “that Mr. Bingley has not yet asked for my hand.” Her eyes glimmered with obvious fondness for the subject of their conversation. “He only danced with me many times and assured me of his enduring affection.”
She gave them all stern glances…well…as stern as they could be, coming as they did from such a kindhearted person.
“It is only a matter of time,” Elizabeth interjected. And now it was her turn to squeeze Jane’s hand.
“I hope you are right,” Jane said.
To which Elizabeth responded cheekily, “Am I ever wrong?”
Later that night, Darcy tossed and turned in his bed until the sheets had become such a jumble that he was forced out in order to set them right, at which point he concluded that there was no point continuing unsuccessfully to try and capture the sleep that eluded him.
He was well and truly exhausted after planning and hosting a ball, in addition to the remarkable events that had unfolded between him and Elizabeth.
So, what was it that vexed him and would not allow a moment’s rest?
The fire in his bedroom had died down to only a few glowing embers and the room was cold, so Darcy donned his robe and paced from his bed to the hearth and back again, until at long last, a memory surfaced.
Walking back through the events in his mind, he recalled that Elizabeth had been writing something with a pencil in the book she had dropped when he surprised her in the library.
Yes, that was it. He had picked up the large volume and handed it back to her and she had accepted it. Then, she returned it back to him and he’d set it down somewhere, perhaps on a side table; but, if memory served, she had not ever retrieved her notes from the book.
Darcy walked over to the window and looked out at the street below, allowing himself to fixate on that little bit of information for just a second, flattering himself that her reason for distraction was the conversation that had followed.
Was it possible she had been as engrossed in his company as he had been in the pleasure of hers? The very thought caused his lips to turn up at one corner, and only a moment later he had left the master suite for the library.
Candle in hand, he opened the doors and stepped into cool darkness, waving the light gently about until his eyes rested on the book he sought, and a question pressed on him with increasing fervor—what had she written and abandoned there between the pages?
Even as he treaded quietly across the carpet toward the answer, Darcy knew he shouldn’t look.
Whatever notes the lady had composed belonged to her, no matter that she’d left them behind in his own library. What he should do—his conscience prodded with vigor—was to recover Elizabeth’s papers from his book and return them to her. And that is exactly what he planned to do…after he had a brief glance.
He knew she was writing a novel that surely one day she would wish to publish. Whatever she had written would not be anything like a private diary. Was it any wonder that he longed to know everything that could be known about Elizabeth?
While he’d been talking with her earlier, an idea had begun to form about a way in which he could help her. He knew a publisher in the city—an old friend of his father’s, whose own son was Darcy’s mate from university. Billings’ growing house published primarily novels and poetry, and his company had an excellent reputation for presenting literature of the highest quality, always in the most beautiful bindings.
The more he thought about it, the more it seemed the perfect plan.
He would be helping Miss Elizabeth realize a dream.
He had seen when her sister had spoken of her writing, how much it mattered to her, and he knew without having looked yet himself that her writing, like her intelligence and wit, would make for delightful reading. He had only to speak to Billings and set his plan into motion.
It also did not escape Darcy’s understanding that, perhaps, if Elizabeth was pleased with what he hoped would be an offer from Billings to publish her novel…she might begin to see Darcy for what he was: a man falling deeper and deeper in love with her each moment he spent in her company.
Surely, surely, if he succeeded in securing the promise of a publishing contract for her, she might begin to reconsider her initial impression of him; their time together during the ball had given him such hope.
And if he was very, very fortunate indeed, maybe she could return his feelings.
His heart surged with joy at the thought of sharing Pemberley with Elizabeth, of building a life and a family together. So much of his first impression of her had been miscalculated, and he regretted wasting that time when he could have used it instead to get to know the real Elizabeth Bennet.
But the past was the past. He had learned from his mistake and would not make the same one again. He would earn her good opinion if it took the rest of his days, for there would be no other for him now that his heart was set.
He might be a stubborn man, grounded in his ways, but he was also steadfast and loyal to those he loved, and he was confident that he could make her happy if only she would allow him the chance to do so.
Resolved, Darcy strode to the table upon which the book rested and set down his candleholder.
His heart sprinting at an alarming speed, he lifted the volume and held it aloft by the leather spine, feeling along the edge of the pages until his finger located a narrow gap, its slim opening formed by paper not bound with the rest. With a mix of joy and trepidation, he sat in a nearby chair and spread the book open across his lap, lifting out a small bundle of folded foolscap.
The handwriting was, as expected, neat and lovely, with feminine loops and curls. It was also tiny, and Darcy knew instantly he would struggle to read in the inadequate light emanating from his single candle. Nevertheless, read he would. And what began as an errand to help a woman he’d come to adore, evolved entirely into something else as his eyes raced over some
of the most intriguing sentences he’d ever read.
There was a greater number of pages than first he’d thought, and when finally he looked up from them to gaze at the grandfather clock with bleary eyes, he saw the first hint of daylight peeking through at the drape-covered edges of the library’s tall windows.
“My God,” Darcy whispered to himself as he carefully folded the precious papers and tucked them gently into a pocket of his robe, before pulling the garment more tightly around his torso.
The woman who held the key to his heart was also a magnificent storyteller.
He could not say that he was surprised, but the beauty and intelligence of her prose, and the energy and captivating pace of her plot were even superior to what he had imagined. Billings would no doubt find himself pleased beyond measure, and Darcy was certain the publisher would offer Elizabeth compensation which would provide a decent level of comfort—Lord forbid—should her mother and sisters ever lose their home and what he assumed would be a modest income.
Though, if his own hope came to fruition there would be no need for her to secure financial independence, as he planned to make her mistress of Pemberley, to share in all he possessed.
He closed the book and stood, returning the volume to the shelf where it belonged, then stopped at the table to retrieve his nearly-expired candle before slipping quietly through the library doors and out into the deserted hallway.
Soon the household staff would begin to stir, but he had a while to make it back to his room before his valet arrived to light the fire and begin readying things for the day ahead.
And it would be a full day indeed. He would not delay in contacting Billings, never mind that it was the first day of the new year and the publisher would likely be at home with his family. If his father’s old friend would agree to meet with him, Darcy would see to it that the man’s time was duly recompensed.