Elizabeth was also disinclined to return to the frivolity of the dance. Instead, her mind was focused on easing Darcy’s pain while trying to sort out her own feelings. The last thing she wanted to do was make merry and engage in meaningless chatter. Darcy’s tender embrace was far more alluring at this moment. Instead, she gave him a weak smile and placed her hand on his arm. Silently, they turned and walked back inside.
CHAPTER 21
Once through the glass doors and back into the heat of the crowded ballroom, they both forced a felicitous countenance. In an instance, Bingley was at their side.
“Miss Elizabeth," he bowed, "I believe you promised me this dance.”
He held out his hand and smiled warmly. Gratefully, Elizabeth accepted and took his hand.
As they walked onto the dance floor, Darcy watched them with a frown. How easily Charles brought a smile to Elizabeth’s lips, in contrast to the effect he had on her. He would give anything to be like his friend, at ease in company, and with a ready compliment for all.
Before he could slip deeper into torment, a hand touched his shoulder, and a familiar voice said,
“The devil take you, Darcy, you are the luckiest man alive, but who would know it with such a face upon you!”
Instinctively Darcy knew it was Col. Fitzwilliam.
“Indeed, I am cousin,” he replied without losing sight of Elizabeth as she circled around Bingley.
“It is true her sister would pass as the beauty of the family, but Elizabeth has so much more to recommend her. She is still a very handsome gel, but with her wit and liveliness, together with her compassion and intelligence, she is by far the better prize,” the colonel observed.
“She is all you have said, and more,” Darcy confirmed, his eyes still trailing her.
“Much more," Fitzwilliam chuckled before he continued sombrely, "I’ll wager she will give you a fine ride Friday night cousin, and for that, I envy you.”
He slapped Darcy on the back and moved away. Puzzled, Darcy turned and watched him retreat to the other side of the dance floor. They had shared numerous experiences and opinions over the years, about many things and many people, but they had always respected the boundaries of society, never besmirching the character of anyone that the other might care for. How strange for Fitzwilliam to make such a crude comment about the woman he was to marry. It was quite out of character for Richard to be so derogatory; he was usually all politeness, and charm where women were concerned.
Turning his attention back to the room, he searched for Elizabeth. Finding his heart’s desire ensconced with Jane and Bingley, he was content she was secure and felt free to find his other charge. At first, her whereabouts eluded him until a group of pubescent females parted, and he spied Georgiana seated within their circle. From the degree of laughter coming from her attendants, she had obviously imparted something of great mirth. It lifted his heart to see her smile again. This past year he had watched Georgiana’s slow recovery from the abuse she had suffered at the hands of Wickham. For a time, she had seemed so fragile, he had feared for her well-being. Indeed, the past four weeks she had rallied greatly and was nearly returned to her usual self. Could it be that his engagement to Elizabeth was the cause of her recent recovery? Smiling to himself, he mused that there appeared to be no end to the happiness Elizabeth would bring him.
Satisfied Georgiana was safe and did not need his presence, Darcy turned to check Elizabeth was still holding her composure. He spied Charles and Jane but could not find his love anywhere. He looked around the room, anxiously scanning betwixt the crowd for her.
He began to move towards Bingley, to enquire of her whereabouts when a movement caught his eye. It was Elizabeth, disappearing through the salon door at the end of the hall. She was not alone. Before the door closed, he had time to see that her hand rested on the arm of a gentleman.
Striding purposefully down the room, Darcy ignored all hails to his person. On reaching the portal, he stopped, unsure of what action to take next. Elizabeth would not ignore propriety to wander off alone with just any man. Maybe it was a relative he had not yet been introduced to.
Turning back, he scanned the room to see who was missing, but with everyone either dancing or circulating, it was impossible for him to gauge who was absent. Pacing before the closed door, he could only conclude they wanted privacy for some reason. Should he wait outside for her in a nonchalant manner, and then feign surprise when they emerged? Should he enter and plead ignorance of their desire to be alone? This was ridiculous he cursed; as Elizabeth’s intended, he had every right to be at her side.
Deciding he must do something, he opened the door with stealth, a crack barely wide enough for him to peer inside. A ragged breath caught in his throat, and he staggered back to find support against the wall. His thoughts ran amok as he tried to digest the scene he had just viewed. Heads almost touching, her hands held in his, both resting over his heart. Elizabeth was looking up into his face with open affection, speaking soft words. Fortuitously neither had observed him, and he quietly closed the door again.
Darcy tried to rationalise the scene he had witnessed. It could have been words of congratulations, but then why the need for privacy? No man should be speaking to his Elizabeth alone, but her father. It was inappropriate and unpardonable. Closing his eyes, he drew in a deep breath and tried to calm his wild imagination. Darcy admitted it was far too intimate a moment to be anything so casual. Why, had he not thirty minutes ago held her thus and proclaimed his love. He must conclude it was also words of endearment they shared, and even before this thought had fully formed, he experienced the pain of betrayal pierce his heart.
Unsure of what his next action should be, he fought the urge to burst in on the lovers. He wanted to thrash him to within an inch of his life, to tell Elizabeth she was for him, only for him, but he could not.
Confronting them would serve what purpose? Such an action would mean the loss of both of them to him. His own eyes had not deceived him as to the tenderness of the moment they shared. Searching wildly for an immediate solution, he concluded that, with some forbearance, he could tolerate the loss of one of them, but not Elizabeth, never Elizabeth. No, he could see only one course of action. For now, he would do nothing. The wedding would go ahead. Rather Elizabeth at his side as his wife than to be called so by another. He may have to be a cuckold husband, but it meant he must deny himself the thing he desired the most, to join with Elizabeth physically. He could not share her body, not even once! To see the disappointment register in her eyes as she imagined another while in his embrace, or worse, in his bed, was more than even he could bear. Those damn fine eyes, he cursed as he made his way through the crowd, stopping only when he reached the refreshment table. Taking not one, but two glasses of the rum punch, he drained them both. Straightening his back, he replaced the scowl on his face with his usual languid mask and then turned to face the room.
It was not long before they emerged, and as they did so, he saw Elizabeth wipe away what he must surmise was a tear before hurrying to the ladies’ retiring room. As a hawk watches its prey, so Darcy followed his adversary. The footman handed him his cloak and hat, and he exited the lodge.
As he waited for Elizabeth to return, Darcy realised he must play ignorant of the previously witnessed event. He did not want to be the one to drive her to the arms of his rival. Once they were married, he hoped she would honour her vows, in appearance at least, of a happy and dutiful wife.
As she approached him, he smiled. For now, he must concentrate on getting through the remainder of the night.
All who observed the guests of honour that night would have said they enjoyed the evening immensely. Only the two of them knew it was a facade. Neither could conquer the turmoil of their thoughts, and as everyone departed for their respected homes, Elizabeth begged a headache and asked to return in the family coach. She needed time to think about what Darcy had shared with her earlier, and now this sudden, unbidden declaration of devotion from anothe
r! She must not be distracted or swayed by Darcy’s presence while she unravelled her feelings for him.
“Sir, I know it has been your custom to join me on my morning walk, but I fear we must both abandon that pursuit tomorrow. There are still several things I must do in preparation for my departure to Pemberley. Due to the shortness of time, it must be done tomorrow. Therefore, our next meeting will be before the minister. Till then, I bid you goodnight Mr Darcy,” she said.
And with a deep curtsy and a brief smile, she offered him her hand.
I understand quite well madam, he thought. He wanted to shake her and say, God’s teeth Elizabeth, what must I do to make you love me? Twice I have bared my soul and offered you my heart, yet still, it lies unclaimed. Instead, he forced himself to remain calm and smiled.
“As you wish madam, until Friday at ten then.”
And he bowed over her hand, and then strode to his own coach to settle Georgiana in her seat. He glanced back, hoping to catch one last glimpse of Elizabeth, but she had already gone.
CHAPTER 22
That night, sleep eluded Elizabeth as she lay curled up in her bed. Two major events had occurred tonight, and she needed to keep them separate, for one was her future and the other was not. Firstly, the unexpected declaration from Col. Fitzwilliam had come as a complete shock. She could not deny they had enjoyed many pleasant hours walking together when in Kent, and the conversation had flowed with ease, but she had never thought him a serious suitor. With no fortune of his own and being the younger son, he must marry for money. It was expected of him. Elizabeth must put aside his heartfelt words of love and encourage him to find another. She was relieved Darcy had not been witness to the evening’s events, after all, Darcy and Col. Fitzwilliam were like brothers. It would be unthinkable for her to come between them or to tarnish their mutual bond of trust and respect. Regardless of his declaration, Elizabeth suspected the Colonel’s feelings had been inspired by a longing to enjoy marital harmony, rather than actually being in love with her. She determined he would survive her rejection.
Now free to concentrate on Darcy’s declaration, she repeated his words aloud, ‘Not one heartbeat have I forgotten.’ Could she say the same? As she tried to remember all their encounters, it brought forth more painful memories than expected. Her mother had often been rude and obnoxious in her treatment of Mr Darcy before their engagement, even though he was a guest in their home. Her father, though much loved, was an ineffective head of the family, often shutting himself away in his library for most of the day. Then there was Lydia, and Kitty, who were unruly and thoughtless, and their flirtatious behaviour with the militia officers was reprehensible. The culminated of which was Lydia’s shameful elopement with George Wickham. While poor Mary, overlooked by all, took every opportunity to sermonise. And not forgetting Mr Collins, whose appalling behaviour in their short acquaintance made her cringe. His outrageous behaviour at the Netherfield ball, his clumsy proposal to her at Longbourn, and his overbearing smugness at the parsonage, it was too much. Dear Jane, she could not fault, but the rest of her family made her blush with shame and embarrassment.
Jane’s future happiness and Lydia’s rescue had been achieved at the hands of Darcy with little aid from any of her own family, save the Gardiners. Even she was not blameless in her dealings with Darcy. From the very start, she had misread his character as proud, when, in fact, he was actually shy. She had accepted Wickham’s duplicity with no proof but her own prejudice. Even she had slandered Darcy most shamefully when he had first proposed.
How could it be that he still loved her? And yet, he did.
In her circle of acquaintance, he was without an equal, he truly was the best man she had ever known. Could it possibly be more than gratitude she felt for him? Might it actually be love? Oh, how should she know which it was, love or gratitude? Who knew falling in love would be so complicated? With little more than a day till her wedding, she felt as confused and miserable as ever.
Turning her face into the pillow, she sobbed until sleep and exhaustion claimed her.
It could not be morning already, Elizabeth thought sleepily, but she could definitely hear people abroad in the house. Suddenly there was a loud banging at her door, and Kitty was calling to her.
“Lizzie, Lizzie wake up you are needed downstairs, quickly, Lizzie.”
Now wide awake, Elizabeth hastily put on her slippers and dressing gown, and then opened the door to face an excited Kitty.
“What has happened?" she asked, but Kitty turned and walked towards the stairs.
“Kitty!” Lizzie hissed in a low tone.
“A visitor for you,” was all she replied before running ahead.
A visitor at this late hour, it must be Darcy she thought. Only he would have the audacity to rouse the whole house in the middle of the night. She slowed her step; let him cool his heels a while. How very typical of him to do something like this, no doubt he wanted to speak to her about his cousin’s behaviour. Well, he would find her sorely tempered, she thought as she walked past her sister’s to the parlour door. Taking a deep breath, she turned the handle and entered.
“Miss Bennet,” said a stern female voice from the shadows.
“Lady Catherine?” Elizabeth asked, her incredulity evident as she curtsied to Darcy’s aunt.
“You cannot be at a loss as to why I am here.” Lady Catherine boomed as she stepped into the light.
“You are mistaken, madam; I am quite unable to account for the honour of your visit.”
“I will not be trifled with, Miss Bennet. I am here after receiving Mr Collins’ letter informing me he had left Rosings to attend your wedding, and to Mr Darcy no less!” Her ladyship’s disbelief was evident in her tone.
“I have come so you can deny it in person.”
“I cannot, Lady Catherine. The information you have received is, in fact, quite true,” Elizabeth was pleased to confirm.
“It is obvious to me you have somehow entrapped my nephew into making you an offer, and he is too much of a gentleman to revoke it. I, on the other hand, hold no such scruples," she said as her eyes darted over Elizabeth’s face.
Elizabeth cocked her head to one side and raised her brows at this statement, but she remained silent.
“Your family will lose this house when your father dies, and then what is to become of all you Bennet females, answer me that?”
“I am sure Mr Darcy ...” but Lady Catherine interrupted,
“I am a very wealthy woman Miss Bennet, and you are not. Darcy has been promised to my daughter Anne since they were in their infancy. It was his mother’s dying wish and mine also. However, I am mindful of the expense your father had laid out on preparing for this sham of a wedding. I am therefore willing to settle five thousand pounds on you if you do not make it to the church,” she offered flatly.
A vast sum of money Elizabeth knew, but she had no intention of breaking her engagement. When compromised, Darcy had offered his protection, and she had accepted it, she would not throw it back at him now.
“That is indeed a fortune ma’am, but I am afraid what you ask is quite impossible.”
“Very well then, ten thousand pounds, but Darcy is to be left at the altar. You must never see, or speak to him again. That way, he will soon seek us out at Rosings, and do as I bid. He will marry Anne in the new year. Do you agree?”
“Madam, you are incorrect if you assume I withhold my consent to elicit additional funds, and I must again decline your generous offer.”
Elizabeth said this with as much politeness as she could muster. In truth, she was incandescent with rage at Lady Catherine’s assumption that she could be bought or that she would treat anyone, let alone Darcy, in such a manner.
Changing her tactics, Lady Catherine rounded on Elizabeth with a more personal attack.
“Do not think his family or friends will accept you. I will ensure every door of the ‘Tonne’ is closed to you. For who are you gel, who are your mother and father? You have no fortune,
no connections, nothing to recommend you. A fortune hunter is what you are Miss Bennet, and I am not deceived. Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted? I think not!”
What a truly vile specimen of humanity this woman is, Elizabeth thought. As Lady Catherine spat her insults out at Elizabeth, her face had contorted to resemble an ugly gargoyle. How could I ever have thought Darcy and her were alike? The notion of inflicting such pain and humiliation on Darcy and Anne meant nothing to her as long as she got her own way.
And now to come here and insult her in such a manner was inexcusable. After such a vicious attack, Elizabeth now made no effort to hide her contempt for the older woman.
“How dare you come into my home at such an hour and insult my family and me with your attempt at bribery! I love Mr Darcy, and he loves me, and we will be married. He is a gentleman, and I am a gentleman’s daughter, so far we are equal. If my want of connection or lack of fortune does not concern him, it can be nothing to you. As for excluding us from society, well that will be no hardship to either of us, I assure you, madam. But if you can be that cruel and unfeeling towards Georgiana and Anne, then I pity you. Now, you have insulted me in every way possible, and I must ask that you do not intrude on my time or my family’s hospitality any further. I believe your carriage is waiting.”
Elizabeth opened the parlour door and stood aside.
“And this is your final word?”
“It is.”
“I have never been treated thus in my life before. Unfeeling gel that you are, I send no compliments to your mother, you deserve no such attention.”
As she watched Lady Catherine hurry out the front door and into her carriage, Elizabeth caught a glimpse of Anne. Wrapped in layers of blankets against the cold air, clearly wishing she was anywhere but here. Poor Anne, she thought, I would rather my imperfect, but loving mother any day.
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