His sudden tenderness was her undoing. She bowed her head as a silent sob tore through her. “I have been such a fool. How you must despise me!”
“No, never that.” His voice was just a whisper now as he stroked her shoulder. “Never while I live, Elizabeth.” Then his arms enfolded her, holding her close.
As tears burned her eyes, she leaned her face into his shoulder. The circle of his arms seemed her only haven in a world turned upside down. His firm lips pressed against her forehead felt like a promise, and the warmth of his breath brushed her ear as he murmured, “My dearest, loveliest Elizabeth. Do not cry, my love; all will be well.”
At first his words barely registered, only his comforting tone, but slowly his whispered intimacies sank in.
She tilted her head back to look at him, unable to comprehend how he could say such things after all she had done to him. But his dark eyes held no anger now, only a different sort of fire.
A sense of pressure built within her, as the heat of his body against hers seemed to churn her very lifeblood into a torrent. His hand cradled her cheek, sending a shock of sensation through her that left her knees weak. His lips silently formed the syllables of her name. Half-mesmerized, Elizabeth could but watch as his head descended toward her. Then his lips were brushing her own aching ones, and she forgot to breathe as powerful sensation raced through her.
A sharp cough broke the spell. Darcy abruptly pulled away, stepping in front of her as if to mask her presence with his body, but not before Elizabeth saw Mrs. Gardiner’s stunned expression.
“Ah, there you are, Mr. Darcy,” her aunt said loudly, moving to block the doorway. “Have you seen Elizabeth?” Her hands made shooing movements in Elizabeth’s direction.
Elizabeth stumbled slightly, her cheeks burning, then hastened to follow her aunt’s silent directive by slipping into the passageway. She heard Mr. Darcy’s voice behind her, his voice less than steady. “Perhaps Miss Bennet has returned to the drawing room.”
She hurried in the direction he suggested, swiftly drying the remnants of her tears. Hopefully the afternoon light would be dim enough to hide the redness of her eyes. Fortunately, the drawing room was now empty; she did not think she could have faced Miss Bingley at that moment. As she heard voices approaching, she pretended interest in a porcelain figurine on the mantelpiece. Elizabeth knew she should attempt to show some animation, but she felt as frozen as if she were the one made from porcelain.
Mrs. Gardiner engaged Mr. Bingley in a lively discussion of the latest plays at Covent Garden, giving Elizabeth time to recover her composure. Darcy seemed to be paying no attention to her at all, offering every courtesy to her aunt and uncle. She braved a quick glance at him, but she could ascertain nothing from his expression. With some amusement she realized that a man of such pride must be at least as mortified as she was, not least because her aunt was protecting his good name. She did not believe he had planned to kiss her -
it was quite out of character for a man so controlled – but it did answer the question of whether he retained tender feelings for her. The question was what she wished to do about it.
He did not address her directly until he offered his arm to walk her to the carriage. Resting her hand on his sleeve suddenly seemed a much more intimate thing, especially with the feelings his kiss had awoken in her still alive within her. In the dimness of the hallway he bent his head towards hers. His warm breath intimate against her ear, he said softly, “I must speak with you. May I call on you tomorrow?”
Despite her confusion about him, her treacherous body responded instantly to his words, reliving the feeling of being in his arms. “If you wish.” It was a struggle to say even that much.
He chuckled softly. “Oh, I wish, Miss Bennet. I certainly wish.”
They emerged onto the portico and there was no time to say more. He bade her a formal good day as he handed her into the carriage, but his eyes spoke volumes, and then only to wish her a good evening, and for just a shadow of a moment, she felt his fingers tighten on her hand.
The carriage was barely out of sight of the house when Mrs. Gardiner said, “Well, Lizzy, I believe it is time for you to tell us more about your Mr. Darcy.”
CHAPTER 6
An exultant Darcy watched the carriage disappear behind the trees. Elizabeth had kissed him and agreed to receive him tomorrow, even though he decidedly did not deserve it after his idiotic loss of control. What was it about Elizabeth Bennet that brought his normally sanguine temper to a boiling point within minutes? He could not believe he had grabbed her arm, hard enough that he later saw her rubbing it absently. If that had not been enough, he had taken advantage of her distress. She would have been within her rights to think him a complete brute and a seducer to boot. He would have to begin tomorrow’s call with an apology. God, but tomorrow seemed a long time away!
He had not realized that the sight of Elizabeth in tears would undo him to such an extent. Yes, he had first put his arms around her to offer her comfort, but that noble sentiment disappeared almost as soon as he felt her soft form against him, the fodder of so many of his fantasies. Her scent of lavender had made his head swim, and he had hardly realized what he was saying to her as long as she permitted him to explore her forehead and hair with his lips. And then she had looked at him with those fine eyes, and he was completely lost to reason. If Mrs. Gardiner had not interrupted them, he was not sure he would have been able to stop with a relatively chaste kiss, not when his body ached for her with a passion beyond any he had ever known. And Elizabeth had allowed him to kiss her.
He knew he should be castigating himself for his behavior, but it seemed beyond his ability. His only regret was disappointment that Mrs. Gardiner had hidden their indiscretion. Why could she not have done what any other woman in her position would have? If she had allowed her husband or even Bingley to see them, there would have been no choice in the matter, and he would be engaged to Elizabeth at this very moment. He would have the right to hold her in his arms and to beg her forgiveness for his outrageous behavior.
“Darcy? I say, Darcy!” Bingley jostled his elbow. “Are you planning to stand out here all night? My sisters will be waiting for us.”
Darcy shook his head. “Please give them my regrets. I must check on Georgiana. I will join you at dinnertime.” The prospect of an evening in the company of the Bingley sisters had no appeal, especially in comparison to the opportunity to dwell on the memory of Elizabeth in his arms.
***
Elizabeth declined to join her aunt and uncle on their calls the following morning. She did not know when Mr. Darcy planned to call, but she did not wish him to find her absent. Her thoughts regarding him were agitated. When would he come? What would he say? And most importantly, what answer would she give him?
Her aunt had given her to understand that after her behavior the previous day, there was only one answer that she could give. Instead of rebelling against the idea, Elizabeth found a strange contentment in it. Mr. Darcy still puzzled her, but she was certain now that she wished to understand him better.
There was a light tap on the door and one of the barmaids entered and bobbed a curtsey. Ever since Mr.
Darcy had called on Elizabeth at the inn, the staff there had treated her and the Gardiners with an almost excessive degree of attention. Yesterday it had amused Elizabeth, but today nothing could amuse her.
“Miss Bennet, if you please, there are letters for you,” the girl said.
Elizabeth took the two envelopes and was happy to see Jane’s familiar script on both of them. One had been missent; hardly a surprise since Jane had written the direction so ill, which was unlike her. She must have had to rush to get it ready for the post. Elizabeth turned them over in her hand, thinking of her dearest Jane and how much she missed her. How she would have loved to talk to her at this very moment! Jane would have known the right thing to say to make her feel more certain of herself. But for today, she would have to be grateful to have a letter from her.
She handed the barmaid a coin, then crossed to the window seat where the light was better and opened the first letter.
***
It had taken longer for Darcy to leave Pemberley than he had expected. First he found himself taking unusual care with his appearance. Then he stopped to check on Georgiana who required repeated assurances on his part that no one would have suspected anything based on her hasty departure the previous afternoon.
The sun was already well into the sky by the time he mounted his stallion and set off toward Lambton. He was too impatient to follow the winding road, so he set off across the broad moorland at a trot. Soon he would see Elizabeth.
He paused at the top of a hill to get his bearings, then wheeled his horse to the right toward the London road. In the distance he could see an open carriage travelling down it at an almost recklessly fast pace. Someone must be in quite a rush. He set a course parallel to the road on the other side of the stream to avoid being covered with dust when the carriage barrelled past him.
The carriage was almost upon him when something caught his eye. It was Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, conversing in an urgent manner, while the figure across from them could be no one but Elizabeth. He caught a glimpse of her dark hair, but her face was lowered into a handkerchief. She appeared to be crying.
The knowledge of why she must be crying struck him like a bullet. He had been deceiving himself. She had not wanted to see him today, but had said the only thing she could to escape from his company. Her civility was nothing more than that; her opinion of him had not changed since the night of his disastrous proposal. And now he had made it worse, behaving like a savage, first in his reaction to what she said about Wickham, damn his eyes, and then again outside the library. She would never forgive him, even if she acquitted him of cruelty to Wickham.
He had distressed her even more than he had in the past, and now she was fleeing his very environs. He reined in his horse and watched the back of the coach disappear down the road towards London. His heart felt as if it was pounding out of his chest, loud enough that anyone within a mile would hear it.
For a moment he considered pursuing them, but that would be folly. She was obviously desperate to avoid him, and what could he possibly say to her in front of her aunt and uncle that would make any difference? It was too late. The damage was done, and Elizabeth was gone. There would be no more second chances.
Slowly he turned back toward Pemberley, but now he let the horse meander at a walk. He was in no hurry to return and to face his guests, to pretend that his heart had not been ripped out of his chest. There was no rush; he had his entire life ahead of him to regret his errors and to learn to live without the woman he loved.
***
“I have been thinking it over again, Elizabeth,” said her uncle as they drove from the town, his voice raised to be heard over the pounding of hoofbeats and the rattling of the carriage wheels, “and really, upon serious consideration, I am inclined to judge that you did not do Mr. Darcy enough credit. He did not strike me as the sort of man to flee from a bit of scandal. He should be given a chance to decide for himself whether to continue the acquaintance under the circumstances; and after his behavior yesterday, he does have a certain responsibility toward you, whether he likes it or not.”
Elizabeth shook her head miserably. “If Lydia had run off with any other man, I might have agreed to discuss it with him; but Mr. Darcy detests Wickham and everything he stands for. He would never agree to ally himself to our family now, even were Lydia and Wickham to marry, an outcome which I think very unlikely.
Wickham will use her and abandon her; my family will be shamed and ostracized; and I will not drag Mr. Darcy into it.”
“You think his affection for you is so shallow and transient as that?” her aunt asked. “I cannot think so myself.”
“I do not doubt his sentiments, but there is only so much that sentiment can overcome.”
Mr. Gardiner said, “Perhaps once we reach Longbourn, I will write to him and explain the circumstances.
Then he can make his own choice in the matter.”
Tears filled Elizabeth’s eyes once more. “Please, promise me that you will do no such thing. He will find out soon enough about our disgrace, and I simply cannot bear the thought…” But at that point sobs overtook her and she could say no more. She buried her face in her handkerchief as her aunt and uncle exchanged concerned glances.
***
Darcy did not know how he maintained a civil demeanour during the next fortnight. He did his best to behave in his usual manner. He spoke gently with Georgiana, avoided the worst of Miss Bingley’s sycophantic compliments, played billiards and fished with Bingley, and went through all the motions of being the Master of Pemberley. But that was all on the surface, covering a vast sea of emptiness inside.
Through the goodness of heaven, he had been given a second chance with Elizabeth Bennet, a chance to prove to her that he was worthy of her. He had failed abjectly. No longer could he think that her anger and scorn at Hunsford had been an aberration caused by some misalignment of the stars. He had not learned anything from that episode. No, the truth was that he was a man who by nature hurt the woman he loved, the woman whose opinion he most cared about. All the effort he had put into improving his manners with others had been inadequate when faced with the reality of the emotions Elizabeth Bennet released in him. Now she was gone forever.
It was as if the world conspired to remind him of his failings. At church, the sermon delivered by old Mr.
Emmons spoke of humility finding favour in the eyes of God. Pride goeth before a fall. He had learned that lesson quite well, thank you, and there was very little he felt proud of in himself these days. But, ever in mind of his duty as Master of Pemberley, he kept an attentive expression on his face throughout the service, his back ramrod-straight. Beside him, Georgiana sat with the Book of Common Prayer open in her lap, listening intently as always. She had been subdued since Elizabeth’s visit, frequently apologizing to him for things that were not her fault, as if she thought him angry at her.
The interminable service finally ended, although it was no more interminable than anything else these days.
As he left the family pew, Darcy nodded to tenants, stopping briefly to speak to Mrs. Brown whose husband had died unexpectedly a few weeks past. He shook the curate’s hand and complimented him on his sermon.
Outside the church, he waited while a little girl curtsied and gave Georgiana a bouquet of wildflowers.
Georgiana, who had always been good with children, spoke courteously with her and thanked her for the lovely flowers.
“Mr. Darcy, sir.” A boy, his voice breaking, spoke at his elbow.
Darcy did not recognize him as one of his tenants, but perhaps he had just come through his period of growth which often made children half-unrecognizable. “Yes?”
“I’m Jimmy, from Lambton. I’ve sommat for you.” He fished in his pocket and brought out an envelope, somewhat crumpled and the worse for wear from spending time in a pocket that was not as clean as might be.
Darcy took it automatically, seeing his name written across it in a flowing hand. “Who is this from?”
The boy leaned closer to him, bringing a stink of stables. “From a lady what stayed at the inn there.”
A lady at the inn? Elizabeth! Could it be? He had never seen her handwriting, but it looked like a woman’s hand. “When was this?” He spoke more sharply than he intended.
“A fortnight ago, mebbe more. I tried to bring it to you, sir, but the footman wouldn’t let me in to see you.
The lady said I had to give it to your hand only, private like, nobody else. She made me promise, and said I should burn it if I couldn’t give it to you.” He glanced around surreptitiously.
Darcy, his heart pounding, but conscious of Georgiana’s eyes on him, pulled out a handful of shillings and gave them to the boy. It was far more than the service deserved, but he did not care.
The
boy’s eyes popped as he felt the weight of coin in his hand. “Thank you, sir. Much obliged, Mr.
Darcy,” he stammered.
Darcy nodded to him absently, still trying to grasp the existence of a letter from Elizabeth. He longed to tear it open and read it, but this was not the time or the place.
As if reading his mind, Georgiana touched his arm lightly. When she had gained his attention, she indicated the area behind him with a move of her head. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Miss Bingley approaching and stuffed the letter inside his coat. The last thing he needed was to have to explain its existence to Miss Bingley.
It was quite bad enough that he had been forced to listen to her barely disguised insults of Elizabeth for the last two weeks. He arranged his features into a polite mask.
Afterwards he could scarcely recall the trip back to Pemberley House. Bingley filled the air with nonsensical talk, but all Darcy could think of was his letter. He could almost imagine he could feel the pressure of it through his waistcoat and shirt. Certainly it felt as if he had something burning hot hidden there.
Once back at the house, there was the necessary delay as they all took refreshment, but as soon as possible, Darcy made his excuses.
Miss Bingley fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Why, Mr. Darcy, it is Sunday, the day of rest. Surely your business can wait?”
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