Ardently

by Caitlin Williams

  “You did not ask me to dance.” She pointed out.

  “Did I not?” He was thoughtful for a moment. “No, I have rather dragged you up here against your will. I hope you will not take it as further proof of my ungentlemanlike behaviour, or my selfish disdain for others?”

  She was sombre then, pained and saddened. “Please do not remind me of what I said then. I have long been ashamed of those words.”

  He became serious too. “You should not be! What did you say of me that I did not deserve, richly deserve? Your accusations were ill-founded on mistaken premises but my behaviour towards you was unpardonable. I cannot think of it without abhorrence. You know not, you can scarcely conceive how your words have tortured me all these years. The turn of your countenance I shall never forget, as you said that I could not have addressed you in any possible way that would induce you to accept me. I have long wanted the opportunity to apologise.”

  “These recollections will not do at all,” she said firmly. “I should hope we have both improved a little in civility since then. You should learn a little of my philosophy, think only of the past as it gives you pleasure.”

  The dance stopped, they had joined it late and so it was over quickly and Elizabeth was dismayed. He looked as if he might have said more. She wanted to say more, but all the couples had begun to move away. He took her hand to lead her back to Mrs Mountford. Elizabeth was not sure if she imagined it, but liked to think he had squeezed her fingers a little as they fell into step together. Oh how frustrating it was to be a woman in such circumstances. Why was she not allowed to lead him into a dark corner, to reach up and whisper in his ear; to tell him of how her feelings had changed since that awful day in Kent, to tell him that now, rather than his being the last man in the world she could be prevailed on to marry, he was the only man she could possibly marry.

  He politely enquired after her comfort and suggested she might like some punch. She nodded in reply. As Mr Darcy left, Georgiana hurried up to her, her face shining with happiness and looking prettier than Elizabeth had ever seen her.

  “How lovely to see you and my brother dancing, Elizabeth. You look so well together.”

  “It was very kind of him to come to my rescue. I was feeling quite ostracised.”

  “I think it was borne out of more than kindness.”

  Elizabeth looked sternly at her. “Now, do not run on so, imagining things that are not likely to come to pass.” As she spoke she realised it was a warning to herself also. Mr Darcy’s words to her had been intimate, they had flirted it was true, but still she was not sure of him. They had spoken of the past, not the future. She still didn’t dare to dream, fearing the crushing disappointment that might follow.

  Georgiana continued to smile at her. “I am just saying you are quite a striking couple, is all. I never saw him dance with Anne. Not once. And yet he is such a good dancer.”

  “He is.” Elizabeth conceded.

  “You don’t know how much pleasure it would give me to call you sister.”

  “Georgiana! Enough!” Elizabeth cried, but then with a raised brow and a mischievous glint her eye, added “goodness me, if this is the response a single dance gives rise to, I hate to think what you will be like when he takes my hand for the supper dance.”

  Eyes wide, Georgiana was about to break into further raptures when she was quieted sternly by Elizabeth due to the arrival of Miss Bingley.

  “Eliza, my dear. How are you baring up? Frederick Yorke has asked for my hand for the next, the impudent scoundrel. I couldn’t say no of course, I wouldn’t want to sit down for the rest of the evening, but I shall not enjoy it, on your account, I assure you.” Despite these words and seemingly in direct contradiction of them, she turned around and gave Mr Yorke a teasing wave.

  Mr Yorke wandered warily across the ballroom in their direction. As he reached them, Elizabeth felt the comforting, reassuring presence of Mr Darcy draw closer too, till he was beside her. One hand passed her the promised glass of punch, his other hovered with a gossamer touch near the small of her back. She felt his protection, his concern. He greeted Yorke tersely who paused in their company only long enough to give Elizabeth a brief nod, before he spirited Miss Bingley away.

  Nineteen

  Darcy was not impulsive. It was a quality he often derided in others. He was a thoughtful man who, as a rule, considered all possible outcomes before making decisions. Yet earlier, when he had arrived home just as Mrs Mountford’s carriage was pulling out, he had greeted his uncle and aunt hurriedly, made enquiries about where the carriage was bound for and then run up the staircase at terrific speed, shouting instructions to his poor valet, who trailed in his wake.

  Impulsiveness, he now concluded, was sometimes called for and his had been rewarded in great measure - for here was Elizabeth Bennet, allowing him to stand close and directing shy smiles his way.

  They spoke a little, of mundane matters. He told her of his friends outside Bath, from where he had just returned, his mouth falling over his words. He would not be able to recount any of their conversation later, yet he knew he would remember in great detail the way her head had tilted prettily to the side as she had listened attentively to him, the way her lips had pursed when she was thoughtful and how her small, gloved hand had once drifted to his forearm when she had sought his attention.

  She was eventually, perhaps inevitably, asked to dance by another gentleman and she assented as good manners said she ought to, but as she was led away, she threw him a long look over her shoulder. He met her deep, warm gaze with one of his own. The world had shifted and tilted. Elizabeth Bennet had not looked at him with hatred, she had not looked at him to mock, she had not looked at him with indifference; her look was one of regret at being taken away from him and his heart took cautious flight.

  Oh, to know what was going on in her beautiful mind. Would more rashness be called for and appreciated this evening? Was she hurt by the withdrawal of Mr Yorke’s attentions? He had been through two rooms already looking for them before he had come to the ballroom. He had been stopped several times for conversation and the news had reached his ears - ‘Mr Yorke has thrown Elizabeth Bennet over, everyone thought they were engaged. Is it not a bad business? The poor girl’. He had given non-committal responses and shrugged as if he cared not, while both his determination and excitement grew. His cousin had been right, the matter had sorted itself out without any interference. But would she welcome his suit, so soon after the messy business was concluded? He was not sure how to even broach the subject, how to even come near it. He had been positively giddy at her earlier suggestion of his helping her with her cloak and kissing her hand when he bid her adieu and yet there was a part of him – a reserved, wary part of him that advised caution. She had been teasing, jesting with him. He was too nervous to be truly happy.

  Their supper dance was unfortunately sullied, for five couples down, Georgiana danced with Frederick Yorke. Darcy silently seethed, wanting to drag his sister away. Elizabeth, who not moments ago had looked so happy, now frowned because he did.

  “I am sorry to be inattentive, my mind was elsewhere.”

  “I can well understand your concern.”

  “He has done wrong by you and now goes around favouring those in your party.”

  “He has done me no great wrong, except cause me a little embarrassment tonight. I do wish he had not cast me off quite so publicly, but it is done now.” She shrugged.

  “Tis badly done and I want him nowhere near my sister.”

  “Do not worry so, Mr Darcy. Your sister is a credit to you and has great sense. I am certain she will make the right decision for her, and you know Mr Yorke is not such a very bad man. I have previously seen Georgiana look at him with admiration. He has been calling at Milsom Street with some regularity.”

  “Indeed, has he? Tell me, would it not trouble you if they were to form an attachment?”

  “Only in that I would doubt the sincerity behind his affection for her.”

>   “You think Georgiana not capable of engaging his affection?”

  He looked cross and offended. Elizabeth sighed. She would not allow them to argue, not after they had been getting along so well. “Mr Darcy, you mistake my meaning. I think very highly of Georgiana in all respects. My concern is with his character. The night Mr Yorke first saw me, I was attending an operetta. I was wearing an expensive gown and dripping in diamonds and in company with a Viscountess.”

  “He thought you had a great fortune?”

  “I believe so, and I suppose Georgiana has a substantial dowry?”

  Darcy nodded and they were silent for a few moments, parted by the movement of the dance, but when they drew back together he spoke again.

  “Can I say, if I am not too impertinent, that I believe Mr Yorke was not without genuine admiration for you; I would guess it was something more than his supposition of your wealth that drew him to you the night of the operetta, for you looked very beautiful.”

  Elizabeth felt her colour rise, a blush creeping into her cheeks. She kept her gaze steadfastly on the floor as they moved through the dance. It was only when a sudden realisation washed over her that her head shot up and her eyes met his. He looked a little caught out and blushed himself.

  “You were there, the night of the operetta? I did not see you.”

  “I was.” He cleared his throat. “I am a little ashamed to admit I hid from you.”

  “Why? Why would you do such a thing?”

  “I was quite annoyed with you. For disturbing the calm of my evening and upsetting my equilibrium.”

  “Oh.” It was all she could manage. They looked at each other for the longest time and actually missed a step. The couples either side of them were vexed and they hurried to correct their error.

  Then Elizabeth was distracted by something across the room. She let out an excited squeal, disentangled herself from Mr Darcy, left the dance and rushed away. Next to Mrs Mountford stood the most elegant of couples; people of great fashion - a tall, slim lady and a very broad shouldered gentleman - a great wall of a man. They were both fair haired and blue eyed. The hug Elizabeth bestowed on the lady nearly knocked her off her feet and there was much laughing and kissing and grasping of hands. Darcy stood off to the side. He might have felt a little annoyed at being left standing alone on the dance floor if Elizabeth had not turned around and bestowed a most brilliant smile upon him; he felt it right down to his toes. Despite her distraction, he had not been forgotten.

  “Jane, you must remember dear Mr Darcy?” Darcy saw Jane’s eyes widen considerably at the manner of introduction.

  “How are you, Mr Darcy?” She curtseyed.

  “Very well, it is a pleasure to see you again.” He bowed and realised he hadn’t ever really paid much attention to Jane Bennet during his time in Hertfordshire. His eyes had always been elsewhere! Always on another. Jane had been no more to him than a set of blonde curls that Bingley had admired, but now he was before her she did seem familiar - although he confessed to himself he could have walked past her in the street in London and not known her as Elizabeth’s sister. Jane’s gaze was friendly, even if her countenance betrayed confusion.

  “And may I present my sister’s husband to you, Mr Darcy. This is Mr Turner?” Elizabeth looked very small next to Mr Turner. Darcy rarely had to raise his gaze to meet a man’s eye, but he did now and was very keen to make a favourable impression. He executed his bow. It was an odd sensation for a man who was usually fettered and fawned over, used to being admired and deferred to, but Turner was Elizabeth’s brother now, her dearest sister’s husband and Darcy fervently wanted to be approved of. Mr Turner returned his bow, but being a man of business also held out his hand for Darcy to shake. Knowing Elizabeth would be looking to see how he would greet this man of trade, he wanted to be sure he was seen to show every possible civility. Darcy took the offered hand and found his own fairly crushed in Mr Turner’s.

  Elizabeth was chiding her sister for keeping the news of their intention to come to Bath a surprise.

  “Well, it was not definite we would come, Lizzy.” Jane interjected. “As it is, we are only here for a few days because Mr Turner has business in Bristol next week, and I was not certain I could be spared from the children for very long, so he almost came alone.”

  “We have left the girls in Hertfordshire with their grandmamma, Lizzy. So we shall arrive back to spoilt children, sick from too much cake than is good for them.” Mr Turner said, his voice a deep baritone.

  They were joined by Georgiana, who stood shyly close to her brother for a few moments, but she was soon encouraged forward by Elizabeth and smiled warmly at by Jane. She joined their party and was put at ease. The ladies walked into supper together, while Darcy walked beside Mr Turner, thinking of how to begin a conversation. He considered the weather and asking after the comfort of their journey, before Mr Turner spared him the trouble.

  “You’re not married, Mr Darcy?”

  “I’m a widower.”

  “I am sorry to hear it. Do you have any children?”

  “No, I have not been blessed as such.”

  “Aye, they are a blessing indeed. I have two fine, healthy girls, as beautiful as their mother. Elizabeth is nearly three and Frances is one.” Mr Turner said with not an inconsiderable amount of pride.

  “The elder named after her aunt?”

  “Yes, Mr Darcy, and it is a fitting tribute, for she is just as mischievous.”

  Darcy laughed and Elizabeth’s head turned quickly towards them. She spoke sportively. “I heard that, Mr Turner. Jane, your husband is most provoking. If he continues disparaging my character to Mr Darcy and his sister I shall be forced to retaliate.”

  “Oh, now I am in trouble.” Mr Turner shuddered. “She is quite formidable, our Lizzy, for such a small person, don’t you agree, Mr Darcy?”

  “Quite so.” He paused to look at her. “I confess she scares me witless.”

  This earned him such an arch of her eyebrow as he had never beheld before and her eyes twinkled with mirth. Her lips were pursed, considering her response.

  He was unfortunately, denied the pleasure of hearing what she might say because Mrs Mountford, suddenly recalling her duties as chaperone, called out. “Good heavens, we have forgotten all about Miss Bingbong.”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t worry, Mrs Mountford.” Georgiana reassured her. “I saw her walking into supper with the Yorkes.”

  “Miss Bingbong?” Jane asked Elizabeth.

  “Caroline Bingley.” Elizabeth took her sisters arm and leaned in close. “My dear Jane, I have much to acquaint you with.”

  Twenty

  Darcy was still awake well into the early hours of the next morning. He sat back in his chair in the privacy of his room, brandy in one hand, hardly touched, a book in the other, unopened. The curtains were not drawn and he gazed out at the night sky. There was hardly a candle alight in any other window now and all the street lighting had long been extinguished.

  He wondered whether Elizabeth were still awake. Was she as restless, as confused and as agitated as he? He shifted in the chair – it would not do to think about Elizabeth Bennet in her nightgown, her hair down and splayed about a pillow, tossing and turning in her bed. If he continued in such a vein, sleep would never find him.

  Yet his thoughts still strayed to her. He had not been fortunate enough at the end of the evening to press his lips to her hand after all. The assembly rooms had seemed too busy and he had been conscious of her family and Georgiana around them. Elizabeth had politely accepted a ride home with the Turners and Darcy had gone with Mrs Mountford. He had helped her with her cloak though, and her soft look up at him had prompted him to lean down with a question. Not the question he really wanted answering. After the sheer unadulterated disaster of his first proposal, she deserved something more than a rushed whisper in her ear. But he had asked her if he might call on her soon and had received a quick nod in reply, as her face had flushed prettily.

 
He put down his glass and book and began to pace, his spirits too tumultuous for him to be still.

  The very next time he saw her, he decided with determination, he would ask for a second chance - an opportunity to prove himself at least. If she was not of a mind to leap into marriage –and he would understand some reluctance on her part - then he would seek her agreement to court her and spend time in her company to try and engage her affection. He felt sure she was more disposed towards him now. This was not like Rosings when he had mistaken her teasing nature for a wish to entice him and her silence during their walks together for a wish to appear demure. He laughed now at how wrong he had been. All the while he had been concerned about how the world might view their match and he had not given any deep consideration to how she regarded him. What a cuckold he had been, ‘selfish disdain for the feeling of others’ indeed.

  He paced some more and then taking the glass of brandy he swallowed it in one go, shuddering as the liquid burned on its journey down his throat. Despite its inauspicious beginnings he had enjoyed the evening immensely. He had liked Mr Turner. He was a man who Darcy found it easy to converse with. He spoke not of hunting or fishing, or cards or horses, but of his young family, who he clearly adored and of his business, which he had built from nothing and of his previously humble origins, of which he was not at all ashamed, but proud. Jane Turner was as sweet and amiable as Bingley had once described her, and Darcy had found on closer acquaintance, that she had a sharp, well-hidden wit that only occasionally surfaced when she was comfortable with her companions. She was not as bold in displaying it as his Elizabeth, but it was most certainly in existence. Darcy had always liked Mrs Mountford, ever since their first conversation on the night of the Fitzwilliams dinner. She had intelligence and good sense, and a love for Elizabeth that could only endear her to Darcy. As he had stood in the assembly rooms he had imagined their little party far away at Pemberley and thought of how much he would enjoy such a future gathering, and how much Georgiana would like it too. Then he started to think of Elizabeth as mistress of his home and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth unbidden. How she would love the grounds, the park and lake, but particularly the woods. They would walk them together and he would see them anew through her eyes. She would like the orangery too and the folly. He hoped she would admire the house, but if she did not, he would allow her to redecorate the whole pile, floor by floor, to her own taste, if only she would accept him. Hang the expense.