by Nancy Kelley
Richard nodded. "I will. I know your habit of saying things you later regret when pushed too far, so I think it is best you have a day to cool off. And perhaps Anne will be feeling better on the morrow. I am sure Lady Catherine would not be half so ill-humored if she were downstairs."
"Let us hope," Darcy murmured, and a moment later Richard left.
Darcy still felt out of sorts when he rose the next morning. He had swallowed a dozen sharp remarks the night before, and the taste of them was bitter on his tongue.
He pulled his dressing gown on and crossed the room to the window. The world was still dark, though he thought the eastern sky was a shade lighter than the deep azure in the west. He opened the latch and took a deep breath of fresh air, and suddenly he knew what he needed to regain his peace of mind.
Darcy was outside ten minutes later. He tilted his head back to welcome the mist; today's weather was not as fine as it had been on that other morning. However, he had no doubt that Elizabeth would come.
Today he reached the grove first. It was not yet dawn, and he sat down on the bench to watch the sunrise over the edge of the trees. When the grass shimmered with a silvery light, he stood and walked in the direction of the parsonage. It would not be long now, he felt sure.
He heard Elizabeth before he saw her, humming a light, pleasing melody. She did not seem surprised to see him, a fact which gratified him greatly. "Good morning, Mr. Darcy. I see we meet again."
"Indeed, Miss Elizabeth--it seems we are both in the habit of a morning walk." Darcy could easily imagine mornings spent walking through Pemberley with her, and he said the first thing that came to him. "For my part, however, they need not always be solitary walks." He fell in step beside her as she approached the brook.
She did not speak for a long moment, and Darcy knew she was parsing his last statement. A quick glance at her confirmed the blush he anticipated, and he knew he could say no more on the subject without a formal declaration.
He opened his mouth, intending to speak the words he had prepared--"My dear Miss Elizabeth, would you do me the honor..."
Instead, a voice he hardly recognized as his own said, "How did you leave Mr. and Mrs. Collins this morning?"
Her brow wrinkled, and he cringed at his own feeble conversation device. "I think I understand from my aunt," he said hastily, "that Mr. Collins is also a lover of the dawn."
Elizabeth smiled. "Oh yes, he rises early so he may have his sermonizing done before Lady Catherine might have other need of him."
Darcy smiled, but then a strange thought struck him. "And your friend? She does not mind having her life dictated by one so wholly unconnected with herself?"
Elizabeth frowned pensively. "I think," she said at last, "that Mrs. Collins is grateful enough for her own household that she would put up with anything."
"Surely that is not a recipe for marital felicity."
She shook her head. "I would not think so--certainly it would not be for myself--but then, as I have been reminded, our situations are not the same."
Elizabeth glanced up at him, and he forgot to breathe. If he had nearly declared himself earlier, then now so had she.
He could not think of anything to say after that, and they walked together in silence for some moments until they reached the point where the path veered toward the road. "And here is where we must part, I fear, Mr. Darcy." Elizabeth smiled up at him and then skipped along the path without giving him a chance to reply.
Darcy's visit with Edgeley took the whole of the afternoon, and he barely had time to change for dinner before the meal was announced. Anne was present, though still a little more pale and wan than usual, and Darcy appeased his aunt by offering her every possible solicitude. He knew the time grew near when he would tell her he would not marry his cousin, and he wanted her in the best possible mood when he presented Elizabeth to her. Though Elizabeth is more than capable of holding her own, he thought with a smile.
To his surprise, Darcy slept late the next day. When he arrived in the breakfast room, the footman informed him that Richard had already eaten and left for his round of the property. His first feeling of guilt that Richard had been left to handle their joint duty alone was squashed by the sudden conviction that he would take advantage of Darcy's absence to call at the Parsonage.
Much to his surprise, when his aunt came downstairs she announced her intention of doing likewise. "I have not called on Mrs. Collins since you arrived at Rosings, Darcy. You will join me this afternoon at the Parsonage."
For once, her dictatorial style did not bother Darcy in the slightest. The ladies of Hunsford received them most cordially when they arrived, and if Elizabeth seemed more quiet than usual, Darcy attributed it to her understanding that no more could be said between them until he paid his formal addresses.
It was the most comfortable afternoon he had ever spent in his aunt's company. In Elizabeth's presence, he was able to drown out Lady Catherine's gross improprieties and simply enjoy the rest of the company. When the visit ended, he could truthfully say to Mrs. Collins, "I enjoyed my time with you this afternoon, ma'am."
All of Darcy's good will disappeared the next morning, when Richard was again absent at breakfast. He set his coffee cup down with rather more force than necessary, then took a deep breath. Remember all Elizabeth has said, he reminded himself. She welcomes your suit; do not fret.
Still, by the time Richard returned in mid-afternoon, he was tense, and he knew it was time to speak to his cousin openly regarding his intentions toward Elizabeth. "Would you mind joining me for a ride, Richard?" he said without preamble.
Richard blinked. "Of course, William. Just let me change. Shall I meet you in the stables in fifteen minutes?"
"I will have a groom saddle two horses."
Twenty minutes later, they were cantering across the fields to the far reaches of the estate. Neither man said a word until they reached the hedgerow that marked the boundary there.
When they slowed their horses and turned back, Richard shifted in the saddle to look at Darcy. "Do you know Miss Elizabeth does not like riding? I can hardly imagine it, can you?"
Darcy nearly growled at the thought of Richard knowing any personal details regarding Elizabeth. "What are your intentions toward Miss Elizabeth?" he asked abruptly.
Richard smiled. "She is a lovely lady--beautiful, charming, and sweet. I like her a great deal."
Darcy twitched reflexively and then had to adjust his seat in the saddle when his confused horse sidestepped. "I see."
Richard glanced over at him. "Of course, I might like her even more if my cousin was not in love with her."
Only years of training kept Darcy from letting go of the reins entirely. His jaw dropped, and Richard laughed heartily. "Did you think I would not see?" he asked. "One minute you told me I would regret being friendly to Mr. Collins--a point I must allow--and the next you practically invited yourself to his home."
"You... knew? All along?"
"From the moment I saw Miss Elizabeth and observed how suddenly tongue-tied you were. Even you, William, are normally more conversant than you are when Miss Elizabeth is in the room. But I looked at you when we left the Parsonage that afternoon and knew I would never get you to tell me the truth."
"Then why..."
"I thought if I gave the appearance of courting Elizabeth, you might finally make a move." The Colonel grinned. "It seems I was correct."
Darcy groaned when he saw how neatly he had been played. "All that time, all those suggestions that I tell Lady Catherine I would not marry Anne..." His eyes narrowed as something occurred to him. "You have been most assiduous in your attentions, Richard." His voice was dangerously soft. "In fact, one might say you had been trifling with her affections."
Richard tilted his head. "I cannot say I have ever received real encouragement," he answered at last. "However, if it will assuage your concerns, I will find a way tomorrow of letting her know I am not seriously courting her."
Darcy nodded.
"Yes, I would advise you did, Cousin," he said, and then rode off before Richard could reply.
Chapter Twenty-one
In the morning, Richard renewed his promise to make his own situation clear to Elizabeth. Darcy kept to the study until he returned, sometimes reading a book, sometimes pacing the floor while he rehearsed his proposal.
"My dearest Elizabeth, you must allow... No, that is too bold, Darcy--entreat, do not demand. Loveliest Elizabeth, pray make me the happiest of men..." He snorted. "Hackneyed!"
"Not to mention, if our aunt heard those words you would not live to utter them to their intended recipient."
Darcy spun on his heel and found Richard leaning against the closed door. "How long have you been there?"
"Long enough to pray Miss Elizabeth is as patient as she is lovely," Richard returned. "Good lord, William--she will never be able to answer if you do not finish the question."
Darcy crossed his arms. "I am trying to find the right words. But speaking of her answer, did you deliver your message?"
Darcy could not interpret the slow smile that spread across his cousin's face. "Oh, yes."
"And?"
"And..." Richard stretched the word out so long that Darcy wanted to strangle him. "And, I do not think you need to worry about her answer."
"Why --" Darcy coughed to remove the frog from his throat - "why do you say that?"
Richard examined his fingernails. "Simply something she said."
"Which was?"
He tapped his chin. "How did she phrase it? I believe her words were, 'I wonder he does not marry.'" The colonel dropped all pretense of disinterest and strode across the room to slap Darcy on the back. "Congratulations, Cousin. Had I a fortune of my own, I might give you some competition, but as it stands, I am sure you will both be very happy."
Richard was gone before Darcy recovered his speech. He stared at the closed door for several long moments, Richard's--no, Elizabeth's words--resonating in his mind. "So, she wonders that I have not married," he said at last. "Well, Elizabeth, after tonight you will wonder no more. Before this evening is out, you will know the whole of my heart."
Darcy still had not worked out exactly how he would manage that when teatime arrived. He knew, however, that he must, for he and Richard were to leave Kent on Saturday. If he did not declare himself tonight, there would hardly be time to make the engagement known to their friends in the neighborhood. He was particularly determined to inform his aunt, if only to stop his cousin's taunts.
He had a half-formed idea of offering to escort Elizabeth into the house when she and the Collinses arrived and then stealing her away to someplace private where he might propose. With this in mind, he met the Hunsford party on the lane and noticed immediately that Elizabeth was not among them. "Good evening," he said. "But where is Miss Elizabeth?"
Mrs. Collins's brows rose, and he wondered if he had been too obvious in his attentions. "My friend did not choose to come," she replied. "She stayed at home with a headache."
"Will you not do us the honor of walking into the house with us, Mr. Darcy?" Mr. Collins asked.
"No, thank you," Darcy said, his mind racing. Elizabeth is home alone. "I am afraid I was just on my way into the village on some business. Please make my excuses to my aunt--I did not have time to inform her."
Mr. Collins bowed low, but before he could speak, Darcy strode down the lane. Elizabeth was alone. That situation he had not known how to bring about, she had wrought with ease.
He remembered the concern on Mrs. Collins's face and his steps slowed for a moment. Would she be too ill to receive him? He shook the thought off and continued to the Parsonage with all haste. Unless she was in her bed, he would find a way to speak. "I will not leave Kent without asking her to be my wife."
He reached his destination in good time, and a servant ushered him into the little sitting room where he had first asked on Easter Monday if she would consider his suit. She sat in the same seat tonight which she had occupied then, and the memory agitated his emotions further.
Elizabeth stared up at him, and Darcy realized he had yet to speak. "I beg your pardon," he said. "I heard you were ill and came to see for myself if you were feeling any better."
Darcy barely heard her reply in the affirmative. He sat down in the chair opposite Elizabeth's for only a few seconds before he stood back up and paced the confines of the small room, turning his hat over in his hands.
None of the speeches he had prepared would come, but he would not remain tongue-tied tonight as he had done on that previous morning. He gathered his courage and reminded himself of what she had told Richard only hours ago, and then he turned to face her.
"In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."
Elizabeth gasped and pressed a hand to her chest. Such a display banished what little doubt lingered in Darcy's mind, and his nervous pacing ceased.
"After many months of loving you, I find that nothing will do except to ask for your hand in marriage." He flushed slightly, aware that she might well wonder why, if he loved her so deeply, he had not declared himself before.
He looked down at his hat, then up at her. "I am aware, of course, that in so doing, I go against every wish of my family--even against my own better judgment. The lowness of your connections has long prevented me from truly seeking you as the mistress for Pemberley, but my own heart would not be dissuaded.
"Those who know me best will be surprised by the imprudence of my choice, but I am sure they will understand when they have met you."
He placed a hand on the mantelpiece and drew himself up straight. "And now, my dear Miss Elizabeth, will you not end my suffering and promise to be my wife?"
Here he stopped to finally take a breath. He looked over at her and found her gazing at him with some consideration in her expression. She blushed, and he felt the queer stirrings of unfettered joy deep in his heart.
"In cases such as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned. It is natural that obligation should be felt, and if I could feel gratitude, I would now thank you." She pursed her lips. "But I cannot--I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly."
Darcy could not breathe for a moment, and he gripped the mantel to avoid toppling over. As if she had ascertained his distress, her voice softened. "I am sorry to have occasioned pain to anyone. It has been most unconsciously done, however, and I hope will be of short duration. The feelings which, you tell me, have long prevented the acknowledgement of your regard, can have little difficulty in overcoming it after this explanation."
Her meaning was clear, and yet he could not understand it--he had believed he had her favor far too long to accept this change in the situation graciously. The pain in his chest spread upward, and he had to swallow a lump in his throat before he could speak. "And this is all the reply which I am to have the honor of expecting! I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little endeavor at civility, I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance."
Elizabeth's eyes sparked with indignation, and despite himself, he could not help but admire their brilliancy. "I might as well inquire why, with so evident a design of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character? Was not this some excuse for incivility, if I was uncivil? But I have other provocations. You know I have. Had not my own feelings decided against you, had they been indifferent, or had they even been favorable, do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps forever, the happiness of a much beloved sister?"
The blood which had drained from his face at her refusal rushed back. So that is why she constantly mentioned Bingley. The unexpected intelligence stole his power of speech, and she continued before he co
uld form an answer.
"I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No motive can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted there." She rose from her chair and paced the room, before turning back to him. "You dare not, you cannot deny that you have been the principal, if not the only means of dividing them from each other, of exposing the one to the censure of the world for caprice and instability, the other to its derision for disappointed hopes, and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind."
Darcy barely withheld a snort. Misery of the acutest kind? Is that not overstating things, Elizabeth? Bingley and your sister will learn to love others as soon as those around stop reminding them of their foolish infatuation.