by Nancy Kelley
Though he wished to counter her beliefs regarding her beauty and her manners, he answered the question instead. "For the liveliness of your mind, I did."
She shook her head. "You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very little less. The fact is, that you were sick of civility, of deference, of officious attention. You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking, and looking, and thinking for your approbation alone."
Darcy started. Did I not tell Bingley exactly that only a year ago?
"I roused and interested you, because I was so unlike them. Had you not been really amiable, you would have hated me for it; but in spite of the pains you took to disguise yourself, your feelings were always noble and just; and in your heart, you thoroughly despised the persons who so assiduously courted you."
Her smile was so saucy, and her picture so precise, that Darcy had to laugh--but Elizabeth was not done. "There--I have saved you the trouble of accounting for it; and really, all things considered, I begin to think it perfectly reasonable. To be sure, you knew no actual good of me--but nobody thinks of that when they fall in love."
Now to this Darcy must protest. "Was there no good in your affectionate behavior to Jane while she was ill at Netherfield?" The lady in question, hearing her name, looked up. Darcy smiled and shook his head, and she turned her attention back to Bingley.
"Dearest Jane! Who could have done less for her? But make a virtue of it by all means." She waved her free hand in a gesture of largess. "My good qualities are under your protection, and you are to exaggerate them as much as possible; and, in return, it belongs to me to find occasions for teasing and quarreling with you as often as may be; and I shall begin directly by asking you what made you so unwilling to come to the point at last? What made you so shy of me when you first called, and afterwards dined here? Why, especially, when you called, did you look as if you did not care about me?"
Darcy examined her expression; beneath her teasing smile he saw that same curiosity he had noted earlier. "Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement."
He could not keep a defensive note from creeping into his voice, but she smiled, and for the first time he noticed a dimple that winked in and out of existence. The sight so transfixed him that he almost missed her next words.
"But I was embarrassed," she protested.
With an effort, Darcy tended to the conversation. "And so was I."
"You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner."
Darcy stroked the soft skin on her inner wrist with his thumb. "A man who had felt less, might."
Elizabeth blushed and laughed. "How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer to give and that I should be so reasonable as to admit it." Darcy smiled; it amazed him that he could discompose Elizabeth simply by telling her he loved her.
"But I wonder how long you would have gone on, if you had been left to yourself. I wonder when you would have spoken, if I had not asked you! My resolution of thanking you for your kindness to Lydia certainly had great effect. Too much, I am afraid; for what becomes of the moral, if our comfort springs from a breach of promise? For I ought not to have mentioned the subject. This will never do."
Darcy barely contained his laughter at the rapidity with which her mind worked. "You need not distress yourself," he assured her. "The moral will be perfectly fair. Lady Catherine's unjustifiable endeavors to separate us were the means of removing all my doubts. I am not indebted for my present happiness to your eager desire of expressing your gratitude. I was not in a humor to wait for any opening of yours. My aunt's intelligence had given me hope, and I was determined at once to know everything."
Elizabeth smiled slyly. "Lady Catherine has been of infinite use, which ought to make her happy, for she loves to be of use. But tell me, what did you come down to Netherfield for? Was it merely to ride to Longbourn and be embarrassed, or had you intended any more serious consequence?"
Darcy settled back in his seat, his lips turned up in a faint smile as he remembered. "My real purpose was to see you, and to judge, if I could, whether I might ever hope to make you love me. My avowed one, or what I avowed to myself, was to see whether your sister was still partial to Bingley, and if she were, to make the confession to him which I have since made."
"Shall you ever have courage to announce to Lady Catherine what is to befall her?"
He pulled his hand from hers and rose to his feet. "I am more likely to want more time than courage, Elizabeth. But it ought to be done, and if you will give me a sheet of paper, it shall be done directly."
"And if I had not a letter to write myself, I might sit by you and admire the evenness of your writing, as another young lady once did. But I have an aunt, too, who must not be longer neglected."
And thus their quiet discussion shifted to the writing tables, where they each pulled out a sheet of paper and pen and wrote letters to their aunts. Darcy could well imagine the joy Elizabeth shared in hers and knew he would need to soon write a letter to Georgiana, who would welcome the news. However, his first duty was to inform Aunt Catherine, and so he began--
Dear Lady Catherine,
I hope this letter finds you in health. I have news to impart which I fear you will not like. I am engaged, and my future wife is none other than Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I am sorry if this angers you, and I am especially sorry if it hurts Anne. I never had any intention to marry her; she was never more than a dear cousin to me. I deeply regret any actions of mine that might have been misconstrued as deeper intentions.
Miss Bennet and I would be honored if you chose to join us at our wedding. I hope you will wish us joy.
Yrs&etc,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
He then drew out another piece of paper and dipped the pen back in the ink. The letter to Georgiana was far longer, filled with all the effusions of joy he could not express to anyone else but Elizabeth. When he was done, he folded them both and put them in his jacket pocket to seal later with his own wax and signet.
Chapter Forty-two
Darcy soon discovered that the general knowledge of their engagement was not the perfect solution he had anticipated. When no one had known of their relationship, he and Elizabeth had been allowed--nay, encouraged--to spend time alone together. Now they were constantly under the chaperonage of some one or other of her sisters, or occasionally Mrs. Bennet.
More than once, Darcy caught Mr. Bennet laughing at his obvious discomfort. His conversations with that gentleman were longer and more detailed than they had ever been before, and he soon came to appreciate Mr. Bennet's wit as being the source of Elizabeth's. That very lack of decorum which he had previously despised had created the atmosphere which had allowed her spirit to flourish.
Each morning, Darcy waited in the study for the post with some anticipation. Neither his aunt nor his sister would be long in replying to this news, he felt certain. On the morning four days after he sent word of his engagement, a letter from each fulfilled his trust.
The letter addressed in Georgiana's hand was thick and he set it aside to share with Elizabeth later. Lady Catherine's letter he studied with some apprehension, but eventually he decided to open it himself, as her manner of expressing herself was not likely to be something he wished Elizabeth to read.
Mr. Darcy,
You can have no doubt as to my reasons for writing you, Sir. I have lately received such news that I could not believe, had it not been in your own hand.
I speak of course of the letter you sent to inform me of your impending marriage to that nobody, Elizabeth Bennet. What can you be thinking, Sir, to marry such a girl? Did I not warn you of her arts and allurements? But this is always the way of things when people do not heed my words--they make foolish decisions which cannot be undone.
I most certainly will not attend your wedding. It would give your bride a consequence she does not deserve. For the sake of your dear mother's memory, you shall always be welcome at Rosings Park, but I shall never wait on Miss Elizabet
h Bennet.
I remain,
Your affectionate aunt,
Lady Catherine de Bourgh
Darcy reached the fireplace in two strides and tossed the letter on the flames. He jabbed at it with the poker until it caught fire, and then he watched with grim satisfaction as it burned to ash. Elizabeth will never read those vile words.
He set the poker down and paced the room, his fingers tapping against his leg. "Lady Catherine must be answered," he decided finally, and sat down at the writing table.
Her ladyship's language having been so harsh, Darcy felt no need for civility in his reply.
Lady Catherine,
Your manner in referring to my intended is insupportable. I find myself in a position I had never anticipated. Henceforth, your ladyship, you are unwelcome at all Darcy properties. I will not tolerate the society of one who cannot see the value of Miss Bennet, or who would abuse her in such a fashion.
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Darcy sealed the letter and left the house. He was halfway to Longbourn when he met Elizabeth on the path. "This is an unexpected pleasure, Elizabeth. I had thought to find you at home."
She grimaced. "I left my mother and Aunt Phillips deep in wedding discussions."
Despite his agitation, Darcy smiled at her comical expression. "Then perhaps I might walk a ways with you," he suggested. "Or do you suppose our chaperones would be too shocked to learn we managed to find a few moments to be alone?"
Elizabeth's eyes sparkled up at him. "I think we can be held blameless, since we stumbled upon one another quite by accident. If we do not hurry back to Longbourn, who is to know?"
Darcy chuckled and offered her his arm, and they walked some ways in companionable silence. Elizabeth's presence soothed him, and he almost forgot his earlier aggravation until she asked, "What sent you from Netherfield this morning?"
He stiffened in remembered anger, and Elizabeth turned to face him. "What troubles you, Mr. Darcy?"
"Elizabeth, we are to marry in less than a month. Do you think you could call me by my name?"
She raised an eyebrow. "I do not think that is what rests so heavily on your mind."
He sighed. "No, I apologize. I received a letter from Lady Catherine. She is displeased by our match."
Elizabeth smiled. "Did you really expect her to be otherwise?"
"It was the manner in which she expressed her displeasure that angered me. The language she used when referring to you, Elizabeth..." He ran a hand through his hair.
"I can well imagine. After all, my arts and allurements have drawn you in."
His jaw dropped. "Did she address herself to you with those same words?"
"It does not matter," she said. Darcy grunted--it mattered a great deal. "Fitzwilliam, look at me." His name on her lips calmed him as nothing else could, and he met her eyes at last.
Elizabeth stepped closer to him. "It does not matter," she repeated softly, and placed a hand over Darcy's heart.
He opened his mouth to argue, but she flexed her fingers and the words escaped him. "I told your aunt," she said quietly, "that even if your whole family stood against me, I could not lose the happiness I would find in being your wife."
"You could have, on the whole, no cause to repine," Darcy said. Confusion marred her lovely features, and he explained. "My aunt shared your words with me."
"Then why did you..." She dropped her hand and took a step back. "Why did her opinion matter so much to you?"
Darcy took Elizabeth's hand and pressed it back to his heart. "Not her opinion of me, Elizabeth--her opinion of you!" His impassioned tone caught her by surprise, and she tried to step away. Darcy caught her around the waist with his other hand and held her close. "But I must admit," he said, his voice much quieter now, "that I feared perhaps your... affection for me might be swayed by her words."
There was a long pause, in which Darcy dared not meet Elizabeth's gaze. "I do not need your aunt's words, or anyone else's," she said finally, "to tell me you are at times a proud, disagreeable man."
Darcy flinched, and this time it was Elizabeth who held him in place. Her free hand somehow found its way to the back of his neck, forcing him to look her in the eye.
"However, you are also the best man I have ever known."
Inexpressible warmth stole over Darcy. Elizabeth had seen him at his very worst, and she still loved him.
Elizabeth smiled up at him, and Darcy could no longer resist her. He covered her hand with his own and closed the remaining distance between them. He was close enough now to feel her sudden intake of breath when she realized what was about to come. "Elizabeth," he whispered, and she raised her face toward his.
In the heartbeat before he kissed her, he recalled the proud pretensions that had kept them apart for the last year. Then his lips met hers, and they all melted away.
There was none for Darcy but Elizabeth.
About the Author:
Nancy Kelley is a Janeite, an Austenesque author, and a blogger. During the writing of His Good Opinion, a version of Mr. Darcy took up residence in her brain; she fondly refers to him as the Darcy in My Head, or DIMH.
If Nancy could possess any fictional device, it would be a Time-Turner. Then perhaps she could juggle a full-time library job, writing, and blogging; and still find time for sleep and a life. Until then, she lives on high doses of tea, of which DIMH approves.
You can find Nancy on Twitter @Nancy_Kelley, at nancykelleywrites.com and on Indiejane.org.
Acknowledgements:
First, to Jane Austen for writing a book so beloved and enduring that readers 200 years later still want to know more about her characters.
There are far more people to thank than I can possibly list here, but I can at least start. First, to my entire extended family for instilling a love of reading in me; second, to Mr. Roher, the junior high English teacher who told me I should write a book; third, to National Novel Writing Month for giving me the impetus to take writing seriously, fourth, to the online Jane Austen community who has been so supportive and enthusiastic as I've worked on His Good Opinion; and finally to the band of critique partners, beta readers, and editors who took my first draft and turned it into what you see today: Jessica Melendez, Kate Dana, Rebecca Fleming, Haley Whitehall, Jaymi Elford, and Carissa Reid. Special thanks goes to Jennifer Becton who very kindly shared her indie publishing expertise.
Please enjoy the following excerpt from
Caroline Bingley
A Continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice
by
Jennifer Becton
Banished.
The word echoed through Caroline Bingley's mind with each beat of the horses' hooves, and she felt the stab of her own mortification with each bone-jarring jolt of the hired carriage in which she was imprisoned. Her brother Charles's own hand had locked her away in this dreadful post chaise, which was presently being drawn by a second-rate pair of horses, and the entire conveyance was bound for the worst place she could imagine: her mother's home in the north of England.
Caroline glanced at the woman seated beside her. This, ostensibly, was her traveling companion, for it was quite improper for a woman of Caroline's status to voyage alone. In truth, their current mode of transport--two women traveling alone by post--was verging on impropriety as it was.
She thought her companion's name was Rosemary, but she had not taken the initiative of remembering. After all, Charles had been the one to employ the impertinent widow to accompany her while in transit and to act as her companion once in the tedious, unvarying society of Kendal, Cumbria.
While she could not blame Charles for hiring a servant to attend to her while navigating the public roads and dealing with the unsavory individuals one often encountered at posting inns, it was beyond the needs of propriety to have retained her for the duration of her stay in the north. Caroline did not need a chaperone; nor had she reached that unfortunate stage in life wherein she required the services of a paid companion. She was no dod
dering fool, but a wealthy young woman of sound mind and good judgment.
Caroline lifted her chin against the humiliation and anger rising within her breast. The presence of a companion was an insult to be sure!
To think that she had become a prisoner in her own life--with the right to make her own choices stripped from her--was intolerable. No, she had chosen neither the voyage nor her companion, and she certainly would not have elected to embark on such a long journey so late in the year when the weather was apt to turn foul.
Ha! It was all a good joke. This was no journey. This was a prison sentence, and Rosemary was her jailor.
Rosemary.
Caroline winced at such a gauche name. She certainly hoped that her memory had failed and that the woman's name was not Rosemary, for she did not like the pert flavor of that particular herb in servants any more than in a roast of beef. Besides, her parents must have been quite inelegant to name their daughter after such an ugly, sprawling plant, and Caroline had no patience for inelegance.