The Secrets of Darcy and Elizabeth: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Victoria Kincaid

  The thought struck her forcefully. How could she, Elizabeth Bennet from Longbourn, make a man like him nervous? He must still care for her! It was the only possible interpretation. He must be violently in love with her to consider renewing his attentions after such a disastrous proposal. This realization sent a thrill through her entire body, recognizing how he honored her with attentions, now that she knew that he was not only wealthy, but also intelligent and honorable. But could she reciprocate those feelings? Once the answer to that question had been a definite “no.” Now she was not quite so certain, but she did know she was not prepared to say “yes.”

  Darcy waited in suspense for Elizabeth’s answer. It had required all his courage to even ask the question. Now he felt so vulnerable to her disapproval, but he had to discover if he had a hope of winning her. That would be sufficient for now: just a shred of hope. He dared a glimpse of her face, which was serious and thoughtful, betraying no hint of how she would answer his question. The uncertainty was agony, creating a sense that he was completely at her mercy and engendering a sense of helplessness that was unfamiliar – and uncomfortable.

  Fear gripped him when he thought of her possible refusal. She was honorable, he knew. If she thought he could never succeed with her, she would not accept friendship. If she refused him now he would know there was no hope and there would never be any hope that she would return his affections. Then he would have to leave Paris at once and – go where? Scotland perhaps. As far away from her as possible. But even as the thought occurred to him, he knew nowhere would be far enough. Nor would there ever be enough time to recover from Elizabeth.

  As he regarded her, she tilted her head slightly to one side in a way that was utterly bewitching. He knew she was unaware of the effect she had on him, but her every movement, every glance and sigh was a delight.

  Elizabeth realized her long silence was causing anxiety for Mr. Darcy. He was frowning and glaring at the ground, but quite visibly restrained himself from hurrying her response and she found herself admiring his self-control. “I would like a new beginning,” she finally said. Relief flooded his face and he relaxed visibly. “However,” she continued. His eyes rose sharply to her face. “I cannot promise I could ever reciprocate any deeper sentiment than friendship.”

  Darcy silently nodded his understanding of this caveat. “Thank you for granting me another chance.” Deeply felt emotion colored his voice. “Friendship is all I ask – for the present.”

  She raised her eyebrows at that last statement. Sometimes his candor was unnerving. They resumed walking, but Darcy stopped again almost immediately. Taking a few steps away from her, he made a little bow. “I am Fitzwilliam Darcy, Miss, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  She laughed at his charade and made a small curtsey. “I am Elizabeth Bennet. It is a pleasure to meet you. I believe you are from England, as am I. Shall we walk?” Smiling at her jest, he offered her his arm, which she took without reluctance.

  After a few minutes of walking in silence, Elizabeth realized her companion was quite agitated once more. Frowning deeply, he was glaring at the path before them. “Mr. Darcy, is something else is making you unhappy?”

  At first she thought he would not say anything, but then he spoke – in hesitant tones that suggested the words were dragged out of him. “Please tell me….I must know if you have reached some kind of…understanding with Lord Lennox. I know I do not have the right to ask, but—”

  Her quick reaction forestalled his words. “Lord Lennox? No!” The very shock in her face seemed to reassure him. “Indeed, I have no reason to believe he is serious in his attentions to me. While it is true that he has visited almost every day, I think it is mostly because he is bored with Paris.”

  “I think you underestimate yourself, Miss Bennet.” He was gazing at her intently; clearly he never intended to create a fiction that friendship was all he wanted from her. “I can think of many reasons why a man like him might enjoy your company.”

  “Perhaps you should share them with him when next you meet,” she suggested archly. “Then he might view me with greater seriousness of purpose.”

  Darcy exhaled a laugh. “That would be contrary to my self-interests.”

  Elizabeth laughed; it was lovely to see these glimpses of his sense of humor. However, as they resumed walking, she felt more sober, realizing that he did intend to renew his addresses to her – an eventuality she had hardly thought possible. Still, Mr. Darcy was far more relaxed, and she was pleased she had been able to bring him some small measure of peace. If the price of his peace was slight discomfort on her part, it was fitting penance for her earlier misjudgment of him.

  After a few more minutes of strolling, Elizabeth noticed the height of the sun and realized it was close to noon. She turned to Mr. Darcy: “We have walked a long way. Perhaps we should turn back and find my aunt.”

  As the three of them were strolling back to Mrs. Radnor’s house, Mrs. Gardiner broached the subject of their upcoming trip to Rouen. Elizabeth felt a pang of regret at the thought of leaving Paris in only three days since there were still many sights she had not seen. And, now that she and Mr. Darcy had made their peace, she actually felt pleasure at the thought of spending more time with him. She chastised herself immediately for these regrets. Her aunt and uncle had been very kind in bringing her to Paris; she should not resent the exigencies of their schedule.

  Mrs. Gardiner was regarding Elizabeth closely. “It does seem a shame to remove you from Paris after so brief a visit.”

  “It is fine, Aunt.”

  “Well, it occurred to me that Mrs. Radnor might host you at her house while we are away. Your uncle’s business will bring us back to Paris in a week. We could collect you then.”

  Elizabeth’s heart sang with pleasure at this suggestion, but she felt the need to exercise caution. “I have to admit, I would be pleased to pass additional time here. However, I am loath to impose on Mrs. Radnor.”

  “I will ask her, but I do not think it would be an imposition. She enjoys your company.” Mrs. Gardiner’s voice was brisk as she strode on ahead. Darcy had said nothing during this exchange, but Elizabeth glanced over at him just in time to see a faint smile grace his features.

  Everything was soon settled with Mrs. Radnor, who was delighted to have Elizabeth remain and promised the Gardiners that she and her husband would take excellent care of their niece. The next day, Elizabeth visited some shops with her Aunt, marveling at the quality of the cloth and trims that could be had throughout Paris. When they returned they found Mr. Darcy waiting. His visit was brief, but pleasant.

  The following day he appeared at Radnor House early, bearing flowers for Elizabeth, and suggested a visit to the Louvre. As the group wandered through galleries of fabulous art, Elizabeth noticed that her aunt and uncle lagged behind, granting her some privacy to talk with Mr. Darcy. They were not blind. They had recognized his partiality for her – and they must have approved of him or they would not have granted the two such leeway.

  The next day Elizabeth bade her aunt and uncle goodbye early in the morning, but was not surprised when Mr. Darcy came to call a little later, suggesting a visit to Notre Dame Cathedral. Mrs. Radnor excused herself on the grounds that her son was still ill and needed attention, leaving Elizabeth without a proper chaperone, but Mrs. Radnor did not seem alarmed. Although she was English, she had been living in France for more than a year and took a more relaxed view of such matters.

  As they walked toward the cathedral in companionable silence, Darcy glanced over at Elizabeth’s profile. She was gazing about her in sheer delight at the sights of Paris; it was a thrill simply to observe her take such joy in the city. When she had accepted his offer to begin their friendship anew, he had been overjoyed, but since then some of his optimism had drained away. Elizabeth did not seem to find his company burdensome, but she was reserved with him. While her enjoyment of Paris was uninhibited, her behavior with him – every glance and gesture – was polite and for
mal. She occasionally joked with him and teased him, but she was, in general, far more constrained in his presence than she had been before his declaration at Hunsford. He cursed himself again for the stupidity of his misbegotten proposal.

  He tried to reassure himself that he should be pleased that she had agreed to friendship, more than he had any right to expect. Nor was she attempting to discourage his attentions. However, he thought with frustration, she was not doing anything to encourage them either. Her whole manner seemed designed not to reveal any feelings she might experience. He had accepted this state of affairs at first, but now he was wondering if she would ever demonstrate a warmer regard toward him. What did it all mean?

  Once they had arrived at the cathedral, Elizabeth expressed awe at Notre Dame’s beauty and exclaimed over every stained glass window. She conversed with Darcy about the building’s history and the history of Paris itself, and he appeared impressed with the breadth of her knowledge on the subject. Silently she thanked the plentiful collection of history books in her father’s library. Although she did not have the advantage of a wealthy gentlewoman’s education, at least she had compensated for the deficit with extensive reading.

  Mr. Darcy was extremely amiable and agreeable throughout their visit. She found herself wishing she might have glimpsed this side of his character earlier. Away from ballrooms full of people and the necessity of engaging in idle conversation, he was more at ease and less somber.

  Near the cathedral they found a little patisserie and, after collecting tea and sweets, settled into seats on the sidewalk in front of the shop. The night before, Elizabeth had found her thoughts returning again and again to Mr. Darcy. She had reflected that in many ways he remained an enigma to her, so during a lull in the conversation she asked a question that was designed to elicit more information about her companion’s character. “What is Pemberley like?”

  He appeared surprised. “What would you like to know about it?”

  She shrugged. “Anything. Whatever you would like to tell me.”

  He described the house and the grounds. When she did not appear bored, he went on to explain the estate itself and his role in managing the estate and the tenants. She listened with great attention, noting that this topic rendered him more voluble than any other she recalled. It began to dawn on her how much responsibility he held and had been holding since a young age. Many a young man in his position was known as a dandy or a rake, with too much time and money to waste – and insufficient morals to guide them. This did not describe Darcy at all.

  He wound down his recitation, “I have been monopolizing the conversation and I fear I have bored you. Please excuse me.” Genuine anxiety shaded his face.

  “Not at all,” she assured him, trying to put all her warmth into her words. “Your description caused me to think how great your responsibilities are. You take care of your servants, your tenants, and your sister. But, who takes care of you?”

  He was quite taken aback by the question and she instantly realized how forward it was. “Well, of course, the servants see to my needs, but I do not need anyone to take care of me.” He murmured.

  “Everyone needs someone to take care of them.” She smiled gently at him.

  His gaze became abstracted, suggesting she had given him something new to consider. “I suppose…I have become accustomed to being self sufficient…at least since my parents died.”

  As an escape from the intensity of the moment, she gazed down at her hands resting on the café’s table. She suddenly realized that caring for him was what he had requested of her when he proposed. Perhaps some part of him realized he needed a wife’s care, but was she the appropriate woman to provide it? She did not have a good answer to that question.

  After finishing their pastries, they retraced their steps back to Mrs. Radnor’s house, strolling unhurriedly along the street, past shop windows, manicured gardens, and picturesque houses. Her opinion of Mr. Darcy was improving, she realized, but it made her slightly uneasy. It had been simple to refuse his suit when she felt anger and contempt for him; admitting to his more admirable qualities could open her to more tender feelings about him.

  Now she recognized Mr. Darcy as a witty, responsible, intelligent, caring – and she had to admit, quite handsome – man. His attentions gratified her vanity, she realized, but she wished to be careful not to confuse that sensibility with true affection. For the first time since she had met him, she glimpsed the possibility that she could give her heart to this man. That prospect was disconcerting. He was pleasant and amiable now, but would the cold, unyielding Mr. Darcy reappear?

  For his part, Darcy was still finding Elizabeth to be a mystery. Although she had relaxed a bit in his presence today, she was still formal and careful. Her questions about Pemberley had demonstrated her interest in him and his life; he was grateful for the attention. Was he imagining she exhibited signs of tenderness for him? Was she only being polite?

  Would she every care about him the way he cared about her? The sensation of not knowing was almost like physical pain – which mingled with the almost unbearable pleasure of being in her company. Careful of her sensibilities, he had been leery of exhibiting too much affection and the restraint was exhausting. Displaying the full power of his attachment, he feared, would frighten her away – but he felt heat between them whenever they touched. Had she experienced it as well?

  Perhaps if he relaxed his guard a little and demonstrated some tenderness, it might stir similar sentiments in her. They were passing a park where children raced toy boats in a pond and she watched them with undisguised delight. “You are very quiet.” He ventured.

  She grinned impishly. “Are you implying that I am being uncharacteristically quiet?”

  He laughed in appreciation. “While it is true that you have decided opinions, it is also true that your lively conversation is one of the things I treasure about you.” She colored slightly, but did not object to this affectionate statement. Dare I try more? He wondered.

  The thought suddenly struck Elizabeth that he loved her – apparently had always loved her – just as she was, despite any flaws in her character or her family. She was the one who wished him to be other than he was. The realization made her slightly ashamed of herself.

  Elizabeth thought about making a saucy comeback to his declaration, but that did not reflect her true reaction. Instead she opted for sincerity. “Thank you. You are too kind.” Her statement reminded her of something which had troubled her since Rosings. “I must confess that I sometimes find it difficult to make out your character. Since you often argue with me, I had believed you were my harshest critic.”

  Darcy seemed surprised by her statement and then thoughtful. “No, I was never that. Do you not see? I would not have crossed swords with you if I did not regard you highly. I rarely debate anything with Miss Bingley.” He grinned wryly.

  They turned onto a street lined with shops and crowded with people. Now Elizabeth realized that she had completely misinterpreted his actions. It was true that he usually ignored people whose opinions he did not value; she had observed him simply turn away from conversations with Mrs. Bennet or Lady Catherine. But he most frequently engaged in spirited discussions with Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Bingley, two men he counted as close friends. Viewing their previous conversations in this new light compelled her to recognize how sincere and longstanding his affections for her were. Guilt and shame washed over her anew; how had she not realized this before?

  “I am honored.” Although the words sounded sarcastic, she said them with breathless sincerity, daring to meet his eyes.

  “I hope you know,” he said softly, “that there are many things that I treasure about you.” They had stopped walking the middle of the sidewalk. The intense emotions reflected in his blue eyes took her breath away. His very proximity was mesmerizing.

  He gently pulled her to the edge of a sidewalk, next to the window for a dress shop, where they would be out of the way. What does he intend? Will he at
tempt to kiss me? Do I want him to? But he did not bend his lips to hers. Instead, he raised her gloved hand to his mouth and kissed it gently, his eyes never leaving her face. She experienced that current of excitement that she always felt when he touched her. Whatever he read in her eyes seemed to encourage him, for he turned her hand over and gently kissed the palm. Then his lips traveled to the bit of skin visible between her sleeve and her glove. A tingle of pleasure course up her arm and she closed her eyes against the sensation.

  When she opened them again, he appeared concerned. “My apologies, Miss Bennet, if I am being too forward.”

  “No, not at all,” she said faintly. Then she blushed to realize her statement could be construed as encouraging behavior which brushed the edges of propriety, but she could not bring herself to discourage actions that pleased her so much. Her heart was beating so rapidly she thought he might hear it.

  When she glanced down, she realized he had unbuttoned her glove at the wrist and was removing it finger by finger. She gave a shaky laugh. “I had not realized that I was granting you license to indulge in further forward behavior.”

  Now less concerned about her disapproval, Darcy continued his intimate attack on her hand. “You need only say the word and I will stop.” His voice was low and hoarse as he kissed her palm and the inside of her wrist. Shivers of pleasure ran up her arm and down her spine. He glanced up at her. “Does that feel good?”

  Good is a completely inadequate word. “Yes, it feels….” She could not imagine a way to complete that sentence which would not lead to impropriety, but he seemed reassured. Removing her other glove, he lavished the same attention on that hand. When finished, he simply held her hands in his and gazed into her eyes. The weight of his gaze was creating excessive warmth throughout her body. Beads of perspiration – which had nothing to do with the temperature of the day – dampened the collar of her gown.