“Cook was able to obtain some of the ham you particularly fancy, ma’am.”
“Excellent.”
However, Elizabeth had only eaten a few bites of ham when she heard another knock on the door. Heavens! Another early morning visitor. Who could it be this time? God forbid Mr. Collins had returned!
She heard Grayson open the door and then Mr. Darcy’s unmistakable deep voice. Why would he visit so early? Her first fear was that it was an emergency involving Georgiana, but no, he would have sent a messenger.
Then a panicked thought gripped her. Was he angry about the item in the newspaper? Georgiana had been linked with Elizabeth’s name in the article, perhaps damaging her reputation by association. Maybe Mr. Darcy intended to discontinue the acquaintance between their households, at least for the present. She would hardly blame him and had even considered offering to do so.
However, the thought of being separated from Georgiana and Mr. Darcy cut through her with a sharpness she did not expect. She realized she would miss their acquaintance dreadfully without frequent visits. But when had this occurred? When had she come to depend on friendship with the inhabitants of Darcy House?
Grayson ushered Mr. Darcy into the room. “Miss Bennet, forgive the early hour of my arrival.” Mr. Darcy’s words were rushed, and his agitation caused her to reconsider the fear that some ill had befallen Georgiana.
“There is nothing to forgive,” she assured him. “I enjoy company with my breakfast.” She gestured to the sideboard. “Please, help yourself.”
Mr. Darcy eyed the food as if the very thought made him ill. “Thank you; I have already breakfasted.”
“Would you care for some coffee? Tea?”
“I thank you, no.” He put his hand on a chair as if preparing to sit, but abruptly turned and began making a circuit around the room. It was not a large room, and he soon had completed a full tour without voicing the reason for his unexpected visit. Perhaps he had more to say about the attack on her house and ensuring her safety? But why was he having such difficulty raising the subject? Every line of his body suggested anxiety and tension.
“Are you quite all right? Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked.
He viewed her distractedly. “No, thank you. There is nothing. That is—I—You—”
Elizabeth watched him with a growing sense of alarm. She could not understand the source of his present state of agitation. Was Wickham responsible for another egregious action?
“Is Georgiana well?” she asked.
Mr. Darcy completed his third circuit of the room. “Very well, thank you.”
“Are you angry about the item in the newspaper? I cannot express how I regret that my troubles should harm Miss Darcy’s reputation.”
Mr. Darcy stopped pacing abruptly and stared at her, leaning over the dining table. Elizabeth flinched backward. He must be very angry indeed! “I am angry, Miss Bennet. I am livid, furious. But not at you. This is not of your doing. And I have no concern about Georgiana’s reputation. People of sense will know she is blameless.”
She is blameless, but not me, Elizabeth thought.
Nevertheless, she experienced some small measure of relief that his anger was not directed at her. But she was still at a loss about the purpose of his visit or the reason for his extreme agitation.
Finally, Mr. Darcy sighed explosively, pushed both hands through his hair, and positioned himself behind one of the breakfast room’s chairs.
“I am concerned about you. You are so vulnerable as a single woman living alone. You have already been subjected to malicious gossip and have become the target of even more dangerous behavior. I am endeavoring to stop Wickham, but he has moved lodgings, and the men I hired have not yet located him.” Mr. Darcy’s mouth was set in a firm line. “I fear these attacks will escalate unless you give him what he wants. And even then—he has friends who know about you and may view you as easy prey.” As if he could not stand to look at her, he lowered his gaze to the table.
Elizabeth sighed. Apparently, Mr. Darcy was building an argument for her to relocate to Darcy House or to the Gardiners’ house. Although she herself had contemplated traveling to Hertfordshire, she chafed when others sought to plan her life for her.
Mr. Darcy lifted his head, and his dark eyes caught hers; she almost gasped. He was obviously laboring under the influence of some strong emotion. “I feel in some ways responsible. I brought Wickham into your life, and your continued association with my family has made you an object of his greed.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips against the exclamations of frustration that threatened to burst forth. “You take too much upon yourself, sir. I do not hold you or your family responsible.”
Mr. Darcy’s hands grasped the wood of the chair back so tightly his knuckles were white. “But you also would not be in this tenuous position if it were not for your engagement to Richard and his subsequent death.” Mr. Darcy bit off every word as if he hated to say them. “He would despair to see you alone and unprotected.”
“I am neither—”
Mr. Darcy raised a hand to forestall her protest. “I am aware you do not see yourself this way, but others do because of your situation. I cannot rest for worrying what slander or malicious behavior you will be subject to next. You have already been subjected to violence in your home!” He ran one hand across his face as if to calm himself, while the other gripped the chair as if his life depended on it.
Elizabeth regarded him with open-mouthed shock. He could not rest for worrying about her? What could he possibly mean?
Abruptly, he abandoned his post, striding down the length of the table and sitting in the chair beside her. His proximity was rather alarming. This close, she was keenly aware of his intense gaze, his masculine smell, the lock of inky hair falling over his forehead. And the extreme agitation of his emotions. Elizabeth swallowed hard, confused about Mr. Darcy’s behavior and her reaction to it.
“I cannot leave you defenseless, Elizabeth. Do not ask it of me.” His voice was low and rough. “I must protect you—for your own sake as well as in memory of my dear friend and cousin. The best protection I can offer you is my name and my hand, if you would take me. Would you accept my hand in marriage?”
Elizabeth’s mind was absolutely blank.
She realized her mouth was open, but no sound was forthcoming. She closed it with a snap.
Although Mr. Darcy had led up to the proposal quite logically, Elizabeth had been taken quite by surprise.
No, surprise was not a strong enough word. Astonishment? Stupefaction?
She was also surprised by her own reaction. The thought of marrying Mr. Darcy should make her laugh at the ridiculousness of it; she had only recently accustomed herself to not expecting his disdain. However, part of Elizabeth felt an unexpected warmth at the thought.
Unfortunately for Mr. Darcy, the other part of her was angry.
How could he propose in this cold and practical manner? Every conclusion was laid out quite logically, but clearly his feelings were not engaged. Oh, he must experience some concern for her, anxiety even. However, that was hardly an emotion on which to build a life. No doubt he felt a certain fondness—for Richard’s sake at least—and perhaps she should be grateful he seemed to tolerate her company. But she could never enter into a marriage which offered no more than tepid affection. How could he believe she would?
“Miss Bennet?” Mr. Darcy’s voice intruded on her thoughts. She recognized that she had been silent a long time and struggled to find the right words for a reply.
Her mouth felt suddenly dry and her tongue impossibly thick. “I thank you for the honor of your proposal, but it is impossible for me to accept.” She attempted to maintain an even, moderate tone that did not betray the disturbance of her emotions.
Mr. Darcy’s expression altered little, confirming her sense that his emotions were not engaged. “I beg you to consider—”
Elizabeth ignored the interruption, her indignation gathering force. �
��I do not consider security of any kind to be a suitable reason to wed. If so, I would have accepted Mr. Collins’s proposal two years ago.”
“Mr. Collins made you an offer?” Horror was plain on Mr. Darcy’s face.
Under other circumstances, Elizabeth might have found his disgust amusing, but she was too caught up in her own agitation. “I appreciate your concern for my safety, but I must believe there are other, less extreme steps which would address the potential danger.”
A red stain had appeared in his cheeks. “I beg you to reconsider. You would be doing me a great service as well. As you know, Pemberley needs a mistress, and I need an heir. I am sure you would suit the role admirably.”
Elizabeth supposed she should be flattered by these compliments, but it felt as though she was being hired for a position on his staff.
“And of course, I would do my very best to appreciate and cherish you.” He reached out and took her hand in both of his.
With a shock, Elizabeth realized that he had removed his gloves. The feeling of skin on skin was unexpectedly … new. Naturally, she had often clasped hands with Richard, and she treasured the memories of the warmth and companionship they had shared in those moments. But Mr. Darcy’s touch was … shocking, exciting, electric. Somehow that single touch sent thrills coursing throughout her body and made her painfully aware of his proximity.
Some deep part of Elizabeth responded to him and wanted him to cherish her.
No, she chastised herself. He obviously did not desire her in that way.
He wanted a mistress for Pemberley, a mother for his heirs, and an opportunity to be of service to his dead cousin. He had said it quite plainly. She could not allow inexplicable and unexpectedly warm feelings to overcome her discernment or judgment.
But … his thumb caressed the back of her hand, creating the most delightful sensations. How did he do that? He regarded their clasped hands as if amazed. However, his words were at odds with the feelings. “It would settle much of the scurrilous gossip about you, and the Darcy name would help insulate you from future rumormongering. Your family at Longbourn would be protected as well.”
The longer she contemplated the rational and unfeeling nature of his words, the angrier she became. She must quit the room before losing the reins on her temper!
“Again, I thank you for your concern—”
Mr. Darcy continued, his voice soft, “A single woman living alone faces many dangers—”
“Mr. Darcy!” Elizabeth raised her voice to get his attention. “I do not wish you to make such a sacrifice!” His head jerked up as his eyes fixed on her face. “With a marriage contracted under such circumstances, I cannot believe we could make each other happy.” Immediately, she mourned the loss of warmth as his hands retreated to rest in his lap.
Mr. Darcy’s eyes shifted away from hers, and his head turned as he focused on the door, but for a moment, did she detect a glimmer of despair? No, she must be in error. He felt nothing beyond friendship; her refusal could mean little. She spoke again: “I do not desire to occasion you pain. Your friendship is meaningful to me, and I hope we can continue it.” She paused, but he made no reply. “I thank you for the honor of your addresses.”
A muscle in Mr. Darcy’s jaw twitched, and his eyes blinked rapidly. Otherwise, his face, in profile to her, might have been carved from stone.
She stood on legs shaking so violently they could barely support her. “I beg you to excuse me. I have an urgent appointment this morning.”
“Of course.” A polite, indifferent expression settled over his face. Obviously, his feelings were not touched.
His chair jolted back from the table with more force than necessary. “I apologize for detaining you. Good day.” Mr. Darcy gave a very proper bow and hastened from the room.
Rather than climb the stairs to ready herself for her invented appointment, Elizabeth sank back into her chair. Her heart pounded, and every nerve in her body seemed alive with agitation. Her entire body thrummed with excitement, confusion, anguish—and anger. But she did not completely understand why.
After all, Mr. Darcy’s reasoning could not be faulted—and he had done her a great honor. His family would object to an alliance with her, but he would overlook them for the sake of her comfort and security.
Yet nothing in his address suggested that he wanted her, Elizabeth Bennet. He needed a wife. She needed protection. He sought to solve two problems with one marriage.
Such a cold, disinterested analysis actually provoked a shiver down her spine. Somehow, the unfeeling nature of the proposal was … distressing to her.
Of course, most marriages within the ton were arrangements for mutual benefits rather than love matches. Why then should it disgust her when Mr. Darcy thought of her so dispassionately? Perhaps because he was already her friend, she longed for a more emotional connection?
Despite her efforts, Elizabeth could not understand her own feelings. Every emotional thread she examined became hopelessly entangled in other considerations—and led her once more to the same confused snarl. Finally, Elizabeth’s agitated thoughts brought about a headache, and she decided to retire to her bed chamber for the remainder of the morning. Perhaps sleep would bring some clarity.
*** Darcy had been drifting aimlessly some time before he thought to wonder about his location. By then, he was already at the river, staring at Westminster Bridge. The sun was high in the sky, making the white stone of the bridge gleam and emphasizing the dingy color of the bridge’s footings near the water. The shouts of river men and merchants who populated the streets near the bridge carried over the gentle lapping of the water on the banks.
Elizabeth had refused him.
The awful memory occupied his mind, leaving no space for any other thoughts. He had been prepared for a declaration she did not love him; he had expected it. Nevertheless, he had believed the proposal would appeal to her reason…her desire to provide security for her family. In truth, he had not prepared for rejection.
Nor had he been prepared for anger.
When he had recognized how fury fueled the paleness in her face and the trembling in her hands, he had felt ill—sick with despair. How had he offended her? The words of his proposal had been so carefully selected with the design of explaining his reasoning and demonstrating the desirability of their alliance. How had his plans gone awry so completely?
Black despair seized his chest and rendered breathing difficult. He leaned against a tree, taking deep breaths that he hoped would calm his wildly beating heart. It was a beautiful day; the sun made the waters of the Thames glisten and shine. Usually, Darcy found the moving current of the river and the gentle sway of the plants on the bank to be soothing, calming. But today, nothing would help.
Since reading Richard’s letter, Darcy had allowed a small seedling of hope to grow in his chest, but in the space of only a few moments, it had withered and died—and, he was certain, would never be resurrected.
He could never permit himself to nurture such hopes anew.
Dear God, can I ever show my face in her house again?
What a fool he was to think he could take Richard’s place in even a limited role.
A carriage bearing a nobleman’s crest clattered over the bridge, provoking thoughts of Kirkwood.
Blast and damnation! Kirkwood.
Now nothing would prevent the lord from proposing.
Nothing would prevent Elizabeth from accepting.
How could Darcy survive it? Watching her engaged once more to another man? Watching her marry another man?
It could not be borne.
Perhaps she would not accept his offer. She might not desire Kirkwood’s protection any more than she desired Darcy’s. But that would mean nothing if Elizabeth felt true affection or, God forbid, love for Kirkwood.
The conclusion was inescapable. Kirkwood might employ the same arguments as Darcy and receive a very different reception for the simple reason that Elizabeth was already predisposed toward him.
Darcy closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyelids as if he could shut out this vision. He could strive not to fix his mind on such possibilities, but his heart still plummeted painfully at the thought.
Opening his eyes, Darcy massaged his forehead, trying to ward off an impending headache. He knew he must find a way to accomplish the impossible and accept the reality, no matter how unacceptable. One thing was certain: whether Elizabeth accepted Kirkwood’s proposal or not, she was forever lost to Darcy.
Chapter 15
By midday, Elizabeth had concluded that staying abed with a headache only worsened her tendency to obsess over the problem of Mr. Darcy. So she resolved on a long walk after luncheon. Perhaps fresh air would provide the clear head she required to better understand Mr. Darcy’s behavior. Vexing man!
Refusing him had been the proper decision, of course. Why then could she not stop thinking about him? Again and again, she pictured the expression on his face as he had proposed. Such tenderness. Such genuine concern for her wellbeing. And more …
Had passion flared in his eyes? The night of their waltz at Georgiana’s ball, he had seemed on the verge of kissing her. Was it possible he felt more than friendship? No, surely he would have declared any such sentiments when paying his addresses.
Her mind wandered, recalling his broad shoulders, his strong hands, and the blue-black strands of hair falling carelessly across his forehead. Her body hummed with excitement at any thoughts of his desire for her, but he might just as easily desire any reasonably attractive lady.
What if her rejection caused him to retire to Pemberley, and they never met again? Why was the idea so deeply distressing?
She sighed as the headache pounded anew. Her thoughts were in such a tangle, they were impossible to unwind. She needed a walk. A long walk.
However, she had not even tied her bonnet ribbons when Grayson announced Lord Kirkwood at the door. Sighing, Elizabeth removed her bonnet and repaired to the drawing room with the hope the viscount’s heir would not stay long. The man bounded into the room like a big puppy, wide-eyed and eager to please. Lord Kirkwood was of an age with Richard, but he always seemed younger.
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