Elizabeth was not sure how to answer, and was prevented from even forming a gasp of shock by the return of Mr. Collins. She tried, unsuccessfully not to think of what Charlotte said and the picture that formed was so disagreeable she could hardly respond to his news that they had an invitation from her ladyship to dine.
Elizabeth could not see Lady Catherine without recollecting that, had she chosen it, she might by this time have been presented to her as her future niece. Nor could she think, without a mischievous smile, of what her ladyship’s indignation would have been. The idea was one of the few that brought her any amusement. Most of the time, she had to make a conscious effort not to think of Mr. Darcy and his letter.
Their first subject was the diminution of the Rosings party. “I assure you, I feel it exceedingly,” said Lady Catherine. “I believe no one feels the loss of friends so much as I do. I am particularly attached to these young men, and know them to be much attached to me. They were excessively sorry to go.”
Mr. Collins had one of his longwinded compliments to offer, which were kindly smiled on by the mother and daughter.
Lady Catherine observed, after dinner, that Miss Bennet seemed out of spirits, and immediately accounted for it by supposing that she did not like to go home again so soon. “But if that is the case, you must write to your mother and beg that you may stay a little longer. Mrs. Collins will be very glad of your company, I am sure.”
“I am much obliged to your ladyship for your kind invitation,” replied Elizabeth, “but it is not in my power to accept it. I must be in town next Saturday.”
“Why, at that rate, you will have been here only six weeks. I expected you to stay two months. I told Mrs. Collins so before you came. There can be no occasion for your going so soon. Mrs. Bennet could certainly spare you for another fortnight.”
“But my father cannot. He wrote last week to hurry my return.”
“Oh, your father may spare you, if your mother can. Daughters are never of so much consequence to a father. If you will stay it will be in my power to take one of you as far as London, for I am going there for a week early in June. Indeed, if the weather should happen to be cool, I should not object to taking you both, as you are neither of you large.”
“You are all kindness, madam, but I believe we must abide by our original plan.”
Lady Catherine seemed resigned, and had many other questions to ask respecting their journey. As she did not answer them all herself, attention was necessary, which Elizabeth believed to be lucky for her. With a mind so occupied, she might have forgotten where she was. Reflection must be reserved for solitary hours. Whenever she was alone, she gave way to it as the greatest relief, and not a day went by without a solitary walk, in which she might indulge in all the delight of unpleasant recollections.
Mr. Darcy’s letter she was in a fair way of soon knowing by heart. She studied every sentence and her feelings towards its writer were at times widely different. When she remembered the style of his address, she was still full of indignation; but when she considered how unjustly she had condemned and upbraided him, her anger was turned against herself; and his disappointed feelings became the object of compassion. His attachment excited gratitude, his general character respect. However, she could not for a moment repent her refusal, or allow herself the slightest inclination ever to see him again. Her mind was too unsteady when it came to him and she had to err on the side of caution — not that he would renew his offer.
In these solitary moments, she could not help wondering how things would be between them had she accepted him. There was a natural progression between a couple after the announcement of an engagement. He had held her hands to his chest as he had made his sentiments known. What would he have done, had she exclaimed, “Yes! Yes, I will have you!”
Would those lips have brushed over her fingers as he lifted her hands to receive his mouth? Would he have taken it farther still, drawing her close? She knew him to be a man of honor, but would the certainty of their engagement have allowed him to kiss her? He would not back away from his word once it was given. If he had struggled to the point he had claimed, and at this point she did not doubt he believed all he said, then would he have felt propelled to end his own suffering as soon as she allowed? With the empty house and quiet evening, they would not have been disturbed.
Her thoughts traveled in such a way as to awaken all of her senses. She closed her eyes, aware that it was the middle of the day. She lay on her bed, having begged to be excused for a nap. No one would disturb her for hours.
Lifting the last page of the letter, she looked at his bold signature and whispered, “Fitzwilliam Darcy.” As she traced the lines of it, she felt closer to him, and the sensation brought back all those small moment when he had touched her — her cheek, her hand, her arm.
She let the letter drop against her chest. The light weight of it felt heavy against her breasts. Without moving it, she bit her lip. Each breath became measured. Her legs moved over the coverlet in such a way that they became exposed from beneath her dress. As if possessed, her hips moved, rocking side to side. She pressed her thighs tightly together, aware of the ache building there.
“Fitzwilliam Darcy.” What pleasure the words invoked. Elizabeth gave way to her longings, letting her mind play out what might have happened had she said yes. She licked her lips. What if all that anger he had shown in yelling at her had instead been passion? Would his lips have met hers, hard and sure? Or soft and probing?
He had strong hands, warm and capable. Elizabeth placed her hand on her exposed knee, pulling at her skirt to slide it up her thighs. What would such a moment feel like? To be claimed by a man in the most intimate of ways? She pictured those blue eyes watching her as he kissed her cheeks, trailing the warm caresses over her chin and neck. Letting her fingers play the part of his mouth, she touched her face before sliding them down to the front of her bodice. It did not take much to free the laces that would expose her chest.
Experience did not let her imagine the full effect of his love-making, but she was not so innocent as to not understand what would happen, and that men were not only of a nature, but of a shape to conquer women. Touching a breast, she massaged it in her palm as the nipple hardened. The pleasure of it shot through her, causing her toes to curl and her knees to lift.
“Fitzwilliam Darcy.” The letter brushed her flesh, his signature to her naked chest. It was as if he touched her.
A harsh, ragged breath escaped her and she found her hand reaching to press against the ache of her sex. Rapturous delights greeted her fingers. Everywhere she looked she imagined him to be — watching her, touching her, taking her. By all that is blessed, he had the greatest eyes; and the masculine smell of him whenever he came too close was hardly forgotten. She guessed his scent would only be stronger if she peeled the jacket from his shoulders and the shirt from his chest. She wondered at the muscles she would find there — would they be tanned like his face from exposure to the sun? For a gentleman, he was not unaccustomed to vigorous exercise and pursuits. Surely his activities would translate themselves in the hidden length of his body. How hard he must feel compared to her softness, so much warmer than her cooler skin! The naughtiness of such thoughts caused her to blush, but the pleasure of them did not stay her fingers.
“Darcy,” she gasped, opening her legs and pressing her feet to the bed. She rubbed her sex against her hand, seeking an end to the torment. In that second between torture and ecstasy, she considered she should have said yes if only to fulfill this one desire. Her base attraction to him was only enhanced by knowing he was attracted to her. She always supposed him indifferent to her charms, but if a man like Darcy asked for her hand, he who could have his pick of beautiful women, it must mean he felt for her the same need she sometimes felt for him.
Finally, release came, and a flood of trembling emotion followed the gratification of such a moment. Instantly, she knew it was wrong. She had rejected his suit and rightly so. This gave her no righ
t to use him in such an intimate way, even if the gentleman would never know of the service he had just done her. Gasping, and more than a little embarrassed by the way she had allowed herself to get carried away without thought to her surroundings, she quickly righted her clothing.
At length, when her breath began to steady and her temperature to cool, she suffered herself to once again consider the recent events. In her own past behavior, there was a constant source of vexation and regret; and in the unhappy defects of her family, a subject of yet heavier chagrin. They were hopeless of remedy. Her father, contented with laughing at them, would never exert himself to restrain the wild giddiness of his youngest daughters; and her mother, with manners so far from right herself, was entirely insensible of the evil. Elizabeth had frequently united with Jane in an endeavor to check the imprudence of Catherine and Lydia. But while the young girls were supported by their mother’s indulgence, what chance could there be of improvement? Catherine, weak-spirited, irritable, and completely under Lydia’s guidance, had been always affronted by their advice; and Lydia, self-willed and careless, would scarcely give them a hearing. They were ignorant, idle, and vain. While there was an officer in Meryton, they would flirt with him; and while Meryton was within a walk of Longbourn, they would be going there forever. It was no wonder Mr. Darcy expressed concern. And, whereas she could not forgive his delivery out a sense of family principle, she could hardly wish him burdened with such a family as hers.
Anxiety on Jane’s behalf was another prevailing apprehension. Mr. Darcy’s explanation, by restoring Bingley to all her former good opinion, heightened the sense of what Jane had lost. His affection was proved to have been sincere, and his conduct cleared of all blame, unless any could attach to the implicitness of his confidence in his friend. How grievous then was the thought that, of a situation so desirable in every respect, so replete with advantage, so promising for happiness, Jane had been deprived, by the folly and indecorum of her own family!
When to these recollections was added the development of Wickham’s character, it may be easily believed that the happy spirits which had seldom been depressed before, were now so much affected as to make it almost impossible for Elizabeth to appear tolerably cheerful.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
ON SATURDAY MORNING Elizabeth and Mr. Collins met for breakfast a few minutes before the others appeared. He took the opportunity of paying the parting civilities which he deemed indispensably necessary.
“I know not, Miss Elizabeth, whether Mrs. Collins has yet expressed her sense of your kindness in coming to us, but I am very certain you will not leave the house without receiving her thanks. The favor of your company has been much felt, I assure you. We know how little there is to tempt anyone to our humble abode. Our plain manner of living, our small rooms and few domestics, and the little we see of the world, must make Hunsford extremely dull to a young lady like yourself. I hope you will believe us grateful for the condescension, and that we have done everything in our power to prevent your spending your time unpleasantly.”
Elizabeth was eager with her thanks and assurances of happiness. “I assure you, I have spent six weeks with great enjoyment.”
Mr. Collins was gratified, and with a more smiling solemnity replied, “It gives me great pleasure to hear that you have passed your time agreeably. We have certainly done our best, and count it most fortunate to have it in our power to introduce you to very superior society. From our connection with Rosings, the frequent means of varying the humble home scene, I think we may flatter ourselves that your Hunsford visit cannot have been entirely irksome. Our situation with regard to Lady Catherine’s family is indeed the sort of extraordinary advantage and blessing which few can boast.”
Words were insufficient for the elevation of his feelings. He walked about the room, while Elizabeth tried to unite civility and truth in a few short sentences. “The pleasure of being with my dear friend, and the kind attentions I have received from all, make me feel obliged. I will have nothing but fond stories to tell my sisters upon my return.”
“You may, in fact, carry a very favorable report of us into Hertfordshire, my dear cousin. I flatter myself that you will be able to do so. You have been a daily witness to Lady Catherine’s great attentions to Mrs. Collins. Altogether I trust it does not appear your friend has drawn an unfortunate — but on this point it will be as well to be silent. Only let me assure you, that I can from my heart most cordially wish you equal felicity in marriage. My Charlotte and I have but one way of thinking. There is in everything a most remarkable resemblance of character and ideas between us. We seem to have been designed for each other.”
Elizabeth was not sorry to have his words interrupted by the lady of the house. Poor Charlotte! It was melancholy to leave her to such society, but she had chosen it with her eyes open. Though evidently regretting that her visitors were to go, she did not seem to ask for compassion. Her home and her housekeeping, her parish and her poultry, and all their dependent concerns, had not yet lost their charms.
At length the chaise arrived, the trunks were fastened on, the parcels placed within, and it was pronounced to be ready. After an affectionate parting between the friends, Elizabeth was attended to the carriage by Mr. Collins, and as they walked down the garden he was commissioning her with his best respects to all her family, not forgetting his thanks for the kindness he had received at Longbourn in the winter, and his compliments to Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, though unknown. He then handed her in, Maria followed, and the door was on the point of being closed, when he suddenly reminded them, with some consternation, that they had hitherto forgotten to leave any message for the ladies at Rosings.
“But,” he added, “you will of course wish to have your humble respects delivered to them, with your grateful thanks for their kindness to you while you have been here.”
Elizabeth made no objection. The door was then allowed to be shut, and the carriage drove off.
“Good gracious,” exclaimed Maria, after a few minutes’ silence, “It seems but a day or two since we first came and yet how many things have happened!”
“A great many indeed,” said her companion with a sigh.
“We have dined nine times at Rosings, besides drinking tea there twice. How much I shall have to tell!”
Elizabeth added privately, “And how much I shall have to conceal.”
Their journey was performed without much conversation. Within four hours of their leaving Hunsford they reached Mr. Gardiner’s house, where they were to remain a few days.
Jane looked well, and Elizabeth had little opportunity of studying her spirits, amidst the various engagements which the kindness of her aunt had reserved for them. But Jane was to go home with her, and at Longbourn there would be leisure enough for observation.
Meanwhile, she determined to wait until Longbourn before she told her sister of Mr. Darcy’s proposal. The news would undoubtedly astonish Jane, and must at the same time gratify whatever of her own vanity Elizabeth had not yet been able to reason away. She was tempted at almost every moment to openly tell everything. However, in her state of indecision over what she should communicate, and her fear of being hurried into repeating something of Bingley which might only grieve her sister further, kept her silent.
The days passed quickly in Mr. Gardiner’s house and with little events beyond visiting and news. It was the second week in May, in which the three young ladies set out together from Gracechurch Street for the appointed Hertfordshire inn where Mr. Bennet’s carriage was to meet them. From there they traveled directly to Longbourn. Their reception at home was most kind. Mrs. Bennet rejoiced to see Jane in undiminished beauty, and more than once during dinner did Mr. Bennet say voluntarily to Elizabeth, “I am glad you are back, Lizzy.”
In the afternoon Lydia wanted her sisters to walk to Meryton, to see how everybody went on. Elizabeth steadily opposed the scheme. It should not be said that the Miss Bennets could not be at home half a day before they were in pursuit of the
officers. There was another reason too for her opposition. She dreaded seeing Mr. Wickham again, and was resolved to avoid it as long as possible. She took comfort in the regiment’s approaching removal. In a fortnight they were to go — and once gone, she hoped there could be nothing more to plague her on his account.
“What has happened? Why have you not written me?” Georgiana Darcy demanded of her brother, nearly bouncing with her excitement. “Am I to have a sister?”
Darcy looked at his sister, not answering. The expression on his face conveyed the full depths of his pain, for hers instantly fell. Confusion filled her eyes, as if she could not believe any woman capable of refusing her brother. Instead, she reasoned, her brother must not have asked her. It was the only explanation her mind could accept.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
ELIZABETH’S IMPATIENCE to acquaint Jane with what had happened could no longer be overcome. At length, resolving to suppress every particular in which her sister was concerned, and preparing her to be surprised, she related to her the next morning the chief of the scene between Mr. Darcy and herself.
Jane’s astonishment was soon lessened by the strong sisterly partiality, which made any admiration of Elizabeth appear perfectly natural, and all surprise was shortly lost in other feelings. “I am sorry that Mr. Darcy delivered his sentiments in a manner so little suited to recommend them, but still more am I grieved for the unhappiness which your refusal must have given him. His being so sure of succeeding was wrong, and certainly ought to have been better concealed, but consider how much it must increase his disappointment.”
“Indeed,” replied Elizabeth. “I am heartily sorry for him, but he has other feelings, which will probably soon drive away his regard for me. You do not blame me, however, for refusing him?”
Pride and Prejudice (The Wild and Wanton Edition) Page 25