Mr. Darcy's Undoing

by Abigail Reynolds

  “Miss Bennet,” he said gently, “I will take you home, but I would prefer to do so without this conflict between us. Can we not find some common ground?”

  She glanced up at him, the ghost of a smile appearing on her face. “I fear that would require great skill at legerdemain, Mr. Darcy.”

  He smiled back cautiously. “Let me propose this for now: I will cease pressing you on the subject of marriage, if you will not deny what there is between us.”

  She raised an eyebrow, and he was glad to see she still had enough spirit to question him. “And what will that accomplish, sir?”

  He looked at her thoughtfully. “A certain honesty, perhaps? A little peace? I am not suggesting that you need tolerate my attentions; you are welcome to slap my hand if I try to kiss you, though I cannot promise not to try.”

  To his relief, this produced a genuine smile. “I shall hold you to that, Mr. Darcy; I have never struck a gentleman, but I am a quick learner,” she teased.

  He gave her a self-deprecating smile, then barely touched his fingers to the back of her hand. “Just let me love you—you might as well give in on that, since all your best efforts have failed to stop me from doing so,” he said softly.

  “You are very persistent, I will grant you that,” she said amusedly. She could not dispute that it felt like a reprieve to return to friendlier terms with him, though she questioned her wisdom in making such an agreement. She was far too susceptible to him, especially when he leveled his rare, devastating smile at her. Still, she thought, I will never capitulate to his request for marriage, for the simple reason that it would grieve me more to see him suffer the life-long consequences of such an unfortunate union than to bear the pain of doing without him. She was sobered by a familiar constriction in her chest at the notion, but forced herself not to acknowledge the feeling, and instead to look at Darcy with a smile. “Very well, sir; I accept your terms for the present,” she said, recognizing how very much she longed to let him address her with affection as he wished.

  “Thank you; you are most generous,” said Darcy. Relieved to have won so much so easily, he decided not to press his luck any further, and slapped the reins against the horse’s back. Silence seemed safer than conversation at present, so he limited himself to occasional glances at her which conveyed his sentiments clearly. She wore a beguiling look of resigned amusement which could not help but make him smile in return.

  They arrived at Longbourn. As she went past him into the vestibule, he took the opportunity to murmur seductively in her ear, “Incidentally, Miss Bennet, you need not feel obligated to slap my hand if I try to kiss you.”

  She gave him a sidelong look. “I had never realized you were such an eternal optimist, Mr. Darcy,” she said impudently as she moved past him toward the sitting room.

  Just as she reached the door, she heard her mother’s querulous voice. “I do not know why you must vex me so, Jane! You have no pity on my poor nerves. I cannot see why you cannot have Mary or Kitty as your bridesmaid—it is still not too late. No one will pay any attention to you if Lizzy is standing up with you.”

  Elizabeth impulsively caught at Mr. Darcy’s wrist to stop him from entering. He looked at her in surprise, and she gestured with her eyes towards the sitting room. She wished he were not there to hear this, but it would be worse if they went in—her mother would only carry on even longer. Realizing she was still holding his arm, she released him embarrassedly. He responded by silently moving closer to her, as if to protect her.

  “I will not change my mind, as I have said often enough already,” they heard Jane say in a pained voice. “I have always planned to have Lizzy as my bridesmaid, and if anyone is shocked, I am sorry, but that is not my concern.”

  “I agree with Jane wholeheartedly!” said Bingley warmly.

  “She will embarrass us all, acting as if she has done nothing to be ashamed of!” cried Mrs. Bennet. “I will not have it!”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes and took a deep breath. These attacks by her mother were still painful, but at least this might convince Mr. Darcy of her earlier point. She ignored a traitorous little voice inside her which whispered that she did not want him convinced of it. She could feel Darcy’s rising tension as he listened.

  “Come, now, Mrs. Bennet, this is all settled,” said Mr. Bennet. “Besides, my dear, you will look so lovely yourself that not a soul will notice Lizzy.”

  Knowing that her father’s compliment would, as intended, cause her mother to subside, Elizabeth chose that moment to go in, smiling pleasantly for all the world as if she had not heard a word of the previous debate. Darcy followed with a more stormy expression, and merely nodded curtly to Mrs. Bennet’s effusive greeting. Remembering how civil he had been to her mother this summer, Elizabeth only hoped that her mother would think this no more than a return to his earlier proud ways. She did not dare to contemplate how much her mother could embarrass her were she to engage in words with Darcy.

  To her surprise, her father came forward and welcomed Mr. Darcy warmly, and invited both him and Mr. Bingley into the library for a drink. Of course, she thought with sudden understanding, he is trying to prevent a scene. Darcy assented courteously to the idea, with a quick glance at Elizabeth.

  Once the gentlemen had made their escape, Mrs. Bennet seemed prepared to return to her previous topic of conversation. Wanting to spare herself the discomfort of it, Elizabeth decided to retire to her room. The fire had not been laid, but it was still preferable to remaining downstairs. She wrapped herself in blankets against the chill, and had a sudden poignant memory of the warmth of Darcy’s kiss.

  ***

  Darcy felt in a daze as he drove back to Netherfield. Once he had the opportunity for quiet reflection, the shock of what had occurred began to set in. The situation had changed so drastically so quickly that it was almost impossible to grasp. He was pleased beyond measure that Elizabeth seemed willing to allow him to express his feelings, at least to a certain extent. He had trapped himself neatly, however, by agreeing not to press her about marriage—how on earth was he to win her consent if he was not to raise the issue? Well, he thought, our agreement will simply have to be renegotiated periodically, and there is no need to hurry—we could not announce an engagement for some months yet in any case. He had to acknowledge, however, that with his own longing for certainty, he wanted to have that commitment from her now.

  How quickly he had moved from giving up on her to being her determined suitor! To think that he had been suffering needlessly for months, thinking her married! He wondered why Bingley had never told him of her broken engagement, then answered that question himself. Bingley had always been a poor correspondent, and recently, no doubt owing to his preoccupation with his betrothed, his letters had deteriorated to the point of being little more than a few sentences long, and rare as well. He had no reason to suppose Darcy particularly interested in Elizabeth’s marital status in any case. Still, he could have mentioned it, and not only saved him a great deal of pain, but also prevented him from being ambushed by the unexpected news. On the other hand, he thought, there is something to be said for being ambushed. A slow smile crept over his face as he thought of their carriage ride, and the sensation of her lips against his.

  Chapter 5

  They were once more in the curricle, driving back from the church, and he was tasting her delectable lips, which were answering him with an uncertain and innocent ardor; but this time he had no intention of stopping before he had her consent. Gently, he teased her lips apart with his tongue, and felt her surprise followed by the unmistakable pressure of her response. It was just as he had always dreamed it would be—he was awakening in her a passion to match his own. And there was so much more he planned to teach her, now that she was free again, and wanted him…

  He let his fingers drift along her neck, enjoying the discovery of the smoothness of her skin. He could sense the tremors of desire in her,
and as their kiss continued to increase in intensity as she gained in confidence, he felt her delicate hands slide inside his coat. Her touch aroused him beyond anything he had ever imagined as she explored his chest until stopped by the limits of his clothing. He could tell she was aware of how much he wanted her. He moved to put his arms around her waist, not hesitating to explore the curves of her hips as he did so, and pulled her against him, her soft body yielding and molding itself to his. Ah, he had to have her; there was nothing else for it.

  His voice was hoarse as he whispered, “We cannot continue this here—let me take you back to Netherfield.”

  “Oh, yes, my love,” she replied, sprinkling his face with the lightest of kisses. “I want to be with you.”

  He felt an overwhelming surge of desire at her words, and expressed himself by a brief but thorough ravaging of her mouth. He had to be alone with her. Quickly he spurred on the horses to a brisk trot, but even then he could not wait; he laid his hand lightly upon her skirt, feeling the shape of her thigh beneath it. Her gasp of pleasure only enflamed him further, and he began to move his hand until he was stroking her leg through the fabric, moving slowly upwards and inwards until his hand rested between her legs, just below the spot he most desired. There he allowed his fingers to brush lightly against her inner thighs, hearing her rapid breathing. “You never loved him,” he said, his words a command more than a statement.

  “No,” she said breathily. “Never. Only you.”

  “There will never be anyone but me,” he said.

  Finally, they were at Netherfield, and he led her into a small sitting room with a lively blaze in its fireplace. He locked the door behind him, and hungrily drew her into his arms, taking possession once more of her mouth, drowning himself in her taste and her scent and the feeling of her willing body within his arms. She responded to his every touch, and, after he paused to strip off his coat and cravat, her hands began to explore his body with as much eagerness as his did as he discovered her hips, her waist, her breasts, and all her most sensitive places.

  “Only you,” she whispered again and again, her voice smoky with desire, as he stripped her of her clothing, feasting his eyes on her. Gently he settled her on the thick carpet in front of the fire, attending carefully to her comfort.

  Only then did he find the place meant for him from the beginning, and he thrust himself into her again and again as she clung to him with cries of pleasure, taking possession of her until he found his bliss. As he spent himself within her, he said in her ear, “You will never leave me again.”

  ***

  Darcy did not have the opportunity to see Elizabeth again until the wedding two days later. He had spent the time impatiently thinking of what to say to her, how to behave when he was with her, and wondering how she would act towards him. His concerns were not alleviated by the arrival of Bingley’s sisters. Miss Bingley, who had not seen him since the summer, was embarrassingly attentive, and his attempts to discourage her were as unsuccessful as ever.

  It was a relief when the waiting was finally over and he could be with Elizabeth again, or at least stand across the aisle from her as the marriage service was read. She kept her eyes downcast through most of it, but occasionally looked up to find his gaze upon her. Her face showed only a trace of warmth at those times. Darcy had to remind himself repeatedly of the delicacy of her situation; her behaviour needed to be above reproach, as she would be a target for many curious gazes owing to the recent gossip.

  He intended to give her no cause for concern in public; he was impeccably correct with her as they walked down the aisle together and gave their congratulations to the bride and groom. No sooner were the happy couple surrounded by family and friends, though, than Elizabeth began to sidle away. She was nearly at the edge of the churchyard before he caught up to her.

  “Miss Bennet, you are not leaving already, I hope?” he asked, wondering at her behaviour.

  “I fear that I am,” she said, but with a charming smile which eased his anxiety. “I am ready to return to Longbourn.”

  He glanced at the crowd by the church door, knowing that his place—and hers—was there. “May I have the honour of accompanying you, then?” he asked.

  With an arch look, she said, “If you wish; but it is hardly a long walk.”

  “But in the right company, even a short walk is pleasant.” They set off together, and, still curious about her decision to depart early, he asked, “Are there further preparations to be made for the wedding breakfast?”

  She shook her head. “Everything is well in hand, I believe; I simply prefer to arrive home before the guests do.” She stole a quick glance at him. “I will not be attending the breakfast—I will be remaining upstairs.”

  He looked at her in concern, and was silent for a few moments. Finally, he had to ask. “Are you attempting to avoid my company, Miss Bennet?”

  She was obviously surprised by his question. “No, indeed, sir; you are one of the very few people whom I am not attempting to avoid. You need have no concerns in that regard. I simply have no desire to attend an event at which half of the guests will be too embarrassed to speak to me, and the other half will be talking about me behind their hands, while I stand by myself pretending it does not matter.”

  “I cannot believe it will be so bad as that,” he said reassuringly.

  “You underestimate the ladies of Meryton, then.”

  “I will speak to you—and I will not leave your side if you will attend,” he offered.

  She looked down. “Thank you, sir; I appreciate your offer, but I fear it might create problems of its own. It is best that I stay away.” She paused for a moment, then decided to address directly what she imagined his true concern was. “You will have other opportunities to see me, Mr. Darcy. You may even name a time, if it would make you happier.”

  He smiled dryly. “You may find this difficult to believe, Miss Bennet, but that is not my only concern. You have done nothing you need be ashamed of; will you allow this talk to chase you away on your sister’s wedding day? That would seem to be practically an admission of guilt.”

  Her mouth set in a straight line. “Whether I have done anything to be ashamed of is a matter of opinion.” Her tone made it evident that she was among those who believed in her guilt.

  Darcy, troubled by the turn of her countenance, said, “There is no reason to feel shame for following your conscience.”

  “I am not troubled by my decision to terminate my engagement, Mr. Darcy. I cannot say the same for some of what came before. I have made misjudgements from which others have suffered, and it is not unreasonable that I should suffer for them as well.”

  “In that case, perhaps I should hide myself away as well—you know, perhaps better than any other, how grave some of my own errors have been. One of them has only been put to right today.”

  She smiled mirthlessly. “Perhaps, but you have put it to right, and our society is notoriously more lenient on gentlemen than ladies in these matters.”

  Her comment led a different matter to the forefront of his mind, and he turned a look of some intensity on her. She could feel her cheeks growing warm. His voice low, he said, “There is one matter you could put to right with no more than a word.”

  “Only if I were willing to solve one problem by creating a host of others,” she responded gently.

  He sighed. “Well, I have said I will not press you. But it does grieve me to see you hold yourself to an impossible standard. Why can you not forgive yourself, when you seem to have little difficulty in overlooking the fact that I was very nearly responsible for ruining two of your sisters’ happiness?”

  She gave him a questioning look. “Two of them?” she asked, in a voice almost teasing. “Is there something I am unaware of?”

  He flushed. “Surely it has not passed your notice—it was owing to my misguided pride that Mr. Wickham’s character was n
ot more generally known. It was my unwillingness to expose my actions to the world that allowed him to deceive your sister, and I fear she may yet suffer for it, given his character.”

  She looked at him gravely. “I can hardly blame you, sir, for doing everything you could to protect your sister’s reputation.”

  “At the expense of other people’s sisters and daughters.”

  “Well, Mr. Darcy,” she said with laughter in her voice, “I do not think I shall believe you when you tell me not to blame myself, since you do such an impressive job of taking responsibility for matters beyond your control.”

  He bowed slightly, looking amused. “Your point is well taken.”

  Elizabeth allowed a smile to play about her lips. It was odd that she seemed able to confide her feelings to Mr. Darcy when she had declined on more than one occasion to speak even to Jane on the matter. His interest and concern for her were undeniably gratifying, and she knew she could rely upon his secrecy, but she could not justify her choice. It seemed, she thought with unwonted seriousness, as if his very intentness upon her made it natural to put her confidence in him—but it was more than that as well. Even when she had disliked his manners, she had known him to be a man of profound loyalties, one who was responsible and steadfast. She bit her lip, realizing how difficult it might prove to hold herself aloof from him.

  Darcy’s thoughts had apparently been running in not dissimilar lines. “Why did you break off your engagement?” he asked in a voice that betrayed his emotion.