“You cannot deny you want to be with me,” he insisted.
It was unanswerable, so she avoided the point. “Passion is a poor predictor of felicity—I must listen to my rationality,” she said. “Kisses are simple. Life is not.”
“No, life is not simple, but that is no reason to let past errors dictate future mistakes! I have considered it time and again, and each time the answer is the same—having you is worth far more than any potential loss from social consequences.”
“So it seems now,” she said tiredly, removing his hands from her waist and stepping away. She hated this conflict between them. “It may seem very different in a year or two.”
He looked at her with distress in his eyes. “Do you really distrust me as much as that?”
“If you call it distrust of you to fear the impact of society’s judgement and past sins coming back to haunt me, then yes,” she said in deep frustration. She wanted only his love, his embraces, and his kisses, yet all she could do was quarrel with him.
Their eyes battled, then he gave a sigh of defeat, and held his arms open to her. She did not even stop to think before she went into them, laying her head upon his shoulder and taking the momentary comfort she could in his embrace.
“Can you give me something—anything?” he asked quietly, his voice ragged.
So this is heartbreak, she thought. She looked up at him and said gently, “We both want the same things, my dear—we disagree only as to whether they are possible.” She could feel his chest rising and falling with each breath.
An edge of determination entered his voice. “I am still resolved, you know.”
She could not help laughing. “I would be a fool to think otherwise,” she said ruefully.
They heard the voices of Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam approaching, and sprang apart guiltily; but Darcy’s eyes continued to assure Elizabeth that he was far from giving up.
***
Darcy was not slow to recognize the error he had made by pressing Elizabeth too hard. He determined that his best strategy lay in wearing down her resistance, and realized one of his strongest weapons lay in the pleasure he could give her by touching her. She could refuse him with words and looks, but when he kissed her, the truth of her feelings seemed inevitably to come out. He could not change her mind, but perhaps with enough time and enough familiarity with him, she would change it for herself.
Having determined there was no reason to deny himself, especially since he had every intention of marrying her, he seized every opportunity to steal kisses from her, and when this was not possible, at least to find a way to unobtrusively touch the back of her hand. He did not raise the subject of marriage again, concentrating as much as possible on being agreeable to Elizabeth. He was civil when her family called at Netherfield, even to Mrs. Bennet, whose appearance inevitably led to a rapid disappearance on the part of her second daughter. Once he was even fortunate enough to discover Elizabeth during one of these times of flight, and was able to offer her the solace of his embrace. He was encouraged that she no longer fought off his comfort in times of distress, and pleased he could give it to her.
Elizabeth would not have disagreed with his assessment that her resistance was weakening. Although she made every effort to disguise it, her resolve seemed to flag each time they were together. Her strongest defense came from knowing she would leave soon, and so need not resist long. But as the days passed without a response from her aunt, she began to worry.
Finally a letter came, but not with an answer to satisfy her. Mrs. Gardiner was very apologetic, but confessed it was not the best time for a visit; her brother and his family were staying with them for a time, and the house on Gracechurch Street was not large. She suggested perhaps Elizabeth might come to them in the autumn, if that were convenient for her.
Elizabeth was taken aback by this; it had not occurred to her that her request might be denied. As she considered it further, though, she came to the guilty realization that a great deal had already been asked of the Gardiners in terms of care for wayward nieces. First Jane had spent months with them the previous winter, pining over the loss of Mr. Bingley, then they were forced to deal with the vexation and very real financial stresses of Lydia’s elopement and wedding. By the time they had taken in Elizabeth, fleeing from the effects of her broken engagement, and apparently grieving over it, they must have already been feeling the stress, although they never let it be known, any more that they had admitted to laying out money to bring about Lydia’s wedding. With four young children of their own, they could not have avoided feeling the burden.
In a paroxysm of guilt, Elizabeth immediately wrote back to Mrs. Gardiner, making light of her own request and thanking her for all she had already done. She painted as rosy a picture of her life with the Bingleys as she dared, and sent it off, hoping for the best.
This left her, however, in a position of having nowhere to go. She considered her other alternatives—Longbourn hardly seemed a viable option, and Darcy would not let three miles stop him in any case. She even debated the possibility of writing to Charlotte, but the words of the condemning letter Mr. Collins had sent Mr. Bennet on the occasion of the ending of her engagement still remained fresh in her mind. No, she would not be welcome at Hunsford for quite some time, if ever.
Finally, with resignation, she accepted that she had no choice but to stay and somehow manage to deal with Darcy. She had no answers as to how she might do this; none but the treacherous one which drew her more each day she spent in his company. She had by this time given up any pretense that she was not hoping for more of his kisses, and it went hard with her because she felt the fundamental hypocrisy of her position, and was disturbed to acknowledge her own weakness.
Her distraction was evident the rest of the day. Darcy was solicitous, going so far as to ask if she had received any distressing news. Lacking time alone with her, though, he could not discover anything.
By the next morning, Elizabeth had resolved to put the best face on her disappointment. She determined that she could only proceed one day at a time, and fretting about the future benefited her not at all. Her improved spirits were apparent, and she had lively discourse with the others at breakfast.
Later that day, Darcy returned from a ride to discover her playing and singing for a clearly enchanted Colonel Fitzwilliam. Darcy’s usual pleasure in Elizabeth’s performance was muted by his unhappiness over discovering this tête-à-tête, and he took a moment to school himself into calm before entering. Just then he heard Elizabeth’s delighted laughter ringing out in response to some comment his cousin had made.
Without further consideration, he walked in wearing a cold look Elizabeth remembered well from his first visit to Hertfordshire. She raised an eyebrow, then turned to Colonel Fitzwilliam and said with a conspiratorial air, “Mr. Darcy looks quite fierce today—I hope we are not in his bad books!”
Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed and leaned closer to her. “Have no fear, Miss Bennet; he is never so fierce as he looks when the mood is upon him, but soon he will deign to smile on us mere mortals again.”
Darcy, who would have cheerfully strangled his cousin at that moment, only scowled more fiercely. Elizabeth, perceiving that he was in truth offended, but not knowing why, said with concern, “Come, Mr. Darcy, will you not join us? Your cousin has been quite negligent in failing to select a new piece for me to play; perhaps you can do better.”
“Nonsense, Darcy, it is my choice!” cried the colonel gaily as Darcy silently moved to the stack of music by the pianoforte.
Darcy’s temper, already strained by the long days of uncertainty over Elizabeth and concern over the meaning of her withdrawn mood the previous day, reached the breaking point. “No, the lady says the choice is mine,” he said with an edge to his voice, and deliberately placed his hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder, encompassing both the top of her sleeve and the exposed skin above it.
She looked up at him in embarrassed surprise at this flagrant and uncharacteristic breach of propriety, but his attention was apparently on the music he was rifling through with his free hand. He chose a piece and placed it on the stand in front of her, directing a challenging look to his cousin as he did so. He then finally glanced down at Elizabeth’s frowning visage. As if suddenly realizing what he was doing, he tightened his hand on her shoulder momentarily before releasing her.
Elizabeth was far too mortified to even look at Colonel Fitzwilliam. She could only imagine what he must be thinking of her, but between the grim look on Darcy’s face and her natural disinclination to draw any more attention to his lapse, she saw no better course than to begin playing as if nothing had happened. She was nonetheless roused to silent resentment by his action, and when Colonel Fitzwilliam politely excused himself after her performance had ended, she turned on Darcy with anger.
“What, pray tell, was that show about? Or dare I guess that, having lost patience with my refusals, you have decided to embarrass me into marrying you?” she demanded indignantly.
Darcy, having already had some minutes to regain his temper and to recognize that he had made a gross error of judgement, did not hesitate to self-criticize, both out of native honesty and a desire to limit the repercussions of his behaviour. “You are quite right,” he said penitently. “I had no business behaving in such a manner.”
“I know you had no business—I am looking, sir, for an explanation!” she cried.
Darcy schooled himself to patience despite a desire to respond as vehemently. “I have no explanation, only a poor excuse—it is hard for me not to feel angry when my cousin flirts so openly with you.”
“So you decided to demonstrate to him that I belong to you?” she asked acidly.
“I did not decide anything; my temper got the better of me, for which I apologize. I must remind you, however, that you have left me with little recourse, since you will not grant me the right to say anything to him!” said Darcy, his own irritation rising in response to her challenge. “And I cannot say I saw you doing anything to prevent his attentions.”
Elizabeth grew white. “I suppose I can blame no one but myself if, after having seen my hypocrisy in accepting your kisses while refusing your suit, you should think I would be hypocritical enough to accept another man’s attentions at the same time as well,” she said icily, her feelings truly wounded. “Perhaps this will inspire me to overcome that fault. But in the meantime, I fail to see why you could not simply have told him at some private moment that you have intentions towards me, instead of this!”
“I had been of the opinion you wanted no one to know of my intentions,” he retorted heatedly.
Elizabeth looked upwards, her foot tapping as she reminded herself unsuccessfully to have patience. “I would imagine Colonel Fitzwilliam would be able to keep the matter in confidence, would you not?” The humour of the situation suddenly became apparent to her, that she should be advising him to tell anyone at all of his interest in her, after having gone to such lengths to disguise it. “Or,” she said slyly, “you could simply have told him we have a peculiar understanding that involves stealing kisses in deserted corners, and that you let the tigers feed on any man who dares to flirt with me.”
Darcy did not know what to make of this sudden shift in her temper, and did not dare touch her for fear that he would be unable to stop in his present frame of mind. He sank down onto a sofa in deep frustration. Finally he said tiredly, “I am sorry, though you may not credit it. I am sorry to be so possessive when I have no right, and I certainly do not suspect you of any interest in other men. It is just this impossible situation where we can neither be together nor apart—and are we still to be stealing kisses in corners when I happen to visit Bingley ten years from now? Are we never to know the happiness of union between us?”
She could not bear the bitter discouragement in his voice. Sitting beside him, she impulsively put her arms around him. He rested his head against hers, accepting her comfort as she stroked his hair, and wishing this could be real and she would always be there for him.
Elizabeth could not decide what she should say—it seemed as if anything she could say to lessen his distress would also be encouraging him. Finally, feeling as if she must say something, she said, “I wish I had an answer, for both our sakes. I only wish for you to be happy, and I know that I am making you unhappy. I wish there were anything I could do to make this easier, but if there is, I do not know what it is.” She kissed his cheek as it lay near her mouth, more for reassurance than anything else.
“You could tell me you love me.” His voice was muffled.
She took in a sharp breath. “Surely you know that already,” she replied, feeling as if even this was more than she was ready to put into words. She was so vulnerable to him already; speaking of her feelings would only make her more so.
Although he said, “Yes, I do,” she could feel his disappointment in the tension of his body.
It seemed that his distress made her vulnerable as well. “I do—I do love you,” she said impulsively, wanting to ease his pain.
“Oh, Elizabeth,” he whispered, gathering her closer to him. “Thank you, my best beloved.” His mouth sought out hers, immediately causing a stirring within her as she gave herself over to him. As the familiar waves of desire pulsated within her, she could only think of how much she wanted to be his. She only hoped he would not press her on marriage again now, since she did not know that she could resist him at this moment.
His hand travelled down to explore the curves of her body, leaving trails of fire in its wake. She arched herself against him as her body demanded even more intimacy. His kisses seemed to be drawing her most inner self out, marking her as his forever.
Despite the danger, Darcy let his hands continue to claim her in a way he never had before, stroking and caressing her back, her arms, and going so far as to travel over her outer thigh. He could feel her surrender, and only prayed he would have the strength not to take advantage of it. “My dearest love,” he murmured in her ear as he trailed kisses along her face and neck, “if you cannot accept me, at least tell me you will never send me away.”
His words cut through the cloud of desire and longing that enshrouded Elizabeth, bringing her back to reality painfully quickly. She struggled to regain control of herself, even while her body was trembling with need Darcy was all too happy to continue to fulfill. Finally, to be able to think clearly enough to respond, she caught his hands to prevent their roaming. “I cannot promise that, my love,” she said, the need to say it paining her as much as she knew the hearing of it would hurt him. “There may come a time when I must do so.”
Darcy stilled at her words, his face still buried in her neck. He understood immediately what she meant, and that it was a direct result of how far the passion flaring between them had taken them. He was probably fortunate she had stopped what was between them—he had been at the edge of losing control of himself, and he did not want her ever to know that side of him. What an untenable condition they were in, where each needed the physical reassurance of the other’s touch, and desired the natural progression from it enough not to struggle against it, yet knew if it went too far, they would have to separate! He wondered if she had any idea how very badly he wanted her, and what it was costing him to stop at kisses when he suspected she would not demur should he go further. But being able to touch her, even with these limits, and to feel her response, afforded him a release and a reassurance he sadly needed, and he was determined to learn to live within whatever limits she set.
He lifted his face so their eyes met and she could see his acceptance. “I understand,” he said evenly. “Forgive me, I should not have asked it.”
She bit the corner of her lip. If she had any idea how that little gesture impacts upon me, she would never do it again! he thought with rueful humour, considering the irony of the situat
ion. Seeing her continued uncertainty, though, he added, “I hope you will always tell me when I ask too much of you.”
He seemed to have succeeded in his effort to reassure her, for she gave a musical laugh in response. “Sir, if I always told you that, you would not have a moment’s silence. I fear it is a natural consequence for me of being in your company, at least in this regard.”
His lips twitched, acknowledging the truth of her statement. “Then perhaps it will make no difference if I ask one more thing,” he said with a teasing inflection.
She gave him a look of amused suspicion. “What is that, Mr. Darcy?”
“It is exactly that—I think we have gone somewhat beyond ‘Mr. Darcy.’ Will you not call me by my name?”
Elizabeth hesitated. In one sense, he was asking very little, but in another, it was breaching one of the last barriers which differentiated their relationship from that of a formal coupling. With a spurt of independence, she decided that he was not the only one who could make requests. “If you wish it, I will—but only if you acknowledge that I have some basis for my concern for your reputation.”
He grimaced, but not ill-humouredly. It does me no good, I suppose, to pretend there is nothing to it; it likely only makes her think I am blind to it, he thought. “Very well, I admit that there is some basis, but I think you perhaps overestimate its impact,” he said, then added more tenderly, “I do understand you are insisting upon it for my sake, though, and I only love you the more for your concern, even if I disagree with your decision.”
“It is not just for your sake, either—your sister could be affected as well. It is not long until she comes out, and what if suitors stayed away from her because of me? It is unfair, but not unrealistic,” she pointed out.
Darcy heaved a deep sigh. Shifting himself so her body rested against his chest, he said, “That is a worry unto itself. Sometimes I fear the only way Georgiana will marry is if I can find a trustworthy young man interested in her fortune and simply announce it is to happen. She will never look at a man for herself.”
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