She looked at him in some surprise. “That was a very pretty speech, sir.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Did you think me so incapable of making one, Miss Bennet?”
Yes. “I have never heard you do so before. In fact,” she looked at him again rather pointedly, “I believe this is the longest conversation I have ever exchanged with you on any subject.”
He reddened slightly but pressed his point doggedly, thinking he saw an advantage in it. “You still have not answered my question.”
“Which one?”
“What I might have said to you in the past that you think I would be ashamed of now.”
He was hoping to show her that there had been no such speech, but she only smiled rather slyly and replied, “Very well, if you wish I will concede that there is no comment you have ever made to me which I would expect you to regret.”
This speech seemed to be filled with subtle double meanings, and he frowned. “I do not take your point.”
“Well, sir, to be quite truthful, there is only one quotation currently in my arsenal, and it was not strictly spoken to me.”
“What is it?”
She shook her head mischievously, rather enjoying her ability to bait him. “I must reserve it for a special occasion in which I feel the need to gain advantage over you.”
He stilled her with a hand on her wrist. “Does that mean you anticipate there being many occasions to come?” At her discomposed look he knew she had simply been carried away by her teasing and let her go. “I think you hold a very great advantage over me already, Miss Bennet. You shall not need your quote.”
She eyed him thoughtfully. “Do you really wish to hear it?”
“By all means. I cannot imagine I said anything I cannot defend.”
He spoke with such ineffable superiority that Elizabeth could not resist. Drawing a little nearer with the most openly flirtatious gesture she had ever made toward him, she looked upwards through her eyelashes and lowered her voice, murmuring, “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me,” then added, as his eyes widened, “and I am in no humor to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men.” Then with a last, laughing glance over her shoulder, for the third time that morning, she walked away from him.
Equal parts mortified by her words and electrified by her eyes, Darcy took longer than usual to hasten after her. He genuinely did not know what to say, especially as her reminder brought to mind other unflattering comments about her which he had early on made—none of which he would wish to come to Elizabeth’s ears.
They walked a little further, until it became necessary to turn back. Elizabeth had seemed content to let him stew in his embarrassment. Catching her casting him an amused and rather mocking glance, he sighed. “I had nearly forgotten I said that,” he confessed. “I am sorry you heard it.”
“Only sorry I heard it?”
“I am sorry I said it,” he amended. “It was a hasty and ill-judged remark.”
“True. But you need not worry. I have no great opinion of my own beauty, so I did not suffer unduly over it.”
“I have a great opinion of your beauty,” he said in a low voice, looking determinedly ahead. “It has been many months now since I could look at you without admiration.”
Such a confession could not but please its hearer, but Elizabeth decided it would be safer to return to more practical subjects. “I am afraid I must bring the conversation back to my family. I have, as you know, an uncle who resides in London. He is a merchant, and his house is in a rather unfashionable area of town. But he and his wife are truly excellent people, and I love them dearly. Not for the world would I wish to lose that connection.”
He frowned. “I wish you would not persist in imagining that I wish for you to cut any of your connections. That would be both improper and wrong. The civilities should always be observed.”
“But only the civilities, sir?” she questioned him. “Would I be allowed to suffer my relations, or be encouraged to embrace them?”
That question gave him pause. It was true that he had imagined she would withdraw from her circle into his, maintaining nominal contact with her two uncles and seeing the family at Longbourn only as often as propriety required. But she had spoken of love for her aunt and uncle, and, loving her, he could not resist such an appeal. “You shall have my blessing to spend as much time with them as you deem necessary for your happiness,” he said warmly. “Your common sense and good taste will provide all the regulation necessary.” He was rewarded by a dazzling smile, which moved him to say further, “I intend that for all of your acquaintance. I would not restrict whom you visit. As my wife you will have the freedom to choose your friends.”
This endorsement was more than Elizabeth had hoped for, especially after his comments of yesterday. He seemed truly determined to take on the trappings of her situation.
Seeing he had gained an advantage, Darcy chose to press it. “I could not be happy if you were unhappy, Miss Bennet. You must know that. I take great pleasure in caring for those I love.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
“You must also know that . . .” he knit his brows and looked down, then at her. “You will not have to worry about your mother and sisters when your father dies. I will ensure they are provided for.”
“You are very generous, sir,” she murmured. It was a question she had wished, but been hesitant, to ask.
“Whatever my past reservations may have been, once you are mine, you are mine, and I will protect you and defend you and provide for you the same as I would do for any woman who was my wife . . . and I will love you more.” He stopped then, as did she, and stood looking down into her eyes with his own dark, searching, compelling ones. “I will give you everything, Elizabeth,” he said softly. “My respect, my loyalty, my trust, my love. . . .” He reached out a sudden finger and touched her cheek in a fleeting caress. “My love, Elizabeth,” he repeated, “all the warmest and tenderest feelings I have. You will need fear nothing as my wife, neither poverty nor loneliness, dishonor, or disloyalty, unkindness, neglect . . . you will be the most cherished wife in all of England.” She felt she was drowning under the intensity of his gaze and his soft, fervent words. “But,” and now his look changed, became fiercer, more demanding, “in return I shall expect all you have to give. I can accept, though unhappily, that you cannot yet give me your heart, but you must be willing to give me everything else—your trust, your respect, your loyalty, your devotion—in its fullest measure. And what you can give of your heart you will give only to me. Do you understand?” She nodded, her eyes wide. His hand again rested ever so lightly under her chin. “If you marry me, I will not accept being second in your life to anyone but God. I want it all: your time, your attention,” his touch changed subtly to a caress, “your favors.” She blushed and dropped her eyes, but he refused to draw back. “I am not interested in a celibate marriage, Elizabeth—not with you, anyway. I am not offering an arrangement of convenience. You may not love me now, but if you are not willing to try to love me, or to be loved by me, then we may have nothing to do with each other.” He paused and drew a deep, uneven breath. “Is that clear?” Again she nodded. “Good.” He dropped her chin and stepped away. “Now we understand each other.”
Indeed, thought Elizabeth rather faintly. Indeed, and what an understanding to have!
They were already heading back; the rest of the distance was traversed in silence, both walkers lost in thought. When they came to the lane that divided Rosings Park from the parsonage grounds, Mr. Darcy halted. “Did you have any other questions for me, Miss Bennet?”
“Not as of now.”
“Do you then anticipate having more in the future?”
“Perhaps. How can I say? I have more than enough to consider as it is.”
He rubbed his forehead. “I have been thinking about your desire for time. It seems to me that it might be best if I were to leave as scheduled tomorrow, so that you will have the next week to consider with
out disturbance. You are to depart Saturday next, are you not?”
“Yes. We will spend a week or so in London at my uncle’s house before returning.”
“How will you travel?”
“By post. My uncle is sending a servant to accompany us.”
He frowned but only said, “If I call on you in London, that Monday, do you think you will have an answer for me?”
“I will try.”
“Where does your uncle live?”
“On Gracechurch Street. His name is Gardiner.”
“I will come to see you then. I hope—” He bit his lip and looked away, and then back again, “I pray that you will be able to answer me as I wish.”
Elizabeth had no reply to that. Instead she said, “I am grateful for your patience, Mr. Darcy.”
He gave her a twisted smile. “I do not have much choice, do I? If I am willing to brave indignant relatives to have you, I should certainly be willing to wait a few days.” Seeing her look away, he touched her arm. “I commend you for your care. Not many women would behave so.”
A tart answer was rising on her tongue; she thought it best to leave before she said something which could destroy their fragile understanding. “I must return to the parsonage now, Mr. Darcy, or my friend will begin to worry.”
“Of course. The colonel and I will come by later to make our formal good-byes. But now—” he possessed himself of her hand and kissed it quickly. “Until next week, Miss Bennet.”
She gave him a hasty curtsy. “Good-bye, Mr. Darcy.” He watched her walk away until she disappeared from view through the parsonage gate.
True to his word, both of the gentlemen from Rosings made an appearance at the parsonage not too much later that morning. Mr. Darcy stayed only for a few minutes, and if there was any change in his demeanor, only Elizabeth was conscious of it. Colonel Fitzwilliam stayed much longer, obviously sorry to bid the pretty Miss Bennet good-bye. Elizabeth did her best by him, but all her thoughts were on his taciturn cousin. The colonel was forgotten almost before he shut the door behind him; she could think only of Mr. Darcy.
Chapter Two
Mrs. Collins could not but note her friend’s quietness and distraction during the last week of her visit. She wondered if it was related to the gentlemen’s departure; perhaps Lizzy had become more attached to Colonel Fitzwilliam than she would admit. But when bringing up his name failed to produce any particular response from her, while the words Mr. Darcy instantly caused a blush, her suspicions turned in another direction. She pursed her lips and looked at her friend speculatively.
“Lady Catherine seems to think that Mr. Darcy will offer for Miss de Bourgh soon.”
“Does she?” She had regained her composure now and even looked a little amused.
“You can hardly blame her for wishing a good marriage for her daughter, Lizzy. It’s what your mother wants for you.”
“Oh yes! It just seems too bad for Miss de Bourgh that she is not offered a choice in husbands. Any young woman with so handsome a dowry should at least be offered a choice; if she is going to purchase a young man, she should be able to purchase one to her liking, don’t you think?”
“Lizzy! You know very well that Miss de Bourgh’s health is not good; she is not able to move in society. Mr. Darcy would make her a very good husband.”
“Perhaps, but I rather question if she would make him a good wife.”
Elizabeth had a slight, knowing smile on her face as she said that last, and Charlotte’s curiosity increased twofold. “You say that as if you know something, Lizzy.”
“What should I know, oh Charlotte?”
“Something about Mr. Darcy. Has your opinion of him improved?”
“What, just because I question if he wishes to marry his cousin? You observed his indifference to her, I am sure!”
“Yes . . . but it would be a very good match for both of them, and if Lady Catherine is to be believed, he does have a strong sense of familial duty.”
“Mr. Darcy,” replied Elizabeth rather tartly, surveying her needlework, “is quite rich enough to suit no one but himself when he marries, and I fail to see why family duty should prevail upon him to attach himself to a woman he has no inclination for and nothing in common with but lineage and wealth! Miss de Bourgh does not need to marry either, unless she wishes; why should they spend their lives bound together in mutual unhappiness, just so that their estates may be likewise bound?”
“I believe Lady Catherine genuinely loves and trusts her nephew.”
“I wonder how much she would love him if he went against her wishes. What if Mr. Darcy were to become engaged to someone else entirely? Do you think she would depend upon his judgment and praise his opinions so much?”
“I think she would be very sorry to be estranged from him.”
“But would her sorrow overcome her disappointment?”
“Why should you be concerned, Lizzy? Has Mr. Darcy made you an offer of marriage?” Charlotte asked it humorously, wanting only to see her friend’s reaction.
Elizabeth gasped slightly, and the treacherous color rushed to her cheeks, but she played it off with a laugh. “I am not concerned at all, Charlotte!” she proclaimed with perfect truth. “If Mr. Darcy wishes to marry his cousin, he may do so with my blessing!” But she knew Charlotte’s eyes were still on her face.
“I still think you could have caught him if you had wished to, you know.”
“Caught him?” Elizabeth jabbed her needle into the cloth roughly. “I have no desire to catch Mr. Darcy, Charlotte.”
“You are letting his initial slight prejudice you, Lizzy. Mr. Darcy has much to recommend him as a husband.”
“Yes, ten thousand a year and an estate in Derbyshire.” She felt ashamed as soon as she said it, both because it was unfair and because she was deliberately deceiving her friend. It passed her mind fleetingly that she was glad Mr. Darcy had not overheard her as she had overheard him when he chose to speak slightingly of her. She was sure her words would have hurt him exceedingly and vowed to be more careful in her speech. Whatever happened, she must give up her habit of criticizing Mr. Darcy. For her to continue that now would be a far greater unkindness than any he had done her.
Mrs. Collins, for her part, had seen much to interest, but she could not believe that Eliza had actually received a proposal of marriage, for it admitted of not a doubt in her mind that even her prejudiced friend would not turn down a proposal so very favorable.
About three days later, Elizabeth said out of the blue one afternoon as the three women were sitting around the parlor, sipping tea and staring out of windows, “Charlotte, what is your opinion of Mr. Wickham?”
“Mr. Wickham?”
“Yes, what is your opinion of him?”
She looked her friend over. “You never needed to ask my opinion of him before. You were quite confident in your own opinion.”
“Yes, but I—I have been thinking about him, and I wish to hear your opinion now. What was your impression of him when he first came to Meryton?”
An opportunity to give advice like this to Lizzy did not often come along for Charlotte. She thought carefully before replying, “I think Mr. Wickham is a very pleasant and agreeable man, but he did not strike me as being very steady.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “Steady? What do you mean?”
“Dependable and constant.”
“You do not think Mr. Wickham is dependable?”
“Very charming young men often are not,” she said seriously. “They find they can earn by charm what other men must earn by hard work. Mr. Wickham seemed that type to me. After all, he was just entering the militia at a time in life when most men are well established in a profession already.”
“That is because he thought he would enter the church, until Mr. Darcy refused him that living.”
“But that was some years ago, wasn’t it? He seems to have a good education; I am sure he could have found a more profitable line of work than a militia officer if
he had wished. And while everyone in Hertfordshire liked him, no one had actually known him very long. I know he was a great friend of yours, Lizzy. Mama wrote me that he paid you more attention than any other woman until Miss King inherited her fortune, and then he courted her.”
“Handsome young men must have something to live on as well as plain ones,” retorted Elizabeth automatically.
If Charlotte was surprised at this sudden defense of practical marriages, she did not say so but only went on in her thoughtful way, “Did you know Miss King has been sent to live with her uncle? The gossip is that it was to separate her from Mr. Wickham.”
Elizabeth frowned. “You should not listen to gossip, Charlotte.”
“I don’t, but it goes to illustrate my point. Mr. Wickham is very amiable and makes friends easily, but I do not think he’ll ever amount to much, Lizzy.”
Uneasily did Elizabeth remember Mr. Darcy’s words to her at the Netherfield ball: Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends—whether he may be equally capable of retaining them is another matter. “He does not lack abilities,” she said doubtfully.
“No, but he does lack application, I imagine, or that kind of consistency which leads a man to retain the same friends or occupation throughout his life.”
“And this is your honest opinion of him? I wonder you did not say so to me at the time.”
Charlotte shrugged. “Would you have listened if I had? You have always been very certain of your own mind, Lizzy. I am only amazed that you feel any doubt now.”
Mrs. Collins was right. Elizabeth, usually so swift in her judgment and proud of her perceptiveness, was experiencing an unusual crisis of confidence. Mr. Darcy’s proposal had thrown some of her most firmly held opinions into disarray, and then what she saw on their walk intrigued her—attracted her in a way. She was both repelled and drawn. Could she love him? She had no idea. She had no idea of anything anymore—what she thought of him, what she thought of Mr. Wickham’s story, or of Mr. Wickham himself. She had parted from that gentleman on the friendliest possible terms and always thought of him with fondness and easy admiration. She remembered the certainty she had felt that his story was true but could no longer feel it, yet without having any reason to doubt it but her changed perceptions of Mr. Darcy.
Unequal Affections: A Pride and Prejudice Retelling Page 3