Unequal Affections: A Pride and Prejudice Retelling

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Unequal Affections: A Pride and Prejudice Retelling Page 10

by Ormiston, Lara S.


  She was obliged to smile at that, and attempting to lighten the mood, she said archly, “With such pretty compliments as that, Mr. Darcy, you will not find it easy to stay in my black books.”

  “I have no desire to stay there.” He closed the distance between them and reclaimed her hand in both of his. “Shall I continue to give you compliments?” he asked as he pressed a kiss on her fingers. But as usual, she shied away from extensive expressions of his admiration.

  “By no means. I shall become quite insufferable soon. Besides, I believe it is time to rejoin the others.”

  But he would not let her go yet. “Elizabeth,” he said, “you must know how beautiful you are to me! I have known a great many handsome women, but I prefer you to any of them.”

  At that she looked up, a twinkle in her eyes. “I am so glad that you prefer me to handsome women,” she said teasingly.

  For the first time she had ever known him to do so, he rolled his eyes. Elizabeth burst out laughing, and he soon followed with his quiet chuckle. “Did I not say that your propensity is to willfully misunderstand?” he retorted.

  “Indeed you did. What a relief that such a tendency does not come as a shock to you! Come.” She turned to lead the way out of the room. “My aunt will be wondering what has become of us.” He laced his fingers with hers and followed without protest.

  Chapter Six

  It was Thursday already when the ladies called on Miss Darcy. Their last few days in London passed by quickly. Darcy refused to haunt the house like a smitten school boy and, in any case, he had a great deal of work to do if he did not want to return to London again soon. He met with his solicitor a few times to discuss the details of the marriage settlements he intended to make on Elizabeth. Other matters, dealing with investments, charities, and properties he owned around the country, also had to be dealt with extensively. Despite this, he called on both Friday and Saturday with his sister and an offer to take the young ladies to Hyde Park for a better walk than the city streets afforded. Of course such an offer could not be declined.

  So there they were, promenading in the park just like a proper fashionable couple. It was not precisely the fashionable hour, but a good number of people were out, some of whom smiled and exchanged nods with Mr. Darcy. Behind them Jane and Georgiana followed at a short but discreet distance.

  Mr. Darcy was not saying much; glancing at his face, Elizabeth saw an expression similar to the one he had always had during their walks through the grove at Rosings. She wondered at its meaning; obviously, he was not, after all, silent because he disliked her. Well, if she was to marry such a laconic man, she must learn to draw him out. “You are very silent, sir,” she observed.

  He gave her a flickering smile. “I see no need to always disturb a pleasant silence with pointless chatter.”

  She felt inclined to laugh; how entirely they had misread each other! And how insultingly she would have taken such a remark in the past. Her hackles still raised reflexively, but she could recognize now that he did not intend it so. For all that Mr. Darcy might consider carefully the meaning of his words, she reflected, he did not much consider the effect of them. Seeing an inquiring look, she said, “Are you so very certain that the silence is always pleasant to your companion, or the chatter so meaningless?”

  His brows rose. “Surely you are not offended?”

  “By no means. I only wish to suggest that polite conversation is for the benefit of others, not only oneself. We talk, we ask questions, we exchange ‘chatter’ that may appear to be meaningless, but which in truth communicates our concern, our desire to set others at ease.”

  “But do not you think true concern is far better than only polite concern? Or that those who care the most may not find shallow civilities sufficient to express their feelings, while those who appear equally interested in everyone may, in fact, not be truly interested in anyone?”

  “You speak as if the two were mutually exclusive—that universal politeness and particular affection cannot reside in the same person.”

  “I did not say so. I know of very few individuals who do possess both qualities, but it is possible. What I wish to argue is that the readiness with which a person makes small talk is no indicator of his depth of feeling.” He looked at her significantly.

  “Neither do I speak of depth of feeling,” she replied with a light blush. “What I speak of is Christian charity in its most basic form: a concern for the feelings of others.”

  He frowned. “I have never connected the idea of charity—which I believe I practice as much as any man—with the exchange of empty civilities between two mutually indifferent acquaintances.”

  “And I fail to see how you can expect indifferent acquaintances to ever become anything else if you will not take the trouble of talking to them. How is one to know who is worth knowing and who is not if not through conversation?”

  “By observation.”

  She blinked. So that was what he had been doing to her? Determining if she were worth knowing? She smiled archly to cover her annoyance. “By observing their conversations with others you mean. It is fortunate for you, Mr. Darcy, that not everyone is so reluctant to talk, or else you would find yourself with a sad lack of information about your fellow man.”

  “You are severe.” He was smiling; she could tell that he was not nearly so ruffled by this exchange as she was. Neither was he understanding her point.

  “Do you not agree, sir, that the exchange of empty civilities between indifferent acquaintances is necessary to keep our society functioning? Where would we be if we all ignored and slighted each other at will?”

  Again her arrow failed to pierce its intended target. “Where indeed? But between people who are not indifferent acquaintances, is the situation not changed? Where there is understanding between two superior minds, such contrivances are not necessary.” He caressed her gloved hand and raised it toward his lips. “Come, you wish me to admit that you are one of those few who combine an ability to converse with anyone with real sincerity. It is true; I have long observed it.”

  Annoyed, she almost jerked away from him but managed to control herself. “You are mistaken if you think I was contriving for a compliment. Nor is that true of me. My sister Jane is a much more fit recipient for such praise.” She looked straight ahead. “I’m polite to people I dislike all the time.”

  A puzzled look appeared in his eyes; the silence that followed was truly awkward. Darcy was wondering if he had somehow offended her and how. The line I’m polite to people I dislike all the time disquieted him; he felt there was something in her meaning he was missing.

  When it became clear that, once again, she would be responsible for forwarding the conversation, and when her own discomfort in the silence grew more than she could bear, Elizabeth searched her mind for some topic that would be less fraught with danger. “Tell me about Pemberley.”

  It worked immediately; his face lightened, and he began to talk about his home. As she listened, Elizabeth felt her own tension lessen too. What impressed her was that he described it not in terms of its size or wealth but its beauty. “The house was built by my grandfather,” he said, “and the current furnishings mostly chosen by my mother, excepting older pieces that have a historical value. My opinion is a partial one, but I have never seen another house I like better.”

  “It is very proper that you should love your home.”

  “I hope you will come to love it as well, Elizabeth,” he replied. “Pemberley has been without a mistress for many years now. I did not feel the lack until recently, but I believe my staff there will be very pleased to hear that I have decided to marry.”

  “I hope I may prove to be a good mistress.”

  “I am sure you shall,” he said with a smile. “Although you were not raised to it, you have intelligence and energy. My housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, will be happy to teach you whatever you need to know.”

  Elizabeth was not brought up on a grand estate, it was true, but her mother had ma
de sure all her daughters knew what it took to run a household, and Darcy’s tone offended her. “Are you sure that I shall not be overwhelmed by the enormity of such a task?”

  She intended to be sarcastic, but he only looked surprised. “I should not think so. In any case, I want a wife, not a housekeeper; I already have two very good ones. Although I hope you will take an active interest in our tenants, you need not take over any household duties you do not want; I shall not compel you.”

  She rather wanted to laugh with frustration that he continued to misunderstand her, but it was clear that this line of conversation too was not going to accomplish anything. “I have every desire to act as I ought,” she assured him.

  Despite such frustrations, she was surprised over those few days to discover just how pleasant a companion he could be. He truly was a man of information; if she had thought his cousin well-informed, she found he was much more so. Elizabeth had always enjoyed learning, and she set out to pick his mind. Darcy was surprised at her persistence in questioning him, but he was always happy to answer her. He found he enjoyed discoursing to her bright eyes and was quietly flattered, in a way no woman had ever flattered him before. Their satisfaction in each other’s company grew. Elizabeth liked this more lighthearted Mr. Darcy. He was never boisterous, never even truly gregarious, but he talked with earnest intelligence on any subject she raised and often smiled his quiet, amused smile at her curiosity.

  They disagreed in their opinions at times, and even debated quite hotly, but Elizabeth was learning that her refusal to agree with him pleased Darcy rather than otherwise and that by arguing with her he was not insulting her but paying her intelligence a compliment. There were times when his attitudes irritated her, but on the whole he was remarkably liberal minded. She would not have expected the great and proud Mr. Darcy to hold such advanced opinions on politics and education as he did. Her prospects for future felicity seemed to be increasing.

  For Darcy, these doses of Elizabeth’s conversation and smiles and musical laugh were heady stuff. He felt a little light-headed when leaving her presence at times, amazed at his own susceptibility. He was elated, infatuated, deeply satisfied in the decision he had made. It had obviously been folly on his part to ever contemplate foregoing her.

  On Friday evening the party from Gracechurch Street dined at the Darcys’ town house. It was undoubtedly the first time anyone of such lowly status as her aunt and uncle had been given such an honor, thought Elizabeth, but the fact that it had been given did mean something to her. Then at last Darcy was able to take her about the house. Walking from one room to the next on his arm, she felt a little overwhelmed by so much finery. It was not that it was in any way ostentatious—Darcy clearly had not his aunt’s taste for display—but the quality of it all—the furniture, the fabrics, the paintings—was so far superior to what they had been used to at Longbourn that she could hardly believe that this was to be her home. And not even her primary home!

  She felt Darcy’s eyes on her at one point. “Does it please you?” he asked softly.

  She nodded almost imperceptibly. “Of course.”

  “You will be free to make changes.”

  “That hardly seems necessary. Perhaps it is further proof of my lack of accomplishments, but I must confess that I have never spent any time imagining how I might decorate a house if I had one. I think I may need to live here for a time before I can form any opinions.”

  “Whatever you wish. You must not think that I expect you to do more than you desire to do, but it will be within your province.”

  “I understand.”

  “Speaking of changes . . . ” He slowed his step and lowered his voice slightly. The others, who were walking in a group just ahead of them, moved into the next room. “If you would like to visit the mistress’s chambers, Georgiana will take you. If you see anything there you want changed, write the instructions, and I will send them to my housekeeper once our engagement is formalized.”

  She nodded slightly.

  “Truly, Elizabeth, you must not feel shy about it,” he urged with uncharacteristic insight. “I would take pleasure in the knowledge that you had your rooms redone to suit you. I wish you to be happy here.”

  “And do you think my happiness depends on the wall hangings, sir?”

  “No,” he replied seriously, “your happiness, I hope, will depend on me. I am glad that you are not the kind of woman who sets great stock in possessions and appearances, but the fact remains that my wife has the right to command every luxury.”

  How could she tell him how uncomfortable the thought of such luxury made her? She sought for some reply to make but could find none. Darcy, seeing her silence, proceeded on to another question. “May I ask if you have written to your family about our engagement?”

  Elizabeth blushed self-consciously. “No. Since it is so short a time until I go home, I thought it best to wait and speak to them in person.”

  “And you return to Longbourn on Tuesday?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  He frowned slightly. “Can you delay until Wednesday? I have discovered that my business will keep me until then.”

  “I . . . the arrangements are all made. And I cannot help but think . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “I cannot help but think that it might be better if you did not accompany us on the journey.”

  His frowned darkened; he seemed offended. “Why on earth not?”

  “It is just that . . . they would be so very surprised to see you with us. It would require an immediate explanation.”

  “But of course. My whole purpose in accompanying you would be to explain myself to your father and obtain his permission.”

  Elizabeth bit her lip, wondering how she could justify her reasoning without offending him further. “You must understand, sir, that I and my father are very close; I am his favorite daughter. It is bad enough that I have been gone from home for so many weeks, without his being confronted, at the very moment of my return, with a request for my hand from a man who he had no idea was even a suitor.”

  “You do not imagine he will object?” His faint, incredulous smile told her how unlikely he thought that scenario.

  “Not if he knows it is what I want,” she replied with what patience she could muster. “Which is why I would wish for the chance to speak to him about it first, if you would allow it.”

  He had his old Mr. Darcy look back; she knew it was inspired by displeasure. She had contested his plans and implied that his suit might not be welcome. Her old annoyance was rising again, but she knew very well that her speaking frankly to him now could result in disaster. So she placed a hand on his arm instead. “Please understand,” she pleaded softly.

  Her touch had such a powerful effect on him; she had observed it often already, and now again he relaxed visibly. His hand covered hers immediately; more, he intertwined his fingers with hers. “If it is what you wish, I cannot deny you,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  His eyes dropped to her lips; she thought he was debating with himself whether to act on his obvious impulse. His other hand came up, and he touched her mouth softly. Elizabeth felt a sudden unexpected impulse to kiss his fingers, but a lifetime’s habit of modesty is not easily overcome, so she dropped her eyes instead and waited for him to act.

  At that moment Mrs. Gardiner reappeared in the doorway, and with obvious reluctance he let her go.

  It seemed to Elizabeth that he was intent on taking small liberties, forbearing to kiss her again, whether in deference to her feelings or propriety she did not know. But he nearly always touched her in some way when he could, especially if they were ever alone. It was like he could not quite help himself; of its own accord his hand went out and grasped hers, or touched her face, slid lightly along her arm, even brushed her hair. She found herself surprisingly comfortable with these gestures and never drew back, although she had yet to initiate anything more daring than taking his arm. She had also had to learn, agai
n, to be used to his gaze on her. He had always looked at her a great deal, but she had never thought much of it before. Now she could feel his eyes as an almost tangible presence as she spoke, played, or moved around a room. It was rare for her to look up and not find him watching her, and she wondered what went on beneath his carefully composed exterior. She seemed to catch glimpses, at times: when his eyes closed as he kissed her hands, when his voice thickened and became changed by emotion. Such moments always had the effect of discomposing her slightly; it seemed almost wrong that she could not love him back.

  The meal that followed was pleasant. In the Darcys’ handsome dining room, with immaculate footmen waiting on them and only congenial company, it was easy, for an hour, to forget about Bingleys and Wickhams, earls and matchmaking mothers. Darcy, although far from ebullient, was a very civil host. Georgiana was a very bashful hostess, and it was clear that she would surrender her place to Elizabeth with relief rather than resentment, but she was ladylike and graceful. Sitting to Darcy’s right, Elizabeth for the first time could see a clear and pleasant future before her. If she could spend many evenings this way, marriage to Darcy might prove very agreeable indeed.

  Afterwards, the ladies went up to the mistress’s chambers. Although not decorated in the latest fashion, they were very elegant. Elizabeth could not feel comfortable inspecting them too closely, and assiduously avoided looking at the door that she could only assume led to the master’s chambers. She turned her attention instead on Georgiana, who was looking about rather wistfully. “Does it remind you of your mother?” she asked.

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  “If you do not mind my asking, how old were you when you lost her?”

  “Seven.”

  “That’s very young to lose your mother,” said Mrs. Gardiner gently.

  Georgiana blushed furiously under their sympathetic gaze but managed to say, “Fitzwilliam helped me.”

  Elizabeth, smiling rather tenderly, linked her arm with the younger girl’s. “Perhaps after he and I are married, you can help me pick out some new wallpaper,” she suggested. “You must know much better than I what is available and in good taste.”

 

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