“You are looking quite well, today, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy offered.
“Thank you, sir.” Still, she could not look him in the eye and her heart raced as a sudden desire to flee the area set upon her nerves. “Mr. Wickham, would you join me in this shop? I should like to look for a new pair of slippers for the ball.”
Lydia hurried to join Elizabeth and Wickham, which meant that Kitty and Denny joined as well. Only Mary and Collins remained speaking with Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, and Aunt Phillips.
Once inside the darker shop, Elizabeth’s eyes adjusted to the dim lighting as Mrs. Pilkington came forward to wait upon their needs.
“Did I hear correctly there is to be a ball?” The plump and friendly Mrs. Pilkington complimented her most true customers and asked for the latest gossip she had already overheard.
“Yes! Jane is to marry Mr. Bingley and a grand ball is being held in her honor!” Lydia swooned. “I wish I might marry a man who would throw a ball in my honor.”
As Mrs. Pilkington encouraged the theatrics and ego of Lydia Bennet in an attempt to sell even more of her accessories, Elizabeth addressed Mr. Wickham.
“And now that you are aware of the ball, do you think your superiors will allow the militia officers to join us in our night of merrymaking?” Elizabeth asked earnestly, remembering she was indeed available for the first two sets.
“How long has Mr. Darcy been in residence with your sister’s intended? I take it he is staying at the estate?” Mr. Wickham perused an array of fancy buttons and hair pins in a case to his right as he asked his harmless question.
“Forgive my impertinence, but are you acquainted with Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth frowned as something about the smooth manner in which Mr. Wickham deflected her question, and asked for a deeply personal piece of gossip in return, appeared odd. Unfortunately, Lydia distracted Elizabeth with requests for funds to pay for the many purchases she and Kitty selected outside of the list their mother gave them. As Elizabeth began to argue, Lieutenant Denny announced he and Mr. Wickham must return to the regiment and they exited the shop as Mary and Mr. Collins entered.
By the time their purchases were negotiated and made, with an enormous amount of unhelpful advice from Mr. Collins, both Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy were not to be found as the party walked home. Kitty and Lydia skipped with high energy, swinging the proof of their purchases with gay indifference to their duller sisters. Mary walked with Mr. Collins, attempting to engage the man in conversation to no avail. And Elizabeth counted her steps to keep her mind clear of any thoughts about Mr. Darcy or Mr. Wickham and which man’s smile disconcerted her more.
When Elizabeth arrived home from Meryton with her sisters and cousin, an odd sort of energy seemed to fill the house. It was quiet. Too quiet. The younger girls began to flit about and talk about their purchases as Mary finally gave up talking with Mr. Collins and opened the pianoforte. Remembering she was to escape Mr. Collins by aiding her father, Elizabeth knocked and opened the door of his study at his answer.
“We met Aunt Phillips in town—” Elizabeth’s words faltered as she found yet another man sat in her favorite chair by the window, none other than Mr. Darcy! “What has brought you to Longbourn, sir?”
“Lizzie! Mr. Darcy has come to call upon me and share some interesting news about your visit to Meryton. Did you and your sisters engage in conversation with two militia officers during your excursion?”
Elizabeth slanted her eyes at her nemesis, the proud and haughty Mr. Darcy who would dare to come behind her back and tattle to her father. “We were introduced to them by Aunt Phillips.”
“And was one of the men a Mr. George Wickham?”
Elizabeth nodded, watching Mr. Darcy’s doleful face suddenly appear angry at the man’s mention, only to dissipate once more. “Yes, he was perfectly amiable and quite the gentleman in his regards.”
“You are never to speak to him without my presence.”
“Papa! We are to play cards at Aunt Phillips’s tonight! And she has invited the officers.”
Mr. Bennet picked up his quill and scratched a few lines on a piece of paper. “Then you will not be going to the card game and I shall send word to your aunt.”
Elizabeth turned on her father’s guest and accused him of interfering. “This is your doing. If I am not simpering at your feet I must be barred from any other man I might speak with? Will you have my father cast out my cousin as well? He seems quite keen to make an alliance.”
Mr. Darcy’s sad expression returned as her father admonished her for the outburst, a rare occurrence for both father and daughter.
“I am sorry, Father. But Mr. Darcy is not a man I would trust in any regard.” Elizabeth glared at the man in the chair before her, seeing his face change to one of pain at her words.
“I see that Wickham’s lies have already begun to spread. No matter what he told you about me, I have offered your father evidence that my accounts of our dealings are true.” Mr. Darcy offered Elizabeth a patronizing excuse for her behavior.
Elizabeth placed her hands on her hips and scoffed at Mr. Darcy’s dismissal. “Mr. Wickham said not a word about your past dealings with him. I am calling out that in all of our conversations and interactions, you, sir, failed to mention you were betrothed to your cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh.”
Mr. Bennet, for his part, leaned back in his chair and thoroughly enjoyed the battle of wits before him, wondering what on earth had stirred his Lizzie’s passions so deeply. Many a boy had teased her for her ways, but a stranger from London refusal to dance a set with her and her hatred and vitriol grossly exceed what should have been the normal weight of the slight.
“And what conversation and interactions have you had with this man, Elizabeth?” Mr. Bennet chose to throw a log on the fire to see further crackling and pops.
Elizabeth stuttered, looking to her father and back at Mr. Darcy, then back to her father once more. “We, that is, Mr. Darcy and I . . .” Her eyes fell to the chess board behind the visitor, sitting on a shelf out of the way. “We played a game of chess, father. Two actually.”
“Two? And what was the score?”
“One to one, sir.” Mr. Darcy answered tersely.
“Well, then you two are due a rematch.” Mr. Bennet moved to recover the set from the shelf but Elizabeth stopped his progress.
“I will not play another game with this man. He is a liar and a cad. I once enjoyed his compliments, but now they remind of an ungrateful thief.”
Mr. Darcy stood, his full height scaring Lizzie none. “Ungrateful? Ungrateful? I have followed your every command, my lady, and still never quite met the ever highly placed bar of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Enough!” Mr. Bennet raised his voice reminding them he was indeed still in the room. Both of them breathing hard as a result of their anger, Mr. Bennet commanded a silence in the room until he saw them settle before he spoke again. “Elizabeth Bennet, explain to me now why you call this man a cad and a liar, and be direct, young lady, or you will find your freedoms suddenly curtailed in my household.”
The tone of her father’s voice did scare Elizabeth, as it was a register of his voice she had never heard. Not when she had ripped petticoats by climbing trees, not when she stole from the kitchens, and not even the time she lost track of her day and came home from a walk after dark. Swallowing the pool of saliva threatening to choke her where she stood, she finally spoke.
“I began a game of chess with Mr. Darcy, not knowing he was my opponent. Then when he did learn it was me, he spoke about his cousin’s marriage being a trap laid by the young woman and in other conversations made note of my lack of dowry. Then he suggested we spend afternoons playing chess at Pemberley, which I took to mean he wished me as a mistress, just as you have warned me rich men do.”
“I did not ever intend—”
“Patience, sir, you too shall get your say.” Mr. Bennet held up his hand and nodded to his daughter. “Continue.”
Elizabeth took anothe
r deep breath. “Jane advised me to see a better side to Mr. Darcy, and I did. I enjoyed dancing with him the following afternoon and we even played another game, this time face-to-face, and he won. But then, the more I came to find myself alone with him, the more confused I became. He disliked me the first he set eyes on me. And then, the last night, the last night he . . .”
Mr. Bennet leaned forward upon his desk, dreading his daughter’s next words, fearing the worst.
“He came to my room and wished to talk, but I sent him away. He said he wished to speak about my becoming his wife but I told him he should never speak to me again until he . . .” Elizabeth suddenly realized what Mr. Darcy meant about following her every command and looked at the man she had just called the most vile names.
“Until he what, Elizabeth?” Mr. Bennet prompted.
“Until he spoke to my father,” she whispered.
“Mr. Bennet, sir, I can explain, though some of the situations are difficult to fully explain —”
Once more Darcy was silenced by a wave of Mr. Bennet’s hand and being a visitor in the man’s home, the great Fitzwilliam Darcy worth multiples of the man before him, stopped talking.
Mr. Bennet leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin. “And what is your opinion of Mr. Darcy, now? Do you like the man?”
Elizabeth was shaken at such a direct question by her father in front of the subject himself, too embarrassed to answer.
“Lizzie, I am awaiting your answer patiently.”
Slowly Elizabeth nodded but then shook her head, but then nodded again, eliciting deep laughter from her father.
“Ever true to your sex. Fine, that will suffice. Now, you sir, are you betrothed to this cousin in Kent?”
“No.” Mr. Darcy frowned as he had been promised to share his side of the story, but appeared to only be getting an interrogation from a man more keen to mock his daughter and his guest than attempt a peaceful resolution.
“And you did not propose to my daughter as a suitor ought? Nor come to me before embarking on this haphazard sham of a romance?”
“It was raining, torrential downpours, as it were,” Mr. Darcy reminded Elizabeth’s father.
“Careful, sir,” Mr. Bennet wagged his finger at the man, “or you will insult me with a claim that my daughter is not worth a small amount of trouble for the sake of claiming her honor.”
Mr. Darcy’s eyes flicked to Elizabeth as he noticed a small smirk on her face. Suddenly, it became apparent to him where his Elizabeth learned to find double and triple meaning in words when none were intended.
“Back to the salient points, did you formally offer your hand to my daughter?” Mr. Bennet asked his question in a light-hearted tone, but his direct gaze belied serious intention behind the query.
“I did not, yet. At least not as I should.”
“Good! Then we are all in agreement.” Mr. Bennet clapped his hands and rubbed them together. Elizabeth startled at the sound, but remained curious as to what conclusion, exactly, they had somehow all derived.
“No, father, Mr. Darcy and I can never seem to agree on anything, that is the problem. I do try to be as kind as I should, but I find my anger rises on every alternate occasion we speak!” Elizabeth looked to Mr. Darcy with a slight frown of regret for being so honest, but it was the truth.
Mr. Bennet waved his hand at his daughter’s concern. “My dear, you will soon understand your behavior much better than I might explain it to you. As you are clearly enamored with this man, whether you wish to admit so or not to him or myself, and he is clearly keen on winning your hand, I see little choice but to accept that my eldest daughter is engaged and my second-eldest daughter is courting.”
“But, but he has not—” Elizabeth began to speak but Mr. Darcy caught Mr. Bennet’s drift when he tilted his head sharply towards his daughter and then found something enormously interesting to inspect on a shelf behind his chair.
Darcy reached down and clasped Elizabeth’s hands, the same hands just days before he had seen injured in his clumsiness. “Miss Elizabeth, please, I beg you end my suffering, and I suspect a small amount of your own, and accept my humble request to address you as a gentleman should, with the permission of yourself, your parents, and your family.”
The deep chasms of emotion that captured Elizabeth’s eyes every time this man looked at her halted the negative reply she meant to give. She needed to come to know this man, and she needed to know she would be granted such time.
“Do you promise to give me time, sir, to fully know who you are and how we might find a happy future together?” Elizabeth asked her question earnestly, for she did not want Mr. Darcy to again think she was certain of him when she was absolutely not.
“Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds. Or bends with the remover to remove.” Mr. Darcy recited gallantly, a couplet from his preferred sonnet.
Elizabeth giggled at the sweet dimple in the man’s cheek as he offered a warm smile to boast his cleverness. “I am afraid Shakespeare is one of the reasons we arrived at a misunderstanding in the first place. I ask you to speak plainly, sir.”
“I promise to give you the time you might require, Miss Elizabeth. And if I should propose a marriage in too soon of a time than you shall require, then I shall accept your rejection and offer you more time to consider my suit.” Mr. Darcy mimicked Elizabeth’s penchant for deadpan delivery of ridiculous explanations.
Elizabeth gently squeezed Mr. Darcy’s hands, a sign of affection that surprised him and sent a shiver of delight down his spine. “Well then, it would appear I cannot be rid of you. Father?”
“What, oh yes, daughter?” Mr. Bennet beamed his happiness at the young couple before him who would surely find their way if their tempers and tongues stayed out of the fray.
“I accept Mr. Darcy’s request for a courtship. Now, shall I tell mother or will you?” Elizabeth smiled mischievously, though her father noticed she still held Mr. Darcy’s hands.
“I believe you ought to go tell your mother to add another for dinner, and I shall discuss a few finer points with this Mr. Darcy of yours.”
Elizabeth experienced a sudden wave of melancholy as she had to drop Mr. Darcy’s hands and leave him in her father’s study. Perhaps it was the finality of accepting the man’s suit, but in her heart she did not feel the burden of confusion lingering any longer.
Once Elizabeth left, Mr. Bennet began his conversation with Mr. Darcy to make clear it was true none of the Bennet women possessed dowries of significant means.
“My wife needs to bring nothing to our marriage save a good heart and a love for me. I am guardian to my younger sister, but apart from that, my extensive holdings both here and abroad would make her want for nothing.”
“I am happy to hear it, though I will tell you the same as I told Bingley. I will not request the banns be read without the signing of a full marriage contract.”
Mr. Darcy nodded slowly at the sudden shrewd business sense coming from a man who played a very convincing laissez-faire master and patriarch. His host opened a side cupboard and retrieved a decanter and two glasses, pouring both of them a healthy dose.
“Now, begin with your insult at the assembly and walk me through your interactions with my daughter until this day. I so dearly love to laugh.” Mr. Bennet made good on his promise to give Darcy a chance to tell his side of the story. And without further prompting, the younger man provided a whole year’s worth of folly and mirth over a mere month long acquaintance.
Nine
November 22, 1811
Not two days’ time from when she had vowed to herself never to think nor care about Mr. Darcy again, Elizabeth Bennet walked with a spring in her step to see the man off on a mission to London with his closest friend. Both Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley endured a family dinner at Longbourn the previous night, subjected to the hysterics of Mrs. Bennet over how comfortable her eldest daughter lay situated for matrimony. Elizabeth thanked her father in her mind and by glance more tha
n once that for now, at least, her relationship to Mr. Darcy was not known to the whole family, including her mother.
Still, Elizabeth realized it was a forgone conclusion she and Mr. Darcy would eventually wed, as even she agreed with her father it was prudent he should join Bingley on a quest for a contract to avoid a solo trip at some later time.
“And will you bring your sister back with you from London?” Elizabeth asked earnestly, finding herself quite curious to meet Miss Georgiana after the many effusions of Miss Bingley about the young lady.
Darcy frowned. “I am afraid it is not possible. I do not believe Hertfordshire would suit her.”
The hackles of Elizabeth’s previous prejudices began to raise but this time, she caught herself thinking the worst of Mr. Darcy before allowing herself to think better of the man. “Before I jump to conclusions, you are passing a mean judgment on my family or home county, could you elaborate on the shortcomings you find detrimental to your sister?”
Darcy raised his brows, surprised once again his blunt honesty offended Elizabeth, but sighed in relief she was suspending her ire until he might explain his declaration. “Your father has banned you from being in Mr. Wickham’s company without chaperone, and while I cannot betray the young woman’s identity, it is because he is a known seducer and I will not risk my sister’s exposure to the man.”
Mr. Darcy’s face appeared pained and Elizabeth suppressed her desire to know more about the horrific past with Mr. Wickham. Instead, she attempted to lighten the mood, reminding herself she trusted her father and he had heard the evidence she had not. “Is the lady he targeted well? He is clearly unmarried. I hope she was protected by her family, or taken in by them if a disgrace occurred?”
Darcy nodded. “She is perfectly well and the worst was averted. Forgive me, but I must request we change the subject matter if it pleases you, I should not like to ride in a carriage to London in a foul mood over past transgressions.”
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