“Allow me to help you to your room.” He lifted her as though she weighed nothing and carried her to her room. Later she wondered how he knew which door was hers.
When they reached the door, he spoke softly. “I apologise that my actions were the cause of your pain.” He paused, and she almost believed he blushed, but the lighting was poor as only a small lamp lit the hallway, and she could not be sure. “And as for my display earlier, I fear the brandy may have gone to my head. Good night, Miss Elizabeth. Sleep well.” Then he turned and strode away.
She stumbled into her chamber and spent the hours until dawn in deep confusion. She was filled with shame to admit she found great comfort in his touch. She had seen a playful side of him she had never known before and confessed to herself he had always been handsome, but his smile and the disappearance of his arrogance made him captivating.
If he had not announced that any sign of regard she had seen him display for her was solely due to being half-drunk, she might have concluded he was in a fair way to being in love and think an offer was near. She could argue the sentiments she feared she now harboured, and the sensations she enjoyed, came naturally when in love. Instead, she was mortified, for she had thrilled to his touch, the touch only a husband should give. She could not even say she liked him, and they had no understanding. What did it say of her to allow him such liberty and enjoy it?
Never once did she reproach him or try to pull away. What must he think of me? She had conversed with him and danced with him late into the night, entirely alone. She arrived in only her night clothes, and when her dressing gown slipped open, her body was much too exposed to him. She allowed an embrace, caresses, and even acquiesced as he carried her to her bedchamber door. If they were seen, her reputation was ruined! She could even now still smell his scent, and the feel of his arms around her was seared into her memory and branded onto her flesh. Shame at her wantonness mingled with unrepentant enjoyment of the memory.
She shook her head to clear her thoughts and readied for the day before slipping silently into Jane’s room. She still slept. Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth descended the stairs and entered the breakfast room. At the sight of Mr. Darcy, who made no acknowledgement of her presence other than rising, her traitorous heart screamed out, never yours!
*****
Darcy did not need to look up from his coffee to know Elizabeth had entered the room. He already sensed her presence, felt it really, perhaps in his soul. How would she greet him? How could she greet him? He rose with Hurst as Elizabeth stood silent. He studiously avoided looking at her, not knowing how he could bear to see reproach and regret in her fine eyes.
That thought was exceedingly painful. Although he could not recollect their night together, the only thing more painful than having no actual memories of the encounter was the idea that she would repent being with him. She was a gentlewoman; no matter what he seduced her into doing last night, he knew she would be reproaching herself this morning and likely hated him. He knew from nearly the beginning of their acquaintance that Elizabeth Bennet was no fortune hunter. The blame of last night resided solely on his uncontrollable lust for her.
After Miss Bingley politely inquired about Miss Bennet’s health, silence filled the room. At last, Bingley entered, always the last riser. He asked after Jane, then inquired about Elizabeth’s state of health.
“I fear I have a headache, sir, and would like to see to Jane when she awakens since we are to leave today. I pray you will forgive my absence at service this morning.”
Darcy could not help but look at her then, trying to examine her in earnest. Indeed, she looked as though she felt unwell and had slept poorly. Nothing but your own fault, you disgusting beast.
Even more pressing than continued self-recriminations, he needed to speak with her before she left. “Perhaps, Miss Elizabeth, a walk around the garden would revive you. I am already dressed for service and would be pleased to escort you.”
Elizabeth perceived a hint of demand and, surprisingly, pleading in his suggestion, and she had never felt more confused by him. She would rather forget everything from the night before, but there was something in his eyes that made her believe he was truly concerned about her welfare and did not intend to reproach her.
Once again, she felt an inexplicable pull to him. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy, that sounds wise.”
“Oh, but this morning is so cold. I am sure it would do you both much more good to stay indoors.” Caroline clearly did not like the idea of Darcy accompanying Elizabeth anywhere.
“I find it most invigorating,” Darcy replied.
“Indeed! Well, perhaps I ought to try it myself.”
Bingley saved his friend by interjecting. “Caroline, you know you will not have time for anything of the sort. You are not dressed for church. I put up with you making us late for every other event, but I will not make a mockery of God’s house.” Caroline had to give up her fight, and neither she nor her brother noticed Darcy and Elizabeth cringe at the mention of an all- knowing deity.
Darcy perceived with increasing anxiety that Elizabeth did not eat much at breakfast, and before too long, she announced she was going upstairs to change her shoes. Darcy agreed to meet her in the front hall momentarily. When he arrived, the footman was assisting her into her pelisse, and Darcy was a little surprised at the irrational jealousy he felt at any other man touching her. He had noted the feeling in milder forms before, but today he could barely contain his possessiveness. Everything was different now.
They walked in silence until slightly removed from the house. She leaned a little heavily on his arm and seemed resolute in not looking at him. He directed their steps towards a stone bench where they could sit with some privacy.
“Would you like to rest, Miss Bennet?”
“Thank you.” Darcy watched in horror as she winced a little and sat. She must have noticed his expression because she blushed. Darcy had heard that there might be soreness after a maiden’s first time and hoped he had at least been gentle.
He made to sit on the bench with her and attempted to hide a grimace, but Elizabeth saw. “Are you well?”
After realising what he must have done the night before, he had begun making plans. There was not much blood on the bed linens, but it would be noticed by the maids. He would not allow them to gossip. The only thing he could think of was to give himself a small cut about thigh level and blame it on clumsiness due to his drinking. His valet had nodded when asked to bring a salve for the wound, and he explained a broken glass had been found in the library. Darcy had no memory of that either but was happy to have a ready cause for his injury.
He replied to Elizabeth, “Yes, only a little sore.”
“Oh, no! You are hurt, too?” Darcy blushed deeply at the reference to her pain.
A brief memory emerged of carrying Elizabeth to his chamber door. She clutched his lapels and was pressed so delightfully against him. She must have believed he strained himself carrying her, but she felt like nothing more than a dried leaf. His concern for her deepened, as did his disgust for himself. Carrying her through Netherfield’s hallways would have been enough to damage her reputation had they been seen! What could he have been thinking? And then to know indisputably that he had caused her pain was nearly more than he could bear.
As it happened, she had slightly twisted her ankle on her way down the stairs earlier. The footman who saw the incident explained that Miss Bingley had ordered a large chaise lounge to be moved from a drawing room to her private sitting room the previous day, and one of the footmen carrying it lost his grip. The chaise fell enough to do some damage to a step.
Elizabeth would not have stepped on the section damaged if she were descending through the middle as she had done at breakfast. Instead, she was coming down just as Caroline went up, and Elizabeth slid over to make way. The pain was just enough to be annoying. Few things could stop her from enjoying the outdoors, and she sensed Darcy believed this conversation urgent.
Elizabe
th was confused to see what seemed like shame in Darcy’s eyes as he gazed at her for a long moment. Believing she should help him along, she began. “Mr. Darcy, last night…”
She stopped speaking when he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He let out a short breath. When he opened his eyes, they met hers with a tortured expression.
“Miss Bennet, please accept my sincerest apologies for my behaviour last night. It was unpardonable, and I cannot think of it without abhorrence.”
Elizabeth was confused that he should reproach himself so much for his silly display of singing and dancing, but then she knew him to be a proud man who would normally disdain such actions. Or was it that he disdained touching her? She knew herself to be a woman he found only tolerable at first sight, and he had been drinking last night; otherwise he never would have touched her, let alone with desire in his eyes. Her cheeks burned scarlet at the mixture of anger she felt at his insult to her from weeks ago and her continued feelings of humiliation due to her actions.
Desiring to end their conversation, Elizabeth directed the subject to the only thing that concerned her. “Sir, I believe you have something of mine.” She needed her handkerchief back, or at least needed to know he destroyed it. It would not do for it to be found amongst his things.
Darcy’s face darkened, and he said with surprising remorse, “I regret that I cannot return it to you, but I have dealt with the evidence.” I have taken what was not mine to take. I have ruined and destroyed her virtue, and nothing can ever return it.
How could he ever live with himself? He stole her precious innocence, which ought to have been given to her husband, to a man worthy of her and who loved her, and he could not even recall the act. Once again, he felt soiled and unclean. He wondered if this was something like madness, like Lady Macbeth trying again and again to cleanse her hands. But no physical washing could erase his sins, and there was no time for that…or continued silence.
“Miss Bennet, you must see that we need to take appropriate actions.” Her beautiful face contorted in confusion. “I know my duty, my honour demands it.”
She bit her lower lip and was quite slow in her reply. “Mr. Darcy, I see no reason to force you into marriage as I do not believe anyone saw us. You did not...impose yourself on me. My behaviour was not irreproachable.”
“Elizabeth!” he cried in horror at the thought that she might blame herself in any way.
She blushed at his use of her Christian name, but he was quite beyond caring about that impropriety when he had done so much worse. Fleetingly, he wondered what endearments he used during the night. Had he unleashed his tongue and heart to her as in his fantasies?
“I comprehend your feelings, but there is only myself to blame.” She looked down, but he gently tilted her head up and was struck by the uncertainty in her eyes. Did she fear him now? And how creamy and smooth her skin looked! To know that he had touched it with every intimacy, but could not recall it, threatened to undo him.
She pulled her head back from his hand and squared her shoulders. “Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me. I am very sensible of the honour of your proposal, but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than to decline it.”
His eyes were fixed on her face, and he was surprised to own more resentment than astonishment. He felt all colour in his face drain away. He struggled for the appearance of composure. Achieving it was impossible but he remained silent until he could display a modicum of control as it felt like a caged lion angrily roared in his heart.
At length, with a voice of forced calmness, he said, “And this is all the reply that I am to have the honour of expecting? I might wish to understand why, with so little attention to decorum and honour, you refuse me?”
“And I might wish to know why you think only your feelings of duty and honour would induce me to matrimony?”
He stood and replied contemptuously, “Only duty and honour? I know I do not need to tell you my worth and status in life. Are these not sufficient inducements?”
“You dare think your money would make me risk my every happiness? What of your character, sir?”
In the month of their acquaintance, she had been building a case of extreme dislike against the gentleman. If she put aside her own feelings of delight at the unguarded side of his nature as revealed last night, of his looks of affection and caressing embrace—if she were honest—she remained unsure of his character. One month was simply not long enough to know a man.
He took an abrupt step back as though she had struck him. He hung his head. “You are perfectly correct; you have no reason to believe anything good of my character—but Elizabeth, you are not thinking sensibly of all the consequences should you refuse me! At the very least you cannot hide this from any other man; he would know.”
Elizabeth recoiled. He had finally said it. He was reproaching her for her conduct. “You have said quite enough, sir. I would not dream of requesting you to put aside your aspirations for a match of beauty, rank, and fortune for a woman of lower birth and questionable morals.” She hastily stood and took a sharp breath at the twinge in her ankle.
Before she could walk away, he grabbed her right hand and pulled her close. His actions reminded her of his caring nature the night before.
Darcy could not resist stroking her hand just a little. They both wore gloves, of course, but his action appeared to soothe her. She misunderstood him, which should not have been a surprise.
“Elizabeth, I never had such aspirations. I would have married years ago if I had. And I find nothing wanting in your morals. What is this of your beauty? After last night, how can you doubt that you entirely enthral me? Have you not discovered me staring at you? Hoping for a peek into your fine eyes?”
It was happening again. Elizabeth’s heart slammed against her chest, and she felt surprisingly liquid as he gazed at her and tenderly stroked her hand. She could not hold to her resolve; she could not walk away, nor could she speak.
“It is time for me to leave for church, but tell me you will reconsider my request and find a way to answer me before you depart Netherfield this afternoon?”
He ceased rubbing her hand, and the spell was broken. “I...thank you. I shall take the time to think about what you have said.”
He was surprised at the relief and hope bestowed by her words. Giving her a tremulous smile, he bowed over her hand before tucking it into his arm to escort her back to the house, where they separated.
Chapter Two
Darcy’s mind wandered during the service. He was not accustomed to the distracting emotions coursing through his soul. Not that it should have surprised him. He had experienced more intense, and sometimes more widely different, feelings since meeting Elizabeth Bennet a month ago than at any other time in his life. How dare the infuriating woman refuse him? He was worth at least five times most of the men of her acquaintance, and he was an honourable man… His anger died. She was correct; she knew little of his character, and what of his inner nature he had exposed was enough to repulse most ladies. Indeed, it repulsed him, too.
Was that why she rebuffed him? Did the idea of marrying her seducer disgust her? He would need to find a way to assure her he had never done such a thing before—nothing even close. How could he have sunk so low? He grimaced.
It was exceedingly difficult to believe he was capable of such an act. Even more than the guilt he felt and worrying about Elizabeth’s reputation, he feared a child should be the consequence of their union. He hated the idea of his child not having all the entitlements a Darcy should have. It was one of the reasons he had always meant to remain chaste until marriage.
He would do the noble thing and care for a woman who bore his child, but he had always meant for the woman who did so to be his wife. He was not like his former friend Wickham, heedless of the consequences. A Darcy never shirked his obligations. More than that, he had desired to marry Elizabeth for weeks, and now he certainly must. He offered Elizabeth the position of his wife, and she a
cted as though she would be content to only live in a small cottage if she was with child, the same fate as many a ruined lady. It was unfathomable.
Again he considered Elizabeth’s reply. She was being nonsensical and refusing him when she certainly must know their behaviour was entirely prohibited. Even more unbelievable, she did not seem concerned about possible consequences at all; it would be impossible for her to be so naive. Her reputation would be damaged beyond repair if it were known. Furthermore, if they had been intimate, he knew it meant she must care for him. She was not so weak-willed as to be led astray by his handsome face or any charming words he could utter. The Elizabeth of reality was not the eager Elizabeth of his fantasies, and even in them, he always proposed marriage before she would grant a single liberty. Why would she refuse the marriage, then? Darcy decided to reconsider what he knew to have happened.
He recalled drinking in the library after all had retired for the evening. Earlier in the day, he had spent a half hour alone in the very same room with Elizabeth and had refused to acknowledge her presence. Ignoring her did not make her disappear or leave, and as time went on, he found himself wishing she would make some attempt to gain his notice. Instead, she sat occupied in her own tasks, perfectly content with the silence, and he had to admire her all the more for it.
A wiser man would have left the library, but at the time, he had told himself he remained because he could do so without fear of becoming more bewitched by her. He now realised his actions were nothing but conceited bravado. At first he was fearless; then he had to admit he had no desire to leave. Finally, he recognised that if he moved at all, he would be in very serious danger of grabbing her to his chest and begging to kiss her tempting lips.
By nightfall, exhausted from fighting his impulses, he was glad to hear plans for her departure on the morrow. Foolishly, he returned to the library, where he could imagine her sitting again and indulge his fantasies. She had been embroidering a handkerchief when he came upon her earlier that day. They sat in companionable silence. It was a scene of domestic tranquillity, and it affected him deeply. At one point, he looked up, and she had put her work away and held a book instead. When she left the room, she left the handkerchief behind. He carried it with him the rest of the day, treasuring his stolen token. It bore a slight trace of her fragrance and only added to his ability to fantasise. Once again, he had fought his desire to forsake his obligations and marry the only woman who had ever captivated him so completely.
Compromising Mr. Darcy Page 28