A Most Handsome Gentleman

by Suzan Lauder

  Instead, he took one of my hands in both of his and stared at them. “Forgive my forwardness. I cannot maintain my struggle and repress my feelings any longer. I must tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” His eyes met mine. “Please, I beg you to end my suffering and agree to become my wife.”

  Needless to say, I am excellent at finding the inconsistency in each situation in life. This has helped me to find entertainment in our neighbours and to enjoy arguments with Mr. Darcy whilst at Netherfield. So I latched onto a word—just one word—that he had said earlier. “But how did I go from tolerable to tempting you in such a short time?”

  His fine lips hung open and his eyes reflected perplexed disbelief at my unexpected response. “I am sorry. I…I was expecting a different answer. What did you say?”

  “You struggled to like me, and my situation is below you. Yet, despite telling me these reasons that disfavour a match, you proposed marriage? Sir, you must be more convincing to win a woman, and with the strength of your arguments, you may as well find happiness without me as with me.”

  Had I intended to discompose him, I doubt I could have been more successful, judging by the fully bewildered expression he now wore. His brow was furrowed, his lips curled in incredulity, and his eyes showed a mix of hurt and horror at what I had just stated.

  “Am I to understand you are denying my petition?” His voice, full of pain, broke at the end.

  I crossed my arms whilst I regarded him, my angry pride winning over my worry for his hurt expression. “Were you so certain I would agree at the very moment you chose to overcome your scruples and ask me?”

  “You can hardly think this is easy for me! Why, the disastrous antics at the Netherfield ball, and again today, are enough to cause anyone to take pause. Your youngest sisters, your cousin, your mother—forgive me, even your father—displayed ill manners that discourage association with them, given the choice. You and Miss Bennet are so different, so much improved in comparison with the others, that I wonder whether you came from another family! And you know I am expected to make a better match—a lady similar to my cousin’s position in life, or better. What I offer is more than you should expect, yet my proposal is the product of love—a deep, passionate love—that overcame these objections.”

  “I am sorry I come with difficult relations, but if you truly desire us to become one, you must resign yourself to certain facts: they are my family and I love them, even when they are horrid and embarrassing. My loyalty to them is akin to your dedication to Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh. If you cared less for them, would everyone have assumed you were betrothed to your cousin for so long? Yet, to keep the peace, you did not argue. This is what we do for unfortunate relatives. We tolerate their folly. Even Mr. Collins, who makes me crazy, has a spot in my heart.”

  His hand ran through his hair as he tilted his head and sighed. “Ah, the handsome cousin. Now I understand. Your mother said he planned to offer for you. Have you a tendre for him and hold deep disappointment that he chose Miss Lucas in the end?”

  What a stupid train of thought the man followed! “No, not at all!” My voice became loud in my frustration. “Perhaps I regard him with the friendship of a family member and pity the simpleton in him, but I have never had tender feelings for Mr. Collins. Rather, I am relieved he was disinterested in me, just as I am relieved that you have offered for me!”

  “You are relieved that I offered for you? That is all I mean to you? Some mode of easing your mind? What torments you so that solace could be found as Mrs. Darcy? I heard your mother’s whispers with reference to the size of my income. Is that what you look forward to? Am I a mere purse and not a man?” His voice rose in annoyance.

  What a horrible accusation! “No!” I shouted in anger. “I should rather die a poor spinster than marry for money. One quality matters to me in a husband: he could be as poor as a church mouse as long as I loved him!”

  His eyes closed as his face froze into the familiar hauteur that meant his discomfort. “I must have misunderstood. I believed…your feelings…that you had developed the same attachment as my own. I apologize now for taking your time and understand why you turned me down.”

  Oh, the frustrating man! Where did he get that assumption? We need to be more frank with each other in the future, or we will be doomed. “I have not refused you. I have not made any reply to your proposal!”

  “You have not?”

  My tapping toe joined my crossed arms in demonstrating my restlessness and frustration with the man. “In your conceit and selfish disdain for others, you have remained fixed upon why you cannot marry me and have not heard me at all. I objected to the way you made your proposal, not the content.”

  “What are you saying? That you will have me?”

  I waved my arms while I ranted. “I should torment you and say I shall have you only if you change your arrogant ways and make a grand show of acceptance of my family and situation in life, but I shall not. Yes, I shall marry you, you horrid, prideful man!”

  The expression that overspread his features made me chastise myself for persisting in disputing him—oh, what I had missed whilst arguing! Had I exerted myself to get into his good graces sooner, I would have earned more smiles full of heartfelt contentment. He grasped my cheeks in both of his large hands and placed a long, fervent kiss upon my lips. When Mr. Darcy released me, I was so overcome that I could barely stand. He caught me by my shoulders to stop me from tottering.

  Distant voices came from further down the path behind us.

  “Lizzy! Mr. Darcy!”

  “Miss Elizabeth! Darcy!”

  Jane and Mr. Bingley were seeking us.

  “Before they get here, I must do this,” whispered Mr. Darcy. “Blame Mr. Collins for his example.” He pulled me towards him and kissed me so thoroughly that I had no choice but to cease being overwhelmed and begin being a wilful participant. His tongue entered my mouth, and heat flashed over my skin from my hair follicles to the tips of my toes. But the part regarding Mr. Collins’s example—well, suffice it to say, the stimulation I found when he grasped my buttocks and pressed that part of me to his body—no woman can be held that way by a man she loves without getting carried away by her physical desires! My own tongue became busy, and we forgot aught but each other and the incendiary sensations we were creating between us.

  “We have come rather far…” Mr. Bingley’s voice came through the brush once again, and we sprang apart. I peered around. No one had come upon us yet, so I reached up and straightened Mr. Darcy’s neck cloth where my hands had dishevelled it when they were tangled in his hair.

  I had just finished smoothing my gown when Jane and Mr. Bingley came around the corner and greeted us with bright, smiling faces.

  Jane spoke first. “Lady Catherine became impatient, so she and Miss de Bourgh left for Netherfield without you. You can join Mr. Bingley in his coach instead.”

  “Your aunt left you alone rather easily given her earlier insistence,” I said to Mr. Darcy.

  “Because of Miss de Bourgh,” said Mr. Bingley.

  “What?” Mr. Darcy asked.

  “Miss de Bourgh claimed to be in love with a lieutenant of the army and insisted she and Darcy had never agreed to marry. Lady Catherine ranted on and on about how inappropriate a lieutenant was. But she questioned why, if Miss de Bourgh did not love Darcy, she had never protested the arrangement.”

  Jane nodded and added, “Lady Catherine said her daughter had no need to make a show of pretending attachment to an inferior man just to make her point, and if she wanted a Season, she should have asked for one. Miss de Bourgh was pleased to get her Season, and they both agreed they were tired of waiting for Mr. Darcy.”

  Mr. Darcy ran his hand through his hair whilst the twist of his sweet lips showed his confusion. “What could she mean? Tired of waiting for me to speak or tired of
waiting today?”

  Once again, Mr. Bingley tried to clarify. “By the time they finished their disagreement, they were uninterested in you as Miss de Bourgh’s intended and decided to let you go in another coach.”

  “You must be mistaken. She would never change her mind so easily!” Mr. Darcy said.

  “I should hope he is not mistaken!” I replied. “This decision takes her away from pushing you onto Miss de Bourgh and makes our announcement easier.”

  “I must confess, Mr. Bingley and I were alarmed when we heard shouting.” Jane wore concern in her eyes whilst she reached out to take one of my hands. “I know you two do not always get on, but I thought for our sake…”

  Mr. Bingley took a step forward as if to shield her. “What Jane means to say is that we hope you can settle your differences. We feel strongly that both of you are important to our future happiness. Is aught amiss?”

  When I looked into the crinkled eyes of my beloved, his mouth opened for as deep a laugh as I had ever heard from him, and I followed suit with laughter of my own.

  I was the first to be able to speak, and I wiped my eyes as I replied to my sister and future brother. “All is well. Mr. Darcy has proposed, and I have accepted.”

  “Is this a joke?” asked Mr. Bingley warily.

  “No, Bingley. You know how I admire Miss Elizabeth.”

  “I do, but I believed you were too proud to offer, and she does not even like you. Not that she is mercenary, but…”

  We burst into a new round of laughter at this.

  Jane was not amused, and now poor Mr. Bingley had an angry Miss Bennet on his hands. With arms akimbo and a distinct scowl on her face, Jane scolded him. “How could you accuse my sister of accepting Mr. Darcy because of money? I shall have you know that Lizzy would never marry except for the deepest love.” She paused. “That means…oh, Lizzy, are you in love with Mr. Darcy?”

  My face could break with the size of my grin, and Mr. Darcy raised his brows whilst he took my hand from between Jane’s and entwined my fingers with his. One side of his lips twitched as though he was trying hard not to chuckle again.

  “This is a terrible start,” I said, “if we cannot convince the two of you. Yes, I am in love with Mr. Darcy, he is in love with me, and we both can tolerate the quirks of our respective relations.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Mr. Bingley.

  “Present company excluded,” replied Mr. Darcy.

  “Ah. I think I understand,” his friend replied.

  Mr. Darcy gazed at me with warm love in his eyes. “I am almost to Oakham Mount, and there are three people who wish to fetch me back, yet my preference would be to see the sights now that I am so close.”

  I glanced at the others. “‘Tis a pretty path. I would not be averse to showing you the view.”

  Jane regarded Mr. Bingley with a pouting face but a crinkle of mischief in her eyes. “I am tired, Charles, but the day is so mild that it would be a shame to return to the house.”

  “We could sit in the garden whilst Miss Elizabeth shows Oakham Mount to Darcy.”

  Jane’s lips curved up. “We have a nice bench in the copse.”

  “The one in the little wilderness? That seat is rather comfortable; I could sit there and enjoy the scenery for a considerable time. Darcy, Miss Elizabeth, enjoy your walk.” Mr. Bingley took Jane’s arm and they turned back, heads close together.

  I had a suspicion it would take a great deal longer than usual for us to go up the hill and back. Even though Jane misspoke about how mild it was this chilly morning, she and Mr. Bingley would not mind. The most comfortable bench was hidden from Longbourn’s windows, and as newly announced lovers, they would be as happy with their private time as were we.

  Chapter 12

  Had anyone asked me who was the most content on the day of my and Jane’s weddings, no single answer would suffice. All came with their own justifications for the sentiment, and their reasons for their feelings were as vastly different as the personalities themselves. Each person deserved to be called the happiest that day.

  Jane’s mood was a surprise. When she and I prepared in the pale dawn light that entered our shared bedroom, she was chatty and giddy to my stunned silence. Inside, I was as nervous as could be. Under other circumstances, I would have expressed my anxiety to Jane and expected solace in her warm words and comforting hug, but she was a bundle of outspoken glee. Not only did she take no notice of my passive ways, but I doubted any benefit could come from my telling her of my inner disquiet. At best, she would cosset me, and I did not want that level of attention. Let me fret on my own terms. At worst, my behaviour would cause her to lose her excitement, and I did not want to ruin her morning. So I let her rattle away regarding how fine the day was while my corset was tightened, how pretty the flowers were while my hair was pinned up, and how suitable the decorations in the church were while my gown was slipped over my head.

  Mama, from what I could determine, alternated between pure relief at having two daughters well married to frenetic worry that perhaps the gentlemen may not be there or some random situation might not go as planned. Of course, the former would never occur and the latter was inconsequential. But Mama chose to voice her worries and act them out by bustling around the house giving directions for this and that or supervising the preparation of the two brides. Her orders to Jane and me were as if she were a general in the king’s army. At least when she was busy bothering us, no one else could be importuned, and I forgot the knots in my stomach whilst smirking and rolling my eyes at Jane over Mama’s antics.

  When the time came to be driven to the church, Papa awaited us at our grand front door. “I am overtaken with admiration. You are the most attractive ladies I have ever beheld, and I am proud to be accompanying you this morning.”

  We did look well. Jane and I had similar but not identical gowns of cream bobbinet over white satin in the finest of weaves, ornamented simply, as was the fashion, with fine white embroidery, seed pearls, and imported lace trim. I wore a small white and green satin hat in the Spanish style with a scrap of lace dangling behind and a light green velvet spencer. Jane’s large, transparent white veil fell over her face, and she had a new pale pink half-pelisse trimmed in Blossom fur to keep her warm.

  Mama was proud of our costumes. “You will be lucky to get down the aisle. The gentlemen may be so overcome with your beauty today that they may rush to collect you halfway!”

  Papa winked at her. “That, indeed, would not do! You are as handsome as any of them, and your future sons might like you the best of the party.”

  Mama was lovely in a stylish violet shot sarsenet robe over a white jaconet round gown with bishop’s sleeves and sufficient lace, embroidery, and silk floral clusters to satisfy her need for elaborate adornment. Likewise, her bonnet featured a great deal of brocaded ribbon and lace and a grand ostrich plume curled over the top. “I am flattered, indeed, but I have lost the bloom of youth that my daughters still exhibit.”

  “I suppose you are correct, but you still suit this old man well. In any case, their mother’s fine attributes are not what the gentlemen seek today but my daughters’ wit and good nature.”

  “Oh, Mr. Bennet! How could you say such a thing? Gentlemen marry beauty and youth. I always said Jane could not be half so beautiful for nothing, and Lizzy is in fine looks when she allows the maid to do her hair in a special style.”

  “Yes, but I have come to know these young men during their courtships, and they happen to admire Jane and Elizabeth equally for their minds as for their beauty.”

  My mother scowled, and they continued to argue, each stubbornly insisting on their point. This little disagreement did scarce good for my anxiety, but taking my father’s arm at least settled my shaking hand. He did not notice the slight quiver, or at least, he did not let on. Jane, at his other side, had calmed her chatt
er and appeared as pleased with herself as any woman could who was soon to marry an amiable man whom she loved with all her heart. As we moved to the door, Mama slapped my other hand away from clutching at my dress and smoothed out the wrinkles. My younger sisters followed, arms full of our flowers.

  In the carriage, I clasped both hands together to still their trembling, but alas, it just meant my shoulders shuddered ever so slightly.

  “Are you cold, dear? Here, take my shawl.” Mama placed her cherished soft violet Kashmir wrap atop my shoulders. I was grateful for her caring even though I was well aware that it would not help what ailed me. I stared fixedly out the window as my bridal nerves attacked me from inside whilst everyone else chattered in excitement over their expectations of the day.

  Not until we were about to walk down the aisle did Papa give me a long gaze. Had he recognized that I was not as animated as was my wont? He leaned in and whispered, “We can stop this any time you want, Lizzy. You need not force yourself.”

  “Do not mistake my nerves,” I whispered back. “Only one person can reassure me now, and he was not allowed to see the bride until the wedding. Stupid traditions!”

  I did understand what Papa was suggesting, though. Having seen Mr. Darcy and me together, and having listened to my declarations of love when my choice was questioned, he should know this match was my desire. However, I could imagine the whispers among those congregated outside of the church who did not know Mr. Darcy: “How could a lively girl like Lizzy Bennet marry such a cold, proud man?”

  I would argue that he is not at all cold. In reality, he has no improper pride and deserves all the pride of heritage he owns within his heart, which is also tender and compassionate. But he often appears otherwise because of his reticence and discomfort with others’ scrutiny. Friends who know Mr. Darcy well have seen him act as lively as I have—indeed, he and I are happy to tease and argue with each other. In addition, even though his appearance is greatly in his favour, I could not be called shallow; I enjoy his intelligence at least as much as his fine countenance.