The Last Waltz: . . . another pride and prejudice journey of love

by Pat Santarsiero

  “As much as I would so love to dance again, I’m afraid my apprehension regarding that particular endeavour has not yet been conquered. I would not wish to embarrass my partner. As for dancing a waltz,” she said as a becoming blush overtook her countenance, “that is something I have never had the opportunity to experience.”

  Darcy received her words with mixed emotions. He was disappointed that she still had not regained her confidence enough to attempt a dance, but strangely he also felt a measure of satisfaction knowing that no other man had yet held her in his arms as she took pleasure in her very first waltz.

  “I have informed my sister of our renewed acquaintance.”

  “Was she pleased to learn of it?”

  “Yes, she expressed a great desire to see you again and was most eager to hear any news of you. I tried to answer her many questions as best I could. She has asked if the two of you might correspond, and I have given her my permission. Of course, only if that is agreeable to you.”

  “I should like that very much. Please inform Miss Darcy I shall be happy to write to her.”

  When her uncle and aunt approached their seats, only then did Darcy realize he still held her hand in his, and for a moment he tenderly caressed the back of it with his thumb, his touch conveying what his heart refused to acknowledge.

  “I should return to Miss . . . to my seat,” he said as he released her and bowed, excusing himself from their company.

  Alyssa Marston lowered her opera glasses and speculated on the scene she had just witnessed across the balcony, finding the performances far more interesting than the play they had come to see on stage.

  ********

  Darcy had looked for her again before their departure from the theatre, but the crowd was far too dense. As he assisted Alyssa into his carriage, he gave one last look at the throng of people as they exited to the street, but she was not among them.

  It was then he realized that, like the night of the Meryton Assembly, most probably she was waiting until all the others had made their departure before she would attempt her own. With resignation he instructed his driver to move on.

  His thoughts were so preoccupied on the ride home that he had not realized until the carriage stopped in front of Alyssa’s townhouse that they had not exchanged a single word since leaving the theatre.

  As he saw her to her door, Darcy pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket and checked the time.

  “A fine looking watch, Fitzwilliam. I notice you are never without it.”

  “It was my father’s, a gift from my mother on their first anniversary. I wear it always.”

  “May I?” she asked, holding out her hand.

  Admiring the gold watch, she turned it over to read the inscription on the back, moving it to catch the light from the gas lamp above her door.

  When Darcy expressed his regret that early business on the morrow prevented his accompanying her inside, he hoped he sounded sincere. He knew tonight his mind would be elsewhere on the woman who at that moment had a primary residence in his thoughts. Seeing her tonight only stirred the memories that had been best left undisturbed.

  For even if he were brave enough to admit the nature of his feelings for Elizabeth Bennet—feelings he still had not identified—she would soon be wed to Mr. Collins. He visibly shuddered at the thought.

  “Well, as you can see by the time on your handsome watch, it is barely ten o’clock, sir,” she said as she handed it back to him. “Surely you can stay for a short while. I’ve arranged for a late supper.”

  “No, I . . . I’m sorry, I must go,” he replied as he lifted the knocker on the door, and pushed it down firmly twice so that the hearing deficient Stivers would be summoned.

  “Perhaps I can tempt your appetite for something else, Mr. Darcy,” she saucily whispered.

  “I . . . I really think it best I go.”

  He bent to place a kiss on her cheek, but Alyssa turned her head, moving her mouth to his as she wrapped her arms around his neck. When the elderly butler opened the door, Darcy reached up to remove her hold upon him, knowing he was ending their kiss much sooner than she would have preferred.

  “Shall I see you tomorrow, Fitzwilliam?”

  “It is probable my business will not conclude until the evening. I will call upon you the day after,” he said as he hastily made his departure.

  ********

  She had meticulously set the scene for a romantic evening: a late night supper and a bottle of wine shared in the shadowy glimmer of the candlelight. She had even carefully chosen her gown, the bodice just low enough to invite closer scrutiny. All of this planning was done with one objective in mind: to finally elicit a proposal of marriage from Fitzwilliam Darcy that was long overdue.

  As Alyssa agitatedly paced the length of her parlour, she could sense that something was amiss. Why was Fitzwilliam so eager to leave? And what was that tender scene she had witnessed between him and Miss Bennet all about? Certainly no gentleman of his wealth and consequence would ever seriously consider a match with so blemished a woman. Had he taken her as his lover while he resided at Netherfield? Perhaps he had bestowed his attentions upon her as some sort of charity, or was it simply boredom that had been his motive?

  She now felt completely justified in her own behaviour.

  Despite her flagrant encouragement, not once while alone in her company had Fitzwilliam allowed his passion to overrule his gentlemanly code of honour. If he had, she might not have felt obliged to seek confirmation of her own desirability elsewhere.

  And it was the forbidding George Wickham who had provided her with the reassurance she had needed. From the first time he had called upon her during Fitzwilliam’s stay in Hertfordshire, she had felt an unnerving attraction. She knew he was dangerous, but that only seemed to increase her fascination with him. His face was undeniably handsome, and in his regimentals he looked quite dashing. His military duties gave her no concern that she and Fitzwilliam might hazard to meet him while attending a social event.

  He had pursued her with much persistence, which admittedly she found quite flattering, and upon their last encounter, she had barely escaped with her virtue intact

  She had not seen him in weeks, refusing his company since that night of his timely departure, descending the stairs of her townhouse only moments before Fitzwilliam’s unannounced arrival. But she had no doubt Mr. Wickham would come to her again if she sent word. If only he had the fortune and prestige of someone of Fitzwilliam’s consequence, she might have seriously considered his suit.

  But the truth was she needed to marry a man of considerable wealth. As soon as her uncle’s estate was settled, it would become common knowledge that her family was in financial difficulties. No doubt, the townhouse would have to be sold to pay back taxes, leaving only her family’s small estate in Northumberland, which was in dire need of a transfusion of funds if it was to survive.

  As she thought upon the blatant exhibition she had witnessed this evening at the theatre, she could not help but wonder if Miss Elizabeth Bennet was the cause of Fitzwilliam’s abrupt departure tonight. A late night rendezvous perhaps.

  She let that thought linger in her mind as she walked to her writing desk and pulled out her quill and a sheet of notepaper.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Darcy hurried down the steps of Alyssa’s townhouse and headed towards his waiting carriage, but he did not get in. He decided a walk might help to organize his thoughts.

  As his carriage followed at a discreet distance, he slowly walked down Russell Street. It was still the shank of the night and the gas-lights burned brightly, illuminating his way. He looked around him at the crisp, clear, perfect night and could only wonder why any man who possessed wealth and position and was soon to be betrothed to a beautiful young woman should feel as confused and unsettled as he did at this very moment.

  After all, his life was going exactly as he had planned.

  Alyssa would make him the perfect wife. She was revered by th
e ton for her beauty and grace, her uncle had been of noble blood, she was well acquainted with social protocol, and she did not demand his undying declaration of love. Yes, she was in every way perfect for him.

  So then why had he, yet again, evaded a proposal? And more curiously he wondered: Why was he not enticed to pursue a more physical relationship?

  He had never pressed the issue. On the contrary, it was usually he who refrained from furthering the nature of their intimate encounters. Yet, he was sure Alyssa would have granted him that liberty had his passion been so aroused. But it had not. He had never felt an overwhelming desire to make love to her.

  Make love . . . the term caused his brow to furrow. In all honesty, he could not say that he had ever made love to any woman.

  Oh, it was not that he was a man without needs. His body’s reaction tonight as he watched Elizabeth Bennet from across the balcony was certainly proof of that.

  He had never been accused of being a prude, nor had love ever been a requirement for any of his previous sexual encounters. In his past ventures into the world of carnal delights, of the women who had willingly taken him to their beds, none had ever uttered the word love, much to his relief.

  He could think of no logical explanation why he should not at least be tempted to bed the woman he had chosen as his future wife. Was there something about Alyssa that made him wary, or was he only foolishly making up excuses? With all of her charms his for the taking, why was he not eager to have them share that ultimate intimacy?

  Was it because his conscience would dictate that once they did, his obligation to her would be irrevocable?

  And if it was the thought of Elizabeth Bennet that was prohibiting this familiarity with Alyssa, he truly was a fool. For in truth, despite his desire for her and the connection he had felt between them, he would not be doing Elizabeth any favours by furthering their acquaintance. He may abhor the idea of her as Mrs. Collins, but a man who was unwilling to expose his heart to the possibility of love would not make her any happier.

  He must put a stop to this foolishness! If he was waiting for a sign that he and Alyssa were destined not to wed or perhaps hoping that some divine intervention would miraculously change his opinion about love, he was indeed the biggest fool that ever lived.

  He turned and motioned to his driver. He entered his carriage, his mind now completely made up on the subject.

  ********

  Madeline Gardiner stepped down from the carriage as it stopped at the fashionable modiste on Bond Street. Her niece followed her descent, and the two women strode arm in arm into Estelle’s Boutique.

  Mrs. Gardiner had visited the exclusive shop on a few occasions, and Madam Vestry, the proprietress, made it her business to know all of her clientele by name.

  “Mrs. Gardiner, how lovely to see you again. How might I assist you this morning?”

  “Good morning, Madam Vestry. This is my niece, Elizabeth Bennet. We have come to look at fabrics for her sister’s forthcoming wedding.”

  “A wedding, how wonderful! And when is the happy event to take place?” she asked.

  “In September,” offered Elizabeth.

  “How perfect! Please come this way; let me show you some of our newest arrivals.”

  They were led to an array of bolts of cloth that were spread out on a large display table, and Madam Vestry left them to peruse the delicate silks and satins while she assisted other customers.

  When Mrs. Gardiner looked over at Elizabeth, she noted her niece’s lack of enthusiasm as her attention seemed somewhat diverted.

  “Are you all right, Lizzy?”

  “Yes, Aunt; perhaps a little tired. You have planned for my every moment in London, and I am quite unused to such constant activity.”

  “Of course, I should have realized . . . Is your leg bothering you?”

  “Only a very little. Really, I am fine.”

  Elizabeth felt slightly guilty for her feigned excuse, for she was sure that her distracted state had less to do with her leg and more to do with last night’s encounter with Mr. Darcy.

  Seeing him again had been sweet torture. She could no longer pretend that he had not engaged her emotions. Her only hope was that in time these feelings that she felt for him would fade. Oh, to be in such a wretched situation, hopelessly in love with a man who was soon to be wed to another woman . . . a quite perfect woman. Upon seeing them together last evening even she had to admit that they made a most handsome couple.

  Hearing the name ‘Elizabeth Bennet’ immediately gained the complete attention of the young woman who stood a short distance away. Alyssa Marston lifted her eyes in the direction of the two women who had just entered the shop.

  As she watched them, she again noted the prominent limp of Miss Bennet. Perhaps she had been too hasty in her conclusions last evening. For in the sober light of day, she could not imagine Fitzwilliam granting this poor unfortunate girl anything more than what polite civility might require.

  But, of course, men will be men. Was it possible that this woman, a woman with such a patent imperfection, had experienced what she herself had failed to achieve? For she could not dismiss the look she had witnessed Fitzwilliam bestow upon Elizabeth Bennet last night. The look was one of pure desire and one he had never lavished upon her.

  “Miss Bennet?”

  Upon hearing her name, Elizabeth turned to look upon the beautiful woman who had just occupied her thoughts. “Miss Marston . . . how nice to see you again.”

  A forced smile was Miss Marston’s only response to Elizabeth’s polite greeting, inquiring instead of her enjoyment of the prior evening. “Of course, I refer to the play.”

  Unable to imagine what else she could possibly be referring to, Elizabeth responded, “Yes, I found it extremely entertaining. And did you enjoy your evening also?”

  “I admit I was somewhat disappointed. I had expected a more agreeable ending.”

  Elizabeth’s brow furrowed slightly. “But the hero and heroine ended up together; is that not a happy conclusion?”

  “Oh, you mean the unfortunate young woman with no fortune or connections? I hardly considered her the heroine. But I suppose it is the unlikelihood of such an outcome that makes the play so appealing . . . for some.”

  Elizabeth tried to think of an apt reply, but none came to mind.

  “So, you were acquainted with Mr. Darcy in Hertfordshire?”

  “Yes, our estate is but three miles from Netherfield, where Mr. Darcy was in residence.”

  “And were you much in his company during his stay?”

  Elizabeth could not help the flushed shade that her complexion had suddenly turned, as she thought upon their many encounters, specifically recalling the morning he had discovered her scars and their final moments alone together on the balcony at Netherfield.

  “Well . . . as it happened there were a few occasions when we were prevailed upon to act as chaperones for my sister and Mr. Bingley.”

  Noting the obvious blush her question had produced, Miss Marston narrowed her eyes. “I see. Oh, by the bye, Fitzwilliam and I are now officially betrothed,” she said, her silky voice effortlessly conveying the blatant lie. “He is so anxious for us to start our married life together that he is most insistent that we wed as soon as possible.”

  Upon hearing this news, Elizabeth tried to smile as she offered her best wishes for their happiness.

  A few more strained pleasantries were exchanged before Miss Marston made her departure. As she left the shop, she concluded that if the hue of Miss Bennet’s complexion was any indication, she had not been mistaken in her suspicions regarding Fitzwilliam’s secret dalliance in Hertfordshire.

  ********

  Darcy stood and stretched his back. He had been sitting most of the day in Mr. Habershaw’s office, and he was anxious to get home and relax. Now that he had finally made up his mind to propose to Alyssa, he had called upon his solicitor to arrange a settlement upon her.

  As he entered the foyer of his townhous
e, Mrs. Bates informed him of the message which had been hand delivered by a young lad an hour before.

  He had been planning on a quiet dinner and a night of reading, but as he picked up Alyssa’s personalized notepaper, he discovered other plans had been designed for his evening as he read her brief but quite explicit message. . .

  Dearest,

  I need to see you. How I long to be in your arms again and to share the intimacy that we have denied ourselves. Come to me tonight so that I may show you, without reservation, how very much I desire you. Please, please, do not refuse my request. I eagerly await you.

  Alyssa

  As he read her words, he suddenly felt ashamed. That the woman who was soon to be his wife should have to beg his company and rather overtly suggest that they share a deeper intimacy was unforgiveable. What the devil was the matter with him? Yes, he would go to her tonight and share the closeness she desired. He would give her, as well as himself, the proof needed of his commitment to their union.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “On pleasure bent again?” her father chided. “First London, now Kent; had I known you would leave your poor father to suffer so often in your absence, I would never have encouraged you so.”

  Elizabeth gave her father a quick kiss on his forehead. “That will serve to remind you to be careful what you wish for, Papa,” she coyly responded. “Besides, I shall enjoy seeing Charlotte again, even though I shall miss Florio almost as much as I shall miss you. The weather has just turned pleasant enough for us to start our daily outings, and now I must desert him.”

  “I see no reason to leave him behind, Lizzy. Would you like him to accompany you?” he asked.

  “Oh, so very much, Papa.”

  Mr. Bennet eyed his daughter carefully, and a feeling of love and pride swelled within him. She had emerged from the dark hopelessness where she had lived for so many years and was now flowering into the confident young woman she was always meant to be. Of course, he took some of the credit for her transformation, but he knew it was Mr. Darcy who had truly rescued his daughter.