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

by Pat Santarsiero

  They sat there in the seclusion and peacefulness of the small park for some time, Darcy holding a sleeping Elizabeth as the scent of jasmine hung delicately in the air. The steady rhythm of their breathing was in complete accord as he watched the brightness of the afternoon slowly fade.

  When she shivered again, he tried to shield her from the cooler air that resulted from the sun’s descent behind the trees. His lips were now just mere inches from hers, and he could not ignore the thought of kissing her. And the thought of kissing her, of course, led his mind to more amorous ambitions as he envisioned his hands caressing the soft curves of her body, imagining the pleasure to be derived from such intimate contact.

  He knew he must wake her. And he must do it quickly before he became reckless enough to act on any one of the wholly inappropriate impulses that were now challenging his self-control.

  “Miss Bennet,” he called in a low voice just above a whisper, already regretting that he would now be forced to relinquish her from his embrace.

  She stirred in his arms, and he heard her murmur something in her sleep. “Elizabeth,” he called again, his voice barely a decimal louder.

  Elizabeth was reluctant to abandon her sweet dream. If she could just keep her eyes closed, she could stay in Mr. Darcy’s arms and continue on with their romantic waltz. When she heard him intimately call her name, she lifted her head and tilted her face up towards the sound of his voice. With the temptation of his lips smiling down upon her, she slowly breached the distance between them as they shared a sweet kiss right there on the dance floor. She sighed. His dream kisses were just as stimulating as his real life ones.

  Darcy inhaled a sharp intake of breath. She had caught him quite unaware. But at the feel of her lips pressing so softly against his, he promptly recovered from his initial surprise. He took control of the kiss, deepening it, demanding more from it. Her response was more than encouraging as her sweet lips parted in acquiescence, and he marveled at how easily he surrendered to the temptation of her.

  He knew the exact moment she gained full consciousness as he felt her soft supple body suddenly become rigid. Her eyes flew open, and a slight gasp escaped the lips that she quickly disengaged from his. However, she did not stray far from his embrace.

  Elizabeth took a moment to reacquaint herself with her surroundings, and then she took a deep composing breath. When she considered her dream and Mr. Darcy’s close proximity, it did not take much imagination to comprehend what had most likely occurred. Her face reddened.

  Darcy cleared his throat, hoping to obtain forgiveness for his most presumptuous behaviour. “It was not my intention . . .”

  “You are not about to apologize again, are you, Mr. Darcy?”

  He stared at her for a moment as he observed the slight twitching of her lips that always accompanied the teasing she loved to inflict upon him. His immediate thought was to pull her back into his arms and make her pay most dearly for her impertinence, but he managed to contain his desire. For he feared if he kissed her again, he would not be able to stop. However, the notion lingered as he forced his eyes away from her seductive lips.

  “A momentary lapse. I’d forgotten how much you abhor regrets.”

  “Not all of them, certainly. If you truly regret our kiss, then I am most deserving of a proper apology.” This declaration was accompanied by a most mischievous smile.

  “Perhaps it is you who should be apologizing to me, Miss Bennet, for I believe it was you who initiated our kiss.”

  The shade of red on her face deepened even further, but she could not help the delight she felt at his playful manner and was eager to have it continue.

  “Oh, was it not pleasing to you, sir? Did you find it an experience unworthy of repeating?”

  As he met the gaze of her flirtatious and taunting eyes, he wondered if she was aware of the effect she had upon him, if she knew how dangerously close he was to abandoning the gentlemanly restraints he had always fought so hard to maintain while in her company.

  “I confess, I found our kiss most pleasant, indeed,” he said softly, his voice suddenly taking on a much more serious tone. “But I believe it would be unwise of us to repeat it.”

  Her amusing banter disappeared just as quickly as had his, as she tried to mask her disappointment. “Of course. Please do not suppose that I teased you in order to beg for another kiss,” she answered as her traitorous gaze fell momentarily from his eyes to his lips.

  “You would not have to beg, Miss Bennet, for the thought has never been far from my mind. But perhaps we should return to the house before our friendship is placed in jeopardy.”

  “That is the last thing I would want, sir, but I assure you I have no false expectations, if that is your fear. You have been quite candid as to the limitations of your regard.”

  For a moment they held each other’s gaze as Darcy contemplated the implication of her words. Was she suggesting she would welcome my attentions without a declaration of love?

  “Then you know it is for your own benefit that I accompany you back to the parsonage,” he softly replied, confident he had read far too much into her guileless admission.

  Darcy then quickly rose from the bench, giving her little chance to respond. He knew it would not have taken much persuasion on her part to convince him to stay.

  He now also knew what a woman like Elizabeth Bennet dreamed about; he had heard the words she had murmured in her sleep. Those words had caused him both joy and regret. She had thanked him for their lovely waltz.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Charles Bingley shuffled through the mail that had been delivered earlier that morning. When he saw the distinctive script, he audibly sighed.

  “Finally!”

  He tore open the letter, quickly breaking the familiar seal, then eagerly read Darcy’s message. When he had finished, he refolded the letter and put it down. However, barely a moment had passed before he found himself scanning the pages once again.

  It was just like Darcy to ignore his letters and disappear for months without a word and then suddenly send him a long list of items he wished for him to attend. And from some of Darcy’s inquiries, it was obvious the man had not read any of the prior correspondence he had sent him.

  As Bingley perused each entry on the list of things to be done, he could make neither head nor tails of them, such was their diversity. Among his chores, he was to locate a doctor by the name of Graham and obtain his direction. He was also to contact and request the assistance of one of Darcy’s business associates in London and also a cobbler in Canterbury, relating certain facts and informing them that specific instructions were soon to follow. Of course, there was no explanation as to why any of these duties should be performed, but that was also very much like Darcy.

  He shook his head, but purposefully walked to his study, where he sat down at his desk to reply to his friend’s letter and to begin carrying out the odd tasks that had been assigned him.

  ********

  For the last two days Darcy had forced himself to concentrate solely on the business of Rosings Park’s management. He spent hours going over the household accounts, looking for ways to economize. When his eyes could no longer focus on the numbers that occupied the journals, he took to the outdoors, where he inspected the crops and checked that there was sufficient drainage of the fields. All of these things were done with one purpose in mind: to avoid the parsonage and the temptation of Elizabeth Bennet.

  He certainly was no longer under any obligation to Mr. Bennet. But he could not help but recognize the fact that even from the very beginning, most of his actions while in Elizabeth’s company stemmed from his own desires and had nothing to do with Mr. Bennet’s request. There was no mistaking her effect upon him. She had a way of stimulating both his mind and his body in ways no other woman ever had. But she was worthy of affections far greater than those he was willing to offer. She was a woman who deserved to be loved.

  If only Richard would hasten his arrival, it might h
elp divert his mind from her. He needed a distraction from the way her eyes lit up her face whenever she looked upon him or the way her sweet mouth twitched ever so slightly whenever she teased him.

  Yet, despite all of his good intentions, he found himself once again headed for the little park where he had last encountered her. As he approached, he eyed the empty benches and tried to convince himself that he was relieved by her absence.

  He sat down and ran his hands over the newly painted surface. He let his thoughts take him back to the many afternoons that he and Georgiana had enjoyed the privacy of their little domain.

  The onset of their mother’s illness had forced the two siblings to spend more and more time at Rosings in the company of their Aunt Catherine. Although Darcy and Georgiana had shared many hours of contentment here, he was now recalling the last day they had occupied these very same benches. That memory was not a happy one, for it was the day they had learnt of their mother’s death.

  When Darcy had been summoned to his Aunt Catherine’s parlour, his father had tried to break the news to him gently, but his grief would not allow it. He blamed God for allowing such an unbearable and unjust tragedy to befall his beloved wife. Sobbing, he cursed the impotence of the love that had not been able to save her.

  The sixteen year old Fitzwilliam had also believed that their love was powerful enough to change his mother’s fate. But it seemed all the love in the world could not accomplish that task. What good was love, then? It could not change anything, and when it was gone, it left those in its wake bereft and broken. Why would anyone willingly put themselves through such torture?

  Rather than expose a very young Georgiana to their father’s grief-stricken anger, Darcy took it upon himself to accompany his six-year-old sister to their little park and inform her of the passing of their beloved mother. As he told her the heartbreaking news, he had tried, without success, to console her. He held her small body, gently rocking her as she softly wept in his arms, calling for her mother who would never again embrace her.

  Darcy closed his eyes at the memory. When he opened them again, he found they were glossy with the tears of the past.

  He was, without a doubt, his father’s son. The great intensity with which his father had lived his life had often been compared to his own. Darcy knew their natures were alike in many ways. The magnitude of his father’s love for his mother was so overwhelming that her death brought on the onslaught of the once vital George Darcy’s demise. His father never recovered from that day, and Darcy had vowed he would never allow himself to succumb to a similar fate.

  A sudden tightness constricted Darcy’s chest as he tried to take in a deep breath. Elizabeth Bennet had once again overtaken his thoughts as he recalled every pleasurable moment in her company, each one a forewarning of the potential danger to which he was exposing his heart. Don’t be a fool, Darcy. Had not life proven to him time and again the wisdom of his beliefs? If he never allowed himself to love, he would never have to suffer the unbearable heartache that love would inevitably bring.

  ********

  “Mrs. Collins and Maria are now just gone into Hunsford Village with my cousin. Your unexpected visit finds me all alone this morning, Mr. Darcy.”

  If she considered his visit unexpected, it was an outright surprise to him. For in truth, he had no idea what had suddenly brought him to her door. Had he come to call upon her just to prove to himself that he was capable of resisting her charms? He was beginning to suspect that his actions, as far as Elizabeth Bennet was concerned, were being ruled by a power beyond his control.

  They had not been in each other’s company since he had hurriedly escorted her from the park that day, though the memory of their kiss had not once left his mind. The atmosphere between them now seemed more that a bit strained. They each sat at in a chair, opposite each other. Elizabeth offered tea, but he declined. Silence filled the air for several moments before Darcy finally found his voice.

  “I understand your sister and Mr. Bingley are soon to be married.”

  “Yes, in September. But, of course, you already knew that, sir.”

  In actuality, he had found out only this morning as he read Bingley’s reply to his letter. “Yes, I am looking forward to attending. My sister shall also attend, and I am hoping the occasion shall provide the perfect opportunity for the two of you to get to know each other, and perhaps . . . perhaps the occasion will also grant me, at last, the pleasure of dancing with you.”

  “A most pleasant prospect, but I would not wish to give you false hope, Mr. Darcy.”

  He could not hide his disappointment. “I see… far from encouraging words.”

  “Pray, do not take it personally, sir. As you have previously witnessed, it is doubtful I shall dance with anyone.”

  Her declaration did little to appease his bruised ego. He had hoped he had earned a higher regard than just anyone.

  The air was again filled with their silence, but this time it was Elizabeth who broke it. “I am curious about something, Mr. Darcy, and I was hoping you might enlighten me.”

  “You may ask anything of me, Miss Bennet,” he said as his mouth curved into a small smile at just how true that statement was.

  “It is in regard to Mr. Wickham. I was wondering why he has expressed such hostility towards you.”

  Darcy’s smile vanished as his body stiffened.

  “I did not realize you had made his acquaintance,” he replied more sharply than he had intended.

  “I have not, sir. It was my sister, Jane, who conversed with him.”

  “And what grievance did he make against me?”

  “I believe he suggested that you cheated him out of his inheritance,” she answered as they stared at each other intently.

  “And did you believe his claim?” he asked, his voice still rigid.

  Elizabeth’s eyes softened as she answered him. “No, sir, I did not. I am certain I could not be so deceived as to your character.” She could not help the blush that accompanied her answer.

  Darcy’s body visibly relaxed as he processed her words, and the smile he had just abandoned slowly reappeared on his face. That she had not given any consequence to Wickham’s accusations was a balm, both to his mind and to his heart.

  “Mr. Wickham has the gracious manners to easily charm, but his reputation is far from honourable, Miss Bennet.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. Should he divulge the details of Wickham’s despicable offense against Georgiana, and reveal the events that had taken place at Ramsgate? As far as Wickham’s seduction of the woman he had intended to wed, Darcy was almost ashamed to admit that the man had actually saved him from an imprudent and unhappy marriage.

  “Since we were children, Mr. Wickham has been obsessed with his resentment of me and my family.”

  Elizabeth held his gaze but made no reply.

  As much as his pride begged him to keep family secrets, if there was any chance that Wickham would now take out his vengeance upon Elizabeth, he must warn her of his devious character. He remembered that night in Alyssa’s parlour, how Wickham had witnessed his reaction to Elizabeth’s name. He could not allow her to become Wickham’s next prey simply because of her connection to him. It was his obligation to protect her.

  Darcy ran his hand through his hair as he took a deep breath. “It was a little over two years ago that Wickham tried to perpetrate his worst offense against me and my family. He . . . he attempted an elopement with Georgiana who had not yet turned sixteen at the time. The same age that I believe you were, Miss Bennet, when first we met,” he said as he looked deeply into her dark amber eyes. “It was only by chance that I joined my sister unexpectedly and learned of Wickham’s plan. Her inheritance of thirty thousand pounds had been his motive and, of course, to exact revenge upon me.”

  He was suddenly silent, and his breathing seemed laboured as he looked away from her.

  “I thank you, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said softly. “I am grateful for your candor. And I am al
so sensitive to the fact that you have disclosed such intimate family details so that you might guard me against Mr. Wickham’s true character. I will not abuse your trust, sir.”

  His eyes turned once again to Elizabeth’s. “It never crossed my mind that you would, Miss Bennet,” he earnestly replied. As he continued to gaze into the fathomless depths of her eyes, he braved a question of his own. “Have . . . have you not sought refuge in our little park of late?”

  “After our last encounter, I was led to believe you would prefer if I did not.”

  He should hardly be surprised by her response. His almost abrupt manner upon their departure from the park that afternoon certainly gave sustenance to her presumption. But he had found himself secretly hoping she would disregard his words of caution, for he had dearly missed her company over the last few days.

  “I am sorry if I gave you that impression. In my effort to preserve our friendship, it seems I have accomplished just the opposite. I . . . I would hate to think we are no longer friends.”

  “I cannot imagine that ever happening, Mr. Darcy,” she said quietly.

  Such a sense of relief came over him at her words, that before he could stop himself he had already dared to ask, “Then perhaps you would agree to ride with me again tomorrow?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Once again Elizabeth managed to escape the parsonage and the latest sermon from Mr. Collins, while Darcy eluded his aunt’s newest matchmaking scheme. Together they rode out towards the fields and meadows beyond Rosings. And once again upon their return they found themselves headed for the little park.