Of all her fears, this one had been the most grievous, to be pitied by Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth’s one small consolation was that she only had one more day to endure such humiliation. She and Maria were to leave for Hertfordshire on the morrow.
********
As she sat reading Jane’s latest letter, she heard the bell indicating the arrival of a visitor. She stood and waited to greet whoever had come to call upon the parsonage.
Darcy entered the room before his arrival had even been fully announced and went directly to her, a look of concern on his face.
He waited several heartbeats, and upon hearing the closing of the door behind him, he took her hand. “My aunt informed me that you are feeling unwell. Has your headache improved?”
“Yes, I am feeling much better . . . thank you.”
He enfolded her in his arms as he slowly lowered his head towards hers. She allowed their lips to softly meet as she felt her eyes dampen with tears.
Elizabeth tried not to respond, but the warmth of his arms around her waist and his familiar musky scent had her reaching up and drawing him closer.
When he pulled back, he looked into her eyes and saw her unshed tears.
“You are still unwell. Why did you not say so?”
“No, it is not that.”
“Then what is it Elizabeth? What has you so upset? Tell me.”
She stepped back, out of his embrace, away from his strong arms. The sooner she became accustomed to the absence of his touch, the easier it would be to forget him.
As if I could ever forget him.
“I assure you, Mr. Darcy, I am quite well, just a bit overtired perhaps. Maria and I completed our packing earlier this evening as we are to depart for Hertfordshire tomorrow morning. I shall be glad to be back home.”
He reached for her again, but she eluded his arms.
“You seem much overwrought, Elizabeth. Come . . . sit down,” he encouraged as he moved towards the loveseat.
She hesitated, but then acquiesced as she followed him and seated herself. But as he remained standing, she looked up at him in confusion.
Her eyes followed his movements as he started to pace. When he finally stopped in front of her, his look was one of nervous apprehension. She found it impossible to avert her eyes from his piercing gaze.
Darcy inhaled a calming breath, but it did not seem to help as he stared now into the questioning anticipation in her eyes.
“I . . . that is, it certainly cannot have escaped your notice that I have developed feelings for you, Elizabeth; such feelings that I have never before experienced with any other woman. Over the course of our acquaintance, I have come to believe that your feelings and mine are of a similar nature. Our relationship has blossomed beyond mere friendship and you cannot deny the . . . the strong attraction that exists between us.”
He stopped, afraid the beating of his heart might drown out his next words. He tried to take another calming breath, but it had the same inadequate effect as the first.
Elizabeth remained completely still. It was only when she saw him draw a breath that she allowed herself to do the same.
“This passionate affection, admiration and regard which I feel for you can no longer be denied, and I beg you, most vehemently, to consent to be my wife.”
Elizabeth’s lips slightly parted as her jaw seemed to drop of its own accord. Has he just proposed marriage? Of all the things she might have expected him to say, this was the furthest from her mind.
An uncomfortable silence followed as Elizabeth struggled to gather her wits. Taking in a deep, shaky breath, she finally spoke.
“I am very sensible of the honour of your proposal, Mr. Darcy, but I’m afraid I must decline. It is my belief that I am doing us both a great service by refusing your offer of marriage. In time you will see that I am right, and you will be grateful for my prudence.”
Darcy stared at her for a long moment, a feeling of deflation consuming his lungs and his soul. He tried to make sense of her words, but could not. He walked to the fireplace and momentarily glanced at his confused and distraught reflection in the pier glass above the mantle before he turned to address her again.
“And that is the extent of your reply? Have I misinterpreted your feelings, your passionate kisses? Would you have me believe that they meant nothing to you, that you casually bestowed them?”
“You know that is not true,” she said softly. “Your kisses . . . your kisses have meant more to me than you can ever know, but it is only sympathy and some misguided sense of obligation that prompts you to such drastic measures. I am releasing you, Mr. Darcy, from whatever petition my father has imposed upon you. Consider your good deed accomplished, sir.”
He was momentarily speechless, startled by her admission, but quickly regained his faculties.
“And when did you learn of your father’s entreaty?”
“Then you do not deny it?”
“I admit only that my purpose in travelling to Hertfordshire was to assist my friend, not to form a romantic attachment.”
“Well, you have succeeded in that, sir,” she replied with a trace of regret in her voice.
I’m afraid it was Colonel Fitzwilliam who inadvertently informed me. I am sure he will be most repentant when he learns that I am the young lady you referred to in your letter to him. I beg that you do not reproach him for his misstep, for he has saved us both a great deal of heartache.”
“Would you have accepted me, had you not known of your father’s behest?”
“I would rather not answer that question, for it is of little matter now. You must trust that it has all turned out for the best.”
Anger was now beginning to rise in him. Did she think him a child who did not know his own mind?
“And just why are you so opposed to a marriage between us?”
“I should think the reason quite obvious, Mr. Darcy.”
“Pray, enlighten me, Miss Bennet.”
She stood as her anger was now starting to rival his own. “As the entirety of our acquaintance has been a charade, I would not presume to expect a marriage between us any different. And you yourself have admitted that love is something you are unwilling to offer.”
Darcy’s eyes fixed firmly on hers. “And a marriage to someone like Mr. Collins would have been preferable?”
“No! Yes!”
“Well, which is it, Miss Bennet?” he asked as he took a step closer.
“Yes,” she answered again, though with much less conviction.
“I know the limitations that rule my life. It is pity you feel, sir, nothing more. It will pass, and when it does, I do not to witness the look of regret in your eyes when you gaze upon me.”
He was now standing so close that she thought he meant to kiss her again. He grasped her shoulders and pulled her towards him as he forced their eyes to meet.
“Look at me, Miss Bennet. Do you see regret in my eyes?”
His lips were now so close that his breath comingled with hers. She trembled as a tear slowly rolled down her cheek. He took her into his embrace, holding her tightly against his heart, a feeling of panic suddenly consuming him.
As hard as she fought to maintain her indifference, her resolve vanished the moment she felt his hands upon her. Her soft curves yielded against the hard muscular angles of his body.
Lifting her chin so that her lips were now just a hair’s breadth away from his, he slowly bent his head and placed his mouth over hers. Her response was that of full surrender as her arms pulled him closer and they deepened their kiss.
Elizabeth’s tears were now flowing freely, knowing she was kissing him for the last time… kissing him goodbye.
Darcy’s body responded to her exactly as he knew it would; her ability to arouse him was never in question. And once again, he was lost in her kiss. His pulse quickened as their kiss grew hungrier and more desperate with each passing moment. When his passion had reached its breaking point, he reluctantly tore his mouth away from
hers. He moved his lips towards her ear, and with ragged breath he pleaded, “Sweet Lizzy, please tell me you have changed your mind.”
It took all her strength to stop herself from telling him yes! Yes! She would marry him, that he was all she had ever wanted since she was fifteen. But she did not.
She moved back slightly, but he was unwilling to release her from his embrace. When she looked up at him, it took only the remorseful look in her eyes to give him his answer.
He stared at her in disbelief. “How can kiss me like that, yet still refuse to be my wife?” he asked of her.
“I have just explained it all to you; I will not subject us both to a marriage of pity.”
“I assure you, there was no pity in my kiss or in my body’s reaction to it. And you cannot deny your own passionate responses to my kisses, my caresses.”
“I . . . I am not immune to you, Mr. Darcy,” she softly replied as her eyes locked with his.
The heated look that passed between them could easily have ignited the room.
“Tell me the words that will persuade you, Elizabeth, and I will speak them,” he softly begged. “What must I do to convince you that these feelings I have for you are sincere?”
“It is I who must convince you,” she said as she pulled herself completely from his arms. “One day you will come to see the wisdom of my decision, for you deserve nothing less than perfection in your choice of wife.”
Promptly his anger returned. “And just how do you judge perfection, Miss Bennet—by one’s ability to dance a waltz unencumbered? That would be too shallow for even the most hardened cynic. What of your heart and your mind and your spirit; do they not account for anything? Do you not place a value on them?”
“I do, sir,” she whispered.
“Then I must conclude that you believe I do not.”
She turned away from him, sparing herself the look of anguish in his eyes.
Darcy’s expression suddenly turned stoic. “I will not impose upon you any further, Eliz . . . Miss Bennet. I see that your mind is made up.”
When she finally gathered enough courage to turn back and look at him, he had gone.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Darcy sat at his writing desk, his quill in hand, as he stared at the blank page before him. His mind was overflowing with thoughts, yet all of his efforts to put them to paper had thus far proved unsuccessful.
Having given up his useless struggle for sleep, he now desperately tried to account for his conflicted emotions. Was it possible that Elizabeth had been correct in her assertions? Had he simply gotten carried away with his mission?
His opinions on the subject of love had been implacable. Indeed he had always considered himself impervious to such feelings. So why then should he be so devastated by her refusal?
Was it simply a matter of pride?
He almost wished it were. For what better way to easily dismiss these feelings of dejection and remorse, than to blame it on his pride. But he knew better; pride had little to do with it.
In that moment of pure panic, as he had clung to her so desperately, he knew she would be the woman who would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life. There would be no forgetting her.
But he feared she wanted far more from him than he was willing to offer; perhaps even more than he was capable of. His heart had been conditioned to disregard any feelings of love through years of indifference.
He took some solace in the fact that even if his proposal had included a declaration of love, it would not have changed her answer, for she was convinced that his attentions to her were due solely to her father’s entreaty. He feared that no matter how compelling his argument, it was her own insecurities that would prohibit her from believing him. What chance then did he have to win her, and would it be fair to her to even try?
Perhaps it is best to simply let her go. Let her find a man who will love her without reservation.
He closed his eyes remembering their last kiss. He had never considered himself a selfish man, but just the thought of her in the arms of someone else was so exceedingly abhorrent to him that it made him determined to change her mind.
The dawn now found him pondering what words might convince her that her father had nothing to do with his desire to be in her company, that these deep feelings he had for her . . . whatever they were . . . were genuine? Would she think it only a ploy to persuade her to accept him?
As he stared at the still blank page before him, it seemed altogether hopeless.
A frustrated sigh escaped his lips as he put down his quill and crumpled the paper into a ball. No matter what words he chose, he knew they would be inadequate. No mere words on a page would ever induce her trust.
********
Elizabeth had found sleep to be elusive. Even when she had finally managed to succumb to her mental exhaustion, the despair in Mr. Darcy’s eyes consumed her dreams. She’d had no choice but to save him from himself and his misguided sense of obligation. Now he would have the opportunity to appraise his situation in a more prudential light.
As her head lay upon her tear-soaked pillow, the enormity of what she had done slowly began to seep into her consciousness. Not only had she turned down a proposal from the richest man in Derbyshire, she also had refused to marry the only man she could ever love. She silently prayed for the arrival of morning, and by the time the sunlight began its welcome infiltration into her room, she was already dressed and eager to make her departure.
It was her intention to leave Kent as soon as she and Maria had broken their fast, thereby avoiding any callers upon the parsonage, for now there were two gentlemen whose company she wished to elude.
However, her well planned escape was soon thwarted as Mr. Collins took advantage of their final meal together to impose yet another of Mr. Fordyce’s opinions upon them; this one on the undesirable characteristic of wit in females. The offense seemed to lie not in their ability to recognize humour, but in their self-conceited impertinence to demonstrate it, often at the expense of others, showing their lack of humanity and wisdom.
Knowing her propensity for teasing, Elizabeth merely sighed at yet another of her growing list of objectionable traits.
With their morning meal finally completed, Elizabeth donned her pelisse and rushed out the door. Her destination was Rosing’s stables where she would hurry to retrieve Florio. Just as she crossed the lane which separated the two properties, her eyes alit upon the gentleman walking in her direction.
She noted his obvious attempt to avoid staring at her limp, and the expression on his face as he approached betrayed the look of guilt he also unsuccessfully tried to conceal. He offered a tentative smile as he greeted her.
“I was just on my way to call upon you at the parsonage, Miss Bennet. I . . . I wanted to apologize for any distress I may have caused you. I spoke out of turn, before I had full knowledge of the situation. Had I known . . .”
“My forgiveness is hardly necessary, Colonel. I took no offense at your words. After all, you spoke only the truth, sir. No harm has been done, I assure you.”
“Considering my cousin’s current state of misery, and his evident displeasure with me, I very much doubt Darcy would agree.”
“I am sorry to have been the cause of any breach between the two of you, Colonel. I am sure once back in London society, Mr. Darcy’s mood will again lighten.”
The colonel forced a smile, but his thoughts were less agreeably inclined. He could not imagine his cousin’s mood improving anytime soon. Just exactly what had transpired between Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennet? Whatever it was, if Darcy’s ill humour was any indication, he was sure he had not heard the last of it.
The colonel accompanied Elizabeth to the stables and helped her ready Florio for their fifty mile journey home. “I do not mean to intrude on your privacy, Miss Bennet, but if there is anything I can do to help remedy this unfortunate situation, I would be most happy to assist in any way I can.”
That he deeply regretted his faux pas w
as evident in the pained expression of his countenance. Elizabeth could hear the desperation in his voice to make amends.
“If it is not too much of an imposition, Colonel, you can give Mr. Darcy a message for me.”
“I would be most happy to, Miss Bennet,” he answered, grateful for the chance to be of service to her.
“Tell him . . .”
“Yes?”
‘Tell him . . . I thank him most kindly for his noble gesture, and that despite our disagreement, I would wish to leave Rosings believing that we are still friends.”
When she looked up at him, the colonel could see the emotion hidden behind her words. Her eyes were shining with tears, and her expression conveyed the same sadness he had witnessed on Darcy’s face as well. He offered her an understanding smile and left her with his wishes for a safe journey home.
After making their farewells to Charlotte and Mr. Collins, Elizabeth and Maria were finally on the road towards Bromley, where they would change horses and continue on to Hertfordshire. Maria kept busy reflecting upon the entries she had made in her journal over the course of the last few weeks. Every so often she could be heard expressing her pleasure at the number of times they had dined at Rosings Park, describing in great detail every course they had consumed on each occasion.
Elizabeth smiled at each declaration of amazement the young girl uttered, but offered no comment; her mind was on much weightier matters.
She was quite convinced that as soon as Mr. Darcy returned to London and was once again in the company of the perfect young ladies of society to which he was accustomed, he would think back upon her refusal with relief that he had not been trapped into marriage by his own good intentions.
The abandonment of her foolish romantic dreams aside, it was the loss of Mr. Darcy’s friendship that she would miss the most. She had confided in him her most secret longings and had confessed to him things she had never revealed to another living soul.
The Last Waltz: . . . another pride and prejudice journey of love Page 20