Rebellion at Longbourn

by Victoria Kincaid

  “You—? You did that?” This provoked a startled laugh from Darcy. He could vividly picture that scene. “I have been a fool.”

  Her lips quirked in a smile. “I would prefer to view it as a credit to my thespian abilities.”

  He barked a laugh. “Indeed. I should have guessed. I knew you were concealing secrets from Weston.” Of course, appealing to the man’s vanity was a winning strategy.

  Elizabeth cast her eyes downward. “I know you dislike any sort of deception—”

  Darcy hurried to interrupt her. “I recently had reason to reconsider my absolute position against falsehood. I have come to realize that sometimes deception is not only useful but necessary.”

  For the first time Elizabeth’s expression lightened. Did that mean she cared about his opinion? Desired his approbation?

  “I do not live in your circumstances,” Darcy hastened to add. “It would not behoove me to judge you based on my experience of the world.”

  Elizabeth’s lips parted, but she appeared at a loss to say anything. Of course, she is shocked. I have done naught but judge her since our first encounter.

  “I pray you will forgive my foolishness,” he said in a low voice.

  She frowned. “No, I believe you must forgive me. I had not considered whether deceiving Mr. Weston could possibly hurt someone else…”

  “There is nothing to forgive,” he murmured.

  Until this moment Darcy had been blissfully unaware of how spectacularly wrong a declaration of love could stray. He longed to crawl into a hole and hide. Elizabeth studied everything in the vicinity except him—and no wonder.

  I have declared my feelings; the honorable course would be to make an offer of marriage. But if she clearly did not return the sentiments, perhaps a proposal was not warranted. And she had told him she planned not to wed. Perhaps he might suggest they both forget the event ever occurred.

  Darcy pictured his father staring at him from his portrait in the long gallery at Pemberley. He would never be pleased to find his son taking such a cowardly option. A proposal of marriage was the only honorable choice. And, in truth, Darcy could not imagine marrying another woman.

  Perhaps such a marriage would not be a disaster.

  Darcy stifled a bitter laugh. Now there are words upon which to launch a hopeful future.

  He took a deep breath, speaking quickly before he lost his nerve. “Miss Bennet, would you do me the very great honor of accepting my hand in marriage?”

  She will say yes, he thought miserably. There is every advantage on her side. Marriage would greatly benefit her family. I must be content with that. Perhaps she will come to love me in time.

  Elizabeth started at the question and grabbed the wrought iron railing as if to steady herself. Surely she had been anticipating the question? For a long moment she remained silent, her eyes fixed on her feet. “Mr. Darcy, I thank you for the compliment of your attentions, but it is impossible for me to accept. I have obligations that preclude marriage. I cannot leave Longbourn. The tenants and my family are in need of my assistance.”

  With her head bowed, Darcy could not discern her true feelings. He had anticipated a far more forceful rejection, so he considered what she had not said. She had not been offended or declared her dislike for him.

  Her words even left open the possibility that she might accept him under other circumstances—thus fanning the embers of his hopes. Ah, what a fool I am. She may only be sparing my feelings.

  “I find your concern for your family and the inhabitants of Longbourn quite admirable,” he managed to say in a choked voice.

  The reasonable part of Darcy’s mind urged him to flee Longbourn—decorously—and pack for a return to London. As his eyes traced her beloved features, he knew he did not wish to depart. With a declaration of love lying open and bare between them, he longed to confess everything—and seize what might be his only opportunity.

  Darcy leaned closer to Elizabeth, dizzy with intoxication at her mere proximity. He could even inhale her faint rosewater scent.

  When she tilted her head up to meet his eyes, he did not care that she had rejected his offer of marriage moments ago. His heart was full to overflowing. He was fortunate just to know such a magnificent creature.

  All that remained was to find the words that would express his feelings. Of course, he already knew he would fail since what he experienced was utterly ineffable.

  He took a deep breath. “Elizabeth…I am not good at pretty words or grand speeches, but I stand by my declaration. I will not deny or modify it. I am in love with you and have been for these past two years. Everything I have done for your family, I have done for your sake and yours alone. You need only say the word, and I will lay everything I am…all my worldly possessions at your feet.”

  For a long moment, Elizabeth said nothing. Her eyes stared into his, and her hand was pressed to her heart. “I do not know why you believe you are not good at expressing yourself,” she said finally, her voice hoarse with emotion. “That was…breathtakingly eloquent. I am…quite overwhelmed.” That truth shone in her eyes.

  I should be content with this much. But Darcy had an opportunity to know more, and he would seize it. “Dare I hope you are not indifferent to me?”

  She swallowed. Her eyes were huge in her face. “No, Mr. Darcy, I am not…indifferent to you. Only now am I realizing how…” She shook her head and stared down at her feet again as if willing herself not to say more.

  Darcy’s heart could scarcely bear these wild swings of emotion. From anger and despair to the heights of hope. “Elizabeth…sh-should circumstances change at Longbourn…might we address this subject once again?”

  She gasped, and her eyes shot down to her hand. Following her gaze, he realized his fingers had begun caressing the back of her hand…but she had not pulled it away. The ghost of a smile even played around her lips.

  Perhaps she was not indifferent to his attentions. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Circumstances will change,” Darcy said firmly. “And we will readdress this subject. I will hold you to that promise…And I will make a promise of my own….”

  Slowly, giving her time to object, he gathered her into his arms. But she was not stiff under his hands; her body was warm and pliable, melting against him. He spared a minute to hope that nobody was watching them from the windows of Longbourn before his lips descended upon hers.

  Her kiss was generosity itself. She held nothing back but offered him the kind of passion he had guessed might be bound in her heart. Her lips opened under the probing of his tongue, and he explored her mouth thoroughly. Her tongue did not retreat but entwined with his in a sensual dance. Their bodies melted together until he was unsure which of them held the other up.

  Eventually, Darcy reminded himself rather forcefully that they stood on Longbourn’s front steps, where anyone might happen by. He forced himself to release her and descended two steps, away from temptation. But he could not tear his eyes from Elizabeth’s rosy lips or the high color on her cheeks.

  “What sort of promise was that, Mr. Darcy?” she asked a bit breathlessly.

  She gave him a pert smile and he supposed he could make a joke, but at the moment he was capable of only earnestness. “It was this sort: I have not surrendered. I will do everything in my power to encourage your acceptance of my hand.”

  Did he even have the right to make such a declaration when she had told him weeks ago that she did not plan to wed? Perhaps he would seem to be disregarding her wishes.

  But she laughed a deep, throaty chuckle. “I see. Well, I have been warned.”

  If she is not angry, perhaps I did not overstep too badly. Perhaps there is some hope for my courtship.

  In the distance, a few farmers appeared on the road toward Longbourn. They gave no indication of having noticed Darcy and Elizabeth, but he nevertheless backed completely off the steps. I should leave her vicinity altogether. But Darcy’s confession seemed to have wrought a magic spell between the two o
f them, creating a fairy tale world where they could understand each other perfectly. As he gazed into her dark eyes, he feared that his departure would break the spell forever.

  Yet he could not remain on the steps of Longbourn. He needed a purpose, or he would be driven wild from sheer inaction. “Elizabeth,” he said urgently, “there must be some service I might render to your family. My agents are still seeking Wickham and your sister, but it is not sufficient.”

  “Surely it is.”

  “No, it is not nearly enough. Tell me what other service I might render to you.”

  She averted her eyes for a long moment. “I hesitate to mention it, but Mr. Weston has come close to discovering Longbourn’s secrets. If he remains, he will no doubt uncover them sooner or later. And he has made assaults on Kitty’s virtue…”

  “You wish him gone,” Darcy said.

  “But I know such is not within your power,” Elizabeth said miserably.

  Darcy’s mind worked furiously. He must lend some assistance. “Perhaps I might persuade Collins that the estate cannot bear the expense.”

  Elizabeth gave a slow shake of her head. “Unfortunately, I recently learned that Mr. Collins is not paying the steward’s salary. Lady Catherine bears the costs. Even if my cousin wished to rid himself of Weston, I do not know if he could.”

  Darcy frowned at Elizabeth. “Why would my aunt pay for Weston?”

  She shrugged. “I do not know. Perhaps she believed he needed a job or that Mr. Collins needed a steward. Or both.”

  He gave a decisive nod of his head. “There is a mystery to be unraveled. I might uncover it with a visit to Rosings Park—or might even encourage her to discontinue his sponsorship.”

  Elizabeth’s face lit with hope. “Do you think you might accomplish it?”

  “It is within the realm of possibility, but my aunt is a stubborn woman,” he warned. “She is often inclined not to heed my advice. Nevertheless, I will visit Rosings Park and attempt it. I owe her a visit in any event.”

  He might as well have given her a diamond ring. “I thank you, Mr. Darcy!”

  He grimaced. “Stay your gratitude until I have accomplished something. But I will leave tomorrow.”

  “Even if you do not succeed, it is a great gift.”

  The expression on her face was worth all the effort Darcy would put into it. He only hoped she would continue to regard him with favor if he failed.

  ***

  The next day Elizabeth went about her duties in a haze of disbelief. Mr. Darcy loved her! How unexpected and strange. She had noticed some odd behavior on his part but had rationalized it. Now, however, there was no denying it—and she did not quite know what to do with her knowledge. She had acknowledged her own warm feelings for the man but had never expected—never dreamed—of capturing his deepest affection. Even when he had demonstrated his attraction to her, she had not anticipated a proposal. Marriage was not something she expected to come her way.

  But over the course of the day she became more accustomed to the idea. Although she had once believed him to be difficult and proud, she had recently come to recognize that he was an honorable and caring man.

  But could she love him?

  Alone in the kitchen, she kneaded bread dough and mused about the state of her heart. Mr. Darcy was riding to Kent, and she already missed him. How was it possible for such a short time to seem so long? Every moment that her mind was not occupied with some other task she wondered when he would return.

  Or she would wander into recollections about that kiss in front of Longbourn. Perhaps he might kiss her like that again when he next visited. It was wicked to hope for it, but she could not prevent the longing.

  No matter how many times Elizabeth told herself she was being ridiculous, she felt this absence was far less tolerable than any of his previous absences.

  She slammed the dough onto the table in frustration. Her obsession with the man perplexed her. He was handsome, to be sure, and had been kind to her and her family. He was wealthy beyond Elizabeth’s wildest dreams, yet such things had never turned her head before. His interest in her was very flattering, but she had sensed glimmers of attraction toward him before he had confessed his love.

  She punched the dough harder than was necessary, as if it were responsible for her current confusion. Can I even trust his affection? Perhaps it is a passing fancy. Now I am being silly. He sought me out after we were apart for nearly two years. He proposed. These are hardly the actions of an unserious man.

  She slammed the dough again, kneading it with a punishing rhythm. She was forced to recall her words to Georgiana about how one must fully trust a man to even consider marrying him. After the examples set by Mr. Collins, Mr. Bingley, and even her own father, Elizabeth found it difficult to believe that men were constant in matters of the heart.

  She had never expected to find a man she could trust enough to consider marriage. But if she could trust any man, it would be Mr. Darcy.

  Elizabeth froze, her fingers still plunged into the dough. I want to accept his offer. That truth cut into her with a searing realization. I want to be his wife, although I cannot accept. That truth settled like a heavy weight around her shoulders.

  Longbourn would not thrive without her. The tenants and the Bennet family needed her here. Nobody else could obtain equipment the tenants required. Nobody else could ensure that everything remained concealed from Collins.

  And yet her heart longed for the freedom to tell Mr. Darcy yes. She had never been to Pemberley, but she could imagine it was very grand—grander even than Rosings Park. As the mistress of such a place, Elizabeth would not need to draw water from the well, hang laundry, or knead dough.

  She would be cherished by her husband rather than reviled by her cousin. She might raise children of her own rather than wistfully admiring Charlotte’s son. Best of all, she would see Mr. Darcy…William…every day. Speak to him over the papers at breakfast, share dinner, go to his bed…

  The beauty of this dream crashed over her like a wave on a beach. Why did I not see this before?

  I am in love with him.

  The realization brought tears to her eyes. With her hands coated in flour, she had to wipe them on the shoulder of her dress. I am in love with him, and yet my responsibilities keep me at Longbourn.

  Just the thought of loving such a man was overwhelming. She had all but given up on love in the past two years. Accepting his proposal was a frightening prospect, and yet she could not imagine refusing and allowing him to drift out of her life.

  Finally giving up on the dough, Elizabeth wiped her hands on her apron so she might draw a handkerchief from her pocket. Falling onto a tall kitchen stool, she wept freely.

  I am in love with Mr. Darcy, and we will be apart forever.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Darcy had only arrived at Rosings Park an hour ago and already he imagined he might die of sheer boredom. He was bent on asking Aunt Catherine a few pointed questions about Weston and persuading her to recall the man to Kent. Then he could return to Hertfordshire, where he could resume the far more important—and pleasant—work of convincing Elizabeth to accept his suit.

  But one could not rush his aunt or attempt anything resembling a straightforward conversation with her. If she suspected Weston was the main impetus behind Darcy’s visit, she would refuse any request outright out of sheer stubbornness.

  Therefore, Darcy gritted his teeth, drank tea, observed niceties, and listened to her complaints about their relations. Once she had exhausted that subject, she launched into a lengthy description of improvements upon the estate. Without pausing for so much as a sip of tea, she then described her plans for “improving” other people’s lives; she had a cure for her current rector’s gout and knew the best marital prospects for a local squire’s daughter.

  He nodded in the right places while wondering how his future felicity had come to depend upon his aunt’s whims regarding another estate’s steward. Then something caught his attention;
his aunt had uttered the word “steward.” He did not recall the context, but he seized the opening.

  “Speaking of stewards,” he said, as though stewards were actually the topic under consideration rather than a fleeting mention, “I was wondering how Mr. Weston came to be Mr. Collins’s steward at Longbourn.”

  Aunt Catherine shifted in her chair, a sure sign of uneasiness. “Why are you concerning yourself with Longbourn’s affairs, William? I would think you are far too busy for any sojourns in Hertfordshire.”

  Darcy refused to react. “I have taken an interest in the Bennet family’s affairs,” he said calmly. “I feel somewhat responsible for their current plight.”

  “Nonsense.”

  Darcy repressed his irritation. It mattered not if his aunt dismissed his sentiments without knowing the reasons behind them. After a pause, he prompted, “Weston?”

  “I have known Patrick Weston all his life, as you well know,” she said. “They treated him despicably in the army; he was quite wrongfully discharged. He arrived at Rosings, desperately in need of a job.”

  Darcy rolled his eyes. “Richard investigated the event. He was discharged for seducing a superior officer’s wife.”

  Aunt Catherine waved her hand. “Well, I am certain it was not his fault.” Darcy managed not to inquire how the man might be innocent in the matter.

  “I had no need of his services here,” she continued. “But his father was so concerned about the boy…” She shrugged.

  “Why not give him a position at Rosings?”

  Aunt Catherine cleared her throat and arranged the blanket on her lap. “We did not have a suitable opening here. And I recalled the dreadful conditions at Longbourn. Quite shocking! I am very fond of Mr. Collins, you know. He was at Hunsford for only three years, but so attentive…such a delightful companion at dinner. Not like Mr. Robbins. And that wife of his—!”

  Darcy had already heard a list of the new rector’s faults. “Mr. Weston,” Darcy prompted before she digressed further.

  She shrugged her bony shoulders again. “I knew that sending Mr. Weston to Longbourn would be a tremendous boon to Mr. Collins. And so it has proven. You should hear what he wrote in his latest letter.” She glanced at a pile of papers on a nearby table. “I believe I have it here—”