Remembrance of the Past

by Lory Lilian

  “No, Miss Bennet will certainly not return this evening,” answered Mr. Darcy sharply, and his interlocutor was instantly silenced.

  Another few minutes passed while they enjoyed their drinks. Lady Cassandra broke the silence with a strangely friendly voice.

  “So, Miss Bingley, you find Mr. Wickham’s presence agreeable? I would not have guessed that; I was certain your interest lay in another direction.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Miss Bingley startled, almost dropping her glass. “I most certainly did not. How did your ladyship get such an idea?”

  Elizabeth looked at Mr. Darcy and saw his glare, impossible to misread, which asked Lady Cassandra to cease the upsetting joke immediately. However, her ladyship turned her head toward Miss Bingley, ignoring him.

  “Oh, but you just confessed it; there is no need to deny it now. After all, we are among friends here; you must not feel embarrassed.”

  “Lady Cassandra, I assure you, you misunderstood me. I was not talking about me! I barely know Mr. Wickham at all.”

  “Barely know him and yet you feel inclined to him so quickly? Strange, but not singular; it has happened to many other young ladies before.”

  “No, no!!! Nothing can be further from the truth! I had always known Mr. Wickham to be an unworthy gentleman, and I knew of the poor opinion Mr. Darcy had of him. How could I have been inclined toward a steward’s son anyway? It was not I but other ladies in Hertfordshire who found Mr. Wickham’s company agreeable. My sister and brother can testify to that!”

  Shifting between mortification and amusement, Elizabeth saw both Mrs. Hurst and Mr. Bingley nod in agreement, but Lady Cassandra seemed to ignore them completely. “Oh, you are only trying to play at modesty, Miss Bingley, I am sure. You mentioned to me that you barely knew any ladies in Hertfordshire and had no close acquaintance among the inhabitants, so how could you have known their preferences?”

  Unable to form a reply to such an open censure or find a valid argument to justify her behaviour, Miss Bingley stared in helpless silence at her ladyship, squeezing her glass with both hands.

  Elizabeth admitted to herself that she greatly enjoyed the way Lady Cassandra was torturing Miss Bingley. However, she felt she could not remain silent any longer; the notion that Mr. Darcy knew the truth, as well as her own conscience, made her determined to speak.

  “Lady Cassandra, Miss Bingley is correct; the general opinion about Mr. Wickham was quite favourable in Meryton from the first day he arrived. As someone very wise once told me, Mr. Wickham was blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends, though it is less certain he may be equally capable of retaining them.”

  Though she did not dare look at Darcy, she felt his stare.

  “I confess I was one of those who considered Mr. Wickham a friend, and I was inclined to think highly of him. However, for a couple of months now I have understood that I was completely wrong in my initial estimation. I assure you, Miss Bingley, I consider Mr. Wickham’s departure more a relief than a loss, and my opinion is not singular in Meryton.”

  She ended her little speech in a relative hurry, afraid that emotion and embarrassment would transfigure her voice. The public admittance of her own folly and the memory of how badly she had maligned Mr. Darcy’s reputation and defended Mr. Wickham in front of all Meryton—and in front of Mr. Darcy himself—threw her into a pit of shame and mortification, and she was unable to keep her countenance.

  “Ah, Miss Bingley, now I understand why you seem not to be fond of Miss Bennet. It is about an old rivalry between two ladies for a gentleman’s attentions.” Lady Cassandra’s reply stunned the others in the party. Elizabeth stared at her, eyes wide in disbelief at such impropriety, and Miss Bingley became livid, her mouth trying in vain to attempt an answer. Lady Cassandra continued with a smile that proved her delight with the reaction she provoked. “I am talking about Mr. Wickham, of course.”

  Elizabeth dared to look at Mr. Darcy’s scowling expression; their eyes met for a moment, and she thought his countenance softened a little. He rose and moved to where the ladies were sitting; when he spoke, his voice was neither kind nor amused, and his tone admitted no contradiction.

  “There has been more than enough talk of Mr. Wickham in this house for at least a year, so I will have no more of it. I do not find the subject amusing nor even tolerable, so let us move forward, shall we? Mrs. Hurst, would you indulge us with some music, please?”

  Mrs. Hurst was surprised to be addressed directly; she took her place at the pianoforte with some urgency and began performing.

  Elizabeth startled when she heard Lady Cassandra whisper to her. “Miss Bennet, I am sorry if I upset you by insisting on the subject of Mr. Wickham, but I simply cannot control my temper with Miss Bingley. She knew she should not broach that subject in this house, yet she did not care—not to mention her rudeness to you.”

  Elizabeth looked at her ladyship for a long moment. “Lady Cassandra, you did not upset me; there is no need for apologies. In fact, I confess I was quite amused by your little revenge against Miss Bingley.”

  “I am happy to hear it. I had the impression that you looked distressed at one point, but it appears I was wrong.”

  “No, your ladyship was not wrong—I was and still am distressed, but not for me. I am afraid that neither of us acted much better than Miss Bingley, and we offended our host as much as she did.”

  Lady Cassandra’s eyebrow rose in displeasure at such a censuring statement. “I am afraid I do not follow you, Miss Bennet.”

  “I apologise for speaking so freely, Lady Cassandra—but that is my opinion. Though Miss Bingley showed no consideration for Mr. Darcy and brought up the subject of Mr. Wickham just to attack me, your ladyship did the same with Miss Bingley without any regard for Mr. Darcy’s feelings; I then followed you into the conversation until Mr. Darcy was forced to scold us openly. I truly do not know how I can ever apologise to him.”

  “There is no need to apologise, Miss Bennet.” Darcy’s voice near her shoulder surprised Elizabeth so utterly that her arm brushed against his when she turned around. She felt her cheeks burning—as much from the embarrassment of her earlier behaviour as from being overheard or from his unexpected closeness—and, when her eyes met his from such a short distance, any reply was lost. Their gazes held, both of them ignoring the presence of Lady Cassandra; his countenance was soft and light, and his eyes showed nothing but warmth.

  “Well, apparently you will not have to apologise,” said Lady Cassandra, a mischievous smile on her lips as she left them and moved toward the couch, but neither of them heard her.

  “Mr. Darcy, I would like to—

  “Miss Bennet, I—

  “Oh, forgive me, please continue—

  “No, no, please, I am sorry for interrupting you. Pray go on.”

  “I wanted to tell you, sir, how sorry I am for the entire incident earlier.”

  “Miss Bennet, this time I must interrupt you. As I said, no apologies are necessary, even more so as you were not at fault. Quite the contrary, I want to thank you for your kindness toward Georgiana, she—

  “Mr. Darcy, now I absolutely must interrupt you! And to tell you the truth, I am surprised at how rude both of us have become lately, continually interrupting each other.” She smiled, and her lips twisted teasingly; his face lit completely, and his eyes moved slowly lower to her mouth, and for a moment, she felt his gaze drying her lips. She struggled to continue, despite the sudden lump in her throat. “I would suggest finding a subject that will allow us to finish the conversation in a more proper manner.”

  “You are correct, of course, Miss Bennet,” he whispered, leaning toward her so she could hear him. She shivered again. “I trust you, Miss Bennet, to find a topic to your liking, and I will try to be a diligent partner in the conversation. In the meantime, would you like to sit down and enjoy Mrs. Hurst’s performance?”

  They sat together a little apart from the others, apparently listening with great
attention, yet neither aware of anything in the room except the other. Miss Bingley’s angry glares in their direction remained completely unnoticed. From time to time, Elizabeth’s eyes moved toward Lady Cassandra; she could not tell for sure whether her ladyship was displeased or approving of their obvious intimacy—yet she refused to give the question much consideration. Their host was her only interest.

  As soon as Mrs. Hurst finished at the instrument, Mr. Hurst proposed playing cards; his wife indulged him as did Mr. Bingley and Lady Cassandra. Darcy declared that he and Miss Bennet were in the middle of an interesting conversation, and he would rather not stop. Miss Bingley also refused to play, walking around the room, attempting to move closer to where Darcy and Elizabeth were sitting and to overhear their tête-à-tête.

  In truth, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy talked about everything and nothing in particular. She rejoiced in the pleasure of being the recipient of his particular attention in the middle of a room filled with his friends. His preference for her could no longer be doubted by anyone—not even herself. With crimson cheeks and a racing heart, she listened to him talk about many small, yet private, things: his library, which was his favourite place in the house, his parents’ and Georgiana’s favourite rooms, and the room that was offered to her. He asked her if she would rather move to a guest apartment, which was more spacious and offered her all the accommodations; she hurried to answer—too passionately in her own estimation—that she was more than pleased with the current arrangements. He then took the opportunity to tell her that, despite the danger she and Georgiana had to face, he was happy the storm kept her at Pemberley for the night. At this, she knew not what to answer; she only allowed her eyes—captured by his—to speak for her.

  Mr. Darcy enjoyed his relatively private time with Elizabeth. He could not believe his good fortune as she obviously accepted his attentions with pleasure and did not leave his side for more than an hour. She seemed interested in everything he said, her eyes barely moving from his, blushing charmingly from time to time, smiling at him—only at him—as he had wished and dreamed so many times in the past. Her behaviour toward him was everything and more than he had dared to hope a few days before, and for a moment, a wild idea crossed his mind: he should take the opportunity to propose to her that very evening! But the next instant his reason took control over his impetuosity. He would court her properly; he would show her and everyone else his feelings for her; he would be patient. He would consider only her feelings and desires this time. As for his, he knew them only too well. His second proposal would not come until he could be certain that this was what she wished and anticipated.

  While deep in his own thoughts, he noticed her wondering glance searching his face. He recovered quickly and asked her if she wanted something to drink. Elizabeth accepted; Lady Cassandra asked for one too, and he indulged her. Then Miss Bingley asked for the same favour, and he complied again. After that, he took two glasses and moved back near Elizabeth, indifferently and quite impolitely returning his attentions only to her.

  Elizabeth was tired—more tired than usual for that hour—yet she refused to consider that the evening might come to an end. She felt happier than ever and grew increasingly certain of her feelings for Mr. Darcy. Though she knew it was unwise and dangerously presumptuous, her imagination—filled with hopes and desires—made her believe that his feelings for her were as strong as they were two months earlier and that he was not far from declaring himself again. Of course, her sensible voice advised her to remain rational, yet her heart spoke considerably louder and with more determination—so it was to her heart that Elizabeth listened.

  ***

  Despite Elizabeth’s wishes, the evening did come to an end. Before retiring for the night, Lady Cassandra insisted on checking Georgiana once more; Miss Bingley hurried to do the same, but Darcy politely thanked Miss Bingley for her concern and offered to advise her if any significant event occurred regarding Miss Darcy. Miss Bingley seemed content with this proof of appreciation; however, before leaving the salon, she asked Elizabeth what room was offered to her. The explanation that Elizabeth resided in the family wing made Miss Bingley livid with shock and anger.

  As they climbed the stairs to the family apartments, Lady Cassandra asked, “Darcy, are you angry with me for my earlier exhibition with Miss Bingley?”

  “Yes, I am, but let us not discuss the matter now; we should not expose Miss Bennet to our private quarrels,” he replied, offering Elizabeth his arm.

  “Oh come now—do not be so serious.”

  “I must be. I would rather see you more preoccupied by my wishes than by your own amusement at Miss Bingley’s expense. Not to mention that Miss Bingley is my guest too, and despite her behaviour, I would not have you answer her in the same manner again. Please indulge me.”

  “Very well, then, I shall do as you please,” she answered with mocking obedience. Then, to Elizabeth’s mortification, she added. “As for Miss Bingley and your other guests, you did not seem too preoccupied with any of them in the last couple of hours as far as I noticed.”

  Elizabeth was certain her face was burning. How could Lady Cassandra say such things with no restraint? To her even greater shock, Mr. Darcy laughed while answering. “Yes, I cannot deny that. I have to confess I had the most wonderful conversation with Miss Bennet tonight; I only hope I did not bore her completely. My conversational skills are not what they should be.” Elizabeth sensed him smiling, and she finally lifted her eyes; he was indeed smiling, an intimate, meaningful, even daring smile.

  “Well, though I am by no means as perceptive as Miss Bingley, I wager that Miss Bennet has no complaints about your conversational skills. Am I correct, Miss Bennet?”

  It was Elizabeth’s turn to laugh, sighing deeply; there was nothing to do with Lady Cassandra except take her as she was. “You are absolutely correct, your ladyship. Mr. Darcy’s abilities at making pleasant conversation continue to improve.”

  “It must be the result of following Lady Catherine’s advice; one can become truly proficient only by practicing constantly,” said Lady Cassandra.

  Elizabeth felt relieved when they all reached Miss Darcy’s room as she was afraid of where their conversation might have tended. A servant was watching Miss Darcy; she informed them that the young lady had been a little feverish, but she was well and slept restfully for the last couple of hours.

  They walked on until they reached Elizabeth’s door; there, Mr. Darcy took her hand once more and lifted it to his lips while bowing to her.

  “Thank you, Miss Bennet,” he whispered, and she felt her knees unable to support her. She hoped she answered a “good night” both to him and Lady Cassandra; then dashing from her closed door, she only stopped when she reached the bed and threw herself onto the soft, silky sheets.

  ***

  It was well past midnight when Elizabeth was startled in her sleep by a deafening thunderclap and the sound of rain pelting the window. She looked around, disconcerted for a moment, until she remembered where she was. She felt cold and covered herself in the bed sheets. Looking at the fireplace, she saw the flames were strong, yet she could not feel their warmth. She was shivering badly, and her own arms wrapped around herself did not help. She needed his arms. She needed and wished for him—his closeness, his warmth, his comforting embrace, his tender, caring voice, his arms crushing her against his chest—and then she would not be cold any longer. She closed her eyes, ashamed of her desires but not wanting to abandon them. She knew how improper her thoughts were, but if she could not truly have him close to her, at least she could keep him near in her mind. She remembered his voice whispering in her ear, and the trace of his kiss on the back of her hand was still alive on her skin.

  Her lips become dry, so dry that she could not move them. She was thirsty; she had been thirsty the entire night. She rose from the bed, still shivering, and went to pour herself another cup of water, but there was none left. She pulled the robe around herself and left the room; she needed to f
ind some water or at least a servant to ask for assistance. She walked as silently as she could along the long hall without noticing the shadow in front of her; a short scream escaped her parched lips when she bumped into a tall, dark form.

  “Miss Bennet, what is the matter?”

  Darcy’s voice startled her but equally comforted her; yet, only a moment later, her embarrassment prevented her speaking. He was clearly dressed for bed, wearing a robe over his nightclothes, and her eyes moved from his face to his uncovered neck and then lowered to the ground.

  “I…I was trying to find some water; I finished what was in the pitcher and felt really thirsty. I am sorry to have disturbed you.”

  “No, no, you did not disturb me. I went to ask about Georgiana once more before going to sleep. You should not have left the room but rung for a servant. You seem very cold.”

  He was right; she was shivering and had hoped he would not notice. Yet he did, and he encircled her shoulders with his right arm as he took both of her hands in his left. She shivered even more at the feeling of his fingers caressing hers in an attempt to warm them.

  “Miss Bennet, you must return to bed this instant. I will send you a servant immediately. Your hands are frozen.” She did not answer, allowing him to support her. She felt quite tired—hardly able to walk.

  He opened the door to her bedchamber and walked inside, his arms protectively around her. Elizabeth knew she should not allow him inside; there was nothing more improper. But how could she refuse what she had wished for earlier—the warmth of his closeness?

  She felt herself gently deposited on the bed; he was frowning, and she wondered why he was displeased. Maybe she had disturbed him after all. He arranged her pillow and then wrapped her in the covers. She blushed, averting her eyes from him; she had never imagined how it would be for a man to perform such gestures for her. Every move drew him closer to her until she could feel his breath against her skin.