Remembrance of the Past

by Lory Lilian

  “This is not true, sir! How could you— she cried, but he took both of her hands in his.

  “Miss Bennet…” His voice sounded deep and soft, while she felt his eyes piercing her soul; her fingers were trapped in his, and she dared not move them, hoping he could not sense her trembling. Her lips went dry again.

  “Miss Bennet, if you want to express some kind of gratitude, you may do so by never speaking of Wickham again. I dare say he has already tormented both of us far too frequently.”

  Flustered by the memory of everything that happened between them because of Wickham and her own folly, she only nodded in agreement. “Very well, sir. That will be an easy way to express my gratitude, indeed.”

  “Then everything is settled,” he replied, returning her smile.

  No, she cried to herself, nothing is settled. There were countless things she wanted to ask him, but she did not dare; she had to respect his wish; she owed him as much.

  Darcy continued without releasing her hands. “I am pleased to be here; that is all that matters now. We have no fixed plans for how long we will remain in Hertfordshire, but if everything is well and our presence is welcomed, I dare say we will stay for quite some time.”

  That lump in her throat again! And that shiver—Could he feel her shivering? “I hope you will enjoy your stay, sir. We…we are delighted to have you all here. I cannot wait to see Georgiana and Lady Cassandra again.”

  A trace of distress shadowed his countenance for a moment, and she did not miss it. Suddenly, she became uneasy again and inquired of him with much concern, “Sir, is anything wrong with Georgiana or Lady Cassandra?”

  “No, there is nothing wrong, but they have been a little distressed lately. I am sure they will recover during their stay at Netherfield. And I thank you for your concern.”

  “Will I see them both later—during your call, I mean?”

  “I am not sure; I hope so. If not, I am sure there will be plenty of opportunity for you to meet again soon.” Again, his voice sounded unsettled, and she knew something was not well.

  “Miss Bennet, it is time for me to return. Bingley insisted we have an early breakfast and be prepared to pay calls as soon as propriety allows. He seemed eager to visit his neighbours again.”

  She withdrew her hands, embarrassed that she did notice how late it was.

  “Oh, I have to leave, too. You are right; it is quite late.”

  “Please, allow me to accompany you on your way back.”

  “But…do you not have to return to Netherfield? Please do not bother yourself; I will be quite safe; this is one of my favourite paths, and I walk here daily.”

  “I know it is your favourite path, Miss Bennet. I remembered when you talked it last year. Still, it would be my pleasure to have your company a little longer.”

  She found nothing to say and accepted his offered arm; they walking in silence until Longbourn appeared before them.

  “Sir, thank you for your company. I shall look forward to seeing you later.”

  “Then I shall ask Bingley to be ready as soon as possible.” For some moments, as neither seemed willing to depart first, they remained in front of each other, smiling tentatively yet wholeheartedly, their eyes silently speaking what their words did not dare.

  She seemed to recover first, curtseyed, moved a few steps, and then quickly turned back until she was only a few inches from him. “Mr. Darcy, I am very happy to see you in Hertfordshire again.”

  The expression of delight on his face melted her heart, and with a sensation of deep happiness, she departed again, almost running from him. She did not know that, had she stayed a moment longer, she would have received the first real kiss of her life.

  ***

  Miss Bingley had her first good moment in recent months: an invitation for tea with her old acquaintance, Lady Sophia, an exceedingly rich heiress of three and twenty. What a wonderful surprise the invitation was, considering Lady Sophia had rarely invited her in the past!

  Of course, she refused to accompany Charles to Netherfield; that could wait another week or so, but Lady Sophia’s invitation could not be refused under any circumstances.

  It was unbearably warm, and Miss Bingley blamed the carriage, the driver, the roads and the sun for her discomfort. Oh, what a pity they had to leave Pemberley! Pemberley was everything she ever wanted; it was ideal for both summer and winter. Pemberley was simply perfect.

  That Eliza Bennet—it was all her fault; Miss Bingley was certain of that. As soon as she left, Mr. Darcy left too, and they were practically forced to leave Pemberley and return to London in the middle of summer. What horrible distress! Then they all went to Hertfordshire—close to all the Bennets! It was unacceptable, especially after the youngest Bennet girl eloped so scandalously with that officer. Yes, they married, but she knew what that meant—oh, those reckless, thoughtless, tiresome Bennets!

  Finally, the carriage stopped, and she descended in front of Lady Sophia’s home—an imposing, wealthy structure, speaking clearly of its mistress’s situation in life—such a home as she, Caroline Bingley, deserved and craved.

  The servant opened the main door, and Caroline was shown into the drawing room where Lady Sophia and other guests were gathered. At her entrance, she had the impression that they all paused in their conversation and many pairs of eyes turned to her.

  The hostess hurried to greet her, and she was pleased to be so welcomed; a moment later, her satisfaction grew, and she congratulated herself for accepting the invitation when she was introduced to the most charming gentleman she had seen of late—Lord Markham.

  ***

  Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy and Lady Cassandra left Longbourn after a long and satisfactory visit.

  Mrs. Bennet reminded Mr. Bingley many times that he still owed her a dinner from last autumn. Only Mr. Darcy’s mention that his sister was at Netherfield—resting after the journey and waiting for them to join her at dinner—stopped Mrs. Bennet’s insistence.

  However, Lady Cassandra, who—shockingly for Elizabeth—managed to get along well with both Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, assured the mistress of the house that she, for one, was most eager to accept a dinner invitation at Longbourn, as were the gentlemen. From that moment, Lady Cassandra became the object of Mrs. Bennet’s unrestrained admiration and the recipient of her complete attention, especially once she was certain the lady had no interest in Mr. Bingley.

  Jane Bennet was more beautiful but less talkative then ever during the visit. She and Mr. Bingley barely took their eyes from each other, and every time the gentleman spoke to her directly or smiled at her, she nearly fainted. She managed to answer Lady Cassandra’s polite and friendly questions reasonably enough. However, she was grateful that her sister took care of her ladyship, allowing her to fully enjoy Mr. Bingley’s presence—Mr. Bingley, whom she had been certain she would never see again and the one who still possessed her heart and her thoughts; Mr. Bingley, who said he had no intention of leaving Netherfield again soon.

  Elizabeth was both happy and embarrassed to meet Mr. Darcy again. Only minutes after their arrival, Mr. Darcy approached Elizabeth, who was sitting on a sofa near the window. She immediately asked about Georgiana, whose absence surprised her.

  “Georgiana is fine,” he answered after a brief hesitation. “She is at Netherfield, resting after the long trip. She seemed a little tired.”

  “I was hoping she would join you today; I confess I dearly missed her.”

  “Thank you. I am sure my sister has missed your company as well.”

  Then why did she not come with you? she wondered to herself.

  “Mr. Darcy, I cannot help inquiring further if everything is well with Georgiana. You seemed…Something seemed to worry you when you talked about her.”

  “Miss Bennet, your discernment amazes me again. I am not certain whether I should be happy or concerned that you know my disposition so well as to see behind my words.”

  “I cannot answer to that, sir. It is for you only to deci
de whether there are reasons for concern regarding me and my discernment.” Her lips narrowed in a smile. He smiled back.

  “I shall try to be in your company as much as possible in order to clarify this aspect of your character, Miss Bennet.” Elizabeth was upset at being able to do nothing but blush again at his words.

  Before she could form a coherent sentence, he continued in a more serious tone. “As for Georgiana, I am grateful for your concern, and I can assure you my sister is in excellent health. However, there is indeed something concerning her about which I would like to speak with you. Could we talk more privately—tomorrow morning, perhaps, should we happen to meet again on your morning walk?”

  She was certain her cheeks coloured so highly that they were burning.

  “I…that would be lovely, sir. I look forward to…I mean, if we should happen to meet again tomorrow. It is my habit to walk early every morning before breakfast.”

  “An early morning walk before breakfast is beneficial to one’s health, I am sure. Perhaps I should try it as well, rather than riding.”

  “Riding might be desirable, as well. Fortunately, the paths between Longbourn and Netherfield are appropriate for both riding and walking.”

  “And for private talks, I hope,” he added with a deep voice that made her shiver.

  Private talks? she wondered, barely controlling her emotions. Could he mean “that” private talk? Or did he simply intend to talk about whatever bothers Georgiana? Oh, I am so foolish!

  “Miss Bennet…?” his voice startled her and she managed to gather her wits enough to reply.

  “Yes indeed, sir, for private talks, too.” She knew her answer was an agreement—but to what?

  Mrs. Bennet’s high voice drew their attention toward the others in the room. Darcy whispered a thank you for her time and then moved toward Mr. Bennet and took a chair close to him; a few minutes later, they were engaged in a serious, and apparently pleasant, conversation.

  Not for a moment did Mr. Darcy become as exuberant as Mr. Bingley, but his behaviour was pleasant and almost friendly, unlike his brooding aloofness in the autumn. However, just as last year, he spent most of his time staring at Elizabeth with intense, dark eyes that made her shiver and kept her cheeks crimson; this time, however, she understood the meaning of his gaze. Their eyes met quite often across the room. When he spoke to her father, she knew his affability was meant for her; when he congratulated her mother on her youngest daughter’s marriage, Elizabeth blushed in mortification but was grateful for his generosity toward her mother. He is everything a man should be, she concluded as she watched every gesture, every movement—and every handsome feature.

  They would meet again the next morning, and she wondered how she would be able to endure the hours of waiting.

  Mrs. Bennet gave her eldest daughters several causes for mortification during the visit, but Lady Cassandra appeared relaxed, entertained, and not at all bothered by her hostess’s lack of propriety. When the call ended and the guests departed with the promise that they would return the next day, everyone agreed it was the most pleasant visit they had had in many years. Jane and Elizabeth, completely absorbed in their personal happiness, hardly heard a word of the praise their mother bestowed upon the gentlemen and the beautiful, elegant Lady Cassandra.

  ***

  “So Darcy, what do you think?” They were in the Netherfield library, enjoying a glass of wine before dinner.

  “About what, Bingley?”

  “About Miss Bennet, of course! Is she not the most beautiful angel? Oh, if she could forgive me, if she could still think well of me and accept my attentions…What do you think, Darcy?”

  “Bingley, I am sure you have no reason to worry; Miss Bennet seemed pleased to see you, though her pleasure was not as exuberantly displayed as Mrs. Bennet’s. As for her feelings toward you, the coming days will soon clarify everything for you.”

  “Whose feelings?” Lady Cassandra entered the room impetuously.

  “Miss Bennet’s feelings. Bingley asked my opinion, and I told him the next few days would offer him all the certainties he needs.”

  Lady Cassandra looked at them and rolled her eyes in utter exasperation.

  “Excuse me, but is Miss Bennet the young lady we just met at Longbourn?”

  “Yes, of course she is,” answered Bingley, puzzled.

  “The beautiful one with blond hair and blue eyes—am I correct?”

  “Yes, your ladyship.”

  “The one who looked at you, Mr. Bingley, as if you were some sort of idol? The one who almost swooned when you spoke to her and appeared to forget how to breathe when you were smiling at her? That was Jane Bennet? That was the lady whom you exceedingly perceptive and intelligent gentlemen believed to be indifferent last year and about whom you are still uncertain, Mr. Bingley? She was the one you were talking about?”

  Lady Cassandra’s tone grew more sarcastic, matching her sharp gaze that moved from Darcy to Bingley. Before any of them could answer properly, she turned and exited the room as she whispered loudly enough to be heard, “What utter fools…”

  A surprised Bingley and a furious Darcy tried to protest Cassandra’s insult, but they were thwarted as the door closed behind her. Later that evening, Bingley easily accepted that he was a complete fool and worse, but he understood precisely what he must do the next day.

  Chapter 11

  A couple of “utter fools” Lady Cassandra had called him and Bingley, and Darcy knew she was absolutely correct. In fact, he was an even bigger fool than Bingley, as Bingley’s major mistake had been to trust Darcy’s friendship and judgment in a matter that could have ruined his chance of happiness. As for Darcy—he had more faults and, in many ways, had been a greater fool. However, he seemed to be a fortunate fool, as things were definitely moving in the desired direction.

  Bingley would undoubtedly propose to Miss Bennet the next morning; he was decided! As for Darcy, he would meet Elizabeth in the grove first thing in the morning—alone. The mere thought made him shiver with anticipation and anxiety as never before in his life. He felt and behaved like a schoolboy—that was certain—and it did not bother him in the slightest.

  In truth, he had never possessed much restraint or self-control in her presence—or in her absence. Both her nearness and his own vivid memories had inspired the most delicious dreams as well as the worst nightmares during those months spent at Netherfield last year.

  He saw her eyes—always sparkling with wit and laughing at him even when they argued—her lips—softly narrowed into an ironic smile or half-parted as she laughed openly with her sister or a friend—and her neck —creamy skin framed by dark, curled hair. He also saw the garnet cross that rested innocently at her neckline, her voice, her brightness, her natural and pleasant—though not always proper—manners, and her kindness and care for others. She, with all her being, seemed to fulfil perfectly his every wish and aspiration in a woman, yet he had denied the evidence for months and changed a possibility for happiness into a lasting misery.

  During those days she stayed at Netherfield to care for her sister, his turmoil had been complete. All of their shared meals, the long hours spent together in the evening, their challenging conversations—what bittersweet torture! He forced himself barely to speak to her and avoided any opportunity to meet her more than he was obliged, otherwise he was afraid he would simply take her in his arms and run away with her to some secluded place where nobody would find them. He could show her just how little he was a man without fault, indeed!

  One day they had even spent half an hour together in the library without speaking to each other—just reading. That is to say, she was probably reading. As for himself, he had spent the entire time staring at her, secretly caressing her with his greedy, shameless eyes: her face, her ears, her neckline and lower to the edge of her dress and then along her arms. His lips had ached with desire to touch everything his eyes admired.

  In the privacy of his room, a glass of wine in hand, Da
rcy laughed—and even blushed slightly—at those highly improper thoughts. Yet it was perfectly true; he imagined how it would be to finish their arguments by crushing her lips in a kiss right there in the middle of the room, or grabbing her in his arms in the midst of a shocked audience and taking her upstairs to his rooms. It was a frequent daydream and happened for the first time at Lucas Lodge when Sir William encouraged them to dance and she refused him. At that moment, he desperately wished to cover her lips with his hungry mouth until she fell breathless into his arms. Of course, he laughed to himself, she likely would have slapped him, and Mr. Bennet would have hunted him down all over Hertfordshire; yet, merely imagining her scent and the feel of her against him had been delicious. Dreams of that kind had repeated themselves countless times during the hours spent together at Netherfield and then every night for long, endless months.

  Yes, this had been his major fault: he desired her more than he ever imagined he could desire a woman, and his need for her had been so powerful that it had frightened him. Therefore, he convinced himself that the sensation meant nothing more than the normal attraction toward any beautiful, exceptional lady and that his lustful wishes and needs would disappear once he was away from her. What an utter fool, as Cassandra had said! Of course, he had been as wrong about her as he had been about Bingley. She had not disappeared from his thoughts for a moment. Instead, her image, her voice, her beautiful laughing eyes, and her witty conversation made the other ladies in Town shrink to insignificance and monotony. Indeed, no other woman, no matter how beautiful, made him feel close to what he felt for her.

  When he met her again in Kent, he had been the ultimate fool: he had proposed to her as no gentleman should ever propose to a lady. Of course, she had refused him as he deserved, and those dreadful moments he again wished to take her in his arms—not with desire but all the love he possessed for her—and let his caresses speak the intensity of his feelings. However, it was quite obvious she desired none of it, so he had left and, from that moment on, had dreamt of her less because he slept very little. For many weeks, night and day blended together and he forced his mind to think of nothing, or of anything but her. When this proved an impossible task, he abandoned it and spent his time remembering every word, gesture, smile, and movement. Though his days and nights had been filled with her, they had been as empty as hope frozen in time. Her memory was there, yet she was gone forever, and he fought desperately to regain his life—a hopeless fight.