Mr Darcy's Admiration

by Lauren Hughes

  Elizabeth felt her head begin to pound. “But Kitty! I don’t know this man. He could be anyone.”

  Kitty smiled. “But just think. Perhaps he’s rich — and handsome.” She giggled.

  Elizabeth sighed. It hardly mattered what the stranger looked like. If ever she wanted to marry anyone, it would be Darcy. And she couldn’t imagine him wanting to marry her!

  She pricked her finger again and held it to her mouth, sucking at the puncture. Well, that was one thing she needn’t worry about. Mr. Darcy was certainly never going to suggest matrimony to her!

  The hair on the back of her neck prickled and she glanced toward the door. Darcy had just come through it, looking his usual turned-out self, not a speck of dust on his boots or lint on his jacket, everything fitting to perfection.

  “Mr. Darcy!” Kitty cried. “Guess what? Lizzy has received another love letter. And it’s the most marvelous thing. In this one he says that he’ll reveal himself to her at the ball! Isn’t that romantic?”

  “Indeed,” Darcy agreed with a smile. But when his eyes met hers Elizabeth saw something in them, something she couldn’t define.

  Flustered, she looked away, over his shoulder. “I don’t understand this man at all,” she complained. “How can he propose marriage to someone he doesn’t know?”

  Darcy shrugged. “Men do peculiar things when they are in love.”

  “But that’s just it,” she protested. “How can he love me when he doesn’t know me?”

  “Perhaps he does,” Darcy said.

  Elizabeth shook her head in bewilderment. “I don’t see how. Mr. Collins was so ill we did not go about in society. We did attend church at first, but . . .”

  “I wouldn’t bother myself about it,” Darcy interrupted. “In a week we’ll be at the ball and you will know who he is.”

  Elizabeth nodded, but she found little comfort in his words. In a week she would still be facing the same dilemma. She loved Darcy. And Darcy still saw her at someone with no social standing, someone to be married off as swiftly as possible and thus removed from his life.

  * * * *

  The next week passed even more slowly. Kitty flitted and fluttered, going on rides in the park with Colonel Fitzwilliam, fawning over him till Elizabeth began to dread the very sound of his name.

  But finally the great night arrived. Surveying herself in the looking glass, Elizabeth could only wonder what insanity had possessed her. A sapphire silk gown! She looked like, like someone entirely unlike herself.

  The sapphire did go well with her coloring and it was appropriate for wintertime, but she certainly hadn’t remembered that the pattern showed a bodice cut so low. Her shoulders looked strange, exposed like that. And the curve of her bosom — She flushed. If only she hadn’t promised.

  But she had promised. And Darcy would hold her to it, she was sure. He was a proud man, unyielding in his demands. Since he wanted her to wear this gown, she would have to do it or suffer his recriminating opinion on breaking one’s vows.

  She silenced the little voice inside her that said she wanted to please him. There was no way she could please Mr. Darcy in the manner she wished to, not in a way that would make the man love her.

  For the thousandth time she wished Mr. Collins had been a real husband to her. Perhaps then she would know how to reach Darcy, how to — she swallowed a sob — how to make him love her. But she knew so little, practically nothing.

  Kitty came hurrying in, looking so young and lovely, her blonde curls artfully arranged by her dresser. She stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide. “Lizzy!” she squealed — and then said no more.

  “I know.” Elizabeth flushed, wishing she could hide somewhere. “It looks awful. I’ll change into something else.”

  “Change?” Kitty cried. “Oh no! You mustn’t!”

  “But, but I thought you didn’t like it.”

  “Oh no!” Kitty giggled. “I’m just — stunned. You look marvelous. So, so worldly. I can hardly believe it’s you!”

  “You look lovely yourself,” Elizabeth returned. Indeed Kitty’s blonde beauty was emphasized by her gown of sea foam green.

  “Thank you.” Kitty giggled. “I do look well. But you look absolutely . . .”

  “It’s not too — too —” Elizabeth persisted, pulling nervously at the shoulder of the gown.

  Kitty shook her head. “Oh my, no! It’s just right, Lizzy. You’re absolutely stunning.”

  Descending the stairs some moments later, Elizabeth tried to feel stunning. Darcy stood waiting at the bottom, his dark eyes focused on her. He looked wonderfully handsome in his black evening clothes. No wonder so many women had found him attractive. But why hadn’t he married one of them? Then she could have — would have — ignored her feelings for him. Then she wouldn’t have suffered from these false hopes, these futile haunting wishes.

  When she reached the bottom and came to a stop in front of him, he was silent so long she felt the heat flooding her cheeks again. “You don’t like it,” she said finally. “I’ll go change. Or better yet, you go on without me.”

  “Nonsense,” Darcy said softly. “I like it very much. You look lovely.” He glanced quickly at Kitty. “Both of you.”

  Elizabeth moved in a daze as Mr. Darcy lead them into the ballroom. None of this seemed real. It was wonderful — Darcy escorting her about like this! Like a dream. But she sobered instantly. She was merely a chaperon, Darcy’s attentions to her were mere politeness. He had told her so himself; that he needed her presence to keep malicious tongues from wagging.

  But he would not need her long, she reminded herself with a sigh, because from the look of things Colonel Fitzwilliam and Kitty were truly enamored of each other.

  Too bad she couldn’t be so lucky. The sender of the love letters was probably fat and ugly, a toad of a man no decent woman would have. Why else would he keep his identity secret?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The staff at Netherfield Park had outdone itself, Elizabeth thought as they paused in the doorway that evening. The ballroom was a fairyland of white lace and candlelight. Banks of white flowers and streamers of blue silk and lace completed the delightful effect.

  Elizabeth couldn’t help smiling. In such a lovely setting surely one had to believe in love, perhaps even Darcy.

  “How —” she began.

  “It’s marvelous!” Kitty cried, clapping her hands in glee. “Absolutely marvelous! Just look, Lizzy! It’s as though the whole ball had been designed for you! Why, Jane and Mr. Bingley could not have done better!”

  Elizabeth turned to Darcy, about to comment on Kitty’s childish enthusiasm, but his look, so strange, so intent, had the words dying on her lips, the blood rushing to her cheeks.

  Darcy leaned closer. “A lovely setting for an even lovelier gem,” he said, his voice husky.

  “I — Kitty does look nice,” Elizabeth stammered, unable to think of anything else to say.

  “I am not talking about Kitty,” he said gruffly. “I am talking about you.”

  “Oh.”

  For the life of her she could summon no more than that one little word. But fortunately she didn’t need to. By that time they had entered the ballroom, they were moving forward with the crowd to where Caroline Bingley was receiving guests.

  “Such a crush!” their sister-in-law exclaimed to Kitty when they reached her. “But then any ball of mine—” She stopped, mouth agape, staring at Elizabeth. “Miss Eliza! Can it be? Is it really you?”

  Elizabeth struggled miserably for words. Why hadn’t they just let her wear her black silk? “Yes, I—”

  “Elizabeth has just come out of mourning,” Darcy said softly. “Come out in a blaze of glory, if I may say so.”

  Whatever did he mean by that? Had she offended him? The dress was too —

  “I quite understand,” Caroline said, smiling warmly and leaning forward — rather perilously given her décolletage — to press Darcy’s arm.

  Darcy smiled back. “I thought you
would, Miss Bingley. Let me say that your decorations tonight . . .”

  Awash in embarrassment, Elizabeth didn’t hear the rest of his compliment. The way he was looking at Miss Bingley! Was Darcy thinking of adding Caroline to his list of inamoratas? Elizabeth battled a desire to turn tail and run. Was that how a woman reached a man? The warm smile, the warmer touch, the . . .

  Moving on, she stumbled and was brought up short by Darcy’s firm grasp on her elbow. The heat of his fingers burned through her long glove.

  “Elizabeth,” he asked in concern. “What is it? Are you ill?”

  She shook her head. “No, no. It’s — it’s the excitement, that’s all.”

  He was surveying her closely and she forced herself to smile. “You go on,” she said. “Enjoy yourself. I’ll just rest a minute in one of those chairs near the palms.”

  He led her to the chairs and waited while she settled herself, but then, seeming loathe to leave her, he just stood there, looking out over the crowd. “I — I shall be all right,” she forced herself to say. “You must look out for Kitty.”

  Darcy smiled somewhat sardonically. “I doubt that’s necessary.” He gestured toward the floor where Colonel Fitzwilliam already had Kitty dancing. “She has Richard well in hand.”

  “Do you think he will offer for her?”

  “Oh yes.”

  She swallowed over the lump in her throat. “And you will give them your consent?”

  He nodded. “If that’s what my cousin wants.”

  “You wouldn’t interfere?”

  He stared down at her in surprise. “Of course not.”

  When she had no answer to that, he looked around the room. “Perhaps I should leave you alone. Your admirer may not be present yet, but there are certainly others who will wish to dance with you.”

  “But — but I have haven't dance in years. I'm not sure I remember how to waltz.”

  A strange expression crossed Darcy’s face. “Then I shall teach you.”

  “Darcy, I —” The breath left her lungs in one great rush.

  He stood waiting, his gloved hand extended. As if in a dream she got to her feet and put her hand in his.

  “It is not difficult,” he said, leading her to the dance floor. “It’s simply a question of counting. One, two, three. One, two, three.” He smiled at her, his eyes gone even warmer. “Counting—and trust. That’s all there is to it. Just lean back into my hand and follow me.”

  She nodded. His hand was warm on her waist, heating her whole body. The music ran through her veins like liquid fire. Round and round the dance floor they twirled till she was dizzy and breathless.

  A sudden change in the way he held her made her look up, made her meet his gaze. His eyes were hot, almost scorching.

  “You have been very kind to me. I must have been a burden to you,” she stammered.

  “No,” he mumbled, almost as though to himself. “Never a burden.”

  Unable to think of anything else to say, and with Darcy remaining silent, she gave herself up to the joy of the music. That dance was over, of course, far too soon.

  He led her back to the chairs. “I shall leave you now. Enjoy yourself.” He bowed over her hand, his lips grazing the back of her glove. Before she could think of some way to keep him there, he was gone, off to waltz with some other most fortunate woman.

  She pinned what she hoped was a bright smile on her face — and waited. She didn’t really want to dance with anyone else, but if Darcy saw that men thought her attractive . . .

  Minutes later a footman approached, bearing a folded note on his silver tray. “Mrs. Collins?”

  “Yes.” She opened the note.

  “I’ll be in the library at midnight,” it read. “I beg you to meet me there.”

  She looked up. Darcy was waltzing with Caroline, laughing down at her. And the lady was leaning close, very close, her face flushed, her half-exposed bosom heaving.

  The enormity of the situation hit Elizabeth in a great wash of anguish. Why did she torture herself? It was clear that Darcy would never belong to her. So perhaps she should listen to this unknown admirer. He might be a good man. Perhaps she could build some kind of life with him. Perhaps that would be better companionship, at least, friendship — than being forever alone.

  It seemed so now that it looked like Darcy was going to take up with Miss Bingley. Certainly if he married Bingey's sister, he would spend a great deal of time at Netherfield Park, and that would be absolute torture for Elizabeth. Besides, to see him with someone he loved, to hear them laughing and acting tender with one another, and to have him call her Mrs. Darcy — that was more than she could bear!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  As she whirled around the floor in the arms of yet another man, Elizabeth thought Darcy and Kitty had been right. The sapphire gown had been a great success. And talking with men was not nearly as difficult as she had supposed it would be. She had only to smile, nod, and occasionally murmur “Oh yes,” and the man with her — whichever one he might be — seemed enchanted.

  It was clear these men were not looking for intelligent conversation. Though they valued a pretty face, the head behind it could be quite empty. For a moment she suffered a terrible longing for her father's company and the good talks they’d had together. But then, she reminded herself, it was probably for the best that he was gone. He had suffered such pain.

  The clock struck a quarter to the hour. Soon now, she would discover the identity of her secret admirer. Was he one of the men who had whirled her through the waltz? She hoped not. There were none of them, including the one she danced with now, that she could imagine spending a week with, let alone a lifetime.

  But perhaps her admirer didn’t dance, perhaps he was extremely shy, perhaps . . .

  There was no end to the perhapses, but at five till midnight Elizabeth politely disengaged herself from her current partner and looked around. If only she dared ask Darcy to be present at this meeting, to give her the support of his presence. But he was nowhere to be seen — probably off somewhere with Caroline — and besides, if she asked his advice he might expect her to follow it. She really didn’t know what she meant to do, but whatever it was, she wanted to make the decision on her own.

  Perhaps Kitty . . . But Kitty, standing on the sidelines, was laughing with their mother, happy and excited, probably telling her she was so in love with the colonel. Jane would be no help at all. And besides, the hostess wouldn’t want to leave the dance floor.

  Elizabeth straightened her shoulders. It looked like she’d have to handle this on her own. Making her way, some minutes later she arrived at the library door. She took a deep breath and pushed it open. After the blazing light of the ballroom the library appeared quite dark. The flickering flames on the hearth gave only dim light. Elizabeth sighed in relief. At least the shadows would hide her embarrassment.

  But how would she see him? She took a tentative step into the room. Perhaps he wouldn’t come. He might have changed his mind. If he wasn’t there exactly on the stroke of twelve, she wouldn’t wait, she would . . .

  “Come in, and shut the door.” The deep disembodied voice came from the darkness beyond the fire. Though definitely male, it sounded strangely muffled, as though he were deliberately trying to disguise it.

  Elizabeth started, almost moving back out toward the ballroom. But then she stopped. She had to see this through.

  Squinting into the darkness, she stepped in and pulled the door shut behind her. “Wh — who are you?” she asked, moving a few steps nearer the fire. “How do you know me?”

  “I’ll answer your questions in good time,” he said in that muffled voice. “But first I must know one thing. I have asked you to marry me. Can you come to me with a whole heart?”

  Come? How should she come to a man she’d never even seen? “You’ve no right,” she began. “How can you ask such . . .”

  “Answer! Do you love another?”

  The gruff command irritated her but unaccountably s
he found herself saying, “Yes! Yes, I do.” It was a relief to admit it, even to a stranger.

  “His name!”

  This was the outside of enough! “My dear sir! You have no right to ask me questions. I didn’t ask you to love me. I —”

  “His name!”

  “His name doesn’t matter.” Her breath caught in her throat, made her voice thin and thready. “He doesn’t love me.”

  “His name,” the voice persisted.

  “I don’t know you. I —”

  “You can trust me,” the stranger said. “I must know.”

  Strangely enough, she felt she could trust him. “I don’t see why —”

  “I have my reasons.”

  In the darkness beyond the fire the shadows moved. She could just make out the shape of a man. Ironically she wanted to tell him, she wanted to tell someone that she loved Mr. Darcy. But common sense made her pause. “I can’t tell you. It would not be right.”

  “Very well.”

  His sudden capitulation left her bewildered, not knowing what to do or say. “I — I’m sorry. I enjoyed . . . The letters were very pretty. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” The man took one step toward her, an indefinable bulk in the darkness, the firelight showing only a vague shape. “Since you will not tell me his name, I don’t know what he can offer you that I cannot. But I will tell you this. No one has ever loved you more than I do. Or ever will.”

  His voice sounded strained, hoarse, as though the effort to disguise it was beginning to hurt.

  “I — I’m sorry,” she repeated and she was.

  “Will you do one thing for me?” he asked, “before we part?”

  Suddenly, curiously, she wanted to do anything he asked. “Yes, if I can, I will.”

  “Close your eyes then and allow me to kiss you.”

  Shock ran through her. Excitement followed closely. She had never been kissed — not like that. “Close my eyes?”