Chapter 15
Elizabeth heard barely any of her mother’s continuous rant.
Mortified, she kept thinking of how appalled and horrified Mr Darcy must have been.
To burst in on him and disturb the intimacy of his bedchamber was outrageous.
How could she ever face him again? Her mother was so careless that she did not even consider the effects of her thoughtless actions.
It would be no wonder if a private and withdrawn man like Mr Darcy would never agree to see her or her mother ever again.
Her uncle was also concerned — and rightfully so.
As much as Elizabeth had fretted about her mother’s visit to Netherfield when she had first heard of it, the reality had turned out to be much worse.
Urgent apologies were required, but what could be said about such an incident for it to be forgiven and forgotten?
She would certainly not dare meet his eye again, let alone beg his forgiveness.
After all, he might consider her just as culpable as her mother.
Knowing Mrs Bennet loved her daughters and wished the best for them, Elizabeth always tried to excuse the embarrassment she so often caused her family.
This time, however, every rule of decorum and common sense had been breached.
How was it possible that her father could not control his wife after twenty-five years of marriage?
Though she supposed Dr Gardiner, as a brother, was no more successful in that endeavour.
They had just learnt to live with the nuisance — something that Mr Darcy had no reason to endure.
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Never had Darcy been so shocked, or caught off guard, or so utterly dumbfounded. Standing still in the middle of the room, he continued to stare foolishly at the closed door, his mind numb.
What had just happened? Mrs Bennet had burst into his apartment, without warning? How was that possible? And Elizabeth had been just behind her, looking sheepish and dismayed. He had finally taken a long-desired bath, and then…what on earth had happened?
The brief encounter in the library had enchanted Darcy, and he had returned to his room light-hearted, with a sense of joy inside him that he rarely felt.
They had been offered the chance to talk privately, and their conversation had been friendly, with just a little awkwardness that had been easily overcome.
It had been brief but meaningful, clarifying the past and setting the scene for the present.
He had left the library admitting to himself that he admired — he liked — Elizabeth Bennet more than any other woman he had ever met, and the basis for his feeling was more than gratitude for her assistance three years ago.
As important as the past had been, it was their present acquaintance, her manners, her determination, her wit, her teasing, her sparkling eyes, her little smile, and countless other small details that completed the image of a charming, alluring young woman and drew him towards her with a strength he could not — and did not wish to — fight.
He had readily offered her the book, but it had been a selfish rather than a generous gesture. He wished to be able to touch the book after she had held it, to read the lines that she had already enjoyed, and, he hoped, to discuss it with her one day.
Of course, such thoughts had been entertained before her mother had thrown open his door and seen him naked. Or almost naked.
He should have locked the door — but who would anticipate such a danger?
How was it possible that Mr Bennet and Dr Gardiner were such excellent, educated gentlemen, the eldest Miss Bennets were so charming and admirable, while their mother was a complete stranger to propriety and common sense?
He had noticed her faulty behaviour the first time he had met her, but apparently, the reality was much worse than he had then assumed.
He dressed absently, wondering what to do.
He was reluctant to go downstairs, loathing the idea of facing that woman.
She would probably apologise to him, which would make the situation much worse, especially if Caroline Bingley found out about the incident.
He would have to be present at dinner, though, so he would see Elizabeth in any case.
That would be an awkward conversation, too, but he believed he could bear it somehow.
Despite his admiration for Elizabeth, he could not dismiss the damage Mrs Bennet might cause to her family’s standing in society and her daughters’ prospects of a good marriage.
From the little he had observed, Mrs Bennet could not have much influence over Elizabeth, nor be able to force her to do anything she disagreed with.
In regard to the other daughters, Darcy was doubtful.
He could imagine Mrs Bennet pushing her eldest, most obedient daughter into a marriage even against her will, if it was convenient for the family.
Bingley was the perfect choice for such a scheme — young, rather na?ve, wealthy, and already smitten with Miss Jane Bennet.
Bingley’s feelings were quite obvious, though Darcy did not trust their depth and steadiness; he had seen his younger friend fall in and out of love with pretty young women many times before, but none of those previous times had lasted long enough to be considered a courtship.
Upon closer examination, Bingley’s attentions to Miss Bennet were more consistent and openly displayed than before.
Perhaps the lady’s accident had made an impression on Bingley, and he was confusing admiration and affection with pity and concern.
It was a subject that he had to discuss with his friend in all seriousness before the man let himself be trapped in an imprudent marriage.
“Are you going downstairs, sir?” his valet enquired.
“No… Please go to the library. On the desk, you will find my letter to Georgiana. I have not finished it yet. Bring it to me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If Bingley asks, tell him I have some letters to complete but shall be down for dinner.”
The valet bowed and left. Darcy remained thoughtful, staring out of the window.
He could not help wondering what Elizabeth’s thoughts had been after finding him injured in Brighton.
She had seen him partially undressed when he had been stabbed.
And he had seen her almost naked as she swam, covered only in a light gown that was more revealing than protective.
But she had been so young; he had never attached any feelings of attraction to that recollection.
Naked or dressed, she had been a young girl in peril whom he had helped.
And later on, the same girl had returned the favour, helping him, regardless of his dishabille.
As full of emotion as those memories were, to him, there was no romantic side to them.
But now, when he had not seen Elizabeth in any other state than properly attired, when their encounters had been nothing but perfectly appropriate, every thought, every sensation aroused in him was burdened by an attraction he could not understand or control.
Where would these feeling lead him? What was he to do?
He owed her gratitude and consideration, which he would never forget.
She was the niece of a man whom Darcy greatly admired, and the daughter of a gentleman whom he had come to appreciate.
How could his mind and his heart allow feelings that embarrassed and enchanted him at the same time?
Furthermore, how could he even possess such feelings he had never known before?
Unless… Could it be? Could he be in love, as never before, as he never expected to be?
To a young woman he had only properly met a fortnight ago?
A woman whose situation in life was significantly below his but whose character and nature matched his desires?
If that was the case, how could this particular woman touch and stir his senses in a way no other did?
She had done nothing specific to lure him, as many other women had before— No, that was not quite true.
In fact, she did many things that lured him; she acted in ways that impressed and charmed him, precisely because they were natural and heartfelt, without the purpose of catching his notice.
And of course, there was her alluring figure, her pretty face, and her bright eyes.
Neither her manners nor her appearance were flawless by society’s standards, but they were absolutely perfect for him.
Darcy poured himself a drink, sipped from the glass, then leant back against the pillows, closing his eyes, allowing a large smile to spread on his lips.
There was no doubt — he had fallen in love with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and it was not a superficial attraction.
He let himself get caught in reflections, pondering what to do next, if and when to confess his feelings, how to overcome his family’s opposition, how to inform Georgiana…
He almost fell asleep, then suddenly his eyes sprang open, and he stood abruptly, his heart pounding.
He had clarified his feelings, he had admitted what he wanted, and he was even ready to act accordingly.
But what about Elizabeth’s feelings, her desires, her intentions?
How could he plan his actions before knowing whether she would welcome them or not?
And how could he talk to her, how could he attempt to find the answer to such delicate questions, after she had just seen him naked?
If only Mrs Bennet had never come!
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