Chapter Thirty-Two #2
“Will you not ask why?” he enquired when she remained silent.
“I have no need. I heard you tell Mr Bingley as much at the Meryton Assembly.”
They parted in the figures of the dance, then rejoined.
“That was then. Now, I have quite another reason for my statement. Are you not curious?” His look, alive with ardent admiration, awakened a feeling wholly new to her, unsettling in its sweetness. “I could not settle for anything less than love,” he murmured.
They parted in the steps of the dance, and Elizabeth pondered his words until they met in turn.
“Love is an admirable sentiment,” she said when their hands met.
“’Tis the only reason one ought to marry.
” The firmness of her tone surprised even herself; his expression showed he had noticed.
She managed a weak smile, hoping to assuage the awkward pause.
“I have been told all my life I ought to marry within the first circles—‘a lady of impeccable connexions and a handsome dowry,’ as my father always said. He married the daughter of an earl and expected me to do the same. Yet I disagree with such notions. Why should one marry only for fortune and connexion? Wealth and rank offer little comfort where affection is wanting.”
“My parents have demonstrated both sides of that coin,” Elizabeth confided. “My father chose my mother for her beauty alone. Their marriage was unhappy for many years.”
Mr Darcy’s gaze drifted over her shoulder to where her parents likely stood. “They appear very happy now.”
“Trials have a way of shaping a life. Faced with one particular difficulty, my father resolved to change. The result is what you see. Life’s troubles may bring regret, yet when they end so well, one cannot but acknowledge their purpose.”
Her voice stayed light, though memories of despair could not but press close. The familiar whisper—that her suffering had been the price of others’ welfare and happiness—stirred within, but she pushed it aside. I will not have my evening spoiled.
Mr Darcy seemed to sense her disquiet and then spoke of books and other pleasanter things. They conversed easily until the music ceased. When the final notes faded, he escorted her to the side of the floor before crossing to claim Suzanne’s hand for the next set.
The evening unfolded in the happiest manner.
Before supper, Mr Bingley proposed to Jane, and Mr Bennet announced the engagement at table.
The ensuing exclamations varied from delighted to dutiful.
Miss Bingley looked thoroughly put out; her smile resembled a grimace, and she never touched another morsel from her plate.
Mrs Bennet’s transports of joy were at first unrestrained, but a tender look and a reassuring touch from her husband subdued her to gentler rapture.
Mr Darcy watched Elizabeth often, though she pretended not to see it.
His countenance was inscrutable. She longed to lose herself in that steady look, to rest her head against his shoulder, and to feel the security of his arms. It was time she admitted to herself what her heart now knew—she loved him, deeply and irrevocably.
The truth had come so gradually that she had not recognised it for certain until that moment. She had played with the notion in her mind at times but never had she felt such a strong sentiment. The discovery of her feelings—so new, so fragile—made her heart flutter with a joy she longed to trust.
He had hinted at his wishes often enough these past weeks; the dear man was always patient and kind.
I could accept him, she thought. If he were to ask.
Yet, a familiar sense of panic struggled for release.
She felt the heat of the room, and rising hastily, she quitted the dining room to seek the cool air of Netherfield’s terrace.
Mr Darcy found her there. She did not need to turn; she knew he would follow, and she felt his nearness as he came to stand beside her. For a few moments, neither spoke.
“Miss Bennet will be very happy with Bingley,” he said at last. “I am sincerely pleased for my friend. His good fortune only reminds me of what I lack—the love of a worthy woman. Mrs Fiennes, is there any hope? I know you loved your husband—most ardently, if I have judged aright. Am I wrong to believe I might bring you equal joy?”
The words reached her like a dream. She wished to answer yes; her heart already had. She loved him dearly and wanted to be with him always. Yet, as she parted her lips to accept, no sound came. At last, she managed softly, “May I have time to consider your proposal?”
Mr Darcy looked surprised, but not disheartened. “Of course.” His hand found hers where it rested on the stone balustrade. “I shall eagerly anticipate your reply.”
Her heart sank. Even as he spoke, she knew she could not yet give him a favourable reply.
His fingers lingered for an instant before he released her, and she could not at once part with the warmth he left behind.
The night was still, yet her thoughts were not; for the first time in years, hope pressed softly at the edges of her heart—an unfamiliar guest she did not quite know how to welcome.