Chapter 28 #2
“I agree with you. I also notice that men are more foolish and make more errors when they are in love. At least I did. However, I was fortunate to love someone who had the heart of an angel and forgave me.” Bingley smiled at his wife and kissed her hand tenderly.
“I believe you are too severe on yourself, Charles.” Jane blushed at her husband’s compliment.
“I must agree with Bingley.” Darcy cast a glance at Elizabeth then turned the conversation towards the three puzzled girls listening to them. “Miss Mary, Miss Catherine, I hope you enjoyed your first day at Pemberley.”
The girls were so intimidated by his direct attention that they struggled to answer; fortunately, Georgiana came to their rescue and told her brother what they had done that day.
For the entire evening, conversation flowed in the same manner, with Elizabeth being more silent and restrained than ever.
After dinner, the gentlemen chose not to separate from the ladies, and they moved together to the music room.
Georgiana offered to play, and she was immediately joined by Mary, who promised to turn the pages for her.
Lady Hardwick sat on a sofa with Jane, the gentlemen in chairs in one corner, and Elizabeth with Kitty on the settee.
The music flew enchantingly, and everyone listened with admiration. Then, from the corner of her eye, Elizabeth noticed Darcy walking towards her. Kitty observed him too and immediately rose and moved next to Jane.
Embarrassed by her sister’s withdrawal, Elizabeth forced a smile. He asked whether he could sit; she agreed, although she could barely understand what he was saying.
They sat near each other, but neither said a word, paying complete attention to the pianoforte. When the music stopped for a couple of minutes, he leant towards her.
“I must thank you for the letter. I did not expect it, but I most certainly needed it.”
She gathered her courage to look at him, and her eyes lingered on his only a moment before the music continued.
The evening ended when the ladies retired to their chambers, although the three gentlemen remained to enjoy drinks and conversation. On the way to their rooms, Georgiana held Elizabeth’s arm.
“Lizzy, I am so happy that my brother is home.”
“I know you are, my dear.”
“And you, Lizzy? Are you happy?”
“I am,” she said, then embraced the girl and wished her good night.
She was happy indeed. Happier than she had been in a long while.
He had not only come home, but he let her know that he received her letter and that it was the reason for his return.
They spoke little, but that was understandable since she behaved like a simpleton.
She barely looked at him and addressed him only to answer his questions. Such behaviour was laughable.
Elizabeth prepared for the night, worried about what she should do the next day —Christmas. Could she hope for the gift of a few minutes of private conversation? But what should she say to him? And what could he tell her?
Did he return with intentions? Did he have plans?
Were his intentions clear to him? Would he share them with her?
Or perhaps he wished to renew their acquaintance and develop it gradually —perhaps to court her?
She felt her face flush as she realised he had proposed to her but never courted her —at least, she had not recognized it as such.
To avoid more useless and distressful musings, she went to bed, but only a few minutes later, she woke and paced the room.
She lit two candles: one near the bed and one on the small table by the window.
It was dark outside, the stars and the moon hidden by the clouds.
She attempted to read but with no success as patience for that eluded her.
Restless, she heard steps in the main hall —stark, slow, and determined.
She knew it must be Darcy; there was no one else in the family wing.
Of course, it could also be his valet or another servant; she scolded her silly assumption.
Unconsciously, she moved closer to the door, taking the candle with her, and listened.
The steps moved forward then back, forward and again back.
Her heart beat so loudly that she feared it could be heard through the door.
She heard the steps again towards the end of the hall; then a door opened and closed again.
It was surely him, and he had entered his apartment.
She was about to return to bed when a quiet knock startled her, and she dropped the candle, extinguishing its flame.
She ignored it to open the door —only to face Darcy, looking at her through the darkness.
The only light came from the fireplace and the weak flame of the other candle.
With embarrassment and surprise, she turned to pick up the fallen candle.
He entered to help her, and their fingers touched; both rose and stood, inches apart.
No words were said, but he apparently awaited a sign from her, so she moved to close the door, assuring them privacy for their conversation.
He followed her hesitantly. She sat on the bed; he stood by the fireplace. They could barely see each other, which was best since their eyes dared not meet.
“Miss Bennet, I beg your forgiveness for this improper intrusion. I saw the light from under the door and supposed you were still awake. I shall disturb you but a moment.”
“No apologies are necessary, sir. You could not possibly disturb me more than I already am,” she whispered.
A moment of silence, then he answered, his voice so low that she barely understood him.
“You surely cannot be more disturbed than I am…”
For a time, the only sound was the burning logs in the fireplace.
“Will we then argue over the greater part of disturbance that troubles each of us, Mr. Darcy?”
“I hope not…I hope we will not argue over anything for a while, Miss Bennet. We have argued so many times over so many things…too many.”
“Do you plan to argue again in the future, sir?”
“I hope not. I hope many things for the future. Your letter taught me to hope as I never dared before…if I understood it correctly. What did you want to tell me, Miss Bennet?”
“What is it that you wish to ask me, Mr. Darcy?”
He moved only a step closer to her.
“I have so many questions —and one more important than all the rest. But I dare not ask. I am afraid I might upset you and make you run from me.”
“I am not the one who runs away, sir. And since you do not dare ask, allow me to do so. Why would a gentleman simply leave instead of staying to overcome past faults and clarify painful misunderstandings?”
“Perhaps, he felt that his affection was not shared or desired and that his absence would bring more peace and comfort than his presence.”
Their troubled gazes met.
“How many times must a man be at fault before he stops presuming? Why is it easier for a man to fight a battle than to speak his mind and ask the questions that disturb him?”
“That I cannot tell. I have had to carry on many battles of all kinds, but I was not disturbed until I met you last autumn. And I have been ever since. That became the hardest and longest battle I ever waged, and I am not certain I have won it. I pray that you will help me succeed.”
He sat beside her and took her hands in his, his grip loose so she could withdraw whenever she wanted. She did not. Her fingers moved shyly within his large, warm palms.
“Shall I dare tell you why I have been so distressed, Miss Bennet? May I finally speak my mind and ask the questions that have tormented me all this time?”
“Please do…”
He touched her face as gently as a breeze. Her eyelids trembled, and her eyes sparkled.
“Because I fell in love with you more than a year ago, and my love has deepened and grown stronger ever since. I loved you when I was near you and when I was miles away; I loved you even when I thought I resented and hated you. My anger, my pain, my turmoil, my longing, and my sorrow only fed my love and made it more powerful.”
She listened to him, mesmerised, her heart aching and her mind still doubtful. She wished to answer, but her whole being shivered, and her soul, tormented and filled with affection, was released in the tears rolling down her face.
He lifted her hands to his chest and held them with one hand, then gently wiped her tears.
“You see? I made you cry…my fault again.”
He smiled. Her eyes sparkled.
“My tears are just the words of tenderness that fill my heart but my lips cannot speak.”
His thumb brushed her lips, slowly, gently. She sighed; spellbound, she waited, prayed, yearned, and it finally happened: the touch of his lips on hers, as soft as a fantasy. Tender, sweet, loving, patient. Her first kiss.
He withdrew slightly and whispered endearments while his fingers glided towards her nape and entwined in the hair falling freely on her back.
Her eyes searched for his, and her right hand tentatively touched his face, as he did to hers a moment before.
“I do not know when I fell in love with you. I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words that started it. I believe I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”
Their left hands were still clasped together.
“It could not have been a long time ago…I imagine your opinion of me started to change only when Bingley returned to Netherfield.”
“No…once I left Rosings, I began to consider more thoroughly my knowledge of you. I suspected Wickham’s falsehoods, and I was ashamed for trusting him.
Then in London, I was grateful for your help, which I honestly did not expect.
When those rational feelings turned into something more, I could not say.
But when we were at Longbourn, I longed for your presence.
And by the time we began the journey to Pemberley, my heart was half lost.”
His surprise was apparent, and he turned to kiss her palm that was cupping his face.