Chapter 20 #2
She recalled how she enjoyed Darcy’s humour, and she appreciated the intelligence with which he defended his opinions on various matters while still being respectful to the notions that others held forth.
She could not help but feel flattered when he sought out her opinion on a recently published book that he believed she might have enjoyed.
As it was, she had not read it, but from the description, she believed he was quite right that she would find it pleasing.
She blushed a bit when he declared that he would send for the book at once.
He sounded even a bit boastful of her as he proclaimed around the table, “My wife is a great reader, you know. I have not the least doubt that once she has read it, there will be much to find within that has completely escaped my notice!”
“I am not a great reader,” Elizabeth demurred, still blushing, but she could not deny she was flattered by her husband’s compliment.
The waltz was called after supper. How strange to find herself feeling nervous and shy around a gentleman to whom she had been married for nearly three years!
And still more odd that her body should betray her with a thrill from his touch.
As he took her in his arms, she inhaled deeply.
Darcy had always smelled delightful, and tonight was no exception.
It made a strange and wonderful feeling come into the pit of her stomach.
“Mrs Darcy, I believe we must have some conversation.” Darcy smiled down at her as the dance began.
She laughed. “It would look quite strange for us to be together in this manner yet silent for above half an hour. However, I am afraid witty conversation is quite beyond me while I try to avoid making a fool of myself with this dance!”
Darcy pulled her infinitesimally closer to him and leant his head down to murmur, “I shall then observe that you are in nowise making a fool of yourself, and furthermore, that you are the most handsome woman at the ball tonight.”
Elizabeth blushed with his compliment, and after a brief, shy look at the floor, looked up into his eyes. “Then it is only fitting that I am with the most handsome gentleman.”
He smiled, clearly pleased by the compliment, and she realised then what danger she was in. Drawn to him again, her heart emerging from its shell, ready to bleed for him. Oh no, oh no, oh no.
Their dance was entirely too brief, and the night ended shortly thereafter. Soon, they were returned to the carriage for the journey home. The younger girls sat across from them, all tittering and laughing and recounting the triumphs of the evening while their chaperons remained silent.
In the darkness, Elizabeth felt Darcy’s hand graze hers, then move away.
A few moments later, it again came to rest immediately adjacent.
She allowed her hand to drift towards his, her fingers sliding beneath his hand.
A few seconds later, he joined his hands to hers, and it remained thus until they were home.
She awoke in London. Strange, because she could swear she had been in her bed at Pemberley. The room was unfamiliar, yet she knew it was London. Was Bennet here? Was Darcy?
She left the room to find her son, but she could not, and the ghostly, faceless servants she passed would not look at her, would not help her. Her walk turned into a run as she travelled passage after passage, twisting and turning in a maze, never able to find her son.
Panic welled up within her. At last, her breathing heavy and her pulse racing, she found her husband standing with his back to her in a room that looked very much like the hateful bedchamber in Yorkshire.
“I cannot find Bennet,” she cried, as tears ran down her face.
He turned to look at her. His face was a cold, haughty mask of disdain, and he frowned disapprovingly when he saw her weeping. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief with ‘GW’ on it, thrusting it towards her. “Take this,” he ordered. “This is all you get.”
She shook her head vehemently and folded her hands behind her back, not wishing to make contact with the item. “No, no, I just want Bennet. Where is he?”
“You should not be here. You do not belong here,” Darcy said coldly, advancing on her angrily and holding the handkerchief towards her. She reeled backwards, not wishing it to touch her.
“No, I need to find Bennet!”
Still, Darcy shoved the handkerchief at her. “You will never have Bennet, so you must take this.”
“No!” she shouted, and he grabbed her, shaking her shoulders, but she was quick, and she fought him, slapping at him until his voice penetrated her conscious.
“Hush, Elizabeth, darling. It is only a dream.”
With a start, she woke, finding herself in her bed at Pemberley, her husband bending over her, holding her close even as she fought him off, her breath yet coming fast.
“Just a dream,” Darcy murmured in her ear. “Only a dream.”
She swallowed hard, willing herself into equanimity.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
She shook her head.
With a final hug, he released her. “Are you well?” he asked.
She was not well. Indeed, she was terrified.
The ball had been a huge mistake. She had all too readily fallen under Darcy’s spell.
She had revelled in his solicitude, become dizzy with the sight of him and the feel of being in his arms, and been thoroughly charmed by his manners, just as she had been back in Hertfordshire so many years ago.
All sense had fled her, and she had succumbed to his flattery, tossing herself at him like a fool.
As she held his hand in the carriage just hours earlier, she had longed for him to kiss her like a lover.
She was his for the asking just as she had always been—foolish girl.
And no matter how much she loved him, she knew she could not trust him. The man who mistrusted her, who sent her away, was still in him.
“I am well,” she said finally. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard you from my chamber. I thought you had perhaps fallen ill again.”
“No, it was only a bad dream,” she murmured.
“Will you be able to sleep now?”
“I shall. Thank you.”