Chapter Twelve #2
They carried on this way for several minutes, staring silently at one another as they danced.
Elizabeth was utterly dumbfounded, and hardly in possession of herself as she managed the steps smoothly despite her inner distraction.
She could not account for why Mr. Darcy was determined to behave so charmingly to her, after she had been utterly horrid to him about Mr. Wickham, and especially now that the secret of her origin was known.
But she was glad of it, and more than that, she was happy indeed at their strange interlude together.
Since arriving at the castle, she had been vexed at every attention he paid her, and even when she began to take comfort in his kindness, she convinced herself that it was only because of their terrible circumstances.
But Elizabeth could not lie to herself as she moved in time to the distant music with Mr. Darcy. She liked his company very well indeed.
She tried to imagine them behaving like this together someplace other than Clwyd Castle.
He was likely to visit Netherfield soon, and perhaps often.
They might meet in London, with the Bingleys.
They might meet, it seemed, as very warm friends, and she wondered if it would be easy and natural to make merry with him as it was now, when it was a balm to the murderous chaos around them.
But when the notion crept into her mind that it may be something more, she tamped it down at once.
The song Emma played faded into a new one, and they changed their steps, growing lively together – rather indecorously so.
Their movements were an unsynchronized and playful shambles, and as they moved together through steps of entirely different dances, Elizabeth reached out and thumped her hand on the wall. “Play faster!”
On the other side of the wall, Mr. Willoughby guffawed loudly as Emma obliged.
They had begun a sort of elaborately embellished waltz, and Elizabeth let out a wild peal of laughter as Mr. Darcy spun her about once, twice, and a third time, his hand holding hers above her head.
Dizzy after this, she took a careening step backward, but Mr. Darcy caught her with one arm about her waist.
Startled, Elizabeth braced her hands on his shoulders, and as she relaxed against him, her fingers curled around his lapels.
It was the same coat he had loaned her last night, when he thought her shivering to be from cold and not from fear.
She stared at the deep blue wool, unable to meet his eye after making such a spectacle of herself.
He tipped his face downward and drew in a deep breath. “My coat still smells like you,” he murmured.
She drew in a sharp breath. “What?”
Mr. Darcy gave a breathy laugh, and Elizabeth became peripherally aware that Emma’s music had resumed a more sedate pace.
Elizabeth's heart was still beating wildly, and she finally braved a glance up at him, holding her body utterly still against him for fear any movement might cause him to withdraw.
“I… it has been pleasant to take leave of our senses for a while, has it not?”
Her lips parted as she stared up at him; his face was so close to hers. “We ought to be very frightened, if we had any sense at all.”
He nodded, and his breath sent a shiver over her skin. His fingers pressed into her waist. “We are in danger.”
“Yes,” she breathed, hardly able to speak as something tugged at her insides. “One might call it a disaster.”
“Elizabeth.” He reached up to softly stroke her face, and she leaned into his touch, her head fairly spinning from the conflicting sentiments of confusion, elation, safety, shame, and delirious abandon.
She arched her neck upward, and his hand slid down her neck, along her shoulder, and then across her back.
His eyes were locked on hers, full of some unspoken question, and she stood up on her toes, moving her face closer to his as she permitted his embrace.
His arms tightened around her as his lips finally met hers, at the very instant when she realized how her heart might have fallen to pieces if he had waited a moment longer to kiss her.
Her arms cautiously circled around his neck as he deepened the kiss, his lips so wonderfully soft as they beckoned to her own.
Elizabeth kept her eyes closed, lost to the feel of his body against hers. As his hands began to tangle in her hair, a few pins came loose from the simple chignon, and she smiled as their lips moved together. She mimicked his movements, curling her fingers in his own thick curls.
Swept up in their ardor, she began to tug at him, and he laughed as he kissed her. She began to do the same, sheer glee burbling out of her as his lips moved across her cheek. When they reached her ear, he breathed her name and crushed her against his body.
They were both panting with laughter, their bodies swaying as they clung to one another.
He released her from his embrace and cupped her face in his hands, but Elizabeth was unsteady on her feet, and she took a step backward that caused her arms to fly outward as she tried to brace herself.
She rested against the fireplace as Mr. Darcy also began to stumble. And then the fireplace shifted.
There was a cry from Emma and Mr. Willoughby from the next room, and the fireplace swiveled around entirely, the rough stone scraping so loudly that Elizabeth staggered in confusion.
When finally she and Mr. Darcy steadied themselves, they had stepped into the music room. Emma and Mr. Willoughby were seated together on the piano stool, looking entirely bewildered. Emma clapped her hands and sprang up from her seat. “How marvelous! Oh, Lizzy, your hair!”
Elizabeth brought her hand up to her disheveled chignon, which she hoped her friend would attribute to her manner of shambling into the room. “I did not mean to do that,” she said with a rueful laugh.
“I can see that,” Emma said with playful hauteur. She stalked forward and swiftly made a few adjustments to Elizabeth’s chignon, giving her a wink.
Mr. Darcy cleared his throat. “I suppose you were right about your uncle pickpocketing the keys when he embraced Mrs. Rushworth last night, Willoughby. Either that, or he is working in collusion with another.”
“I doubt it very much. He considers himself far cleverer than most men, and thinks even worse of ladies.”
“But he is very civil to all the ladies,” Elizabeth said. “Perhaps more than any of us could wish.”
“Especially my aunt,” Emma said with a look of disgust.
“He must have trusted Mrs. Clay enough for her to discover whatever secret he is hiding,” Mr. Darcy observed.
“I think it likely he simply underestimated her,” Mr. Willoughby said. “And now we are locked in here, and I think I can guess why.”
There was a heavy silence; they all knew what he meant. Elizabeth shook her head sadly. “We ought to have warned her.”
“I thought we would have more time,” Emma said with a sigh. “I thought surely Sir Walter could not manage any harm while we are all supposed to be in groups. Sir Edward is supposed to be with him, after all!”
Mr. Willoughby’s eyes darted about as if he were trying to puzzle it all out. “And you trust Sir Edward implicitly?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth cried. “And is not Mr. Bertram supposed to be with him, as well? I cannot imagine a stranger grouping to be in cahoots together.”
“Forgive me, Willoughby, but if anyone were likely to be in league with Sir Walter, it would be you,” Mr. Darcy said.
Mr. Willoughby looked wounded. “I have risked my life telling you what I know. If he discovers that I am working with you, we shall all be in danger.”
“We are in danger,” Elizabeth said. Remembering how she had said the same to Mr. Darcy just minutes before, she shivered a little. She could not meet his eye, now.
“Mrs. Clay did tell me that she feared for her safety,” Emma said. “Perhaps she will take precautions, even without our warning.”
“Let us have some more distraction, eh? I daresay your friends liked your performance at the pianoforte well enough, my dear.”
Elizabeth raised a brow at Mr. Willoughby’s familiar endearment, and Emma blushed. “Shall we tell them?”
Mr. Willoughby smiled. “I know it is hardly an appropriate time for such things, but I have made the most of my time alone with Miss Woodhouse. Oh dear, that sounds… well, what I mean is that she has made me a very happy fellow, and accepted my offer of marriage.”
Elizabeth gaped at them. “What? Emma, I do not understand.”
Mr. Darcy began to stammer. “You? You? The two of you have become engaged?”
Emma sat down on a sofa and gestured for the others to do likewise. “It is a most advantageous union for both of us, practically speaking.”
“When my uncle plied me with drink last night, of course what he really intended was for me to sleep soundly as he snuck away to kill Mrs. Younge, but at the time I supposed him to be getting me drunk enough to pressure me about matrimony, as many others in my family have done before him.”
Mr. Willoughby gave them a rakish grin. “He observed me enjoying the company of Miss Woodhouse and Miss Smith at dinner, and I imagine there is some added inducement for Sir Walter, in vexing Lady Susan.”
“My aunt will probably be relieved,” Emma drawled. “She is aware of my secret, and I know she fears it will make a scandal.”
Elizabeth glanced curiously at Mr. Willoughby, who seemed entirely unbothered. “And… Harriet?”
“She is my cousin by marriage, you must remember,” Mr. Willoughby said. “Her mother, Lady Allen, is my uncle’s widow.”
“I told him everything,” Emma said, looking rather smug. “I should never have accepted him if I could not have my own way. Harriet will accompany me to Combe Magna, Mr. Willoughby’s estate in… where was it?”
“Somerset, my darling.”