Chapter 3
DARCY
Colonel Fitzwilliam stared at me as though he expected me to announce I had purchased Rosings or challenged the Prince Regent to a duel.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”
“Yes.”
“The young woman who mocks you every time you open your mouth?”
“She doesn’t mock me every time.”
“Only when you deserve it, then.”
I turned away from him to adjust my coat sleeve.
My valet should have seen to it, but I had dismissed him after making him change my cravat twice.
I had never paid much attention to my appearance.
That morning, every detail seemed capable of affecting the happiness of the woman who had consented to marry me.
Subject to her father’s approval.
That caveat did nothing to diminish the effect of the word.
My fiancée.
“You look happy,” Fitzwilliam observed.
“I am.”
“It almost suits you.”
I gave him a look that only amused him more.
“Lady Catherine will not share your enthusiasm.”
“Lady Catherine was not consulted.”
“That is precisely what will offend her most.”
He was right.
My aunt learned of my decision before luncheon, because I thought it better to tell her myself than to let her hear it from Mr Collins. I did not speak of a definite engagement, which still depended on Mr Bennet’s consent. That distinction did nothing to temper her anger.
She listened with a stillness that would have deceived a man less accustomed to her rages.
“You have asked Miss Bennet to marry you,” she repeated.
“Yesterday.”
“Without speaking to me.”
“My marriage does not require your consent.”
Her fingers tightened on the handle of her cane.
“You were destined for Anne.”
Anne, seated by the window, lowered her gaze to her embroidery. She had never expressed the slightest desire to marry me. My aunt had taken her silence for agreement, just as she took any absence of rebellion as proof that she was right.
“No engagement has ever existed between us,” I replied.
“It existed before your birth! Your mother and I formed that plan.”
“My mother wished for my happiness.”
“With a young woman of your rank!”
I felt anger rising, cold and precise.
“Miss Bennet will be my wife if her father consents. I ask you to speak of her with the respect due my choice.”
“Respect? For a family without name, without fortune, without propriety? A mother whose manners are known throughout Hertfordshire, a father who abandons his daughters to their foolishness, uncles in trade!”
“Enough!”
The word came out so harshly that Anne started.
I regretted frightening her, not interrupting her mother.
Lady Catherine rose.
“You will sacrifice Pemberley to a pair of fine eyes. It is unworthy of you.”
“Pemberley cannot be diminished by a mistress who is intelligent, courageous, and capable of understanding her responsibilities.”
“Capable of understanding her advantages, above all!”
I looked at her without answering.
Her voice dropped.
“Miss Bennet refused Mr Collins because he offered her a mediocre house. She now accepts a man who possesses ten thousand pounds a year, an estate in Derbyshire, and one of the finest names in England. Do not mistake well-managed ambition for virtue.”
The violence of this accusation made me step forward.
“Elizabeth refused Mr Collins when she had no way of knowing whether a better offer would ever come. A mercenary woman would not have taken that risk.”
“An intelligent woman, a skilled strategist, knows when to wait.”
“You do not know her.”
“I know young persons who wish to rise.”
“What you know best is the world you have chosen to imagine.”
Anne looked up sharply. Fitzwilliam, behind me, did not move.
Lady Catherine paled.
“You will regret this insolence!”
“Less than I would regret allowing you to insult the woman I have chosen!”
I left Rosings before my anger could make me forget what I owed to her age and our kinship.
On the way to the parsonage, her words stayed with me.
I rejected them.
Elizabeth was not mercenary. She had refused Collins despite the security such a marriage would have offered. She had spoken to me of Jane, of how I judged her family, and of all she still did not know about me. She had declared that her opinion was not fixed.
I understood that she doubted my judgment.
Her flutter when I spoke her name, her hand left resting in mine, the smile that had followed some of my answers—these seemed proof enough. Elizabeth would not have accepted a man she could not esteem. Grievances remained between us to resolve, but not a heart entirely absent.
I went to the parsonage with this certainty.
When I entered the Collinses' drawing room at precisely eleven o'clock, she was alone. A table had been arranged near the window with paper, ink, and a calendar. This methodical preparation charmed me. She wore no special adornment, only a pale blue dress that made her eyes appear darker.
“Mr Darcy.”
“Elizabeth.”
A slight color rose to her cheeks. I congratulated myself for having unsettled her.
“You take liberties quickly, sir.”
“I have waited all night.”
She looked at me, uncertain whether to smile.
I bowed over her hand. This time, I felt the warmth of her fingers through the glove. I prolonged the contact far longer than propriety allowed. Her breath changed.
The satisfaction was immediate.
“Let us sit down,” she said, withdrawing her hand.
We agreed first on what should not be done.
No announcement would precede Mr Bennet's consent.
She would write only to Jane to prepare for our return, without explaining the reason for our haste.
I would ask Mr Collins to secure us a place in the carriage returning Elizabeth and Maria Lucas to Hertfordshire.
I would travel separately and present myself at Longbourn the day after their arrival.
“You could have made the request to my father by letter,” she observed.
“I will not entrust the most important request of my life to a sheet of paper.”
“You hope, then, to impress him in person.”
“I wish above all to allow him to refuse me in person.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“You consider that a possibility?”
“Since you accepted, I have discovered a remarkable number of dangers I had not considered before.”
The corner of her mouth lifted.
“My father wants my happiness,” she said. “He will not give you his consent without questioning me first.”
“And what will you tell him?”
Her smile faded.
“The truth.”
I thought she spoke of her grievances, of the clumsy violence of my declaration, and of that esteem she had not yet entirely granted. I did not press further.
It was the first moment I could have understood.
I let it pass.
We spoke next of how long our engagement might last if Mr Bennet consented. Elizabeth wished for a simple ceremony at Longbourn, with Jane beside her and as little agitation as her mother would permit.
“Five or six weeks seems reasonable to me,” she said.
I would have married her the next day if propriety, the banns, and the necessity of establishing contracts had not stood in the way.
“Five weeks.”
“So you always negotiate in your favor?”
“When the stakes merit it.”
“And if my father demands six?”
“I shall prove myself a future son-in-law of exemplary obedience.”
She laughed.
The sound moved through me with unexpected sweetness. I had never heard her laughter offered to me without mockery. I gazed at her too openly, for she soon stopped and bent over her papers.
“I dare not imagine how long that obedience will last.”
“Until he has signed his consent.”
“Your frankness will be your undoing.”
“Not today, I hope.”
Her gaze met mine. The warmth that kindled there seemed to confirm everything I wished to believe.
I thought of Bingley.
“I will write to my friend today.”
She became still.
“To tell him about Jane?”
“To tell him I was wrong about her indifference and that I will no longer interfere in his decisions.”
“Before my father has even accepted our marriage?”
“What I owe Bingley does not depend on your consent.”
She studied me for a long moment.
“You’ll really do this?”
“I promised you I would.”
“I thought you would first look for a way to preserve your dignity.”
“Perhaps it will survive an apology.”
“That remains to be seen.”
The jest did not hide the emotion in her voice. I heard gratitude there. I chose to hear tenderness as well.
When I rose to leave, she remained near the table.
“Elizabeth.”
“Yes?”
“May I kiss you?”
Her color deepened.
“You have kissed my hand.”
“That is not what I mean.”
She looked away toward the door. Mrs Collins might return. A servant might enter. The risk was slight, but real.
“Not today,” she said at last.
The disappointment was sharp. I mastered it.
“Very well.”
She looked at me again. My acceptance surprised her more than my request had.
“You won’t argue?”
“You said no.”
“You seemed willing to negotiate on everything.”
“Not on this.”
A tension left her shoulders.
I took her hand slowly, giving her time to withdraw it. She did not. I pressed my lips to her gloved fingers, then to the inside of her wrist, where the fabric ended.
Less than an inch of her skin lay bare.
Her pulse beat against my mouth.
She drew in a sharp breath.
I raised my eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, her gaze darker. For the first time, I did not doubt that my presence affected her.
I knew she had reservations.
The word seemed then to mean something closer to modesty.