Chapter 43 An Offer of Marriage
All remained silent in the darkened hall.
Elizabeth stood within Mr. Darcy’s arms. She rested her head against his chest and, for a brief moment, allowed herself the comfort of his embrace and the unexpected pleasure of hearing the steady beat of his heart.
She reveled in his nearness; his scent was dear to her.
Then she gathered her resolve and drew herself away.
“No, sir. I cannot accept you, for I would never betray myself by marrying a man who does not respect me. I will not become a wife who is regretted. Please leave me, Mr. Darcy. I beg it of you.”
Darcy released her but did not move away. “Did you not hear me, Elizabeth? I love you. I never wish to be parted from you.”
She raised her eyes to meet his, her own filled with sorrow.
“I do not understand you, Mr. Darcy. You struck me down with your words to a gentleman who had shown an interest in me, and now, not an hour later, you make me an offer of marriage. You confuse me, sir. Yet that is not what concerns me now. I heard what you think of my family and of me. I am not likely to ever forget your words, for they have been seared into my mind.”
“I said no more than what any man of my station is raised from boyhood to believe.”
“Sir, I have always known that a chasm existed between your station and mine, and I have never sought to attract your attentions. Yet to hear a man whom I believed to be my friend, a dear friend, speak such words against me is a pain I never wish to endure again.”
She looked at him, her eyes now glittering with pain and anger, as she repeated his words back to him. “The family is not a good connection for one from our circles. It would be a degradation.”
She lifted her chin. “I will never become any man’s degradation, and if that means I shall never marry, then so be it. I would rather lower my status by taking employment than live as a rag beneath the feet of any man.”
Darcy understood enough to desist and stepped back.
“I regret that you heard those unfortunate words, Miss Bennet. This wedge that has come between us would not exist if you had not passed by when you did.”
“I am only grateful that I did hear them, Mr. Darcy, for it has spared us both from a lifetime of misery.”
She turned away from him. “Papa, please help me to my bedchamber. I feel very ill.”
She began to climb the stairs and stumbled.
Mr. Bennet said, “Hold to the banister, Lizzy. Perhaps I gave you too much brandy.”
Darcy stepped toward her. “Sir, allow me to perform this last service for Miss Bennet.”
He lifted her in his arms and carried her up to her bedchamber.
Her head rested against his shoulder, and her hair brushed his cheek.
The weight of her body against his made him wish that he might never have to set her down.
She was soft and lovely, and fragrant. Mrs. Hill hurried ahead of him, opened the door, and then stood aside.
He entered the room and set Elizabeth upon the bed. She turned away from him, onto her stomach, covered her face, and began to sob.
Bennet spoke then. “Mr. Darcy, please leave her. My little Lizzy is much distressed and is needful of privacy.”
Darcy remained for another moment, hearing her weep. Then he turned, walked from the room, descended the stairs, and departed the house.
Mr. Hill followed and locked the door behind him.