Chapter 22 #2
“I believe,” he said quietly, “Georgiana will consider what has passed.”
Georgiana inclined her head. “I shall. I am so sorry, Brother… and very grateful to you, Miss Elizabeth.”
***
Georgiana withdrew at her brother’s gentle request, though not without a final look toward Elizabeth, in which gratitude and lingering embarrassment were equally visible.
The door closed softly behind her. Neither spoke.
Darcy took Georgiana’s seat half facing Elizabeth; Elizabeth, though composed, did not immediately resume her ease. The quiet that followed was of a different kind – no longer strained but not entirely settled.
At length, Darcy said, “I wanted you to know… You were very direct.”
Elizabeth glanced at him. “Was I too much so?”
He considered it. “You were… exact.”
A faint smile touched her lips. “That is not always taken as a compliment.”
“It is by me.”
She looked at him more steadily then.
“I could not speak otherwise,” she said. “She did not understand the consequence of what she had done – not fully. And if she is to be safe in the future, she must. If not for your arrival, she would have thrown her future away. She could have been left destitute…”
Darcy inclined his head. “Yes, I know. I see now that you are right.” There was no reluctance in it – only acknowledgement.
Elizabeth’s expression softened slightly. “You would have spared her the knowledge.”
“I would have spared her the pain.”
“And yet,” she said quietly, “it is the knowledge that will prevent its return.”
He did not immediately answer.
“I have always thought,” Elizabeth continued, “that indulgence may be mistaken for kindness – when it is only the wish to avoid discomfort.”
Darcy’s gaze rested on her. “You think me indulgent?”
“I think you are very attached to your sister.”
“That is true.”
“And that you would bear anything yourself rather than see her distressed.”
A pause.
“Yes.”
Elizabeth held his look. “But you cannot bear it for her.”
The simplicity of it settled between them.
Darcy drew a slow breath. “No,” he said.
Another silence followed – but not an empty one.
“Am I right in supposing that you felt so much guilt about this that you never truly considered admonishing her?”
Darcy looked at her with wide eyes. “I believe I did.”
“I shall discuss it with her more,” she added, “when it is appropriate.”
He glanced toward the door through which Georgiana had gone.
“She is so very young,” he said. “She is all I have.”
Elizabeth’s tone softened. “I understand. But she is not so very young anymore. That is why it is vital that she understands the rules of society and her interests. Just because Mr. Wickham’s words were flattering…
Oh, my – that man is a master manipulator!
Somehow, he saw my weakness and used it against me.
He played on my sympathies and my inclination to believe ill of you… ”
“Why?”
“Oh, do not make me say it. I-I think that, in that way, your insulting words lost something of their power. If you were a villain, your words need not have mattered. At least, so I persuaded myself.”
Darcy swallowed. “I really hurt you.”
“It is all in the past. I am not hurt anymore. I cannot be if you admired my eyes soon after that.” She chuckled.
After a moment, she added, “If I want to be honest, I was disappointed, no – mortified. I believe I should have liked to be chosen.” She shrugged her shoulders.
“Any lady in the room hoped, I am certain.”
“You wished I danced with you?”
“I think, yes, even if I did not admit it. Who would not want to be chosen by a handsome, very eligible man?”
Darcy stood and started to pace. When he stopped, he looked at Elizabeth. “It never occurred to me! I was occupied with the inconvenience of being there.” He stepped to her. “Forgive me.”
Elizabeth stood. “We both erred. It was not just you. I have not always judged you fairly.”
Darcy’s gaze did not leave her.
“No,” he said, almost to himself. “Nor I you.”
The admission, once made, seemed to alter something between them. For a moment, neither spoke. The quiet was not awkward, but charged – as though both were suddenly aware of how little now remained unspoken.
Darcy’s eyes lowered, not in retreat, but in consideration. He seemed to hesitate – not from doubt, but from a restraint he was no longer entirely certain he wished to maintain.
When he looked at her again, there was something in his expression she had not seen before – something steadier, and yet more vulnerable for its steadiness.
“Elizabeth…” he began, then stopped, as though weighing whether he ought to proceed. Darcy’s eyes dropped to Elizabeth’s pink lips. When he looked into her eyes, he continued,
“Elizabeth, can I-may I kiss you?”
Elizabeth swallowed. She allowed herself the smallest smile. She nodded.
Darcy leant forward and bestowed a short, heartfelt kiss on her lips.
When he withdrew, she opened her eyes and regarded him. Then she protested, “No, no, no. This cannot be it. You kissed me longer when we were interrupted, and I have seen even my parents kiss longer than this.”
Darcy’s mouth repressed a laugh. But then his expression grew serious. He glanced toward the door. He drew her closer, his hand steady at her waist, as though he feared she might retreat – though she gave no indication of it.
“Then I must endeavour to improve,” he said quietly.
Elizabeth’s breath caught – not from uncertainty, but from anticipation she no longer attempted to disguise.
This time, when he bent toward her, there was no hesitation.
His lips met hers with greater certainty, yet without haste – as though he meant to prove something not only to her, but to himself. There was no interruption now, no intrusion, no hurried withdrawal. Only the quiet awareness of one another.
This time, his restraint did not falter, yet neither did it withdraw too soon; and Elizabeth felt the difference more keenly than she would have believed possible.
She did not draw back. If anything, she leant into it.
Her hand, almost without her knowing it, came to rest lightly against his coat. The world beyond the room – Wickham, the morning, the unease it had brought – seemed, for a moment, to recede entirely. There was nothing now but the quiet certainty of his arms about her.
When at last Darcy withdrew, it was not abruptly, but with visible reluctance. He did not immediately release her.
Elizabeth looked up at him, her eyes bright, though her composure was not entirely what it had been. “Yes,” she said; she had to clear her throat. “That-that is much better.”
A faint smile touched Darcy’s lips – rare, unguarded. “I am glad to have your approval.”
“You may depend upon it,” she returned, though more herself now.
There was a pause – but it was no longer uncertain.
Darcy’s hand remained at her waist, though less firmly now, as though he were allowing her the choice to remain or step away.
She did not step away.
Instead, she said, with a quiet seriousness that matched his own, “You must not think me entirely without sense, Mr. Darcy.”
“I have never thought so.”
“I know very well what I am about.”
His expression deepened at that. “I believe you do. But perhaps… you might call me Fitzwilliam, just now.”
“Fitzwilliam,” she said, “Did you hear the door open?”
Darcy turned. “Now that you speak of it…” There had been a sound – slight but not imagined.
Elizabeth drew back just enough to restore propriety, though not distance. “We should return,” she said. “If we remain much longer, my mother will begin to suspect that something of consequence has occurred.”
Darcy allowed himself the smallest hint of amusement. “And she would not be entirely mistaken.”
Elizabeth smiled – that familiar, lively smile – though softened now by something new.
“Elizabeth, before we go through. I wish to say that when I decided to pursue you, I only thought of myself. I… It was wonderful to see you with Georgiana, not just now but before. You are beneficial to both of us.”
“Indeed? And how am I beneficial to you… Fitzwilliam?”
Darcy smiled at her use of his name. “You are beneficial to me in that you make me happy. You make me wish to begin, in earnest, to live.”
The words had been spoken simply, without display, and for that reason, they struck more deeply. She had meant only to tease him. She looked at him – really looked – as though trying to reconcile this man with the one she had once so readily dismissed.
Elizabeth looked away then, only for a moment, gathering herself. When she turned back, her expression was composed once more – but not unchanged. “You place a great deal in my power, sir.”
“I place it where it already is.”
Her eyes held his. Elizabeth did not speak. She only inclined her head, and in that small movement there was more feeling than she would have trusted to words.
***
As they stepped into the hall, they saw Mr. Bennet standing some distance away – with an expression of composed interest which left little doubt he had not long been there. They looked at each other.
“Mr. Darcy, I thought we could discuss the extra steps we should take that you had mentioned.”
“Yes, very good.” He made a show of clearing his throat. “Shall we retire to your book room?”
Mr. Bennet nodded.
“E… Miss Elizabeth, why do you not join the others? I shall follow soon.”
Once Mr. Bennet sat at his desk, he observed Darcy longer. He raised his brow when he saw Darcy not shrink back.
“Tell me, Mr. Darcy – how is your courting prospering?”
“I believe I have little reason to complain.”
***
Later, as the horses were brought round, there was some delay in mounting, occasioned partly by Lydia’s last-minute observations, and partly by Mrs. Bennet’s renewed assurances that the gentlemen must not stay away too long.
Bingley, however, seemed less attentive to either. He had already taken his seat yet did not immediately set off. Instead, he turned once more toward the house.
Jane stood at the window.
Though she did not call out, nor make any overt display, her presence there was not to be mistaken. Bingley raised his hand slightly; she returned it with a gentleness that might have escaped notice – had anyone been less inclined to observe it.
Darcy, who had witnessed the exchange, allowed himself the faintest recollection of his former amusement. He had once thought such behaviour… imprudent. He had even smiled at it.
At that moment, however, as his own horse shifted beneath him, he found – without entirely intending it – that his gaze had turned in a similar direction.
Elizabeth was there.
Not at the window, but just beyond the entrance door, where she had paused, as though unwilling to be wholly absent from their departure.
Their eyes met. For a brief instant, he did not move. Then, with a composure that was not entirely untouched by feeling, he inclined his head – and raised his hand in acknowledgement.
Elizabeth smiled. It was not a display, nor meant for others, but he saw it.
Darcy turned away at last. They set forward.
But before they had gone far, he looked back once more.
She was still there.
Something in that quiet constancy – her remaining, when she might so easily have withdrawn – settled upon him with a force he did not attempt to examine.
This time, he did not raise his hand. He only looked. And then, at last, turned away. He shook his head, though without any real wish to amend it.