Chapter 6
A WOMAN WORTHY OF BEING PLEASED
No doubt Mr Darcy had observed her with Jane; no doubt he had understood the looks Jane was giving to other men. His face gave nothing away, no hint as to what triumph he might be feeling, but she would not have blamed him had he delighted in her stupidity.
Her chin raised once again as soon as she was within earshot of him. “It would seem, Mr Darcy, that, in this case, you were…well, you were not entirely in error. It appears my sister’s heart is not easily touched—or rather, that it is easily touched but equally easily moved from its object.”
“As is Mr Bingley’s,” he told her. “But Bingley is full young, as you know, in age as well as spirit. I do not think he would be prepared to be a husband for some years.”
“Jane, on the other hand, is desirous of being a wife, but…” Elizabeth glanced yet again over her shoulder. “I daresay it might not have been ideal for either of them. You may have been correct in…in persuading Mr Bingley to stay in London.”
Mr Darcy still studied her as her thoughts raced and rolled about.
She had misjudged…well, everything. Certainly everything where Mr Darcy was concerned.
He was a good and decent man whom she had scorned and tormented at every turn.
He might have argued with her because he thought her clever, but she had argued with him to antagonise him.
And she was sorry for that, even if he had not comprehended it.
Her speech was halting as she said, “You have every reason to despise and censure me, Mr Darcy, for thinking so very ill of you. My prejudice was unwarranted and unjust, and I would beg you to accept my apology. In one matter, I am particularly mortified—when I think of how unfairly I tasked you while we danced at the Netherfield ball, I am ashamed of myself. No matter what, you did not deserve my taunts.”
“Well, you should be ashamed,” he said, a small smirk playing on his lips. “You did indeed taunt me, quite mercilessly… I am afraid I must demand some sort of recompense for your slights against me.”
Does he tease me? She had not believed him equal to it. Then again it seemed she had been incorrect about nearly everything when it came to this man.
“Recompense?” Through her chagrin, the beginnings of a smile came upon her own lips. “Sir, I cannot marry you simply because I misunderstood your character.”
“I would not have it so. I withdraw my offer, Miss Elizabeth—”
She was shocked by the sudden plunge of dismay those words brought.
“—but only that I might renew those addresses once you have had time perhaps to know me and I have had time to determine whether I could ever make you love me. Only I feel quite silly now that I declared myself with no concern for how you might have felt or thought. What must you think of my vanity!”
“What must you think of mine?” she asked. “For I am come to realise that the chief of my dislike of you and of my approval of Mr Wickham was founded on which man flattered me.”
With a smile, he reached out and touched her cheek. “That is not vanity so much as what a woman worthy of being pleased is due. I am determined that I shall do a better job of that this time.”
She blushed but was saved from having to speak by a loud, “Kiss, kiss, kiss!”
They both startled having not seen Lord Saye approach. He had found what appeared to be a sword and attached mistletoe to it; this he brandished over Mr Darcy’s head.
“Saye!” Mr Darcy made an attempt to wrench the sword away from his cousin’s grasp. “You are going to take someone’s eye out.”
“It is a foil, obviously.” Lord Saye shook his head but lowered the makeshift kissing bough. “You two standing as you are, I could not tell whether you more wished to slap one another or kiss. I only hoped I might turn the tide to the latter.”
Mr Darcy met Elizabeth’s gaze, and with a jolt, she recognised that perhaps she did wish to kiss him. Ardently. Maybe not now, with mistletoe hanging over them and a smirking cousin inches away, but later…?
“I believe, my lord,” she said with a little smile, “that the tide may have already turned.”
What started out as a means of amusing herself during her daughters’ endless sports practices has changed into Amy D'Orazio's writing Jane Austen-inspired fiction, connecting her with a vibrant community of readers and fellow Austenesque authors.