Chapter 8 #3
‘…your manners impressed me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others… Your insolence equals your arrogance… I have all the reason in the world to think ill of you…’ It was possible.
He, Fitzwilliam Darcy, had been completely, deeply, painfully wrong about Elizabeth Bennet’s feelings.
He could not find the strength to move from the icy bench.
With a sideward glance, he saw his carriage waiting.
He should leave, but go where? He could not return home, not for a while.
He needed time to decide what to do next.
He must depart immediately to avoid seeing her again.
He would never be able to speak to her or meet her eyes—never again.
He looked up and cold drops fell on his face. It was snowing again.
He gradually became aware of the cold, and tried to wrap his coat more tightly.
Only then did he notice he was not wearing it.
He looked around, stroked his hair with his bare hands, and found it wet and half frozen.
He likely had left his coat in the house.
A sharp sense of panic made him rise to his feet; he must recover his coat immediately.
If Mrs Gardiner discovered his coat there and demanded answers, how would Elizabeth explain its presence?
He decided to go fetch the coat and then depart instantly.
The doorman would not dare to ask any questions, and surely, nobody would notice his return.
He crossed the street again, and a moment later ,he was at the door.
His coachman had already turned the carriage and was slowly following him.
He knocked. The doorman appeared, and his surprise was impossible to conceal.
Darcy briefly wondered what the servant must think of his appearance, but one word was enough, and the man returned in a moment, handing him the coat.
His carriage was only steps away, and he was prepared to enter when two other carriages stopped impetuously in front of the house.
“Darcy, what on earth are you doing here? And what happened to you? You look horrible!”
“Brother, what a lovely coincidence to meet you here! I left you a note to come and fetch me later, but this is even better. How did you know we would come to see Elizabeth? Oh, but what happened to you? You look so wet and cold. Are you well? You do not look well at all!”
“Darcy, why in hell do you walk in this horrible weather? Have you lost your mind, Nephew? You are all wet and dirty like a lunatic! Surely, you do not intend to call on Miss Elizabeth in such a state! She is ill enough; she does not need to be frightened to death.”
“Mr Darcy, such a pleasure so see you, sir!” Mrs Gardiner’s gentle voice and her hand clasping his arm startled Darcy, as he was completely lost in his thoughts. “A dry, warm towel and a glass of brandy will do miracles. I am glad you finished your business so soon.”
He froze next to his carriage as his mind desperately searched for a way to escape.
“I am afraid I cannot stay. I must leave immediately; some urgent business is waiting and…” he insisted in a lost voice but the earl and the colonel pushed him towards the house with little chivalry.
“Come, Darcy, shall we not enter immediately? I am freezing. And surely you jest if you plan to attend to business in such a state!”
He felt helplessly ridiculous; he should protest, but he refused to make the situation worse by arguing in the street. He would enter and then leave immediately. Under no circumstances would he see her again—not for a single moment.
The main hall was too small for such a gathering. Darcy freed himself from Mrs Gardiner and his sister and stepped back to hide his presence behind the door.
She was there in the middle of the drawing room.
Some of her hair had escaped its pins, and it fell on her neck and around her temples.
All the sparkle had vanished from her eyes, now dark and lifeless.
Her face was pale and her lips dry; she tried to form a proper greeting, but he could not hear her voice. He stepped back further.
Her eyes finally met his, and he feared she would faint.
She supported herself on a chair but did not avert her eyes from him.
He felt the melted snow falling along his neck and instinctively brushed his fingers through his hair.
He surely looked horrible—everybody said so—but he was not concerned about that; her opinion of him was already so ill that his appearance could not make it worse.
Everything was already as bad as it could possibly be.
∞∞∞
If not for the din of voices that invaded the entire house, Elizabeth would have been certain she was dreaming.
This could not be happening. He could not be there.
But he was, and though he refused to enter, he was staring at her.
His eyes were unknown to her, and his pale, stern countenance expressed nothing.
She saw him step back gradually; without a doubt, he wished to depart from her, and she wondered by what coincidence he met the others and was forced to enter.
He had left more than an hour before, and his hair and his face were so wet… Where had he been all that time?
“You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you…”
One more step and he would be at the door, but as he did so, the door opened.
Together with the chilly air and the fresh smell of winter, an amiable and joyful presence burst into the house, his voice covering all the others.
“Darcy, why on earth are you standing in the doorway? And where have you been that you look so wet? Miss Elizabeth, such a great pleasure to see you again! I was so sad earlier when I noticed your absence from Lady Selina’s!
I was just telling Miss Bennet”—Jane blushed violently—“that I was looking forward to seeing you again. How are you? Not very well, I understand, but it is still delightful to see you!”
All her strength left her, and Elizabeth dropped unceremoniously onto the settee. She looked at the visitor with wide eyes and gaping mouth, and tried to gather her wits for a reply.
“I am well, thank you. I am happy to see you again, Mr Bingley…”