Chapter 2 #2
A flush crept up Darcy’s neck as he recalled his thoughtless comment. “I spoke carelessly that evening, which I regret. But to suggest I would deliberately ruin a woman’s reputation for my own amusement…” He broke off, struggling to control his temper. “You think very little of me, Miss Bennet.”
“I scarcely knew you then, Mr. Darcy, and little of your behavior since that night has convinced me that your true character is different or that I may ever be successful is discovering it.”
“Yet you judge me capable of the basest behavior.” The hurt beneath his anger washed over him. Why should her opinion matter so much?
Elizabeth looked away first, some of the fire leaving her posture. “Perhaps I speak from fear rather than reason. My future, my family’s future, hangs in the balance because of one night’s unfortunate circumstance.”
Darcy took a moment to compose himself before speaking again.
“I assure you, Miss Bennet, I had no part in engineering our situation. I sought shelter from the same storm that drove you to the cottage. That we were discovered was unfortunate but entirely accidental.” He paused, weighing his next words carefully.
“However, now that circumstances have forced our hands, I find myself... not entirely displeased with the prospect of making you my wife.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “Surely, you cannot mean that. A gentleman of your standing—”
“Is capable of recognizing quality regardless of fortune or connection,” he interrupted. “Our conversation yesterday reinforced prior notions I had about our rapport. You challenge me, Miss Bennet. Few dare to do so.”
A series of emotions flickered across her face: surprise, confusion, and something that might have been unwilling interest. “Pretty words, Mr. Darcy, but they do not change the fact that this marriage would be one of obligation rather than choice.”
“Few marriages among our class begin with choice,” he said. “At least we have discovered a basis for mutual respect, which is more than many couples can claim.”
Elizabeth’s laugh held little humor. “You speak as though our fate is already decided.”
“Is it not?” Darcy stepped closer, close enough to see the flecks of gold in her dark eyes. “Would you prefer ruin for yourself and your sisters by association? Even your friend Mrs. Collins’s recent hard-won security might be reconsidered if your reputation is beyond repair.”
She flinched at that, and Darcy immediately regretted his bluntness. “Forgive me. That was unkind.”
“It was honest.” Elizabeth turned away to gaze out the window again. “Charlotte’s standing should not be threatened by my misfortune, much less my sisters’ futures.”
“It need not be misfortune,” Darcy said quietly. “I will be a good husband to you, Elizabeth. I will respect your intelligence and provide for your comfort. Your family will be secure under my protection.”
“Yet you make no mention of affection,” she said, still not looking at him.
Darcy hesitated. What could he honestly offer in that regard? He admired her, desired her even, but love? The word itself made him uncomfortable, too vulnerable, too open to disappointment.
“I believe affection often grows where respect and common interests already exist,” he said. “I cannot promise what I do not yet feel, but I can promise to be faithful and considerate of your happiness.”
Elizabeth finally turned back to him, her expression composed but her eyes the opposite. “Very well, Mr. Darcy. It seems we are to be married. I accept your proposal, such as it is.”
Relief mingled with an unexpected pang at her resignation. This was not how he had imagined securing his future wife’s hand, with neither joy nor anticipation in her acceptance.
“We should formalize arrangements as soon as possible,” he said, retreating to practical matters. “Given the circumstances, a special license would be appropriate. The wedding could take place within a week.”
“So quickly?” Her composure faltered briefly.
“The sooner we marry, the less opportunity for the scandal to grow,” Darcy said. “I will leave for London today to secure the license and make necessary arrangements. My townhouse will be prepared for our arrival after the ceremony.”
Elizabeth nodded, her chin lifting again in that gesture he was coming to recognize as her armor against uncertainty. “As you wish, Mr. Darcy. It seems my future is now in your hands.”
The words were not meant as a surrender, but as a challenge. Winning her true regard would require far more than fulfilling his obligation to marry her.
“Your future is your own, Elizabeth,” he said softly. “I merely hope to share it.”
Her eyes met his. Something passed between them before she looked away. Not affection, perhaps, but possibility.
“I should return to my family. My mother will be alternately lamenting my disgrace and celebrating my advantageous match.” A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Her nerves may not survive the conflict.”
Darcy bowed formally. “I will take my leave then. Expect correspondence regarding the arrangements. Is there anything you require from London before the wedding?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Nothing material, Mr. Darcy.”
The implication that what she truly needed was beyond his power to provide hung in the air between them as he departed.
The carriage ride back to Netherfield passed in a blur. Darcy stared unseeing at the familiar landscape, mind replaying the confrontation with Elizabeth. Her accusation had forced him to examine his own motives.
Had some part of him welcomed their compromised situation?
The thought was uncomfortable but not entirely dismissible.
He had noticed Elizabeth Bennet from their first meeting: her lively eyes, her impertinent wit, the grace with which she moved despite her unfashionable country manners.
He had struggled to maintain his indifference, to remind himself of the unsuitability of such a connection.
Now fate had removed choice from the equation. She would be his wife within the week, bound to him by law if not affection.
She believes I trapped her.
The realization struck him with painful clarity.
The carriage turned onto the drive to Netherfield, where he would need to explain the situation to Bingley and make arrangements to depart for London.
The coming days would be filled with practical matters—securing the special license, informing his solicitor, preparing the townhouse, writing to Georgiana.
All necessary tasks that would allow him to avoid dwelling on the expression in Elizabeth’s eyes as she accepted his proposal.
Not joy. Not even resignation, but a wary determination, as though preparing for battle rather than marriage.
As the carriage came to a stop, Darcy straightened his shoulders and composed his features into their customary impassivity.
He would do his duty by Elizabeth Bennet.
He would provide for her, protect her, respect her.
And perhaps, in time, she would come to see that their forced union might yield happiness neither had anticipated.
A small, honest part of him, one he rarely acknowledged, whispered that despite the circumstances, he was not entirely unhappy with the outcome.
Elizabeth Bennet would be his wife. Her quick mind, her challenging nature, her expressive eyes, all would now be part of his daily life rather than a brief acquaintance soon forgotten.
The thought brought a warmth that contradicted the gravity of the situation. Inappropriate, perhaps, but undeniable.
“Mr. Darcy.” Bingley’s butler greeted him as he entered the house. “Mr. Bingley has been asking for you. He seems most concerned about your absence during the storm.”
“I will speak with him immediately,” Mr. Darcy replied, his mask of composure in place once more. “And please have my valet begin packing. I must return to London this afternoon on urgent business.”
Despite his better judgment, the business of making Elizabeth Bennet his wife was a duty he found himself anticipating with something dangerously close to pleasure.