Chapter 3 Disheartenment
DISHEARTENMENT
Only minutes from now she will be here. Terror and delight shot through Darcy in equal measure.
His decision to propose to Elizabeth had not been an easy one. But once he understood that he loved her—and accepted the idea that he could not live without her—the decision was easy. How would he ever marry someone else, knowing his heart belonged to Elizabeth?
He had closeted himself in his bedchamber for nearly the entire day, composing an appropriate speech for her.
Heaven knew he was as tongue-tied as a schoolboy in her presence; he could only imagine what might come stumbling out of his mouth if he did not plan his words carefully.
Thus, he had written out what he wished to say, and then committed it to memory, the words of a lover, a language strange to him, but one in which he was determined to become fluent.
His heart was in his throat when at last he exited the room into the hall, from which he could hear the sound of the Collinses being announced in the drawing room. His footsteps quickened, and he joined them only moments later.
Darcy caught his breath when he saw her.
She was beautiful, in a rose-coloured gown which matched the faint blush upon her cheeks.
She was in the middle of greeting his aunt when he entered, and gracefully rose from her curtsey, nodding to his cousin.
They shared a grin which, to Darcy, appeared conspiratorial.
Was it? What was that about? There was no time to think of it, for her eyes then fell on him, and he hastened to bow to her.
When he straightened, the look on her face took him aback.
The grin she had shared with Fitzwilliam was long gone, replaced by coldness.
There was no sparkle in her eyes, no curve to her lips, and her blush seemed less like a blush than…
an angry flush? Uneasily, he wondered if Lady Catherine had said something to upset her.
“Come, Miss Bennet!” His cousin offered his arm to her. Lowering his voice, he said, “There is but one comfortable sofa in this room, and I am determined we shall have it!”
Darcy cursed his deliberations, watching Fitzwilliam escort her to the sofa that was, indeed, the only comfortable seat in the place.
It was on the periphery, a secluded seat, angled as it was away from the rest of the furniture.
There was not even another chair near it, and thus was Darcy forced to spend the pre-dinner hour seated with his aunt and Mr Collins, while the other ladies engaged in polite discourse nearby and too loudly for him to overhear Elizabeth’s conversation.
When dinner was announced, he leapt to his feet, intent on escorting Elizabeth in to dinner, but his aunt intervened.
“Darcy, you will escort Anne and Mrs Collins,” she instructed. “Fitzwilliam, bring in Miss Bennet and Miss Lucas. Come, Mr Collins.” She offered her own arm to the parson, which he took with a beaming sense of importance.
Fortune seemed to smile on Darcy at dinner, as he was seated with Elizabeth to his right. He immediately sought to draw her into conversation. “The day was exceptionally fine today, was it not, Miss Bennet?”
She seemed to startle a little but regained her composure immediately. “How so?”
“Well…the weather. A lovely spring day. I truly believe the chill of winter is behind us.”
She took a prolonged sip of her wine and finally replied, “No doubt you are correct.”
Then she turned to address his aunt. “Lady Catherine, Mrs Collins has told me that you believe it imprudent for young ladies to read an excess of poetry. I am very eager to hear your thoughts on this matter for myself.”
She could not have designed to excite her ladyship more. Mr Collins smiled approvingly as Lady Catherine inhaled deeply and began, “I am encouraged, Miss Bennet, to see that unlike so many young ladies, you show a true interest in bettering yourself and your mind…”
With that, the opportunity for conversation was lost for some time, Darcy’s aunt spewing out ridiculous notions about the appropriate reading material for young ladies, and Elizabeth nodding attentively at every last syllable she uttered. What was this about?
When at last Elizabeth turned her attention to her dinner, he noticed she had little appetite. She ate next to nothing, only picking and pushing things about on her plate. He decided to tease her a bit about it, hoping to lighten the mood between them.
“Miss Bennet, I believe you will have greater success in your endeavours if you would just lift your fork occasionally.”
If he had hoped for a laugh, he was gravely disappointed. Elizabeth’s eyes flashed as she said, in tight syllables, “Thank you, Mr Darcy, for that most excellent advice.”
With that he understood it: she was angry at him. But why? Was it possible she had expected his addresses and, knowing he would leave in two days, felt he had played her for a fool?
He ate the rest of his meal quietly, noting that Elizabeth’s mood did not seem to improve.
At last, the interminable dinner ended, and he resolved at once to garner a private audience with her.
He had thought much on this subject in the past few days, since he had decided to propose to her, and believed it would be most prudent to ask her to walk in the garden with him.
The lengthening days of spring had left plenty of light, the evening was warm, and he knew Elizabeth was nearly always amenable to a stroll.
Lady Catherine, fortunately, did not insist on a separation of the sexes after dinner, so one and all entered the drawing room together. Darcy strode towards Elizabeth, pleased to note that, for once, Fitzwilliam had managed to occupy himself elsewhere.
Elizabeth had gone directly over to the windows overlooking the garden and was gazing out upon the evening. She startled when he leant close to her, asking her, in a low voice, “Miss Bennet, I wonder if I might prevail upon you to take a stroll in the garden with me.”
She turned to look at him and, seeing his closeness, took a small step away from him. “Thank you, but I am not inclined for a walk at present.”
“The fine day has yielded to a similarly fine evening,” he pressed. “Just a short stroll, perhaps?”
She smiled that odd, small smile he had noted before. “I thank you, sir, but I must decline.”
Never had he seen her thus, not even at Netherfield in the face of all of Miss Bingley’s slights. Even then, she had only laughed and teased. What to do, then? A man could hardly make love to a woman who was shooting darts at him with her eyes.
“Have I offended you in some manner?”
Inexplicably, Elizabeth laughed, but bitterly.
However, before she could say more, Lady Catherine interrupted them.
“Miss Bennet, do play something for us. Darcy, come over here. Anne has a wonderfully amusing story to tell you.” Darcy exhaled with frustration even as Elizabeth turned on her heel and strode towards the pianoforte with quick paces.
For the remainder of the evening, Elizabeth played the pianoforte. She would not be moved, playing song after song, until finally the Collinses were prepared to leave. Darcy felt he might choke on his disappointment.
He watched as she departed, feeling more uncertain and alone than ever he had before.