Chapter 30 Privacy Versus Propriety
PRIVACY VERSUS PROPRIETY
Elizabeth’s steps were slow returning to the drawing room.
She had been in eager anticipation of the night; alas, the decampment of the Darcys had led to similar decampment of all hopes of felicity in the evening, and she was left feeling deflated.
In truth, she only hoped the night would end quickly.
She met Sir James in the hall outside of the drawing room. “Sir James,” she said with surprise. “Are the men done with their libations and gossip already?”
“Oh, ah… No. I came in search of you.”
“Is there something I can help you with?”
He cleared his throat. “Is there somewhere I might speak to you in private?”
The expression on Sir James’s face was alarming.
He bore an air about him of nervous anticipation, combined with a determined set to his jaw; taken together, it suggested a question was forthcoming that she had no wish to hear much less answer.
There was nothing for it, however, and she suggested her father’s study as the place.
She walked slowly to the study, sure to leave the door ajar for the sake of propriety.
Sir James entered behind her, following her to the settee by the window where he remained standing while inviting her to sit, which she did.
It was a fine evening, the sun not yet set, and the room was bathed in a golden glow that might have been romantic in other circumstances.
He began to speak at once, the words tumbling from him. “I have had good news. Very good news. Excellent news, really.”
“Tell me about it,” she said with a warm smile.
“The architect who was hired to examine some of the structural concerns of my house found things were far better than we had imagined. The repairs needed will be less substantial and therefore less costly.”
“That is good news! And I am sure it was unexpected as well.” Elizabeth shifted so that she might see him better.
“Too right,” said Sir James. “I anticipated a need for more funds, not fewer. Then I received a letter of equal delight, one which detailed some investments I had made some while back—before I left on my travels. Indeed I had quite forgotten about the account.”
“A pot of gold, so to speak?”
“One might say so,” he said with a chuckle. “And it is enough that things I once thought were not possible…are.”
Oh no. Elizabeth clasped her hands together and squeezed them tightly. “What sorts of things?”
He joined her on the settee. “Elizabeth, I could not have imagined when Goddard invited me to loll about at Ashworth with him that I would meet a lady with whom I might imagine spending my life. I have never met another lady like you, and I think we would make a good turn of things in the matrimonial state.”
Elizabeth resolved to be gentle with him, starting by thanking him for the compliment. “Alas, sir, you know that I have no fortune of my own, and my relations—”
“None of that signifies to me,” he said.
“But it does signify to me. With so little to bring to a marriage, especially to you who has much to offer a lady, I would at the very least wish to bring to you my love. We have been fine friends, but we are not in love.”
Silence descended on the room. As she often did when nervous, Elizabeth toyed with her necklace.
Sir James stood and walked to the window, gazing outwards over her mother’s rose garden. Finally he said softly, “Many marriages are entered into with naught more than friendship, and love grows from that.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment, pained with the knowledge that she was hurting him. “Yet how many marriages do we see where it does not? It is a risky business, and one I could not leave to chance, particularly when I cannot offer the material advantage.”
Sir James said nothing, his eyes fixed upon the darkening lawn. “I suppose I have Darcy to thank. Were it not for his interference, I do not doubt that your answer would be different.”
As was the custom of late, Elizabeth’s pulse quickened at the mere sound of Mr Darcy’s name. She was very grateful that Sir James chose to keep his gaze fixed on the lawn, fearful that her countenance would betray her true thoughts.
“I do not know what you believe Mr Darcy has done to interfere—”
“Darcy interferes merely by walking into the room.” Sir James turned. “Elizabeth, you are playing a fool’s game if you will reject me in hopes of him. Do you know how many ladies have had hopes of becoming Mrs Darcy, only to be vastly disappointed?”
“I do not refuse you because my hopes are for him.”
“So you do admit it, then?” He peered at her. “You do have hopes where Darcy is concerned?”
Of course she had hopes, and his admonishments were a dagger to her heart, but she would not show him that. With a fortifying breath, she said, “My friendship with Mr Darcy has nothing to do with my refusal of your hand.”
“He has turned your head,” said Sir James with a little point at her. “I believe it with all my heart. Had he not come to town, I would already be speaking to your father. You surely cannot deny that.”
Elizabeth hardly knew what to say. Perhaps he was correct; nevertheless, Mr Darcy had come to town, and she had come to know the man he really was, and she had grown to…
to love him. What might have happened if she never knew Mr Darcy better was immaterial; Mr Darcy was here, and her heart was irrevocably his.
She knew in that instant that she was certain of it.
Whether it led to heartbreak, she could not say, but she would never believe that he would go about the countryside kissing ladies towards whom he had no serious intentions.
But none of that was necessary for Sir James to hear. “Believing as you do that my hopes are fixed on Mr Darcy—would you want me to accept you?”
“A lady ought not to hold out for the highest bidder,” he replied sharply.
“Highest bidder!”
“Darcy and I have both paid court to you this summer, but whereas he wishes only for some rustic diversion, it is I who have offered to make you my wife. Has he?”
She ignored the last. “I assure you, sir, I am not holding out for any bidder,” Elizabeth said stiffly as she rose to her feet. “And perhaps we would do best to end this conversation here.”
“Only answer me that: has he offered for you? Has he expressed any honourable intentions towards you?”
Again, she did not answer. She began to move from the room. “I am sorry to cause you pain and only hope that we may remain friends.”
“Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth,” he said quickly, stopping her. “I have grown intemperate.”
He was smiling in a boyish way, and she relented, stopping in her progress out of the room.
“I ought not to have said that,” he said quickly. “I know I have surprised you and what Darcy has done or not done is irrelevant. I wish to marry you and perhaps, once you have thought of it, you might reconsider your answer?”
“Sir, I—”
“No, no. Say nothing now. I will call on you in a few days, once you have had time to think of things properly, and get your answer then. Will that do?”
A few days would not change her answer, but it seemed unnecessary to say so. She curtseyed and, with that, left him, pulling the door firmly closed behind her as a sob rose in her throat. It was never easy to refuse a man, particularly a good man. Even when he grew peevish about it.
But was he right about Mr Darcy? Was she playing a fool’s game? Mr Darcy had said he wished to win her hand…but had he meant it? Heaven only knew he had had opportunity to propose since then and he had refrained. Perhaps Sir James was correct.
Nevertheless, it would be unconscionable to enter into an engagement with a man, knowing that not only did you not love your betrothed, but that your heart belonged to another. Even if Mr Darcy never offered for her, her heart belonged to him and only him.
No matter how she looked at it, she was not yet equal to facing the party. She decided to slip into the garden to recover her equanimity. She had again refused an offer of marriage, and suddenly everything seemed quite bleak.
Walking outside, she permitted herself a brief bout of tears, sitting on a hidden bench and allowing her emotions free rein.
When she had done, she rose and wandered over by the rose garden.
Looking at the roses made her think of her mother, and she sighed, thinking of what her mother would do to her if she discovered Elizabeth had, for the second time, refused an offer of marriage, this time to a man of status and fortune both.
Leaning into the roses, she inhaled deeply, allowing their fragrance to soothe her. The cutting garden, the roses in particular, had been raided rather mercilessly for her mother’s table this evening, but there were still some roses, mostly buds, which remained.
She spied a rose a bit farther along the trellis that appeared dead, and leant into the plant, intending to pluck it off.
As she did, the fabric of her gown caught on the dense, curved prickles of the shrub; she, pulling back to free herself, caused an enormous rent in the bodice as well as on her sleeve.
“Oh!” Elizabeth groaned in despair; the gown was new and costly, and her mother would have her neck for tearing it. Her only hope was to get upstairs where she might repair it sufficiently before her mother noticed.
Re-entering the house quickly, she began to move towards the back staircase which would enable her to go to her room, with luck, unnoticed by the rest of the house.
She looked down the long hall, hoping not to see her mother, which she did not, much to her relief.
The door to her father’s study, she saw, was still closed.
No doubt Sir James was still therein; she hoped he was not too much distressed.
She ran towards the stair as quickly as she could, hoping to see no one until she was presentable.
When she was halfway up the stairs, she realised her necklace was gone as well.
Had it fallen off in the garden? If it had, there would be little chance of finding it now, she realised; night was mostly fallen. She would look for it in the morning.