Chapter Sixteen
The evening did not end all at once, though Elizabeth rather wished it had done.
Mrs Purvis called for more candles, as though the room required only better light to recover itself, and Mr Fletcher, after a moment’s hesitation, proposed another rubber with such mild good humour that it was accepted almost before anyone had thought to refuse him.
Miss Reed resumed her place with perfect composure, her lace settling about her.
And Elizabeth played the rest of the evening without error.
Darcy addressed his remarks to Mr Fletcher and to Bingley, and once, when appealed to directly, to Jane. Everyone behaved with perfect propriety, though the shadow of the moment felt as though it lingered in the corners of the room.
Bingley was, as ever, in excellent spirits. Though the more observant guests may have noticed him observing Darcy watchfully as he declared himself delighted with the company, the game, and the general conduct of the evening.
Mrs Bennet spoke easily, and at length, and with none of the fluttering agitation Elizabeth would once have expected.
She moved the conversation along with a quiet authority that did not draw attention to itself.
Georgiana even managed to throw a remark or too into the wider conversation, receiving approving smiles from Mrs Bennet when she did so.
When at last cloaks were called for, Mrs Purvis saw them all out with such composure that the evening might almost have been called unremarkable.
There were the usual pauses for farewell, for arranging who should walk with whom, for Bingley to insist upon one more word with Jane, which she received with a smile that made his whole face light up with pleasure.
???
When they returned to the house, Mrs Makepeace declared that nothing sensible was ever said after midnight and shooed them off to bed.
Jane laughed softly and wished the party goodnight. Elizabeth did the same, and they went upstairs together.
Their room was small, but comfortable, the fire banked low and the air still holding the warmth of it.
Jane went at once to the dressing table, removing her gloves and beginning the careful work of unpinning her hair, while Elizabeth moved to the window and stood there, looking out into the dark street below.
"Well," Jane said after a moment, her voice gentle, "that was rather more eventful than I expected, dearest."
Elizabeth let out a breath that might have been a laugh, though it held little amusement. "Yes," she said. "It was certainly that."
Jane met her eyes in the mirror. "Are you very tired?"
"A little," Elizabeth said. "And a little—" She stopped, and shook her head. "No matter."
Jane did not press her. She set aside another pin, her movements unhurried. "Mama bore it very well," she said instead. "I thought her particularly… steady. She is better here, I think?"
Elizabeth turned from the window then. "Yes," she said. "So do I."
For a moment they were quiet.
"You were very composed too," Jane added, after a pause. "I do not think I should have managed it half so well. Whatever was Mr Darcy about?"
Elizabeth gave her a look of arch amusement, though her heart was not in it. She ignored her sister’s second question entirely. "You would have managed it perfectly. You always do."
Jane coloured faintly. "I am not so certain of that."
"You should be."
Jane’s smile softened, but she did not pursue it. "We should not sit up longer," she said, rising. "Mrs Makepeace will think us quite unmanageable if we do."
"You get some sleep," Elizabeth said. "I will follow in a moment."
Jane hesitated, and then climbed into the canopied bed. Her breathing slowing after just a few minutes into the evenness of sleep.
Elizabeth undressed mechanically, unpinning her hair and stepping out of her gown with very little thought. She pulled on her nightgown and wrapped a warm shawl around her shoulders, sitting in the armchair before the fire. She had picked up a book but failed to even open the cover.
After some time she became aware of a very soft knock on the door. She startled at the muffled sound. It must be after one, perhaps her mother was unwell, another headache? She sighed and pulled open the door.
Darcy was in the passage. When had he become simply Darcy to her? She wasn’t sure.
For a moment, they only looked at one another.
"Sir," she said at last, very low, "you cannot be here."
"I am aware of it," he said.
"You must go."
He watched her for a moment without answering, and then he stepped closer. He set one hand against the side doorframe above her, then the other on the opposite side, leaning over her, so that she was held there without being touched at all.
Elizabeth felt the closeness, the heat of him. She knew she ought to move and did not.
"You must not stand so near," she said, though the protest came softer than she intended.
"Then tell me so in a way that will make me obey you," he said, his eyes searching her face.
"I have told you," she replied. "You simply do not care to listen."
"I listen very well," he said. "What I do not do is pretend I believe you."
Colour rose in her face. "You are very obliging."
"And you are not convincing," he returned quietly. "You would have me treat what has passed between us as nothing. You would have me forget that I am a gentleman. And that I cannot stop thinking of you. Marry me, Elizabeth, and end my torment."
"I do not accept you," she said at once. “You ask me in the dark sir. In the cold light of day the matter will have an entirely different slant.”
"Consider it. That is all I ask."
"I have considered it," she said, lifting her chin.
His expression closed. "And?"
"And I refuse you."
The words settled between them.
"You refuse me," he said.
"Yes."
"And what has passed between us makes no difference to you."
"It makes a great deal of difference," she said, before she could stop herself. Then, more controlled, "It convinces me that I was right."
He drew a breath, as though restraining something less measured.
"You think so little of me?"
"I think," she said, "that you have behaved in a manner that makes it impossible for me to think well of you in this respect.
You speak of honour and consequence, and yet you come to me at this hour, and stand so, and act as though I must answer you because you feel strongly enough to insist upon it. "
"I insist upon nothing," he said, though there was strain in it now. "I ask only that you acknowledge what is between us."
"What is between us," she said, "is a series of very improper moments which I regret and will not repeat."
He did not answer her at once. “Regret,” he repeated, spitting the word out.
For a moment she thought he might argue again, press her into reason as he had tried before. Instead, something in his expression settled, as though he had come to a point in his own mind.
His hands lifted and came to rest lightly at her upper arms.
There was nothing forceful in it. He did not draw her nearer. But he did not let her go either, and the steadiness of the contact was enough to undo the careful distance she had been holding between them.
"You would have me call it nothing," he said, more quietly now. "After all that has passed."
"I would have you behave as though it were," she answered.
He gave a faint breath that might almost have been a laugh, though there was no amusement in it.
"You do not make it easy."
"I am not trying to make it easy. I am trying to make it right."
His fingers shifted slightly against her sleeve, and he sighed deeply.
"And this is right," he said. "To refuse me. To put it aside, everything that is between us."
"Yes."
He did not release her.
"I think you are trying to be sensible and in doing so, you are missing out on something important.," he said, almost gently.
Her breath caught at that, and she was angry at herself for it.
"I do not require your interpretation of my own mind."
"No," he said. "You require me to accept it."
"Yes."
His gaze dropped for a moment, then returned to her face with a steadiness that made it difficult to look away.
"You stand there," he said, quieter still, "and tell me it signifies nothing, and yet you have not moved from me once."
"I am not afraid of you," she said, though it came out more quickly than she meant.
"I did not say you were."
"Then do not speak as though I ought to be."
"You have refused me," he went on. "I do not mistake that. But I cannot pretend it alters what I feel, nor what has passed between us. You may choose to call it folly if you wish. I do not."
"I do," she said, though the word came slower now.
"You have bewitched me," he said, the words quieter than before, but no less certain. "Body and soul. I do not know how to put that aside as you would have me do."
For a moment she said nothing. Then she drew herself up, gathering what remained of her composure.
"You must recover yourself," she said. "Because I will not answer to it. Not in that way."
He did not look away. "You feel nothing, then."
She hesitated, and she saw it. "I feel enough to know that I ought not," she said, more carefully.
His hands remained where they were for a moment longer, as though he had not yet decided whether to release her. Then, very slightly, he pulled her towards him.
Elizabeth’s breath faltered. He did not kiss her.
Instead he wrapped his arms around her, as tenderly as if he thought she might break at the pressure of it.
She felt the faint brush of his breath near her temple.
He inhaled deeply and the moment stretched in a way that made it difficult to think at all.
For a second she did not move. Then she turned her head, settling into his broad shoulders and feeling the pull of him.
The need to press herself against him and lose herself in the solid mass of him was so strong that she wasn’t sure she could move away if her mother, Mrs Makepeace and the local vicar descended on them in this moment.
"You must not," she said, softer now, her voice muffled between them.
He closed his eyes briefly, moving back and bringing his forehead to rest against hers.
"You see," he said, "that we fit together so easily."
There was a faint sound from within the room.
"Lizzy?" Jane’s voice, low with sleep.
Elizabeth stepped back at once, his hands falling away as she moved.
"I am here," she called.
"Goodnight, Miss Elizabeth," he said.
"Goodnight, Mr Darcy."
She went in without looking back.