Chapter 1.2 #2
By now, Elizabeth was stunned. The sincerity in Darcy’s face was not to be doubted, and the confidence he showed could be generated only by the truth. But how could that be? Mr Wickham was such a pleasant man; he also seemed sincere. It was impossible to conceive that he could be a liar.
Then what could have happened? Perhaps there was some altercation between them—one of a serious nature—that caused Mr Darcy to disregard his father’s wishes. Being unshakable and proud men, both certainly believed they were in the right.
From Mr Darcy’s features, she was now convinced he was telling the truth, but she was not ready to consider—and even less to admit to herself—that Mr Wickham had told her lies; she had believed him so readily.
“Thank you for your offer to answer my questions. I shall remember it.”
“And please do not try to sketch my character at the present moment, as there is reason to fear the performance would reflect no credit on either of us.”
“But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity.”
“I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours,” he replied, smiling. “I hope we shall be in each other’s company on future occasions where you will be able to make a better evaluation of my character in…a few weeks perhaps?”
She was happy for the opportunity to change the subject. “So you are to be in the neighbourhood for some time?”
“I really do not know for certain. Mr Bingley is the master of the house, and I am totally at his disposal. I am attempting to help him understand estate business.”
“Mr Bingley must be very grateful to have a friend not only experienced but also willing to help him.”
“Mr Bingley is a remarkably good man but perhaps not as confident in his own abilities. Nevertheless, he deserves all the good friends he can get.”
She was pleased to hear him speak kindly of Bingley, and she was amazed at how the tone of the conversation between them became light and pleasant in only a few minutes.
While speaking, he looked at her with an openness she never would have thought he possessed before that day. She liked that very much but could not lose the opportunity to tease him.
“Indeed, sir, it is difficult for him to be confident when he is constantly reminded of the perfection of your house and your extraordinary library. How can he grow more confident when he must stand against the expectation of a man without fault?”
A moment after she finished, she was afraid she had gone too far and that he was offended; she diverted her eyes from him.
“Miss Bennet…”
She raised her eyes and met his gaze, which was as reproachful as the tone of his voice, but he did not seem displeased or angry. A tentative smile was lifting the corners of his mouth.
“I have never said such things about my home, my library, or myself. I have never compared Mr Bingley to anyone and certainly never to me.”
“I know you have not, sir. In any case, you did not have to. The praise around you is continuous, and everyone can hear it. It must all be true as it comes from someone who is such an intimate acquaintance of yours.”
She knew it was improper for her to speak in such a manner.
Mr Darcy was a friend of the Bingley family, and he was probably displeased by remarks concerning Miss Bingley, but the impulse to tease him and Miss Bingley at the same time was too strong.
“‘A man without a fault; a man you cannot laugh at’—were not those Miss Bingley’s words? ”
His reaction stunned her. There was Darcy, staring at her and trying vainly to hide the smile that was threatening to overspread his face. He was biting his lower lip and attempting to divert his eyes from her. His whole face seemed brighter and younger than ever.
“Miss Bingley is very generous in her praise of my home; nevertheless, she is not an intimate acquaintance of mine or of my home and most assuredly not of my library.”
“That, sir, I can easily believe.”
“But I must confess: I pride myself on both my home and my library. They are the work of many generations, and I consider them wonderful indeed.”
“So am I to understand, sir, that you are a great reader yourself?”
“No—if I remember correctly, you are the great reader although you find pleasure in many other things.”
Elizabeth began to laugh heartily, and Darcy soon followed her in a more reserved manner. Suddenly, the room became warm and comfortable.
∞∞∞
They began to talk of books they recently read and of those they liked or disliked most, amazing each other by the revelation of their tastes and opinions—though not always alike—in literature, poetry, history, and theatre.
She was full of admiration for his great understanding and knowledge, and he was amazed at her passion in expressing her opinions.
He was restrained and calm, searching for arguments to sustain his ideas; she was impetuous and lively, filling the room with joy.
He spoke with wisdom and prudence about what he thought regarding a certain subject.
She answered him with wit and teasing, expressing her own opinion.
Their feelings were different but similar at the same time.
They were like fire and ice, melting together to find the perfect mix.
They enjoyed each other’s company, amazed that they could spend a pleasant time together without an argument but rather filled with challenging debates.
Delightfully, they were discovering one another.
Never before had Elizabeth had the opportunity for such a conversation with any gentleman except her father.
She had met many charming young men, both in Hertfordshire and in London while visiting her relatives.
She had spent many hours in pleasant conversions with some of them, perhaps flirting a little and being courted occasionally.
But this was so different. Darcy was neither flirting with her nor courting her; he was actually talking to her! He was treating her as his equal, respecting her opinions even when they differed from his, asking for her point of view, and challenging her to defy him.
And all the time, he smiled and wrapped her in tender looks, raising sensations that frightened her by their novelty and overwhelming strength.
Cold chills travelled over her arms, down her spine to her legs, up to her neck and back again.
Her body shivered though she felt such warmth, as if she were not merely near the fire, but in it.
More burning even than the fire were his closeness, his intense looks, and the things she saw in his eyes.
Not even Elizabeth could misunderstand the nature of his gaze this time; and that, combined with the situation in which they found themselves, gave her a strange feeling.
It was the first time in her life that a man had seen her in such an intimate state.
She was without her gown, though she was fully wrapped in two blankets.
Her hair was down, and her feet were bare.
She always believed that only her husband would ever see her so—and maybe not even him.
The unknown and ambiguous sensations in her made Elizabeth more flustered and emotional; and because she worked hard to conceal it, she became more voluble and talkative, to Darcy’s great delight and enjoyment.
His feelings were not different from hers but were stronger and more difficult to control.
But he was neither afraid of nor surprised by them.
He knew well the kind of sensations she aroused in him, and it was not difficult to recognise her own reactions to him.
He was more bewitched than ever and could not take his eyes off her, even though he realised he made her uncomfortable and caused her to blush constantly.
He only hoped it was not a completely unpleasant discomfort for her.
He began talking to her again, listening to her carefully, admiring her wit, her liveliness, her passion in expressing her beliefs, the sparkle in her eyes, and her smile. This time they were all directed at him.
How could I ever believe she was welcoming my attentions before and flirting with me? That is just her way. Still…she is acting differently than she did before. Is it possible I have improved, in some way, her opinion of me? Could I be so fortunate?
Her beauty was greater than ever, precisely because she was so natural. Her hair was almost dry, and her heavy curls spread around her beautiful face and fell onto her back and shoulders.