Chapter 1.3 #2
She held his gaze steadily though she was deeply mortified by the admittance of her own faulty behaviour.
She wanted him to see the truth in her eyes.
In shouldering the blame for having initiated the conversation about Miss Darcy, she hoped to convey to Darcy that Mr Wickham was not likely to approach the subject with anyone else without encouragement.
She wished to assuage any fears that malicious gossip would be spread through the neighbourhood; besides, she did not believe Mr Wickham capable of such a thing.
Finally, Darcy understood the meaning of what she had told him.
Her confessions of gullibility and her favourable opinion of Wickham had been meant to prove her complete honesty and assure him that his sister’s reputation would not be sullied.
She had selflessly put herself in an awkward and embarrassing situation to ease his discomfort.
He could not help feeling deeply impressed by the sincerity and care she showed for his wounded feelings and by her remarkable courage.
He breathed deeply and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, her eyes were before him, sparkling and smiling as if to say, “Now do you believe me?”
He felt mortified by his own behaviour, harsh words, and unkind thoughts about her. He had hastily judged her once more and could think of nothing that would undo the damage to her already poor opinion of him.
“Thank you for letting me know that,” was all he managed to say. “And I know there is nothing I could do to win your forgiveness for having offended you again with my poor manners and callous behaviour. Nevertheless, I dare to ask you for the opportunity to apologise—”
“Mr Darcy!” Her tone was lively and cheerful, and he quieted. Elizabeth was not formed for ill humour. Their unpleasant misunderstanding, once clarified, could not have dwelt long in her spirits. She soon reclaimed her lively disposition, and she was determined to make him do the same.
“As a matter of fact, sir, there is something you could do that will secure my complete forgiveness.”
He looked at her quickly, only to see her right brow rise in an arch manner. She was teasing him, and he could see it but did not dare to presume she was no longer upset. Still, he tried to answer in an equally light manner, hoping for reconciliation.
“Please tell me, Miss. Bennet, and I shall do so at once.”
“You could put some more wood on the fire because it is a little cold.”
She paused and waited, smiling until he did exactly that. Seeing him obey me with such alacrity is not at all unpleasant, she thought, smiling to herself.
“Is it better now?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
“Can I give you my blanket, Miss Bennet? My clothes are almost dry, and I am quite comfortable.”
“No, thank you, sir. But there is another thing I should like you to do, if you would be so kind.”
“Anything.”
“Could we just…resume our conversation from where we were before my silly and very poor jest interrupted it?” She became more serious, choosing her words carefully and blushing as she spoke.
His countenance changed, and a smile overspread his face. “Gladly, Miss Bennet.” He took his place in the chair, close to the fire and close to her. “Let us try to remember where we were. Of what were we speaking?”
“I believe we were speaking of Miss Darcy. I should be very happy if you would tell me a little more about her.”
When she finally managed to lift her eyes, she saw him looking at her seriously—neither stern nor upset but, rather, delighted by her request. She indeed wanted to know about Georgiana, and he could not miss her intentions or her interest.
“I should be most happy to do so, Miss Bennet.” He began to speak, his voice soft, the smile never leaving his face.
“My sister has a particular gift for the pianoforte, but she is not as accomplished as you may have heard, regardless of certain people’s praise; however, she is still young and, hopefully, someday will be a remarkable lady as you said.
But she is not at all proud—only quite shy.
And she is sweet and kind, I might add—much like my mother. ”
“Those are indeed wonderful qualities, Mr Darcy, and if I may say so, they are much more important and rare than a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and modern languages.”
“I completely agree with you.”
“Still,” continued Elizabeth, “I hope she is improving her mind by extensive reading in order to be truly accomplished.”
He pursed his lips, trying to check a laugh. “I am happy to say that she is. I have always taken great delight in seeing a lady not merely read but also find pleasure in doing so—rather than, let us say, playing cards?”
No, this cannot be; he is flirting with me! thought Elizabeth in disbelief.
“So, am I to understand that the ability to play cards is not included in your idea of an accomplished woman?”
He was about to answer her in the same teasing manner when he suddenly rose from his chair and went to the window. Deep in conversation, neither of them had realised that their surroundings were silent, and all they could hear, besides the sound of their own voices, was the fire.
“The rain has stopped. I think we must leave at once before the weather worsens again. I shall let you prepare yourself. Please let me know whether you need my help in any way.”
“I…I shall, sir.” With a quick bow, he left the room and closed the door behind him.
Elizabeth was taken by surprise at his words, and a strange sense of sadness and regret overcame her.
She had anticipated an unbearable morning in the company of this disagreeable man; instead, she had enjoyed some of the most charming, challenging, and enlightening hours she had ever spent.
Now she understood, regretfully, that this was assuredly an event never to be repeated.
She already felt the loss of his company.
Mechanically, she began to dress herself.
In the next room, Darcy desperately tried not to entertain the image of Elizabeth unwrapping the blanket from herself—her undergarments still wet and clinging to her body—and then putting on her gown and trying to set it to rights. You are completely losing your mind, man, he censured himself.
Presently, he heard a knock on the door and hurried to open it, only to see Elizabeth standing there properly dressed, including her bonnet.
The only things missing were her gloves, still wet and muddy—not that their other clothes were completely dry.
In fact, everything, including their coats, was still wet and uncomfortable to wear, and hers even more so; of that, he was well aware.
Darcy went to douse the fire and then opened the front door, inviting her to leave.
“Shall we?”
∞∞∞
The cold air struck them forcefully, seeming to freeze their clothes to their bodies and causing Elizabeth instinctively to ease closer to Darcy for protection.
He was pleased by her gesture and was tempted to wrap her in his arms to warm them both, but he controlled himself, offering her his right arm instead.
“Miss Bennet, it is indeed terribly cold. We must walk as quickly as we can or else I am afraid you will become ill. Take my arm; the ground is wet and slippery. We must be careful not to fall.”
Her left hand clutched at his right arm, and they began to walk at a quick pace.
Darcy was careful not to hurry her too much, as she almost lost her balance on several occasions.
Finally, she tightened her grip on his arm and, desiring the best support possible, put her other hand on his arm as well.
However, the sensation of his wet coat was unpleasant and only succeeded in making her colder.
She tried to cover her discomfort by clasping her hands together in order to warm them a little.
They were neither talking nor looking at each other, but Darcy noticed her gesture. “I am so very sorry you have to bear my wet and dirty coat. If I could do something for your comfort…”
He suddenly took both her hands in his, offering warmth and protection. Her hands were now in his open left hand, cradled in his palm.
Elizabeth was startled at his gesture and was held breathless for several moments.
For the first time in her life, she felt the touch of an unrelated man’s bare hand, and she never would have imagined the feeling could be so overwhelming.
His touch was not at all tentative; he held her hands with determination, stroking them gently to warm them.
Protectively and tenderly, he was taking care of her.
“Is it better now?” he asked innocently, as if he had not the slightest idea how improper his gesture was. He seemed only worried about her well-being.
“Yes it is, thank you,” she murmured shyly.
She knew she should have removed her hands from his, but she could not, nor did she want to. Her attention was divided between the road and the warmth of his hands as he settled her left hand in his palm and caressed the back of her right hand with his thumb.
Actually, Darcy knew very well the effect his gesture was having as his feelings were much the same as hers.
From her reaction and the deep blush suffusing her face, he guessed it was the first time she had been touched in such a manner.
This thought delighted him. He was flattered by her responsiveness to his light touch but not content; he wanted more than that.
He had not yet decided exactly what he wanted from her regarding their future, but he knew he wanted more.
At last, Longbourn came into view, and Elizabeth was relieved by the thought that she would soon be securely home and that her family would no longer worry; yet, once again, a feeling of regret pervaded her consciousness.
She knew they would never have the opportunity to repeat that day’s events, and she felt the loss in a strange way.
Unconsciously, she returned the grip of his hand as though wanting to be assured of his continued presence.