Chapter 11
A couple of “utter fools” Lady Cassandra had called him and Bingley, and Darcy knew she was absolutely correct.
In fact, he was an even bigger fool than Bingley, as Bingley’s major mistake had been to trust Darcy’s friendship and judgment in a matter that could have ruined his chance of happiness.
As for Darcy—he had more faults and, in many ways, had been a greater fool.
However, he seemed to be a fortunate fool, as things were definitely moving in the desired direction.
Bingley would undoubtedly propose to Miss Bennet the next morning; he was decided!
As for Darcy, he would meet Elizabeth in the grove first thing in the morning—alone.
The mere thought made him shiver with anticipation and anxiety as never before in his life.
He felt and behaved like a schoolboy—that was certain—and it did not bother him in the slightest.
In truth, he had never possessed much restraint or self-control in her presence—or in her absence. Both her nearness and his own vivid memories had inspired the most delicious dreams as well as the worst nightmares during those months spent at Netherfield last year.
He saw her eyes—always sparkling with wit and laughing at him even when they argued—her lips—softly narrowed into an ironic smile or half-parted as she laughed openly with her sister or a friend—and her neck —creamy skin framed by dark, curled hair.
He also saw the garnet cross that rested innocently at her neckline, her voice, her brightness, her natural and pleasant—though not always proper—manners, and her kindness and care for others.
She, with all her being, seemed to fulfil perfectly his every wish and aspiration in a woman, yet he had denied the evidence for months and changed a possibility for happiness into a lasting misery.
During those days she stayed at Netherfield to care for her sister, his turmoil had been complete.
All of their shared meals, the long hours spent together in the evening, their challenging conversations—what bittersweet torture!
He forced himself barely to speak to her and avoided any opportunity to meet her more than he was obliged, otherwise he was afraid he would simply take her in his arms and run away with her to some secluded place where nobody would find them.
He could show her just how little he was a man without fault, indeed!
One day they had even spent half an hour together in the library without speaking to each other—just reading.
That is to say, she was probably reading.
As for himself, he had spent the entire time staring at her, secretly caressing her with his greedy, shameless eyes: her face, her ears, her neckline and lower to the edge of her dress and then along her arms. His lips had ached with desire to touch everything his eyes admired.
In the privacy of his room, a glass of wine in hand, Darcy laughed—and even blushed slightly—at those highly improper thoughts.
Yet it was perfectly true; he imagined how it would be to finish their arguments by crushing her lips in a kiss right there in the middle of the room, or grabbing her in his arms in the midst of a shocked audience and taking her upstairs to his rooms. It was a frequent daydream and happened for the first time at Lucas Lodge when Sir William encouraged them to dance and she refused him.
At that moment, he desperately wished to cover her lips with his hungry mouth until she fell breathless into his arms. Of course, he laughed to himself, she likely would have slapped him, and Mr Bennet would have hunted him down all over Hertfordshire; yet, merely imagining her scent and the feel of her against him had been delicious.
Dreams of that kind had repeated themselves countless times during the hours spent together at Netherfield and then every night for long, endless months.
Yes, this had been his major fault: he desired her more than he ever imagined he could desire a woman, and his need for her had been so powerful that it had frightened him.
Therefore, he convinced himself that the sensation meant nothing more than the normal attraction toward any beautiful, exceptional lady and that his lustful wishes and needs would disappear once he was away from her.
What an utter fool, as Cassandra had said!
Of course, he had been as wrong about her as he had been about Bingley.
She had not disappeared from his thoughts for a moment.
Instead, her image, her voice, her beautiful laughing eyes, and her witty conversation made the other ladies in Town shrink to insignificance and monotony.
Indeed, no other woman, no matter how beautiful, made him feel close to what he felt for her.
When he met her again in Kent, he had been the ultimate fool: he had proposed to her as no gentleman should ever propose to a lady.
Of course, she had refused him as he deserved, and those dreadful moments he again wished to take her in his arms—not with desire but all the love he possessed for her—and let his caresses speak the intensity of his feelings.
However, it was quite obvious she desired none of it, so he had left and, from that moment on, had dreamt of her less because he slept very little.
For many weeks, night and day blended together and he forced his mind to think of nothing, or of anything but her.
When this proved an impossible task, he abandoned it and spent his time remembering every word, gesture, smile, and movement.
Though his days and nights had been filled with her, they had been as empty as hope frozen in time.
Her memory was there, yet she was gone forever, and he fought desperately to regain his life—a hopeless fight.
Since the day he miraculously met her in Hyde Park, a breeze of liveliness swept over him, and his dreams began again, as different as his feelings for her were different.
From that moment on, even in his dreams, he never simply grabbed her in his arms or covered her lips with violent, passionate kisses; instead, he dreamt not of fulfilling his desires or wishes, but hers.
He used to imagine that she desired to be kissed, embraced and caressed by him, that she wished to be taken away by him and carried far from everyone and everything she knew.
At Pemberley, his dreams seemed finally to come to life!
And tomorrow…he would do nothing but what he could be certain she desired.
When Darcy finally fell asleep, Elizabeth’s fingers combed through his hair, caressed his forehead, moved slowly along the line of his jaw, and then returned to brush against his lips. The sensation was so real and powerful that he sighed, and his sleep deepened into blissful contentment.
∞∞∞
Alone in her room, long after dinner , Elizabeth wondered when Mr Bingley would finally propose to Jane and how on earth she would be able to bear her sister’s enthusiasm until the long-desired wedding.
Not for a moment had Elizabeth imagined that her dear, sweet, Jane would became a tiresome burden for her—yet that was what had occurred since the moment the guests left Longbourn.
She opened the window widely to allow the August night’s breezes to enter her room.
Not only that, but the open window made her feel she was somehow closer to a certain apartment in the guest wing at Netherfield.
They would meet tomorrow morning; for the first time in more than a month, Elizabeth was able to sleep soundly but was afraid to do so, wary that she would not wake up early.
However, her fatigue defeated her determination, and she fell into a deep, restful sleep.
She woke as dawn appeared, but to no avail; it was raining—a wild summer rain that made any morning walk impossible.
She went to the window, furious and helpless, looking over the fields as though she might see something, but the raindrops hit her face and mixed with tears of disappointment and frustration.
When she finally withdrew her head and returned to bed, her hair and nightgown were soaked, and her hopes for the day were completely ruined. She could do nothing but wait.
∞∞∞
As thunder and lightning invaded Darcy’s suite, he abruptly woke, unable to control his anger at the sight of rain. Rain? How was that possible? Precisely that morning? Could his plans be delayed again?
After a few moments of pacing around the room, he tried to regain his composure.
Surely, he could not be angry at the weather; that was absurd.
He could not command the rain to stop falling just so he could meet Elizabeth in the grove, but he allowed himself to be furious and frustrated.
He had put all his hopes into their meeting, if only for the pleasure of talking to her unrestrained, maybe holding her hand for a few moments and nothing more, but he was forced to wait; there was nothing else to do.
A couple of hours later, the rain seemed to lose its power, and the sun moved shyly from behind the clouds.
Darcy suddenly became more animated, inquiring about his friend’s intention of calling at Longbourn and his mode of transportation—whether he intended to go on horseback or take the carriage.
Bingley had no time to answer before Lady Cassandra entered the room asking for a few private moments.
“Sir, since the weather seems to have improved, I would like to ask your permission to invite Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth to join me for tea here at Netherfield later today.”
“Your ladyship has my permission to do anything she pleases.”
“Thank you, sir,” she answered with a friendly smile.
“However,” he whispered to her in secret, “I am not certain that will be possible today. You know, I planned to call at Longbourn later, as we promised, and I wanted to speak privately to Miss Bennet.”