Chapter Twenty-Five
Midnight Confessions
“Lizzy, be certain to dress in your best frock. Mr. Darcy will expect nothing less. You will never be as pretty as Jane, but that does not absolve you from the attempt. Poor Jane, so beautiful, and yet still Mr. Bingley returned to London. We had such hopes! You must have Millie take extra care with your hair as well. Perhaps the yellow ribbons, to make your skin look less brown...”
Elizabeth kept the smile affixed to her face until at last her mother ceased issuing her instructions.
“Yes, Mama,” she recited as she had so many times before.
What would Mama say if she knew that Mr. Darcy had seen her in far less becoming and formal clothing and had declared his love for her, anyway?
It would not do to think on it, for by no means must Mama force Mr. Darcy’s hand.
If he still wished to marry her, he would repeat his offer, and if not.
.. She sighed. The more time she spent in his company, the more she regretted her refusal of his offer.
But as much pain as this would bring her, she could never wish him to wed her from obligation and not from love.
His happiness was more important than hers and if he had decided that his future was elsewhere, she desired that he should find the love he deserved.
A tap at the door roused her from her contemplations.
Millie entered on mouse-quiet feet and helped her into the gown that Mama had selected before setting to work on her hair.
The young maid had nimble fingers and a clever hand, for when she had pressed in the last pin and secured the last ringlet, Lizzy felt quite pretty indeed.
Mr. Darcy would not be swayed by a smart gown or a flattering coiffeur, but she wished to look her best for him, regardless.
Dinner passed in a pleasant manner, and neither her mother nor her younger sisters gave her any particular cause for embarrassment.
Papa was witty and engaging, and after the meal, when Mary settled herself at the keyboard to play, her fingers caressed the proper notes and her tone was not too strident for Lizzy and Mr. Darcy to enjoy some conversation.
How comfortable it was to be with him! She had grown to cherish his companionship, and when he was elsewhere, she longed for his return.
When in the company of those he knew, his reserved nature opened like a flower in bloom, and she felt she would never get enough of his wry sense of humour and his excellent understanding.
Moreover, he seemed to be pleased with her company too.
His eyes, when they lit on her face, grew soft and expressive, and he attended her every word, laughed at her every joke.
How she hoped now that he would renew his addresses to her.
Her hands longed to reach out and take his, and she wondered how the skin of his cheek would feel beneath her fingers.
When, at last, he bid good night to the family, with a promise to return with his belongings the following day, he paused for a moment before her.
“Until tomorrow, Elizabeth,” he whispered, then pressed a light kiss to the back of her hand.
His fingers were encased in white kid gloves, his lips scarcely brushed her skin, and yet it felt like a strike of lightning passing through her body.
“Goodnight, Mr. Darcy,” the words barely came before they were swallowed by the air between them. And then he departed.
She did not sleep well that night. A storm was gathering in the distance, casting a heavy blanket of snow out on the fields and in the gardens, and the dire silence of the white-shrouded earth was deafening in its intensity.
She could hear the horses whinny in the stables behind the house and the dogs bark at some unseen intruder encroaching into their midst. And then, once again, the creak of footsteps above her head. The Frenchmen had returned.
This night she dared not venture up the dark stairs; there was little more to be learned from them, and she and her companions had uncovered the secrets of the machine.
Did they themselves know what the device could do?
Had they seen it in motion before it was destroyed?
Or were they merely caretakers of something they did not understand?
It was an unsettling feeling, knowing that she and two friends had discovered something that still seemed to baffle this contingent of foreigners; for, had they been able to learn the answers they sought, they should not be above still at their labours.
Perhaps, the next night when Mr. Darcy was once again under her roof, they might make another attempt to find out just who these people were, and what they knew.
It was well past the expected hour the next morning when Mr. Darcy arrived at last. He bowed to his hosts and offered his deepest apologies.
“The laneways were deep in snow, and I had thought to remain at Netherfield, until I saw the heaviness at the horizon. I fear we are in for yet another snowfall and made here with my horses and carriage before those first new flakes might fall.”
Elizabeth looked out of the window once more, as she had done all morning awaiting her guest. He was correct: the sky was leaden and pregnant with more snow, and if her sense was correct, before darkness descended once more, the lanes would be quite unpassable.
“You were wise not to travel northward to your estate,” she replied. “To be caught in such weather amongst friends is a trifle, and hopefully a pleasant one. To be out in the country, or stranded at an inn where one knows nobody, would be most distressing.”
“The idea of being anywhere other than here,” he stared into her eyes, “fills me with unhappiness. I am fortunate amongst men to be invited here and most pleased in my whereabouts.”
Throughout the day, he sought her company, to the point that even Mama seemed to notice.
“Mr. Darcy certainly talks to you a lot, Lizzy. You should not keep his attention all upon yourself, for you might lead him to have ideas. Perhaps, now that Jane is no longer waiting for Mr. Bingley, you might suggest that he speak with her as well. But do not think, young lady, of disappearing to your rooms as you are so wont to do, for we have a guest and we must be seen to be sociable and polite. Go, find your sewing and be friendly, and do try not to vex the man.”
It was not until immediately before dinner, when the family were gathering in the salon, that she came upon Mr. Darcy in the hallway.
“Elizabeth,” his voice was a whisper, “we have had not a moment to converse in private, and I have some matters I wish to discuss with you. Where may we meet that your mother or sisters will not find us?”
Surely he could not mean... no, that could not be, for he would appeal to Mama for an audience with her daughter if he intended that.
What else could he be about? “This house is full of people, I own it!” she whispered in return.
“But perhaps, if you think it not too unwise, I might meet you in the drawing room in the tower once again. I, too, have information for you that I wish to relate.”
“At midnight?”
“Agreed.”
They were expected in the salon to await the meal and could speak here no longer. But midnight was only short hours away, and Elizabeth stared at the clock, willing it to speed its way through the minutes.
At long last the meal was over, cards had been dealt, the piano played, and books read aloud, and the household retired to their rooms. Thank heavens they kept country hours! How tedious it would be to have to wait until four, or even five o’clock in the morning before finally taking to one’s bed!
But by eleven o’clock the house was quiet, and Elizabeth was settled in her tower room, reading.
Millie came and helped her out of her gown and into her night clothes and then disappeared to her own rooms in the servants’ quarters in the main part of the house.
The only people here in this tower now were her and the Frenchmen in the room above.
She stared at the clock on her mantel, watching the minutes slowly tick past, until it was just before midnight.
Mr. Darcy was waiting for her in the dark and silent drawing room. Without a word, she ushered him up the secret stairs in the walls to her room, whereupon she closed the panel and locked her bedroom door.
“We may speak here, if quietly.”
He nodded his comprehension and looked upward at the ceiling.
“I do believe so.”
Elizabeth was clothed in her nightgown and robe, and he was likewise, although she had caught sight of long trousers beneath the floor-length banyan he wore.
It was a very dark blue, in a rich brocaded fabric she thought must be silk, and she had to restrain herself from reaching out to caress the fabric. .. and the arm beneath it.
He sat in the chair by the fireplace and crossed his legs, revealing soft-soled bedroom slippers, the sight of which were strangely alluring.
There was an intimacy about them, something very private and personal, that sent unfamiliar sensations up her spine.
She wondered at the effect of it, for nothing more was revealed to her eyes than had he been shod in his boots or the shoes he wore during the day.
Perhaps it was the secret knowledge that beneath those slippers, his feet might be bare, free of the hose that bound and concealed such mundane digits as his toes.
Never before had the idea of toes brought such a flush to her face, strange and useless appendages as they were, ugly even, and yet so.
.. intimate. The word broke her thoughts, and she felt her face grow red.
“The... er, gentlemen upstairs?” Mr. Darcy prompted. She drew her eyes from his feet to her face and sought the power of speech.
“I believe they returned last night. That is, I heard footsteps above, which I had not heard in some time. I do not know why they returned now.”