Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Darcy scarcely made it to the bottom of the front steps of Towton Hall before he wished to turn back, to go to her, and to tell her how very wrong she was about him. He longed to defend himself against her accusations and to force her to accept the fact that he loved her.
Over the subsequent days, in reflection, he was glad he had not yielded to this impulse, for to do so would have been sheer folly.
Once his anger subsided, he came to realise that she was entirely correct in her refusal.
He had looked meanly on those who loved her, and he had judged her wanting.
He had shown very little respect to the people of Hertfordshire, including her, and thus was his profession of love made ridiculous.
He realised now that, although he loved her in word, he had not loved her in deed.
His actions contradicted his feelings: his ardour was unsupported by respect, honour, and esteem.
He had yielded to the strictures of society rather than his heart, and now he paid the price in the form of a lost love.
He wallowed in these musings for a fortnight, certain he had missed his only chance to love and be loved until Lord Matlock sought him out.
“Darcy, you must not waste the Season in this study of yours. If Lady Courtenay has a poor opinion of you, try to redeem yourself.”
“Impossible. She thinks me the lowest of the low, and I must say, I begin to see her way of it.”
Impatiently, his lordship demanded, “Do you or do you not love her? You said you did, and your aunt and I are making every effort to forward the match, but you go about thwarting us at every turn.”
“Had I any notion that Lady Courtenay—”
“You should not have insulted her and acted curmudgeonly, regardless of who she was.”
Darcy threw up his hands in disbelief. “You would have been the first to censure me had I suggested that I might form a union with an unknown girl from the country.”
“I never told you to look meanly upon anyone!”
“You would have told me not to look at them at all!”
So it went until Lord Matlock left in a huff.
Darcy sent a note within the hour, apologising for arguing with him, but he could not concede the point.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet never could have been regarded as a good match.
His error arose from the fact that he had cared for such notions above his affection for her.
Lord Matlock returned a note to him within an hour of receiving his.
I shall forgive your temper, but I shall also insist upon reparation in the form of your promise to attend the dinner at Lord Fane’s two nights hence. Lady Courtenay will be there; do your best to make amends. Your aunt remains steadfast in her belief that the two of you should marry.
— M
There were nearly seventy people in attendance at the Fane home; Darcy saw Elizabeth almost immediately upon entering the house.
He greeted her awkwardly and then beat a hasty retreat to the mantel, where he stood drinking his wine and attempting to gather his equanimity while surreptitiously admiring her.
It was an impossible task; she was exceptionally lovely in a claret-coloured gown that clung to her and gave her eyes a special glow.
He could not expect her to regret her refusal—not after he had behaved so miserably—but he did hope they might be agreeable in company together, particularly as it seemed Bingley was nigh on proposing to her sister.
He saw his friend now, standing amid three gentlemen paying court to Miss Jane Bennet and utilising a version of Darcy’s scowl to push the others off.
When he chanced another look at Elizabeth, he saw she was in a close conference with Mr Abell, a handsome gentleman from Berkshire.
Abell was charming her; Darcy could see it in the way her eyes sparkled when she spoke.
He swallowed, hard, feeling a large lump of regret lodge itself in his throat.
Elizabeth caught his look for a moment but quickly looked away, as did he.
He was attempting to recover his composure when Miss Greenbough and her sister, Miss Rose, approached him. The two ladies were pretty girls with good fortunes. They were accomplished in all the usual ways, and they both flirted with him. He tolerated it well but was relieved when dinner was called.
Lady Fane, their hostess, came to him just as the dinner bell was rung. “Mr Darcy, escort Lady Courtenay, please.”
Although he believed she might despise it, he could not deny his hostess and so did as requested. His pulse raced as he approached her, both for fear of her response and with desire to be near her. She smiled stiffly and quietly took his arm.
Despite the discomfort between them, Darcy enjoyed having her on his arm. He glanced down at her hand, admiring the pale elegance of it. She glanced up and caught him staring at her hand like a fool. He quickly moved his glance to his other side, cursing himself for being so stupid.
They settled into their seats without speaking. He had Lord Fane’s ancient, and mostly deaf, mother to one side of him and Elizabeth, who he was certain did not wish to speak to him, on the other. Darcy resigned himself to a long and silent dinner.
When some time had passed, he decided to brave speaking to her. “Lady Courtenay, I believe we must have some conversation. It would look odd for us not to speak at all for several hours altogether.”
“Very well. Yours shall be the subject.”
Careful Darcy. Say nothing to offend but everything to appease. He took a drink of wine and then set his glass down. “Let us speak on first impressions.”
“First impressions?”
“They are dangerous things. Unless a person exercises great caution in the avoidance of prejudice and hasty opinion, a faulty judgment is nearly unavoidable.” He gave her an uncertain smile.
She raised one eyebrow at him. “I do suppose you would think so.”
Blast! He intended to obliquely apologise to her, to tell her he knew he made a poor first impression; however, as was common for them, it seemed he had angered her instead. “You do?”
“You mentioned to me several times the other afternoon that I was in error in my understanding of your character in Hertfordshire. Are you blaming my misunderstanding on hasty opinions and prejudice?”
As he struggled for something to extract him from the mire of his thoughts, Elizabeth spoke again, her tone milder. “You are likely correct, though I must mention that our present discord is also due, at least in part, to your hasty opinions and judgement.”
“I do not disagree with you, and I am not blaming you. I was referring to myself. I went to Hertfordshire expecting to find a savage society and formed my opinions of the populace based on that prejudice. I wish I had not looked so meanly upon people who, by and large, were exceedingly welcoming and kind to my friend and to me.”
When he mentioned Bingley, he saw her glance towards Miss Bennet, who sat across from Bingley. They were both speaking to other people, as politeness would dictate, but their conversations were interspersed with frequent glances and small smiles at each other.
“I do not desire ill will between us, Mr Darcy. I believe we shall often be together in company. I am receptive to whatever second impression you choose to bestow.”
“Thank you,” he replied then lapsed into silence, his eyes mostly trained on his plate. He knew he needed to speak more to her, to take advantage of the second chance she offered, but he could not think how best to go about it. He offended at every turn, no matter his intent.
There was a pause, much too long to be anything but awkward, until he hit upon a subject. “What think you of books? Do you find pleasure in reading?”
Her eyes had a distant look, and she startled when he spoke. Her answer to him was unguarded. “I have found pleasure in little else but books these last two years. I daresay, I could keep you all night long discussing everything I’ve read.”
“Just these two years?”
Roses bloomed on her cheeks as she laughed lightly.
“I have always enjoyed reading, but in the recent past, I have been nearly voracious. When one is in exile, books are a great companion. They do not require you to feign a happy spirit nor to amuse or comfort them, yet they do all these things for you without fatigue. But I shall ask your forgiveness, Mr Darcy, for speaking in such a frank way.”
“Meryton seemed a lively enough place. I would have supposed there to be much more to occupy you than books alone.”
“I was not of a mind to be in society very much after my widowhood,” Elizabeth explained with a small shrug. “When I met you and the rest of Mr Bingley’s party in October, I had not been to an assembly for over two years.”
“Why not?”
“I was anxious and unhappy at parties. I could not be easy, feeling endangered and feeling as if I betrayed my husband. It felt vulgar to me to go out and laugh and chat when he had suffered as he had.”
She gave him a rueful smile. “I became so wretched with nerves, I could scarcely speak. My heart would pound as though I was having an attack. It was terrible.”
“And that was your experience at the assembly in Meryton?”
“Yes, and at Mr Bingley’s ball too. I expect it will improve with time. At the very least, I have grown somewhat accustomed to it.”
Could you have been a more dreadful brute, Darcy? He was pained by the understanding of her injury as the result of his insults, and he was heartily ashamed of himself.
How could I have been so idiotic? Am I truly such a brute? Countess or country maiden, she did not deserve to have a rude stranger behave so cruelly to her.