Chapter 27 #2
At once, the night seemed unbearably long and tedious, as well as utterly pointless.
He longed to see her, to speak to her, to understand what she was feeling.
He could think of nothing to excuse himself from the evening, however, and knew his aunt would not allow him to depart without extensive questioning and undue notice.
The excuse came so readily, and with so little intervention on his part, that it seemed an act of fate.
A day servant, hired in for the evening, leant towards Darcy to offer a glass of wine.
The hapless fellow overbalanced himself and his tray, and in one fell swoop, tipped several glasses of wine onto Darcy’s trousers.
The servant was appalled and repentant, stammering and shaking as he and another footman attempted to clean Darcy’s attire. Lady Catherine was furious, motioning to the butler to remove the man immediately.
The devastated man left the parlour, no doubt thinking of his lost wages and damaged prospects for future employment. Darcy watched him go as he apologised to Lady Catherine, explaining he must be immediately away to the care of his valet or risk ruining his apparel.
As he left, he took Lady Catherine’s butler to the side, giving him several coins and asking that the servant be fully recompensed for his evening. The man protested, knowing the amount offered by Darcy was well in excess of the earned wage, but Darcy was firm.
I have had too much to drink, and it would be sensible of me to retire directly.
Instead, Elizabeth replaced the papers in her late husband’s desk, causing them to be in a state of still greater disorder than they were previously.
One letter refused to remain in the drawer, and she eventually gave up on it, holding it in her hand and promptly forgetting it.
She then left the study and walked towards the drawing room, intent on collecting the book she had been reading several days prior.
Although she was still enjoying her slight state of inebriation too much to feel ashamed of indulging, part of her did recognise that to drink spirits in such a way was neither proper nor ladylike.
Surely because gentlemen do not want us to know how nice it is to have a bit of strong drink now and then!
At least I am not drunk—that would be truly unseemly.
No, I am most certainly not drunk so much as I am…
happy. I feel quite happy, happier than I have in months.
She arrived in the drawing room, stumbling a bit over the threshold. Why did I come here? She had no notion and stood a moment, trying to recall. As she did, she was surprised to hear Mr Darcy announced.
What is he doing here? Is it not the middle of the night? She looked blearily at the mantel clock but could not make out precisely where the hands rested.
As Darcy entered, she noted how handsome he was in his evening clothes.
He can be rather arrogant at times, but a man who looks so fine in evening wear certainly has just cause.
She believed she had only thought the words, but seeing the odd expression on his face, Elizabeth wondered whether she had spoken aloud.
“Lady Courtenay, you seem unwell.” He took her arm and led her to a seat.
“I am indisposed,” she announced with as much dignity as she could muster. “I have a headache.”
“Forgive me, I should not have come. I wanted to speak to you about…but no, now is not the time.”
Elizabeth wondered whether something was amiss with the contents of that flask. What had she been thinking to partake of something that had lain in a desk for two years, maybe longer? Without thought, she blurted, “Pray, speak sir. I am not so ill that I cannot hear you.”
He gazed upon her with great fervour, and unabashed, she returned his look, thinking of how lovely his eyes were, so deep and dark.
It had been an age since Elizabeth found herself so close to a man unrelated to her.
How difficult it was to be a widow sometimes!
To have known the comfort of a gentleman’s embrace and the pleasing intimacies of marriage and then have it taken away.
At least a maiden had no notion of what she missed.
What she wished for, sometimes more than anything, was merely to be held just as Darcy had held her in Kent—to enjoy the security felt within his arms, particularly in a week such as this one when all the sorrows of her past years crashed down upon her, making her feel afraid, alone, and desperate.
She recalled the strong warmth of Mr Darcy’s arms and how very good and right it had felt to be there. Her longing to experience that again was almost unbearable.
“I must tell you something. I…I have partaken of some rather strong spirits this night. There was a flask…I know not how much it held, but I had a good portion of it.”
Now he looked a bit amused. “Yes, I had come upon that notion myself, having retrieved your flask—which, by the by, was empty—from the floor. You need not worry, I—”
“Shhh.” She held her finger to his lips. “I must tell you something.”
Her finger remained pressed to his lips as he said, “Yes?”
“How much do you suppose George Wickham was paid to kill my husband?”
“George Wickham is your husband’s assassin?”
She nodded. “I learnt it from Colonel Fitzwilliam today…his name, that is. You know him, I think.”
“I do.” Darcy was clearly stunned. “George was the son of my father’s steward. I could not have imagined him to be involved in something of this nature. Debts and other schemes for monetary gain are more to his credit.”
“Monetary gain,” Elizabeth scoffed with an inelegant huff that became a hiccup.
“How much to you suppose they gave him? He was not part of the plot, so he cannot even claim the dignity of supporting a cause, treasonous as it was. He was a hired killer, nothing more, and how much do you think they gave him?”
“I am sure I do not know.”
A sound bubbled up from her chest—something between a sob and another hiccup. She edged closer to Darcy, hoping he might put his arms around her. “Twenty-five pounds. Can you account for it? What sort of person ends the life of another for twenty-five pounds?”
She began to cry, and Darcy obligingly pulled her into his arms, just where she yearned to be. He gently pressed his handkerchief into her hands. She took it gratefully, using it to cover as much of her face as she could as she wept.
“That is dreadful.” He spoke softly into her hair.
“Twenty-five pounds!” She hiccoughed another sob, mortified by her lack of elegance and manners, but she could not stop herself.
He hushed her, one arm holding her while the other lightly caressed her back.
She closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder as she regained her equanimity.
After a few moments, she tilted her face and met his eyes, which were trained on her.
“Pray, forgive me, sir, for this disgraceful behaviour. I am not myself, and I am humiliated that you are witness to it.”
“No matter what you do, I find I adore you all the more for it.”
He was so warm and comforting, and she was so lonely and sad, that she could not help herself.
She began it, placing her hand on his cheek and pulling his face down to hers.
He resisted but a moment before she softly caressed his lips with hers, both succumbing to what they knew they wanted, but for different reasons.