Chapter Fifteen #4
“Oh, Marianne. I have been such a fool. After the letters with Mr. Penny, I ought to have known better. I did know better, but I deluded myself into believing that I might be content with the inevitable outcome. But I wanted to grasp at that feeling, at what I had—to feel loved and admired…. I know it was not me that Mr. Penny loved, but sometimes it felt like—and with Mr. Darcy, I had a chance to experience that sensation….” Elizabeth choked back a sob.
“I believe he does care for you, Lizzy. He clearly admires you.”
“I have allowed myself to be deceived into imagining that he does—he is so very handsome, and there is something charmingly blunderous about him—I thought it would be great fun to flirt with such a man. He is the finest man I have ever seen, and one of the kindest I have ever known.”
“He is kind and charming to you because he is in love with you,” Marianne cried.
Elizabeth only gaped at her. Could it be possible?
Why did her first burst of love give way to such immediate sorrow?
She presumed her feelings must be unrequited, utterly doomed.
And yet she had privately hoped, at the beginning of it all, that as her feelings grew, so too would his.
“Could he be as reckless with his own heart as I have been?”
“Now that I have met the lady he claims he wishes to woo… he would be a fool not to prefer you! Only think of this—if his attentions to you were really meant only to inspire her envy, why did he dance with you in the gazebo? She was not present, there was no need. He wanted to.”
“I wanted to,” Elizabeth breathed. “Oh, Marianne, it was so perfectly wonderful! Can it be real? Could there be hope for Mr. Darcy and I?”
Marianne gave a playful roll of her eyes. “I can think of nobody acquainted with you that would be the least bit surprised if Mr. Darcy comes to his senses and courts you in earnest. Even now he is gazing at you with longing from down the beach. Do not look!”
Elizabeth laughed giddily. “What am I to do, Marianne? I fear that by daring to hope, I will somehow bring about some dreadful reversal. And yet… he did almost kiss me—I lied when I denied it. I would very much like him to kiss me.” She flexed her hand, remembering the feel of his lips there.
The two ladies began to turn back toward the rest of their party, and Elizabeth saw Sir Sidney approaching Mr. Darcy and his friends. “I ought to rescue the poor man—I did promise I would speak to him later.”
“About your passionate embrace in the gazebo?”
“No, not yet.” Elizabeth was filled with a rush of anticipation for the assembly.
It would be another occasion where her feelings would be intensified by their flirtatious displays of affection, and she began to fear that it would only be a performance for him.
The ruse may end a success, for Miss de Bourgh was plainly tiring of her other suitor.
She vowed to herself that she would indulge in the charade for one more day, and after the assembly she would tell him the truth. If he chose to pursue his cousin, at least she would be free of the suspense. In two days’ time it would be over, one way or another.
For now, Elizabeth was resolved to enjoy his company and the comforting illusion of ardent affection.
“I believe I can guess your thoughts, Darcy.”
Darcy tore his eyes away from the distant figure walking along the beach. “Pardon?”
“You are hoping that if you stare at her long enough, she will come and speak with you.”
Knightley and Bingley chuckled. Darcy frowned. “She said that she would; she is only waiting for Anne to return from the manor in a fresh gown.”
“I will tell you exactly what she is doing,” Richard drawled, laying back on several plush cushions that he had piled up on the rug beneath their tent. “She is telling her fetching friend all about that little waltz in the gazebo, and what genuine sentiments you have aroused in her heart.”
Bingley took a sip of wine as he attempted to glower at Richard. “Do remember Lizzy is my sister. I would not have her injured by this charade.”
“Yes, but Darcy is also thinking of their little interlude, which has nothing at all to do with their allegedly false courtship.”
Darcy scowled at his cousin, who had guessed very near the mark. “I got carried away and have likely frightened her out of her wits.”
“One of you is out of their wits,” Richard quipped. “And speaking of….”
Sir Sidney Parker rambled over, having obtained another bottle of wine.
He called out a merry greeting, which only Bingley returned with any gusto.
Undeterred by such a tepid reception, Sir Sidney sat down amongst them and began to remark on what a fine day it was.
Such trite commentary rendered him almost bearable, until he addressed Darcy directly.
“I do hope there shall be no awkwardness between us, my good fellow. You need not despise me with such a severe look about you, Darcy, when you have clearly found a woman far better than the one I stole away from you.”
The four sober gentlemen all regarded Sir Sidney with raised brows; he was not wrong, though it would not be right to agree with his summation.
“Perhaps I ought to thank you,” Darcy said drily. “Her preference for a drunken wretch has certainly illuminated my cousin Anne’s character more than I ever imagined possible.”
Sir Sidney laughed. “Just as the fact that she could fancy such an uptight bore is the reason I have no interest in wooing Miss Bennet away from you.”
Bingley grimaced. “That is my sister you speak of, sir.”
“And well done to you for marrying the prettier sister of the lot. I daresay Miss Lizzy must be the mad one of the family, with her tastes being as such. She never did think much of me, though her dear friend, my sister by marriage, wished her to fancy me last summer when we all became acquainted.”
“Miss Bennet,” Darcy corrected the drunken letch.
“Aye, she is an odd one, to be sure—a fine complement for your staggering absence of a personality, Darcy, eh? Working at the hotel like a businessman, cavorting with an authoress, and never able to rid herself of that prancing ninny Sir Anthony! Most unusual, if I do say so myself—but then, at least I have no secrets amongst my many idiosyncrasies. But her maid told my valet that she has a drawer full of secret letters from some fancy man she is or was engaged to. I thought you ought to know, old chap.”
Darcy was on the point of challenging the blathering fool to fisticuffs and was stunned silent by this final piece of information.
He knew she had loved and lost, but she never told him she had actually been engaged.
Something like jealousy stirred within him, not only because she had once been promised to another, but because Elizabeth had not confided as much in him, despite knowing all of his own shameful woes.
Bingley was not often driven to anger, but after a quick glance about to see that the rest of their friends were distracted in their own amusements, he slapped Sir Sidney across the face.
“I daresay you are too drunk to feel that, but I hope you take my meaning, sir. I will not tolerate such rumors about my sister by marriage. Next time, I will call you out, when you are sober.”
“Then your wife and child need not fear for you,” Richard drawled.
Knightley held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture.
“There is no need for violence—temperance, perhaps. I believe Sir Sidney has had enough wine, and wishes to convey that he bears you no ill will, Darcy. Any further speculation about the ladies is most unnecessary.” He eased the bottle of wine out of Sir Sidney’s grasp and set it aside.
Darcy glared at Sir Sidney with distaste, wishing the miserable ass would leave him to the company of his friends.
“I suppose you deserve no further punishment than the woman you have chosen. But though she has wounded me with her inferior preference, she does not deserve the punishment of a life with you.”
“Probably,” Sir Sidney agreed. “But that is why the good Lord invented mistresses, eh? We shall both need one, ill-suited as we are. What a miscalculation.”
Richard sneered at the wretch, and had opened his mouth to speak, but was prevented by the approach of a young man Darcy vaguely recognized.
Sir Sidney shambled to his feet and shook hands with the fellow. “Mr. Horne, how do you do? Give us all a good word, then—the life of a happily shackled newlywed must inspire hope for us all.”
Mr. Horne’s face turned bright red. “Er… well… ahem. You are lately married, are you not, Mr. Knightley?”
“Yes, my Emma has made me the happiest of men,” Knightley said with a smile, gesturing for Mr. Horne to sit with them.
Mr. Horne stepped further into their tent, his posture cowed and his brow furrowed as he reached for the wine they had taken from Sir Sidney. He took a swig and then eyed Knightley with hesitant curiosity. “And have you… have you made her the happiest of ladies?”
“I hope I have,” Knightley said gravely. “It is true we have had our quarrels, and I have challenged her to alter her thinking at times, but I believe we understand one another perfectly.”
Richard gave a low chuckle. “I do not think that is what Mr. Horne was asking. You wish to properly please your lady, eh?”
The young fellow averted his gaze and nodded. “I never—you know—and of course she never… I do not know if perhaps my understanding of nature is not adequate….”
Bingley and Richard guffawed, and even Knightley cracked a smile. “It may take some time to acquaint yourselves intimately, but I have witnessed your affection for one another. Trust and communication are vital in those private matters.”
“I find it is better not to think at all,” Bingley chortled, reaching for Horne’s wine and having a drink of it. “Act naturally, but endeavor to, ah, prolong the experience.”