Chapter Thirty-Two
Darcy had been thwarted by Mr. Bennet for several days, and though he believed that he had earned the good opinion of the man who had become his shadow, he was half-wild with his desperation to have some time alone with Elizabeth, after the fleeting touches and longing stares they had exchanged at every gathering and each nightly dinner at Milton Hall.
He had the pleasure of announcing on Wednesday evening that he was expecting a visit from his sister and their cousin, who wished to congratulate Bingley in person and meet his future bride.
Later that night, after the sublime torture of observing Elizabeth’s perfection at dinner, Darcy crept into the library, certain he would run mad if Elizabeth had not the same notion of meeting him there, where they might at last speak privately.
Darcy found the room dark and empty, but he knew she felt what he did, for it had been in every bright-eyed look she had bestowed upon him for the last fortnight.
He stoked the dying fire and sat on the sofa furthest in the shadows of the room, where he had not long to wait before Elizabeth entered the library.
She did not see him at first and gave a heavy sigh, pacing on the opposite side of the room.
Darcy took a moment to appreciate her pleasing form, for she had again come into the room in her night rail and a dressing gown, a shawl about her arms, her stockinged feet peeking out from below her lacy hem.
Her thick, dark hair was loosely braided, and Darcy longed to run his fingers through her tresses until they were thoroughly disheveled.
He whispered her name, and she jumped in surprise before treating him to her tinkling laughter. “You startled me, sir. I have taught you too much mischief, and shall be repaid for it by sudden apoplexy.”
Elizabeth stalked across the room with a teasing smile, and Darcy wondered if she was aware of the thrill she sent through him.
He shuddered as he made space for her to sit beside him, but Elizabeth playfully snatched away the volume of poetry he was reading and threw herself into the chair across from him, pretending to be instantly engrossed in the book.
“Ah, a little light reading before bed; that is just the thing.”
“And a nightly dose of tormenting me?” Darcy could hardly be cross with her for not sitting beside him, when her present pose offered him all the pleasure of such a view.
His eyes roamed greedily over the sight of her, from her loose, wispy tendrils of hair that circled about her ears, to the thin ivory silk of her stockings, her feet crossed at the ankle and propped up on an ottoman.
She caught him looking and wiggled her toes.
She licked the tip of her finger before turning the page of the book.
“I think you torment yourself, sir. Who wrote this? It is awful!” Elizabeth glanced at the spine of the volume of poetry and wrinkled her nose.
She tossed the book back at him, her knees curling into her chest as she laughed wickedly; Darcy caught the book with one hand and set it aside.
“The real torture,” he said, “is that I have scarcely been able to speak to you all week without your father asking me a hundred and fifty questions.”
“Aww,” she tutted. “He likes you. I think. Perhaps he only means to pay back my mischief with some of his own, but I am not afraid of him.”
“I rather am,” Darcy said. “As much as I desire his approval, I had begun to fear I should never have the opportunity to thank you more fully for your counsel regarding my relations.”
She smiled brightly. “Tell me everything. Does their visit mean they wish to reconcile?”
“Richard seems to think there is no need for reconciliation; he wrote he has no quarrel with me whatsoever.”
“Really? After everything? But how can that be?”
Darcy shrugged his shoulders. “I do not know. I suppose it is his way of avoiding too much sentimental expression; if he has been angry with me, he may prefer to simply put it aside rather than discuss it further.”
“And your sister?”
“Georgiana wrote a letter of her own to accompany Richard’s.
She said that time had cooled her ire – she is only anxious to be out of mourning and out in society, for it was her sheltered life that led her to such folly in the first place with Wickham.
My invitation to Surrey has satisfied that wish, for I painted such a picture of Highbury, Miss Bennet. ”
“Oho! I daresay you did, but I flatter myself that you have had kinder things to say than you might have done when first we met.”
“When first we met, I was too great a coward to write to Georgiana at all – I was determined to make myself unhappy. But it is remarkable, for I accompanied Bingley here with the intention of easing my worries, and yet I had no real expectation of succeeding so thoroughly. You have played the greatest part in this, though I have told my sister that the whole village has done me good.”
“I must agree, for my own part. I think it far superior to Meryton, for nothing nearly as interesting has ever happened there.”
“Nor in Lambton, near Pemberley. Indeed, even amongst my circle in London, I have never encountered so many cheerful and affectionate friends, so obsessed with the workings of one another’s private lives.”
“I know little of the ton, but I daresay we give them a run for their money,” Elizabeth giggled.
“We are all of us utterly fascinated with one another, and Emma is hardly the only one amongst us convinced they know what is best for everybody. Your cousin better have a care in coming amongst us, or the good people of Highbury will have him wed to Charlotte before he has been here a week.”
Darcy chuckled. “There must be something in the air….”
Elizabeth drew in a deep breath, looking a little flustered, and then turned to gaze at the fireplace.
“I am happy that your sister has forgiven you. It is a bond I have only lately begun to understand, but you have shown me how deep your affection for your sister is, and I hope for your sake that it shall be reciprocated.”
“After speaking with you, I believe I expressed myself far beyond what I have ever managed before when I wrote to her. When she comes to Surrey, I shall hope my actions speak for themselves, but you may be called upon to explain the great changes to my character since I have come here.”
“Will your sister approve of your newfound mischief? Will she approve of me?”
Darcy smiled at Elizabeth, still desperate to touch her, to take her in his arms. “She will adore you.”
“Good. I find I very much desire your family’s approbation, as much as it pleases me that my own family thinks so well of you.”
Darcy comprehended the significance of what she meant. Elizabeth had set out to reunite her family, but Darcy would have her join his own and unite them all if he could. He believed she understood him, that she shared his wishes; he hoped he did not presume too much.
“Do they? Your mother is so pleasant to everybody that it is often difficult to discern what she really thinks of me, and Miss Fairfax has been so morose.”
“My mother thinks me the cleverest girl in the world to be so well liked.”
“I cannot disagree with her.”
“And Jane is quite past her sullenness – did you not observe her joy at Donwell? She and Mr. Knightley are courting now, and I am delighted that she has put aside Mr. Churchill and his vicious tricks in favor of a gentleman far worthier. As you say, there must be something in the air.”
Darcy smiled broadly at this. “I am very glad for her. She deserves every happiness, and I believe she will have it.” He stood and took a step toward her, ready to fall to his knees and promise Elizabeth all the same bliss, but as he reached for her hand, they both turned their heads abruptly in the direction of the corridor, from whence they heard jaunty whistling.
Elizabeth took his hand and allowed him to help her to her feet, and she stood very near to him. “I believe Papa is trying to catch us out,” she whispered. “Is there another door?”
“Only the servants’ passage – if you slip through the door and leave it the slightest bit ajar, you might listen for our departure.”
Elizabeth nodded with a breathy laugh, and then stood up on her toes, her body pressed against his own, and she kissed him on the cheek before darting away from him like a phantom. She had just disappeared into the servants’ passage when Mr. Bennet sauntered into the room.
Darcy liked the man he hoped to one day call father – one day soon, if only Mr. Bennet would give him a moment alone with Elizabeth.
Even so, he was flustered and vexed to encounter him at such a moment, but Mr. Bennet ignored his discomposure and conversed with him for more than a quarter hour before selecting a volume of history to take back to his chamber.
More than once, Darcy was obliged to cough, in order that he might cover the sound of Elizabeth’s laughter from across the room in her concealment.
Mr. Bennet only left the library when Darcy did likewise, and so Darcy could not bid Elizabeth any further goodnight, as much as the thought of her lips consumed him.
The next day, too, was entirely as disobliging as the preceding week, and his desperation only intensified to such an extreme that he feared he could not be trusted when he did finally have a moment of privacy with her.
He was granted one small mercy, at least; he was alone with Elizabeth in the parlor for just long enough the following afternoon for her to observe that she was fond of taking her morning walks in the grove by the lake.
Darcy could see in her eyes that this was an invitation, that beneath her playful mien something entirely serious simmered.
Could it be possible that her yearning was as great as his?
***