Chapter 2 Clearing the Air
CHAPTER TWO
CLEARING THE AIR
The sound of her Christian name on his lips—and the boldness of his admission—stopped Elizabeth cold.
Heat prickled at the back of her neck, creeping unbidden into her cheeks.
Darcy, too, fell silent, and the hush between them grew fragile, stretched taut as a thread ready to snap.
She twisted her fingers together in her lap, her gaze fixed upon the carpet as though it might offer some means of escape.
With each passing moment, the silence pressed more heavily upon her—until she almost wished he would say something foolish, if only to relieve the strain.
Unable to bear it any longer, Elizabeth ducked her head further to hide the betraying flush in her cheeks.
As she spoke, her words came out sharper than she intended.
“Sir, there is no need to flatter me now. I already know what you think of me, and it is pointless to pretend otherwise. I would far rather you tell me the blunt truth.”
For several moments, he hesitated, and Elizabeth thought—hoped—that perhaps he had abandoned the idea of answering altogether. But then his voice came, quiet and steady, with a weight that made her pulse quicken.
“The truth, Elizabeth,” he said—her name again on his lips causing her to look up at him—“is that I would have asked you to marry me the moment you arrived at Netherfield two days ago if I had only myself to consider.”
Her breath caught. He looked at her directly now while she could scarcely bring herself to meet his gaze. His words pressed on her, unrelenting, too bold, too earnest.
“You were—you are—utterly captivating,” he continued, and though his tone softened, it did nothing to lessen the force of his words.
“I do not think I have ever seen you more beautiful than you were that morning, coming to enquire after your sister. While Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst laughed at the dirt on your hem and petticoats, all I could see was the light in your eyes, the colour in your cheeks. You were breathtaking.”
Elizabeth felt heat blaze anew across her face. Did he not hear himself? Did he not know how impossible it was for her to reply to such things?
He drew a breath, his voice tightening with something she dared not name. “It took every bit of strength I possessed not to betray my thoughts at that moment. It would have been so easy to forget duty, to forget everything—”
His words broke off, but Elizabeth hardly needed him to finish.
She had heard enough. The meaning in those unfinished words left her stunned, the air between them suddenly too close, too charged.
Unconsciously, she leant the smallest fraction nearer, her hands gripping tightly in her lap as though they might anchor her against the storm he had loosed.
Her composure faltered. “What has your sister to do with your not making me an offer, Mr Darcy?” she asked, the warmth in her cheeks at odds with the scowl tugging at her lips.
Then, squaring her shoulders, she pressed on more sharply, “Not that I would accept one at present, even if you deigned to offer it. Both Jane and I have long vowed never to marry without the deepest love.” She hesitated, her voice dropping, but a flicker of defiance coloured her words as she added, “And I am not even certain I like you at this moment.”
Darcy sat back and swallowed hard, his throat working; it looked to Elizabeth as though speaking troubled him.
When he spoke at last, his voice was low, as if the words pained him.
“Forgive me for speaking so plainly. From my childhood, my parents impressed upon me a critical truth: my duty was to marry in a way that would strengthen my family’s wealth and position. ”
He paused, his hand curling tightly on the arm of the chair, knuckles whitening as he seemed to consider whether to continue. Eventually, he spoke again.
“My aunt often reminds me that she and my mother once discussed a match between myself and her daughter, the heiress of Rosings Park. Although she insists that it was a settled thing between them, I cannot believe it was more than idle speculation. Neither of my parents spoke of it to me, and no contracts were ever signed. My mother may have favoured the idea of joining the estates, but I do not believe she would have forced my hand. Still, she impressed upon me the necessity of marrying well.”
He turned his head away and was silent for several moments before facing her again. When he continued, his voice was quieter, tinged with something that sounded like weariness.
“After her passing, my father took up the refrain. He reminded me, often and emphatically, that my duty was to Pemberley: to its land, its staff, its tenants—hundreds of lives bound to the estate’s prosperity.
Above all, I was to secure its future by marrying advantageously, fathering a son or two, and keeping the accounts flush.
” He paused, a ghost of old pain flickering across his face.
“Nearly his last words to me were a reminder of that responsibility—and of my duty to protect Georgiana.”
A slow breath escaped him, heavy enough to suggest some great ill, yet Elizabeth could not have said what.
Darcy fell silent, his gaze distant, before continuing, more quietly still.
“Once, during my years at university, I dared to suggest the idea of marrying for love instead of wealth. It was a topic that a few of my friends and I had often debated during that term, with various opinions from each of us on the matter. We spoke of the marriages we had seen in our homes, as well as many in society, and wondered if there would be fewer, um, illegitimate children born if feelings were taken into consideration. When I broached the topic with Father, he laughed at me.”
A bitter smile ghosted over his lips. “He said love is what one feels for mistresses and courtesans. ‘A Darcy marries for duty.’ That was the lesson. Raise the family’s standing by marrying someone who would bring wealth or connexions—preferably both.
My father had done so himself; my mother was the daughter of an earl and came with a considerable dowry.
Since my father’s death, my uncle, Lord Matlock, has never failed to reinforce that idea.
Each season, he and my aunt compile lists of eligible young ladies they deem suitable, and I allow myself to be introduced, out of courtesy if nothing else. ”
He shook his head, as if trying to clear it.
“But they are all the same. They speak of the weather, of novels they have barely read, of the latest fashions and idle gossip, rarely adding anything of substance. Perhaps there are some who are different, but they are not the ones my aunt and uncle had sought to attach me to. Many are the daughters of some political crony of my uncle and were brought up to be as empty headed as the rest.”
When he looked at her again, Elizabeth thought there was a rawness in his gaze. “That is why I have refused them all. I cannot endure the thought of a marriage so empty that I would be tempted to seek elsewhere for companionship—for a meaningful relationship.” He drew a slow breath.
“I want more, Elizabeth. I wish to find a… a partner. Someone who will walk beside me, not behind me. Someone with whom I can debate and converse, who will challenge me, sharpen my mind.” His mouth curved faintly, and Elizabeth noticed how even that slight smile made him appear more handsome. She quickly pushed that thought away.
“I believe I could potentially find that with you. I have never enjoyed conversation more than when we spar together. You have made me reconsider my opinions, even bested me more than once in the few nights you have been here at Netherfield.” His voice dropped, earnest and certain.
“You do not defer or flatter merely to please. You challenge me—and I like that about you, more than you can know.”
Elizabeth smiled, a playful glint in her eyes. “So, you like me because I am impertinent enough to argue with the great Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley,” she said, her laughter light but genuine.
As the words faded, her expression sobered. She hesitated, then added, her voice softer, tinged with something almost wounded, “But surely you would grow tired of that in time—if you could even set aside your objections to my lack of wealth and connexions.”
Darcy’s expression softened at once, as if he sensed her unease.
“I would not,” he said earnestly. “I admire your kindness towards others—how many would walk three miles through the mud to tend a sick sister? How many would care for an injured servant with such patience and gentleness? You would make a magnificent mistress of an estate, even one as large as Pemberley. I have heard the tenants here speak well of you.”
Elizabeth stared at him, uncertain whether astonishment or disbelief held greater sway. His tone was not one of idle flattery but quiet conviction, and that sincerity unsettled her more than any polished compliment could have done.
He drew a slow, weighted breath, his shoulders dipping as though the air itself had grown heavy.
“For the first time,” he said, his voice low, “I have considered abandoning all I was taught about duty and family—to allow my heart to lead instead. Yet perhaps it is best that you would not accept me, even if I were to ask.”
The words struck her with a strange mixture of relief and regret, leaving her unsure whether to thank him for his restraint or resent him for presuming her refusal.
“You never did answer why your sister prevents you from doing so,” Elizabeth said, forcing her voice to remain steady even as emotion swelled within her. She lifted her chin in a show of composure, even while her fingers tightened upon her skirts.