Chapter X #2
“No,” replied Elizabeth. “You came upon me before I had any thought of what must be done. I do not suppose a matter of a few minutes will make any difference.”
Mr. Darcy nodded and sat at the table again. “That is the next matter we must discuss, Miss Bennet. Your uncle will wish to leave at once when he returns.”
Elizabeth nodded, feeling bone weary. “Yes. Though I have dithered, our departure today is a necessity. It will, of course, prevent me from seeing your dear sister again.”
“Do not consider that for an instant, Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy. “There will be other opportunities.”
Confused, Elizabeth looked up. Seeing the utter compassion in his expression, she found she could not meet his gaze and looked down again.
“There is no need to soften the blow, Mr. Darcy. This business with Lydia will ruin much—I doubt I have even begun to count the cost.”
SHE THINKS I MEAN TO leave and never look back.
The notion hit Darcy like a kicking horse, and he stared at her, wondering at her continued ability to misunderstand him.
Then reason reasserted itself. Anyone would believe it—the loss of virtue in a sister would affect Miss Bennet and all her family. No man of good morals and reputation would wish to associate with them.
Except a man in love.
Misunderstanding, he knew, was not Miss Bennet’s sole territory.
Darcy had never understood her as well as he should have, from her antipathy toward him in Hertfordshire and Kent, to his utter failure to anticipate her rejection at Hunsford.
That Miss Bennet did not understand him now was nothing less than logical, especially given Wickham’s involvement.
The question was not whether he should involve himself, but how he could do it properly.
Should society ever learn that he had acted against Wickham in this instance, all manner of rumors would arise.
It would be even worse than if the knowledge of Miss Lydia’s disgrace became known to all society—Darcy shuddered at the thought of what they would say about Miss Elizabeth herself.
Then he knew. There was a way that he could act yet excite no additional commentary.
All he needed was a connection to the family—the route to that was through this precious woman before him.
Had Darcy thought she was unwilling, he would have tried to find another way.
Her behavior these past days, however, told the story of warmer feelings and increased interest. Darcy was not so foolish as to suppose her attachment was the equal of his, but he thought it existed, nonetheless.
“Miss Bennet,” said Darcy, “we need to discuss this rationally.”
When she looked up, Darcy gave her a soft smile that she returned, though hesitantly. “You may say that what I am about to suggest is not rational.”
“What do you mean?” asked she, her forehead creased in confusion.
“That I am the best positioned to find Wickham and your sister. Wickham’s habits are no mystery to me, and I know something of his acquaintances, his haunts, and where he might go for succor.”
“Yes, you are correct,” said Miss Bennet, “but you are not involved, Mr. Darcy, nor should you be. Mr. Wickham has done you so much harm. It is my family’s problem to solve.”
“And if I allow Wickham to do this and not call him to account, the harm done to me will extend to you and your family.” Darcy shook his head. “I shall not allow him to do this, Miss Bennet. The time for my leniency has passed, as it should have long ago. In this, I am quite determined.”
Darcy offered her a sly look. “When you come to know me better, I should think you will discover that obstinacy, not pride, is my true failing.”
Though she offered him a tentative smile, she proved she could also be stubborn. “It is not sound, Mr. Darcy.”
“There is nothing unsound about it,” insisted Darcy. “I am the best positioned to deal with Wickham. Yet I have not done as I ought, which allowed this calamity to befall you; I must make amends. The only question is how it is to be done.”
Darcy reached out and took her hand. Miss Bennet did not protest, though he could see that she did not, even now, understand what he was building toward.
“Miss Bennet, the only thing that I lack, the one thing which will allow me to act without restraint, is a connection to your family. If I possessed that, then I would be free to find Wickham and your sister.”
IN ELIZABETH’S DEFENSE, the revelations of the morning, the letters, Mr. Darcy’s coming, the subsequent conversation, had left her off balance. That was why it took her several moments of gazing into his eyes to understand just what he was suggesting.
When the implications penetrated her understanding, she could not help but stare at him through widened eyes, wondering if he could be thinking what she thought he was.
The man grinned back at her, understanding her evolving thoughts, and that, as much as anything, snapped Elizabeth back to herself again.
“Are you suggesting an engagement between us?”
The gentleman did not hesitate to nod. “That would give me all the permission I need to take a hand in this matter, Miss Bennet. You know my sentiments—the only question remaining is yours.”
“I . . . I do not know what to say.”
Further shocking Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy left his chair and settled in front of her on one knee, still cradling her hand as if it were a precious possession.
“During my ride to Lambton this morning,” said he, “I wondered if I dared approach you again as a suitor. Though I cannot say that I intended to propose again, these past days have given me such hope as to overwhelm rational thought. Correct me if I am mistaken, but I do not think you have been opposed to me.”
Shyness swept over her, and Elizabeth looked down. “No, Mr. Darcy. I have not been opposed to you for some time.”
“Yet your feelings are not the equal of mine.”
Elizabeth looked up and met his eyes. Even if she had considered it, she could not lie to him. Not now, at a time such as this.
“No, they are not. I am . . . open to the possibility of a closer connection between us, but I have no notion what that means.”
He nodded as if he had expected it. “Then this business with your sister has not created our connection—if anything, it has only hastened it. It has provoked me to act more quickly than I might otherwise have contemplated, my ruminations this morning notwithstanding.”
Mr. Darcy squeezed the hand he still held. “I would not put you in an untenable situation, Miss Bennet. If you are not ready to accept my proposal, then I shall withdraw it and find some other way to deal with this business. If you are willing to accept me, I can act openly and without fear.
“So I put it to you, Miss Bennet. I am willing to renew my addresses at this very moment if you wish them. What say you? Will you make me the happiest of men and consent to be my wife?”
Hilarity struck Elizabeth, and though she forced it down, she knew Mr. Darcy could see something of it. Proving he had a better sense of humor than she had ever given him credit, he did nothing more than quirk an eyebrow at her.
“Perhaps I should not think of such things in a time like this,” said Elizabeth, one step from giggling, “but Mr. Collins used almost those exact words when he proposed to me.”
Mr. Darcy caught the humor at once. “It is unfortunate to have something else in common with Mr. Collins, but I shall endure. Unless I am mistaken, Miss Bennet, you have not yet answered my question.”
All trace of humor fled, leaving Elizabeth to gaze into Mr. Darcy’s eyes.
That the man was sincere could not be argued—that he wanted her for a wife was something Elizabeth had known for months.
The question she had to answer was whether she could accept him, knowing that she did not yet feel that passionate regard she had always thought she needed before she could accept a man’s proposal.
As she stared at him, something shifted in Elizabeth’s perspective, a new understanding, though she had no sudden flash of insight.
Had Mr. Darcy not proven himself to be a better man than she had always supposed?
Had Mr. Darcy not proven himself honorable, generous, and worthy of her trust?
Was he not now offering his heart to her?
This was no exchange—it was not her future in trade for him dealing with Mr. Wickham.
This was Mr. Darcy offering his heart yet again, sooner than he might have chosen, but with the same regard he had expressed imperfectly at Hunsford.
Elizabeth made the only choice she could.
“Yes, Mr. Darcy. I will accept your proposal.”
The delight that lit up his features more than became him. In it, Elizabeth saw the promise of every day, every moment of the lifetime she had agreed to spend with this man. Elizabeth’s confidence grew, a conviction that she had made the right choice.
Then, before Mr. Darcy could express himself in such terms as any man on receiving the acceptance of his proposal might wish to share, the door opened, and her aunt and uncle stepped into the room. Elizabeth did not need to look at them to know they understood what was happening.