Chapter 14 #2
“Saye!” Miss Darcy protested from behind them. He replied to her with a little flick of the hand.
“And Darcy has told me that you are teasing but that you have such a sweetness and archness of manner that make offence impossible.”
Mr Darcy uttered a little groan, but she kept her concentration on his cousin.
“Of the extent to which I am sweet or arch, I cannot say. But I am teasing and I suppose something must have prevented Mr Darcy from despising me, for I surely gave him ample cause.”
“Did not much want to flatter and cajole him, did you?” Lord Saye chuckled. “A true novelty, to be sure. In any case, you are here now, all but engaged… What questions have you for me?”
All but engaged. Those words still gave her a little jolt. She glanced uncertainly to her left to see what Mr Darcy made of it; he hastened to correct his cousin. “I never said we were all but engaged.”
Lord Saye made another dismissive motion with his hand. “No one cares about your shades of meaning, Darcy. Come, Miss Bennet. There must be some mystery you would like solved, some bit of skeleton to extract from the Darcy closet?”
Facing his lordship, she could see neither Mr Darcy nor his sister, but she thought such a speech might make one or both anxious, and thus did she reply with some glad-hearted bit of nothing to put them both at ease.
“Mr Darcy cuts a mysterious figure,” she said to his lordship. “Very dignified, and masterful. But I wonder if there might have been a time when he was…less so? Surely you must have one or two anecdotes of a less-than-dignified Mr Darcy?”
Lord Saye, who had seemed rather peevish until then, burst into a loud guffaw. “Yes, yes,” he said. “Just the thing!”
He then began to tell her various stories of the things Mr Darcy had done in his younger days: a time when he was ridiculously drunk; a brief and ill-conceived hobby in writing philosophical essays; and a dreadful and pompous-looking portrait that was painted of him at age twenty-one.
To this Mr Darcy added, “And burnt by me at age twenty-two.”
“Should you agree to become Mrs Darcy, you will never have your portrait painted by Sir Thomas,” Lord Saye warned. “I think he knows what Darcy did and will never forgive him for it.”
“I shall never forgive him for painting me thus,” Mr Darcy replied easily. “My nose looked like it was actually protruding from the canvas.”
“That it did,” Lord Saye agreed. “Although to be fair, your nose at age one-and-twenty was a far more beastly creature than it is now. You had more nose than face back then. Matters appear to have evened out.”
Elizabeth glanced at Mr Darcy again, relieved to see he was not offended. Indeed he seemed rather amused by it all, and she thought how pleasant it was to know him thus and to see this side of him.
He met her gaze and for a moment they remained suspended in this, a private moment amid the party.
There was, she thought, something different about his eyes when he was not performing the version of himself that society required, when it was a small party, just family, and well-worn teasing that could not offend.
His eyes were, she decided, a rather fine feature, as was his nose.
It was a fine, noble-looking nose, in her opinion.
For some time, they all directed their attentions to the stage, absorbed in the performance for which they had come.
Elizabeth found that her enjoyment was much enhanced by her position between Mr Darcy and Lord Saye, for each would have wry observations or comments to make about the performance that she much appreciated.
At the interval, Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam went and brought refreshments for the party. Elizabeth accepted a glass of wine but refused anything more, making Mr Darcy frown. She smiled ruefully and said, quietly, “I do not find myself with the appetite for anything more.”
He nodded. “I understand. I hope you are able to enjoy yourself at least a little?”
“I am enjoying myself a great deal,” she said, and it was absolutely the truth.
She felt for the very first time a glimmer of better times ahead.
Jane would rid herself of the abominable cold she suffered, and Mr Bingley would return and do what was right and honourable.
They would marry, Mr Bingley and Jane, and then she and Mr Darcy…
Then she would marry Mr Darcy and be happy with him.
The notion produced a little tremor within her.
She had not dissembled with her sister earlier.
She did think she could come to love this man, preposterous as such a notion would have seemed mere days ago.
But what comfort there was in a man who stopped at nothing to set your world to rights!
What delight it was to be with someone who had seen the worst you had to offer and loved you nevertheless.
“Your sister is enjoying herself, I think,” Elizabeth said to Mr Darcy after ensuring that Miss Darcy was occupied in another conversation and would not overhear her name being spoken.
“She is very easy with you in a way she rarely can be.”
“I think she is charming. I find a great deal to admire in her.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I cannot take much credit for her, but I am proud of her.”
“You should be,” she said. Then after a pause she asked, “May I ask you something?”
“You may ask me anything you would like.”
With pursed lips, she teased him, “That was a very easy agreement!”
“I am certain I should never object to telling you anything you wish to know.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
His eyes met hers, briefly, and then he returned to his study of his pants leg. “Some people ask questions because they wish to find fault. Others ask them because they are genuinely curious. You ask questions because you wish to understand things, and I find I want to be understood by you.”
“That is good,” she nearly whispered. “For I wish to understand you better.”
She found herself lost in the moment with him, the weight of what had been said hanging between them, heavy with promise. At length, he broke it, clearing his throat and asking her, “What was it you wished to ask me?”
“Oh yes. Well…it is about your friend and Jane. Somewhat.”
He only raised his brow to encourage her to continue.
“There will still be some scandal, I daresay. No one could imagine a child conceived in April to be born in August.”
He nodded. “Yes, that is true. I shall suggest to Bingley, very strongly, that he retire to the country until the child is born. That will relieve the efforts of the tongues of the ton, although they will still endure some tattle in Hertfordshire.”
“That is what I thought, too,” she said. “Tattle, although I daresay my family shall still be received by their friends.”
“I would surely think so.”
The relief which swept through her at his easy confirmation was mixed with something far more powerful: gratitude.
Gratitude that for some reason he loved her, and gratitude that for some reason that love compelled him to help them, far more than they would have been able to help themselves. What did she not owe him?
“My family and I are indebted to you,” she said softly, so softly that he was required to lean close to her.
“Everything I did was for you,” he said. “The sight of you, tear-stained and with ink on your cheek—”
“Ink on my cheek?” she interrupted him. “Did I have—”
He smiled faintly. “Somewhere between the ink spill and trying to wipe away tears, you got ink on your cheek.”
She laughed lightly. “I must have looked absurd.”
“You looked…” He drew a deep breath and released it. “You looked positively bereft. And I, who had been filled with no more than a lover’s purpose before I entered the parsonage that evening, felt an almost violent inclination to go forth and slay dragons on your behalf.”
“Happily, you were not required to slay anyone,” she said. “The dragon has been brought to heel now, and I must wonder about your original purpose that evening.”
“I do not think I have been in any way circumspect about my hopes where you are concerned.”
On a sudden inclination, she reached over and laid her hand atop his. “It is perhaps not slaying a dragon for you, but I do wish to grant you that hope.”
His eyes widened, and he straightened a little. “Are you saying you will marry me?”
“I am,” she said. “But you must know…I cannot…I would not pretend to feelings that I do not own. But I can also assure you that I know that I can and I will possess such feelings in time. And on a day that is not so far distant.”
“That will do,” he said, and the expression of heartfelt delight was in his eyes such as she had not before seen.
“What is going on over here?” Lord Saye intruded upon their little tête-à-tête, nearly pushing himself into Elizabeth’s lap to scold his cousin. “Bad form to be ignoring the rest of the party, Darcy.”
“Despite becoming acquainted with the less savoury side of the family, Miss Bennet has agreed to marry me,” Mr Darcy said, his eyes not leaving hers.
“I suppose if you must marry, Miss Bennet, Darcy here will do well enough. You do seem to have enough vivacity to compensate for his lack of it.” Elizabeth turned just in time to see Lord Saye extract a flask from his jacket pocket. “A toast to your future happiness.”