Chapter Ten
Mr. Bingley and Jane set out at an ambling pace.
Elizabeth swiftly passed them, striding along the pathway as quickly as she could.
Was she attempting to outrun mortification or Mr. Darcy or both?
Was she more embarrassed by her mother’s conduct or by how she had responded to Mr. Darcy’s kiss? She did not know.
She had never really been kissed before, other than friendly pecks when playing parlor games. Were genuine kisses always like that? In the throes of that kiss, she would have gladly relinquished food, air, and water as long as it continued.
It had been too enjoyable. Certainly, too much enjoyment for a false fiancée. Was it possible she had moaned? How mortifying. How could I have forgotten myself that way? In front of her mother and Lady Sterling, no less.
Naturally, she found Mr. Darcy attractive—very attractive. But she had been completely unprepared for the wave of desire she felt in response to his kiss.
Right now, she wanted nothing other than to go home to Longbourn. She wanted to forget Mr. Darcy, London, and the balls. She wanted to forget that kissing even existed. When her world intersected with Mr. Darcy’s, it could only lead to disaster.
As she walked, Elizabeth relished the wind blowing in her face and tugging at her bonnet. She concentrated on the clatter of carriages over cobblestones, the murmur of conversations from passersby, and the occasional chatter of children. Perhaps sufficient noise could help her forget her shame.
“Miss Elizabeth!” Mr. Darcy sounded winded. “Miss Elizabeth, please wait!”
She did not glance back at him, but she did slow her pace. Having played an essential role in her embarrassment, Mr. Darcy was the last person Elizabeth desired to talk to. What must he think of me? Does he think I am secretly wanton?
With long strides, Mr. Darcy drew even with Elizabeth. “You may be the fastest walker in all of London.”
Despite herself, Elizabeth grinned. It was such an absurd thing to say. “Is a prize available?”
“There ought to be.”
“I am quite a persistent walker in Hertfordshire. I even walk in the rain and snow.”
“That does not surprise me.”
They walked side by side in silence, turning corners that would take them in a loop back to Sterling House.
Mr. Darcy cleared his throat. “I must apologize for my forward behavior. I did not intend to kiss you so, er, ardently.”
At least he did not blame her. Thank goodness. “There is no need to apologize.”
He did not appear at all convinced. “I hope you did not find my kisses…offensive.” He had never sounded so hesitant.
“Offensive? No! They were extremely…good. Good…kisses.” Why must they talk about this? Elizabeth would prefer to discuss almost anything else. Where was a vociferous disagreement about politics or religion when she needed it?
She glanced at Mr. Darcy from the corner of her eye. He was staring at his boots. At least she was not the only one who found the subject uncomfortable.
He spoke again. “I am…happy you were…pleased. I have not had much practice.”
Elizabeth supposed he was not the sort of man who would keep a mistress or frequent brothels. She was rather honored to be one of the few women to receive his kisses.
Mr. Darcy cleared his throat. “But I still should not have kissed you as I did. We are not actually engaged… Well, I suppose we are…officially. But we are not….”
Elizabeth came to his rescue. “My mother placed us in an exceedingly difficult position. I must apologize for her conduct.”
“I understand. Family burdens us all,” he said. “You have met my aunt.”
“Indeed.” But the rules were different. It was one thing for a member of the aristocracy to act…aristocratically; it was quite another for a country gentleman’s wife to make a fool of herself. Still, Elizabeth was grateful he had mentioned it.
“You had little choice but to kiss me,” Elizabeth said. “As far as I am concerned, my mother is responsible for anything untoward that occurred.” To her shame, her voice cracked—suggesting how close she was to sobbing.
Mr. Darcy regarded her with soft eyes. “Was your father displeased about the betrothal?”
“Astonished, certainly. But he did not express disapprobation.” The truth was their sole conversation on the subject had endured but five minutes.
In the past, Mr. Bennet might have quizzed Elizabeth about her fiancé’s character and fortune, how they had encountered each other, and whether she was confident in her future happiness.
But her father shrank away from such responsibilities now. He knew Elizabeth and Jane were aware of his debts and lapses in judgment, so he was reluctant to challenge them. She suspected he thought Mr. Darcy had compromised her, and marriage was the only recourse.
Silence fell between them as they continued to walk. Elizabeth was grateful for the opportunity for exercise and to clear her mind. However, she was bothered that Mr. Darcy had developed an ill opinion of her mother. She said, “My mother is actually quite a clever woman.”
Mr. Darcy said nothing, but a lift of his eyebrows suggested surprise.
“I can see that I have astonished you,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “But living with my father for twenty-five years would be enough to give anyone a nervous condition.”
“Indeed.”
“My father was enamored of her not just because of her beauty but also her learning. She had taught herself Italian and French.”
Mr. Darcy regarded her with amazement. Perhaps Elizabeth should not find that insulting. Her mother certainly had not made the best impression.
“Did she teach you and your sisters?” Mr. Darcy asked.
“No.” Elizabeth endeavored not to sound too bitter.
The wound was old, but the memory persisted.
“I was the only one who was bent on such lessons, but Mama believed they were of no benefit to a woman who only needed to manage a household after all. By then, she had sold all her French and Italian books.”
“That is unfortunate.”
“Yes. After all, knowledge can be its own source of pleasure. I can take pleasure in learning something for its own sake. Not because it immediately benefits me.”
“My sentiments precisely.”
Elizabeth was gratified by his words. Beneath his proud and difficult exterior, he had a sharp mind and sometimes perceived things that no one else in Elizabeth’s life did. I will probably never see him again after this Season. I will miss these conversations.
He said nothing further, and Elizabeth wondered if he sensed her bitterness. Why am I complaining about my childhood difficulties? He does not want to hear that. We scarcely know each other.
“We have talked enough about me,” she said. “Please tell me about Pemberley. I have heard it is quite grand.” The rest of the walk passed agreeably as Elizabeth listened to him describe his home with evident love.
***
When they returned to Sterling House, Elizabeth was more than a little relieved that Mr. Darcy refused her invitation to go inside. He mentioned needing to talk with Elizabeth’s father, but she explained he would be away from the house all day.
Mr. Darcy did not seem unhappy at the news.
Elizabeth imagined he was not eager to create a marriage contract for a marriage that would not take place.
She hated deceiving her family as well, but it had led Mr. Darcy to help find her father’s voucher.
Her family did not know how much they owed him.
Surely the deception was preferable to remaining subject to the viscount’s demands.
However, there was no denying Elizabeth was now entangled in a muddle. A secret engagement and misleading the viscount had seemed like a lark. But now Elizabeth was lying to everyone she knew.
She rubbed her hands over her face. If only Aunt Gardiner were here!
She would give me sensible advice without judgment.
Well, without excessive judgment. But her Uncle Gardiner had recently sold his business at great profit, so he and her aunt had taken their children on a long trip to northern England and Scotland.
They would not be home for at least another month.
Elizabeth considered confiding the truth to Jane, but her sister would not understand Elizabeth’s decisions.
And she had already burdened Jane about her troubles with the viscount.
Besides, Jane was in the grip of early love with Mr. Bingley.
Elizabeth did not want to disturb her equilibrium.
Perhaps I am simply a coward because I know Jane would silently disapprove.
Elizabeth untied the ribbons of her bonnet and pelisse, handing them to the butler, Lumley, who informed her that Jane had returned from her walk and that Lady Sterling wished to speak with Elizabeth in the blue drawing room.
She walked down the hall a bit apprehensively. Her godmother did not usually summon her in such a way.
This drawing room was the smallest in the house and the coziest. It was decorated with burgundy damask paper and was dominated by a large fireplace.
When Elizabeth entered, her godmother set down her embroidery. “Come and sit by me, Lizzy,” she gestured to the armchair beside hers.
When Elizabeth was seated, she asked, “Did you have a pleasant walk?”
“I always enjoy walking about in London. There is so much to see.”
“Was Mr. Darcy an agreeable companion?” Lady Sterling asked, eyeing Elizabeth closely.
“Yes, although I did not begin the walk in the best of moods,” Elizabeth confessed. “But we had a lively conversation.”
The older woman leant forward, holding Elizabeth’s gaze. “I am concerned about your betrothal.”
“Have you heard something against him?” A chill raced up Elizabeth’s spine.