Chapter Seventeen
Darcy arrived in Hertfordshire three days before Bingley and Miss Bennet’s wedding.
Bingley had invited Darcy to be his guest at Netherfield.
But upon arrival in the mid-afternoon, Darcy learned that Bingley had gone to Longbourn for the day.
Pausing only long enough for a change of clothing, Darcy remounted his horse for the ride to Longbourn.
The day was cool, yet Darcy perspired into his gloves and neckcloth. Soon, he would see Elizabeth. He knew what he wanted to say to her. He could only pray that she would respond as he hoped.
The past month had been exceedingly arduous. Countless times, he had written letters to Elizabeth—only to tear them up without sending them. Twice, he had ordered his horse saddled for a ride to Hertfordshire before changing his mind.
He had put his faith in a plan, a rather daring plan, and could only hope that it would succeed. He did not have an alternative scheme. If this plan failed… Darcy did not like to consider that possibility.
He had not slept well all month, often pacing the floors of his townhouse late at night.
Missing Elizabeth caused a hollow ache in his chest. He was not at all sure he could convince her of his love and win her trust. Some days, he thought he might.
Other days, he expected to be a miserable failure.
He had refused all invitations to balls and soirées. They would be too painful without Elizabeth’s humorous commentary.
None of it made sense. Why did he feel lonelier now than before he had met her?
It was late afternoon when he walked into the Longbourn drawing room. The furnishings were outdated but serviceable. Mrs. Bennet had better taste than Darcy had previously credited her with. The curtains had been drawn against the fierce sunlight that shone into the room.
It was crowded with people, approximately forty of whom appeared to be Elizabeth’s younger sisters, all of them talking at a volume appropriate for giving a speech in Parliament.
When the housekeeper ushered Darcy into the room, his eyes were immediately drawn to Elizabeth as if she exerted a magnetic pull on his heart.
He had beheld her only a month ago, but somehow he had forgotten how beautiful she was.
He stood, momentarily stunned, in the doorway.
He had gone too long without seeing her; he could not avert his eyes.
When his presence was noted, the din diminished to a more manageable level. Elizabeth regarded him with a slightly open mouth, as if she was amazed he had actually arrived. He yearned to embrace her and cover her with kisses. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back.
Bingley immediately jumped from his chair and strode across the room to welcome Darcy and introduce him to the younger Bennet daughters.
Darcy bowed to the room. The forty sisters or so (very well, perhaps it was merely twenty) curtsied politely, although the younger ones gaped rather embarrassingly at him.
He wished he could attribute their awe to his attractive countenance, but it was more likely due to his attractive fortune.
Mrs. Bennet was effusive. “Oh, Mr. Darcy, you are quite welcome! How good of you to come! I know the occasion will be vastly merrier now that you are here. Mr. Bingley was just saying he could not wait for you to arrive. Were you not, Mr. Bingley? Of course, you want to sit beside Elizabeth. Kitty, take another seat. Don’t grimace at me!
Mr. Darcy longs to sit beside his fiancée. ”
After her sister had vacated the settee, Darcy took his place beside Elizabeth, feeling the weight of everyone’s stares. They expected him to behave as a man reunited with his beloved after a month apart. But Elizabeth’s expression was unreadable. What does she want from me?
Following an overly long pause, Darcy took her hand and gently kissed the back. She gave him a faint smile.
Sitting so close to her was torture. Suddenly, after twenty-eight years of life, he had nowhere to put his hands.
What did he usually do with them when he was seated?
Was his left hand too close to her body?
If he moved it, would it brush her hand?
Should he put his right hand upon his knee? Or perhaps the arm of the settee?
His hands were also hungry to touch her…her skin: her face, her shoulders, her hair—everything. He could brush a stray curl from her forehead. Or touch her cheek. Or simply hold her hand. What would she allow?
Fortunately, Darcy’s conversation was not needed. Bingley ventured an opinion on food preferences that sparked a lively debate over the best dishes for a wedding breakfast, as if the menu had not been decided weeks ago. But the cacophony permitted Darcy to sit unnoticed in silent agony.
Darcy had not been prepared for the boisterousness of the younger Bennet girls.
Elizabeth had once said that they were energetic and unrestrained.
That was an understatement; they were approximately as restrained as the average puppy.
They exclaimed about everything and argued about anything, no matter how insignificant.
In fact, one of the first conflicts concerned whether Miss Katherine or Miss Lydia possessed more hairpins.
Rational discourse would occasionally break through the noise, but chaos always returned.
Elizabeth seemed a bit hollow-eyed, and Darcy could understand why.
Half an hour of the cacophony caused Darcy to long for a monastery.
Perhaps she would accept Darcy’s proposal just to escape Longbourn’s anarchy.
After an hour of hubbub, Darcy feared he would have Miss Lydia’s squeal ringing in his ears for days.
Bingley suggested a walk to take the air.
Darcy almost jumped from his seat in his eagerness to join his friend.
However, he scrupulously scrutinized the doorway for stray bits of mistletoe.
Finding none, he glanced back at Elizabeth, who whispered, “I already checked.”
Darcy marshaled what dignity he could. “Would you care to take a walk?” He extended his hand to her, and Elizabeth took it.
***
Elizabeth had thought she was prepared to see William. She was not.
As soon as he stepped into the drawing room, her heart pounded so loudly she worried others could hear it.
He did not appear angry, although he had good reason to be furious about the fashion in which she had quitted London.
She had been a coward. She suspected it then, and she knew it now.
She had not wanted to face him, and it probably had caused him pain.
When he entered, he did not smile, but his eyes immediately found hers.
His gaze held such intensity that it nearly burned.
What did that mean? When he sat beside her on the settee and kissed her hand, the awkwardness was nearly unbearable.
Everyone in the room grinned, believing they saw two happily betrothed people being reunited, although Mr. Bingley regarded William with some concern.
Over the ensuing hour, Elizabeth sat in silent mortification as her younger sisters fulfilled the worst expectations for country behavior.
However, William endured their antics with equanimity and no hint of disdain.
He was exceedingly cordial to her family and bore her mother’s babblings without condescension.
Elizabeth was pleased for her family’s sake.
He sat rigidly, never relaxing against the back of the settee. Occasionally, his fingers would twitch oddly. Sitting beside Elizabeth must make him uncomfortable, but he was trapped into performing the role of fiancé.
Now that they were again in the same room, Elizabeth was acutely aware of how he filled the hollow ache inside her chest. Oddly, she felt more herself in his presence. This firmly answered a question in her mind. I really must be in love with him. Nobody else could make me feel this way.
What a terrible time to discover the truth.
Despite his discomfort, she savored their closeness while she could. After this visit, he would want nothing to do with her.
He is not mine to keep. He had probably made a promise to Lady Julia or some other woman who was far more suited to be Mrs. Darcy. Her heart twisted painfully in her chest whenever she imagined it.
When Mr. Bingley suggested a walk, Elizabeth wanted to run to the door. She needed nothing so desperately as a private talk with William.
However, once they donned hats and walked along the dusty country lane, Elizabeth found herself unaccountably tongue-tied.
For early summer, the day was not too warm. The bright sunshine cast dappled shadows from the trees. Perfect walking weather. But Elizabeth could only think of the man beside her.
As before, Jane and Mr. Bingley lagged behind. Within minutes, Elizabeth and William could barely see them. When they were alone, Elizabeth said, “I must apologize for how I left London. I should have informed you of our departure in advance.”
“It is forgotten. I know you tried to speak with me at the musicale, and I did not make it easy.”
Elizabeth nodded. There seemed to be no more to say on the subject. They continued their walk. When Elizabeth broke the silence, she asked, “How is your sister?”
“She is in good health. Thank you.”
“And your aunt and cousin?”
“My cousin Anne has returned to Rosings Park with her husband and made peace with her mother. Richard reports the relationship is strained, but Aunt Catherine has reconciled herself to her new son-in-law.”
“I am pleased to hear it. And how is Lady Julia?”
William blinked. “Good, I suppose. She accepted a marriage proposal from Fordham, Lord Harold.”
Elizabeth’s wave of relief was so strong, she felt momentarily weightless.
After a silence, William observed, “You did not write to break off the engagement.”
Was he eager to end it? Elizabeth stiffened. “I thought it best to do it after Jane and Charles’s wedding.”