Chapter 8 #2
“And I am trying to convince you that an evening with me will drive away all thought of Miss Bennet, Miss de Bourgh, or anyone else.”
Julia was a beautiful woman, a Venus in miniature, but all her beauty could not overcome her cold-heartedness.
Even if he was not in love with another woman, Julia could never tempt him.
She wanted him because he was present and had a fortune, nothing more.
Her wish to have him had nothing to do with affection.
“I believe I told you,” he said, with weakening patience, “that I am not interested in whatever you could offer for an evening.”
“It will be so enjoyable you will want to secure such a lasting convenience for yourself and make it a permanent arrangement. I am open to possibilities.”
Darcy scoffed. “A man who takes a virgin under the pretence of marriage is a fraud and a knave. And you are aiming for a proposal, are you not?” He saw the truth in her face.
“Let me be clear, Miss Metcalfe. I will not propose to you. Even if you were found naked in my bed, I still would not marry you. I would endure a complete scandal and absolute loss of my family’s reputation before I married you. ”
He went down the stairs to join the others, hearing her muttered sound of outrage and then her footsteps followed behind him.
She was not the first to hint to him at seeing what an evening’s companionship might bring, but Julia was by far the most persistent.
What could drive a woman to abandon her self-respect and risk repeated rejection, and to forsake every value of chastity for a man who unmistakably did not want her?
He found the party gathered in the hall, even Lady Metcalfe, who must have come down another stair.
All remnants of the broken vase from the night before had been swept away.
Elizabeth was almost crushed, and today had fallen from a great height.
At the prospect of another meeting amongst strangers, with tedious music and conversation, whilst avoiding heartless Julia’s flirtations, Darcy felt weary.
Elizabeth, although not seriously injured, had been hurt, and here he was about to go to an evening party.
All he wanted to do was hold his future wife’s hand.
“Mrs Tessier?” Darcy interrupted her mid-sentence. “I am afraid I have lost my appetite.” He could not help giving a sharp stare to Julia. “I will be dull company, so I must beg off. I promise tomorrow evening I will be at your disposal.”
He graciously listened to her excessive concern and her ultimate acceptance of his apology until Henry finally led her away, saying the carriages were waiting. As the others filed from the hall, Julia said to him, “The evening will prove so insipid, so unbelievably humdrum if you stay away.”
“Too much honey becomes gall,” he muttered before going back up the stairs.
He changed out of his evening clothes and asked for a tray of whatever could be had to be sent to his room.
The expectation of a quiet evening on his own, with a book and a glass of port, would typically soothe him, especially after the whirl of activity this week.
But whilst he tried to occupy himself throughout the evening, his mind kept returning to Elizabeth.
He ought not to risk seeing her again. It was selfish to need her comfort because he was worried over her injury.
But what reasonable man would leave his betrothed all alone after such a thing?
It bethought him there were two doors to her apartment, and that the other door led into a dressing closet she was not using.
She had no maid with her, no sister, and Woodcote was large enough to have enough bed chambers for more guests without the need to put one in a dressing room.
That door might not be locked.
Darcy went down and then ascended the back stairs and, as he expected, found the dressing room door unlocked and unlit.
The door leading to Elizabeth’s chamber was locked, but he knocked.
As he questioned the wisdom of forcing her to get up if she was injured, or asleep, he considered leaving when she opened the door.
“Darcy,” she cried, surprised, but putting her arms around him. Her embrace startled him, but he grinned. Coming to see her was the right choice.
“You can give me my name when we are alone, since you are that pleased to see me,” he said, hugging her back gently, fearing she was sore from her fall.
She took his hand and led him in. He observed the candles were still burning on the table. Although she had taken her hair down, she was not going to sleep. “I will be glad to call you Fitzwilliam, and I will do my best not to do so in front of Julia Metcalfe.”
“I was taken aback that she sat with you. I might have thought she knocked you off herself.”
“First a vase, and then the carriage?” she said sceptically. “You are not still on that, are you?”
“Perhaps that depends on how did she act with you?” he said, sitting in the toilette table chair as Elizabeth perched on the edge of the bed.
“She was not pleasant whilst we awaited the surgeon,” Elizabeth hedged, “but she was not outright rude. I suspect she wanted to see if I would be confined to my bed and therefore give her more chance to spend time with you. She stayed out of obligation, I am sure, but her mother could not be troubled at all. Lady Metcalfe said it was a ‘minor accident.’ She had willow bark tea sent to me, and that was the end of her duty as far as she was concerned.”
Darcy shook his head over it as Elizabeth went on. “Julia saw me fall, however, and even all her selfishness could not let her leave me alone until the surgeon had determined I was well.”
“But what about Mrs Tessier?”
Elizabeth hesitated. “Mrs Tessier is a kind woman, but not one to be relied upon in a crisis.”
“What happened?” he asked, looking her all over to see if she was truly well. “Mrs Tessier was still too distraught to speak, and Sir John only said you fell off the back because the horses walked.”
She waved a hand. “That is all there was to it. You know there is a lot of drinking and foolishness at the races, and that includes reckless children left unattended. Julia and Mrs Tessier had no interest in watching the second race and went to see friends, and I went atop alone. A boy struck one of the horses with a whip and ran off, and it sprang. The coachman rushed forward before it could bolt, but I still fell off the back.”
“A boy ought to know better,” Darcy said, shaking his head. Everyone learnt how to act around horses at a young age.
“More like a young man, actually,” Elizabeth mused. “He was as tall as the horse’s withers. Taller than me, but shorter than you. Old enough to know better, I agree.”
Darcy thought about how Julia’s attentions toward him had not ceased. “Miss Metcalfe did not wear trousers and a hat today, did she?” he asked drily.
“You have a suspicious mind. She and Mrs Tessier were in sight of me as the young man struck the horse.”
“You have suffered two accidents in less than a day,” he said. “You must admit it is suspicious.”
Elizabeth scoffed. “Julia Metcalfe might throw a vase at me out of jealousy, but what man or boy wants to injure me so badly that he would see me tossed off the back of a carriage? Or would want to crush me with large pottery?”
He made an open, conciliatory gesture. “True. I cannot see you offending anyone.”
She was in the middle of agreeing when a thoughtful look crossed her face. “I did tell Sir John that I was not interested in…” She turned bright red. “In any casual bed sport, but I do not think it injured him.”
It took Darcy a moment to comprehend her.
He had thought Sir John’s comment at the Woodcote Stakes to “Bennet” about Elizabeth refusing his advances had been a mere attempt to be manly.
“Sir John suggested such a thing to you?” Did that man think Elizabeth was completely unprotected?
He had warned Sir John against trifling with her their first morning at Woodcote.
He rose and paced. “He was that familiar, and with a respectable young lady?”
“Well, that is what I think he implied,” she said hurriedly. “What he actually said was that he saved better kisses than forfeit ones for personal occasions, and I told him I would not accept any kiss of his beyond one in a game.”
“Has he accosted you? Suggested he would not take no for an answer?” The last time he felt such building rage was when Wickham tried to elope with his sister.
“He has done nothing of the sort, Fitzwilliam. I think he wants a willing partner who has similar expectations as he has, which seems to be not marriage and a gratifying hour together. And remember,” she said patiently, “I only think he hinted he would accept whatever I offered. But he was not offended when I refused.”
An alarming thought came to him. “I did not see Sir John after the Derby Stakes. He might have—”
“Run through a crowd of thousands to knock me over since his tossing a vase at me failed?” She stood and took his hands in hers.
“He does not notice me at all. I did not offend him. Sir John did not even recognise me in a hat and breeches with the name Bennet. And we both know he will find a woman elsewhere. We know he is willing to pay for it.”
He felt his heart rate calm. What had happened to his judgment?
The two incidents were not connected, but both incidents could have been deadly.
Still, he had no proof either incident was deliberate, and to suggest otherwise would indicate he had a paranoea, some manner of frightened, defective reasoning.
Darcy kissed one of her hands. “You are right. I was terrified at what I would find when I threw open your door, and fear made me thoughtless.”
“Little did you suspect you would find me drinking a willow bark infusion with an unlikeable woman.”
Darcy closed his eyes and squeezed her hands tighter. “I had far more dire imaginings when I heard you fell.”