Chapter One
One week earlier
Elizabeth stared at the door to the vicarage parlour which still swung back and forth slightly on its hinges.
A few seconds earlier, Mr Darcy had stormed out of the room and flung it open with much greater force than required.
Although that offence against carpentry was the very least of his crimes.
He had proposed, of a fashion, replacing what Elizabeth imagined to be the usual promises of devotion and pretty compliments with a laundry list of complaints—of her family, her status (so far below him as to be a degradation), and connections to trade.
Then he had the gall to look shocked at her refusal.
Vile, hateful man. She had known him to be proud and disagreeable.
His behaviour in Meryton and actions towards Mr Wickham alone proved that, but to behave in such a strange and ungentlemanly manner was beyond anything she could have imagined
The whole affair felt like a fever dream rather than something that could possibly have happened in real life, but as she looked down at her shaking hands and peered through the window at the dark figure stalking across the lawn towards the grand house at Rosings, she knew there had been nothing imaginary about it.
Mr Darcy had declared himself in love with her.
Mr Darcy, who had barely tolerated her when they first met, who had looked upon her family with barely concealed disdain and who had separated Jane from the man she loved, had entered Charlotte’s parlour and, stooping under the low ceiling, announced that he had fought against his feelings in vain.
Elizabeth began to pace. The room was too small for the amount of indignation she felt brewing inside her, forcing her to turn sharply each time she reached the hearth or the far wall of the modest room.
His words followed her as she went. His sense of her inferiority and the degradation to which he was apparently prepared to submit for the privilege of making her Mrs Darcy.
How could any man speak so insultingly and expect to be accepted?
More astonishing still, how could he have believed she wished to be asked?
She stopped before the looking glass above the mantel and stared at her own reflection.
Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes wild and glassy.
She pressed her fingertips to the cool polished wood and realised her whole body was shaking now.
It ought to be laughable really; she had thought the proposal from her bumbling cousin Mr Collins was the worst possible one she might ever receive.
Mr Darcy had been able to top it quite impressively.
She sank shakily into an armchair, dropping her head between her legs to regulate her breathing which had grown shallow and erratic.
Why did she feel as if her whole body was on fire?
She absolutely would not think of how handsome he had looked in his finely cut blue coat and buff breeches or the way his voice had cracked with emotion when he spoke of loving her.
She certainly would not remember the naked hope in his expression before she refused him or the hurt that had flashed across his features before they hardened like granite.
None of those things excused what he had said and could never, ever excuse the pain he had inflicted on Jane.
At the thought of her sister, Elizabeth’s anger found wings once more.
Mr Darcy had confessed, without the smallest sign of shame, that he had separated Jane and Mr Bingley.
He had congratulated himself upon the act, as though tearing two people apart were a casual demonstration of his superior judgement.
Jane had suffered for months while Mr Bingley remained in London, and all the while the man responsible had wandered about Kent without a shred of shame or remorse.
The door opened again, this time hesitantly, and Charlotte stepped into the room carrying a small sewing basket.
"Eliza," she said at once, seeing her friend hunched in the armchair.
"Are you injured or unwell? Oh dear, let me ring for the maid.
I thought I heard raised voices. Was there a man here? What in the world has happened?"
Elizabeth held up a still-shaking hand to quiet her friend. "I am well, Charlotte," she said in a voice that did not sound in the least bit well. "I have had a small shock, that is all, but I am... I will be well if you will only give me a moment to recover myself."
Charlotte went quiet and sat in the chair opposite Elizabeth, reaching out to cover her friend’s hands with her own. "Tell me," she said simply.
And Elizabeth did. The whole sorry tale came pouring from her, and it was cathartic to have it laid out so plainly.
It had been horrible, to be sure, and embarrassing, and she would rather have ripped out her own eyes than look upon the man again, but at least it made her course clear.
She must leave as quickly as could be managed and never see him again.
She could visit with Charlotte when she returned to Meryton, to ensure she never encountered him at Rosings.
Mr Bingley would surely give up the lease on Netherfield.
Mr Darcy would return to Derbyshire and, with any luck, remain there for the rest of his natural life.
If he did not, she would consider moving to a small cottage in the Scottish Highlands, just to be safe.
There would be no reason, none at all, for her ever to look upon that cold, handsome face again.
A strange energy rose within her and she stood abruptly. "I must pack my trunk."
"Elizabeth Rose Bennet," said Charlotte, using a voice so like Elizabeth’s mother’s that it snapped her back to herself. "I have never known you to be one to run away."
"I am not running away," Elizabeth said, huffing slightly in a manner that sounded alarmingly like the beginning of one of Lydia’s tantrums. She attempted to moderate her tone.
"I am simply removing myself from an unpleasant situation.
And surely it will only be awkward for you, Charlotte, if I remain?
We have to take tea at Rosings tomorrow.
Please, I cannot bear to be in the same room as Mr… as him."
"I know it will be difficult," Charlotte said, "but I should hate to lose you now that Maria and Papa have returned to Meryton. I so enjoy your company, and surely Mr Darcy will have no wish to speak of what has passed or draw attention to it. Indeed, Eliza, it may be that a few days’ reflection will make you feel differently about the whole affair. "
Elizabeth stared at her. "Differently?"
"Not so differently that you will suddenly wish you had accepted him," Charlotte said slowly, as if choosing each word carefully. "Only perhaps that you will see the matter in a fresh light and hopefully with a little less anger."
"I cannot imagine what reflection might reveal that was not perfectly clear at the time."
Charlotte hesitated, as if weighing how to continue. "Mr Darcy expressed himself very badly. From what you have told me, astonishingly badly. But no man is without faults, and his, at least, do not include a displeasing face or poverty."
"Charlotte!"
"I am only being practical. He is handsome, exceedingly wealthy and so much in love that he behaved like a great fool. We are all fools in love, are we not?"
Elizabeth glared at her, though her friend’s face remained impressively mild. "His fortune does not excuse his arrogance and his conceited disdain for everyone he considers beneath him. And I should think that includes everyone barring the royal family and a couple of earls."
"No, but arrogance does not erase every other quality he possesses. And we all have our faults. A good marriage can smooth even the roughest edges. Look at Mr Collins. After only a few months, his wardrobe is much improved and his table manners are transformed."
Elizabeth stared at her. "Charlotte, you sound as though you have been training a puppy.
I do not believe I can enter into that sort of marriage, nor could I ever be happy with a man who may or may not change to my liking.
In any event, this conversation is moot as I have no desire to ever be in the same room as the man, never mind meet him at the end of an aisle! "
Charlotte regarded her with the calm patience of someone speaking to a person who had recently suffered a blow to the head.
"Then a few days should make no difference.
We have no social occasions with the Rosings party other than the tea tomorrow.
You may remain until the end of your visit, conduct yourself with civility for the hour we are within the house and leave with your dignity entirely intact.
I daresay he will be as keen as you to forget the whole matter. "
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. "You are manipulating me."
"I am reminding you that your courage has never failed to rise to any occasion.
You are no simpering miss." Charlotte squeezed her hands.
"Stay until the day you intended to leave.
You need not seek him out, and if he has any sense at all, he will keep his distance.
You may endure one tea at Rosings without fleeing the county. "
Elizabeth looked towards the window again. Rosings stood beyond the trees, grand and imposing and presently containing the last man in England she wished to see. "One tea," she said at last.
"And the remainder of your visit."
"One tea at a time, Charlotte."
Charlotte inclined her head, wisely recognising the limit of what could be achieved. "Very well. One tea at a time."