More Gentlemanlike

Chapter 1

One

Fitzwilliam Darcy hurriedly dressed that morning, eager to reach the inn at Lambton with ample time to see Elizabeth before their departure.

Uncertain about their plans for the day, and even uncertain about his own intentions, he felt an intense need to be in her presence again.

The shared moment from the previous night, when their eyes met over the piano, lingered in his thoughts.

Did she perceive him differently now? He had endeavoured to rectify the flaws in his behaviour that she had pointed out; had his effort been sufficient?

Above all, he longed to enquire if he still held a chance with her.

While he understood her feelings might not mirror his own just yet, he had been certain there seemed to be a softening in her demeanour—or so he hoped—if yesterday’s events were any indication.

As he finished dressing, a myriad of questions and uncertainties filled his mind, all revolving around the pivotal issue of whether Elizabeth might be open to reconsidering their relationship.

Upon entering the inn, Darcy enquired about Elizabeth’s whereabouts and learnt she was in the sitting room of the suite of rooms her uncle had taken. Nervously, he approached the door and knocked lightly before entering. There she was, a vision that never failed to captivate him.

“Good morning, Miss Bennet,” he greeted her with a mixture of eagerness and nervousness.

“Mr Darcy,” she acknowledged with a smile, a warmth in her eyes that had not been there before.

Darcy couldn’t help but be encouraged by this subtle shift. “I hope the morning finds you well. I wanted to ensure we had a moment to speak before you set out for the day.”

Elizabeth’s expression turned curious, and Darcy took a breath in an attempt to steady his racing heart. “Miss Bennet, er, Miss Elizabeth, I… well, I am wondering… where are your aunt and uncle?”

She shook her head, seemingly confused by his question. As she studied him, he became uncomfortably aware of how unsettled he must appear. “They walked towards the church. I was going to join them soon, but then the mail came, containing a letter from Jane. I have not yet had a chance to read it.”

“Oh, I… I apologise for my intrusion, Miss Elizabeth. Would you prefer I leave you in peace to read your letter?”

Elizabeth’s gaze softened, and her smile held a quiet reassurance as she turned to him. “Perhaps you would like to walk with me to join my aunt and uncle,” she said, setting the letters in her hand aside. “The post will keep until we return.”

A few minutes later, they were outside, walking side by side down the quiet lane.

Neither spoke at first, and Darcy cleared his throat several times as he attempted to find the words to break the silence.

Each time, the words deserted him, and he found himself acutely aware of the measured pace of her steps beside his, and of how much his future happiness rested upon the next moments.

“Am I mistaken in believing that you credited what I wrote in my letter?” he asked at last. The sound of his own voice startled even him in the stillness, and Elizabeth likewise started, as though drawn abruptly from her thoughts.

“I had not expected to encounter you again—certainly not at Pemberley,” he continued, the words pressing forward with unwelcome haste. “Not that I am displeased by it.”

The amendment came too quickly, betraying his unease, and he felt again the familiar mortification of having spoken awkwardly.

With others, he could command his words well enough; with Elizabeth, they seemed forever to tangle themselves before they reached his tongue.

Small wonder, then, that silence had so often appeared the safer course. But that could no longer be so.

He drew a slow breath, steadying himself, and was preparing to try again when Elizabeth’s hand came to rest lightly upon his arm.

The contact stilled him at once. He had long resented such uninvited familiarity from other young ladies, yet from her it felt entirely different—neither presumptuous nor unwelcome, but instinctive, as though the gesture belonged as naturally as her presence at his side.

“Perhaps not immediately,” Elizabeth said, answering his earlier question regarding their last meeting in April. “There were parts of your letter that angered me when I first read it, and had we met directly after that, I would have been resentful and likely responded much as I had done before.”

She paused, releasing a quiet breath, and he could not help but notice the faint colour in her cheeks. He wondered idly at its cause, but did not allow his thoughts to wander, for she had not finished.

“But after several rereadings, I was compelled to acknowledge many truths. You would not have spoken of your sister as you did had you not been sincere regarding that man. And I was forced to admit that I should have acted in much the same manner as you did with Mr Bingley, had I believed Jane in danger of marrying a man who did not love her.”

As she spoke, Darcy scarcely dared to breathe. Her tone, her composure, the gentleness of her touch upon his arm—all combined to make him listen with a concentration that bordered on pain. He prayed that she was more inclined towards him but was as yet uncertain.

Her gaze softened further. “Since meeting you at Pemberley, I have observed a difference in your manner. Perhaps it is merely that you are at home, among familiar surroundings, but you appeared at ease there, and you treated my aunt and uncle with civility that went beyond what would have been expected. I am grateful for the effort you made to put us all at ease—particularly me. We had been assured that you were absent, or I should never have presumed upon your hospitality to visit Pemberley in the first place. Still, I cannot say I am disappointed to have encountered you there, nor to have seen this side of you.”

Darcy inclined his head, unable to trust his voice at once. When he did speak, the words were measured, even though his heart beat painfully fast. “I am gratified to hear it.”

For a moment, he closed his eyes, gathering his resolve. Then, with no retreat left to him, he spoke the question that had governed his thoughts since the previous evening.

“More than anything,” he said quietly, looking straight ahead and not daring to glance at the lady on his arm, “I must know whether there remains a chance for us, Miss Elizabeth. I understand if your feelings do not accord with my own, but I cannot bear uncertainty where my hopes are so deeply engaged. My desires and affections remain unchanged.”

Her reply was accompanied by the faintest hint of a smile. “Mr Darcy, I must confess that my feelings have changed. While they may not yet equal your own, I find myself willing to consider what might possibly exist between us.”

The words struck him with a force he had not anticipated.

His breath caught, and before he could restrain it, a genuine smile broke across his face.

The weight of doubt that had oppressed him for so long eased at last, replaced by a quiet, steady hope—one he scarcely dared to examine too closely, for fear it should all prove to be only a dream.

There was little time for more to be said before Darcy could find the words to answer. They had just reached the door of the church and paused there for a moment when it opened, and Elizabeth’s Aunt and Uncle Gardiner stepped out.

“Lizzy!” Mrs Gardiner exclaimed, glancing between her niece and her companion. “We are surprised to see you here. Did you read Jane’s letter so quickly?”

Elizabeth smiled. “I had not the opportunity to open it before Mr Darcy arrived. I decided that her letter would wait until after his call and invited him to join me in my walk to meet you.”

Mrs Gardiner returned her smile and, after a moment’s consideration, invited Mr Darcy to join them in their plans for the day. They intended to spend the morning visiting the shops in Lambton and would later venture out to pay a call upon an acquaintance.

Darcy gratefully agreed. He remained uncertain how he ought to respond to Elizabeth’s earlier remarks, yet he knew he did not wish to let the moment pass unacknowledged. That she no longer thought ill of him was, without question, an improvement to last April.

Still, he could not help but wonder what more he must do to secure her affection.

She admitted to feeling something for him, but how much?

Was it possible that she might come to love him as he loved her, or was such a hope nothing more than a dream?

How could he overcome her declaration in April, that he was the last man she could ever be persuaded to marry?

He soon recognised that such reflections would do nothing to advance his suit, and he resolutely set them aside.

Instead, he devoted himself to being agreeable—directing his attention not only to Elizabeth, but also to her aunt and uncle, whose importance to her was unmistakable in their every interaction.

It did not take him long to perceive that it was the steady influence of this affectionate, sensible couple that had shaped the elder Bennet sisters into women so markedly different from their younger sisters.

As they walked beside the older couple through the village, Darcy kept Elizabeth’s hand upon his arm and ventured to draw her a little nearer to himself, fully aware that he risked her displeasure in doing so.

When she neither resisted nor withdrew her arm, his smile deepened, and some of the tension he had carried since their meeting eased at last.

For nearly an hour they continued along the High Street, conversing with an unstudied ease, touching on whatever subjects occurred to them, until the world beyond their shared circle seemed to fade.