CHAPTER 20
With the door shut and locked behind her, Elizabeth set at once to peeling away the layers of clothing that reeked of dirt, sweat, and days of travel, each piece stiff with dried mud, catching and pulling at her skin as she worked them free.
Once reduced to her chemise, she attended first to more pressing necessities before climbing into the small metal tub, just large enough to seat herself, her knees drawn up awkwardly above the rim, the metal cold and unforgiving against her bare skin until the water warmed it.
Even so, the clear water felt glorious against her, almost painfully so, every small ache and scrape she had accumulated these past days making itself known at once, and turned rapidly brown as the accumulated grime lifted away from her in slow, drifting clouds.
Though the water had cooled somewhat, it remained warm enough that she ducked her hair beneath it, working with her fingers to loosen the worst of its tangles, wincing more than once as she found a snarl too stubborn to work free gently.
She could only imagine what a fright she must look, and found, to her own surprise, that she had not the strength left to care much about it.
A sharp knock startled her, every nerve leaping at once, and she supposed for a moment, with a lurch of pure animal fear before reason caught up with her, that it might be anyone at all, before settling, more sensibly, that it was most likely Mr. Darcy, finished already with his letters.
Rising, she caught up a length of cloth to cover herself and moved behind the door before answering, her voice not quite steady. "Yes?"
"Yer meal, missus," came a small voice from without, a servant girl, by the sound of it, nothing more.
Relief loosened something tight in her chest. "Might you return in half an hour?"
"Aye, missus," the thin voice replied from behind the thick door.
Relieved, Elizabeth set the cloth aside and returned to the tub, taking what further comfort she could in the still-browned water, grateful past words to be free, if only for a little while, of days-old clothing.
After a further minute's soaking, she judged it wise to rise, expecting Mr. Darcy's return before long.
Through her bath, her thoughts had turned repeatedly to the puzzle that was the man himself; sweet and severe by turns, stern and gentle, handsome and proud all at once.
A contradiction of a man, she decided, climbing from the tub and reaching once more for the cloth.
And he wishes to marry me. This, she thought, was perhaps the most astonishing turn of the entire ordeal, more astonishing, even, than being fired upon while riding double with the man.
That Mr. Darcy should wish to marry her, Elizabeth Bennet, when only days before she had held him in something very near contempt, seemed scarcely credible.
He was, without question, a difficult man; accustomed, she had learned through more than one contest of wills, to having his own way.
That stubbornness, she suspected, would want careful management.
He was used to commanding, and she doubted many had ever crossed him as she had.
Would he, once married, seek to command her as readily?
Would she find herself with any liberty left at all?
Dressing in the clothes provided her proved an awkward business, the chemise pinching too tight across the bust, the skirt falling shorter than was proper, the fabric coarse and unfamiliar. Still, she was glad enough to be free of her ruined walking dress, caked as it was in mud and worse.
A firm knock came at last, and dread seized her before she could master it. She approached the door cautiously. "Yes?" Some part of her feared, however irrationally, that Wickham himself stood upon the other side.
"Elizabeth? May I come in?" Mr. Darcy's voice reached her, and her fear dissolved at once into relief.
She opened the door to find him considerably altered. It took her a moment to place the change; he had shaved, and bathed, and stood now dressed in the plain clothing of a working man. He smiled as he entered and shut the door behind him.
"Your beard, and your clothes!" she exclaimed, startled entirely out of her composure by the sight of his bare chin, so different from the man who had left the room not an hour before.
He returned her smile, something almost boyish in it now that the severity of his usual expression had been so thoroughly softened by the change.
"I am glad to be rid of both.” He noticed her eyes remained on his chin, where his beard had covered half of his face.
And, without a thought, he boldly asked, “Did you have some fondness for the beard? "
She felt herself colour, and could not resist a small mischief, some part of her wanting very much to see what such teasing might provoke in him. "I rather think it became you, sir."
"Did it?" He looked genuinely surprised, rubbing absently at his newly bare chin as though checking her claim against his own memory of it. "Well, that can easily be remedied, madam, should you truly prefer it."
She laughed outright at his evident consternation, delighted to have so thoroughly unsettled him with so small a remark.
"I have sent word to my cousin Fitzwilliam, and to your father," he went on, recovering himself with visible effort.
"They ought to have the letters by tomorrow.
" His gaze dropped briefly to the browned bathwater still standing in its tub before returning to her face. "I hope you found the bath agreeable."
"I did," she said, colour rising further still, her heart quickening in a manner she chose not to examine too closely just then.
"I am glad of it." A faint flush had crept into his own cheeks as well, though he pressed on regardless. "There was a washroom below; I managed a shave, and was given these clothes in place of my own."
A knock came again, and he turned toward it at once, grateful, perhaps, for the interruption. "Yes?"
"Yer meal, sir."
"Ah, yes. Bring it in, if you please." He opened the door to admit another young servant girl bearing a tray laid with two filled mugs, a generous wedge of cheese, a loaf of bread, and a large pie.
She set it upon the table, then glanced toward the tub. "I'll see to that now, if it pleases you."
"Thank you, if you're able to manage it," Elizabeth said kindly, feeling a small pang of guilt at the girl's evident labour on her behalf.
"Aye, missus." The girl took hold of one end and dragged the little tub from the room, water sloshing over its rim with each awkward step, evidently bound to fetch the lanky boy's help before attempting the stairs.
Mr. Darcy closed the door behind her and turned to survey the tray, his stomach giving an audible growl that he made no attempt to disguise.
"It looks delightful," Elizabeth said, before he could remark upon it, already crossing toward it, drawn by the smell alone.
"It smells better still." He glanced at her, something warm and easy in his expression that had not been there a week before. "Shall we eat?"
Famished as they both were, neither spoke through the meal, too occupied entirely with the business of eating to manage conversation besides.
They divided the bread and cheese between them without ceremony, tearing rather than cutting, before turning together to the large minced pie, sharing it between two spoons with none of the careful manners either might have observed at their own family tables.
***
Their hunger satisfied at last, Mr. Darcy let out a contented breath and turned to her. "When shall we marry, Elizabeth?" The question left him before he had properly considered it.
Startled by his bluntness, she answered, "Sir, I have not yet agreed to marry you at all."
He looked at her, disbelieving. "You mean to refuse me, then."
"No, Mr. Darcy, I mean only to point out that where a marriage is proposed, one party generally asks, and the other accepts. At present, sir, you have asked. I have not yet answered."
"Madam, I beg you will not trifle with me. If you will have me, say so. If you will not, I would rather hear nothing further."
She met his gaze steadily, matching the gravity of his own. "You are not to govern me, Mr. Darcy. I would remain as I have always been free to act and speak as I see fit."
He had rarely in his life felt so thoroughly out of temper, and answered rather more sharply than he intended. "I have no wish to govern you! I wish to marry you because I love you as I have never loved any woman in my life! I confess I do not understand you at all."
"You are vexed with me, sir, and I will not be blamed for it. I have told you only the terms upon which I might consider your offer, and you have flown into a temper merely for my having named them."
He drew a long breath, staring down into his empty mug before lifting his eyes to hers once more.
"You do not speak plainly, madam. I was entirely certain, not a moment past, that you meant to refuse me outright.
I confess I still cannot tell whether you accept me or not.
But I must have my say regardless. You must know how ardently I admire you, how deeply I love you.
I have never loved a woman before this; my thoughts, my time, have always been given over to duty and responsibility, leaving little room for anything else.
Now I love, and I mean to go on loving, and I will not be too proud to say so plainly. "
Elizabeth drew herself up, prepared to make her own case in turn.
"Sir, your fine speech does not afford me the respect I require.
Hear me plainly, then. I have lived, and thrived, upon a measure of independence.
I have been free to read as I please, to speak my mind, to go where I choose.
I will not conceal my displeasure, nor my indifference, when I feel either.
I must have my say in the whole of our life together.
I will not be directed in how to think or act merely because it suits your judgment better than my own.
I am my own person, sir, and I require that to remain true within marriage as much as without it.
Let us not go on angering one another further.
" He began to speak, but she cut him short. "Pray, do not."
He dropped his gaze to her hands, then gathered them gently in his own and raised them to his lips. "Elizabeth, dearest. I adore your thoughts, your feelings, your pert opinions most of all. I have no wish whatever to silence them, or you."
"And yet you are quick enough to make your displeasure known when you dislike what I say, as you have only just done. You conceal your own feelings very poorly, sir."
This observation checked him entirely. He considered her fingers, held still within his own, before speaking again.
"Elizabeth, I will not pretend to be a perfect man.
I have answered to no one but myself for the greater part of my life.
I inherited a considerable fortune, and with it, no small burden of responsibility.
I ask only your patience. I know I shall make mistakes, but I will own them honestly when I do.
Do not give up on me for it. You shall have the freedom you ask of me, only allow me some grace in return.
I will never bring you shame, though I confess I may, on occasion, make a considerable fool of myself, and say things rather worse than I mean them. "
She laughed at his own self-reproach. "As you are doing now."
The corner of his mouth lifted. "As I am doing now."
She turned his words over in her mind. He had listened to her, had taken care to hear her fully, and to weigh what she said.
However gruff his manner might run at times, he plainly cared what she thought and felt.
He was, besides, witty, well-informed, and not without a certain handsomeness she was no longer inclined to deny.
Whatever their difficult beginning, she had come to believe him a good man.
A man, she was beginning to understand, that she could love.
"Very well, Mr. Darcy. If you will allow yourself only the occasional fuss, and grant me always an equal voice in our partnership, the liberty to speak my mind, whatever the subject, and however inconvenient you may find it, then I will accept you, upon those terms."
"You may find I require rather more leeway for fussing at the outset, my love." A faint, rueful smile touched his mouth. "I have a great deal to learn about governing less, and I confess it will not come naturally to a man who has spent his whole life being obeyed rather than questioned."
"Then I shall simply have to remind you of it whenever the need arises, Mr. Darcy, early, and often, I should think, and I shall always have my say in the matter besides." She offered him a pert smile, though something gentler moved beneath it.
He raised the hands still held in his and kissed them both, gently and with evident tenderness, lingering a moment longer than strict necessity required, while his intended bride regarded his now-untroubled countenance with real warmth, so unlike the guarded, forbidding man she had first known at the Meryton assembly that she could scarcely credit they were one and the same.
Looking up to meet her eyes, he said, low, "What can I possibly have done to deserve you? "
The flattery, however plainly offered, suited her very well indeed, and she found she had no wish whatsoever to check it.
Mr. Darcy went on, for some considerable time yet, saying a great many more such pretty things to the woman who had at last, against every early impression either might have formed of the other, consented to become his wife.