Chapter 1.7 #4
“Mr Darcy, I cannot tell you how sorry I am for what I said before and for believing Mr Wickham so unconditionally when he first told me his story. I shall never forgive myself for being so—”
“Miss Elizabeth, I shall not hear any of this.” He smiled warmly in order to reassure her and moved closer.
“It would be very sad to know that anything I revealed made you uneasy. I just hope that knowing the truth will help you to protect yourself better. Mr Wickham has always tried to hurt people who are important to me.”
He took her hands in his, gazing deeply into her eyes. Startled by this new indirect declaration, Elizabeth lifted her flustered face to him and unconsciously responded to his grip with her own. He whispered, although nobody was in the room but her.
“There is something more I must tell you. The young lady I was talking about…it was my own sister, Georgiana. About a year ago, she was taken from school, and an establishment was formed for her in London. Last summer she went with a Mrs Younge—her companion—to Ramsgate. There also went Mr Wickham, undoubtedly by design, for there proved to have been a prior acquaintance between him and this Mrs Younge, in whose character we were most unhappily deceived. I joined them unexpectedly a day or two before the intended elopement, and Georgiana, unable to support the idea of grieving and offending a brother on whom she looked almost as a father, acknowledged the whole of the matter to me. You may imagine what I felt and how I acted. I wrote to Mr Wickham, who left the place immediately, and Mrs Younge was of course removed from her charge. For months, my major concern was Georgiana’s disappointment and despair, the many nights she spent without sleep, crying…
I tried earnestly to be of help to her, but I am afraid I did not have much success.
She is a little better now and, I hope, will recover completely in time. I pray daily for that.”
His grief was so obvious that Elizabeth felt a strong urge to wrap her arms around him and hold him tightly.
She knew she could not do so, but she slightly tightened the grip on his hands in compassion and understanding, their gazes steadfast. Slowly, he lifted her hands without loosening the grip and pressed them against his chest.
Elizabeth could feel his chest moving with every breath, every beat of his heart: regular and strong.
She desperately tried to say something. Her lips parted to let the words out, but the lump in her throat stopped them.
Unconsciously, her breath and her heart changed their rhythm to match his.
A soft whisper finally emerged. “I am so sorry…”
Their faces were so close that each could feel the other’s warm breath. It made her tremble, and cold shivers chilled her neck and travelled wildly down her spine and arms. Her stomach was in a knot. Her breath stopped, waiting.
She was certain he would kiss her and did not know what to do.
She could not move—nor did she want to. As if by itself, her flustered face lifted to him a little more; her dry mouth waited, eager to feel for the first time a man’s lips on hers—Mr Darcy’s lips.
Instead, he inclined his head with the obvious intention of kissing her hands.
She suddenly withdrew her hands. “No…do not do that!”
At his wondering look, she whispered her reason, mortified. “Earlier, on the balcony…Mr Wickham kissed my hands. I do not want you to…”
She could not continue. Hiding her eyes, her head down, timid and unsure of what to do next, she waited for his reaction.
At first, under the power of his own emotions, Darcy failed to see the meaning of her words as rage and jealousy defeated him. A moment later, her reaction brought him the understanding he needed.
He took off his gloves and reached for her hands again, bringing them back to their position near his heart, caressing them lightly with his thumbs.
Slowly, never ceasing to search her eyes for a sign of disapproval and prepared to stop if she wanted him to, he nestled her two hands in his left one.
With a gentle touch, his right hand slowly removed her gloves, one finger after another with continuous care until her hands were free, uncovered, and bare in his—skin against skin.
Her fingers—cold, trembling, and shy—against his—strong, warm, and daring.
Though Elizabeth had memories of their holding hands on the way home three days before, the feeling at this touch was so powerful that it made her knees grow weak, and she almost lost her balance.
Then, while she could do nothing but stare mesmerised at him, his head lowered slowly, and his lips, soft and tentative, pressed against the back of each hand.
His eyes searched her face, but nothing there told him to stop.
He licked his lips to collect her scent, and then, tenderly, his thumbs never ceasing their strokes, he bestowed a lingering kiss in her palms.
Elizabeth felt she would faint. His lips were wet now yet burning, soft yet strong and gentle yet daring—not just pressing this time but kissing her palms. She closed her eyes, and the last thing she saw were his—also closed.
She was now certain she would faint. Desperately seeking support, Elizabeth leaned against him—body against body, but instead of wrapping her in his arms as she expected and desired him to do, he withdrew, putting a little distance between them.
Darcy’s emotions were even stronger than hers were—stronger than he had ever experienced before and more difficult to restrain.
He had touched, held, and kissed other women’s hands before—bare hands—a simple gesture that never aroused any sensation in him except, perhaps, a slight pleasure.
He had touched and held Elizabeth’s hands just a few days earlier on their way back from the cottage, but then the gesture was mostly protective.
But what had just passed between them was pure, blissful intimacy. He had crossed the limits of propriety, and he was fully aware of it; astonishingly, she had allowed it. She trusted him enough to allow this breach of propriety, and he did not fail to understand the meaning of her acceptance.
The taste of her skin on his lips aroused the most exquisite sensation in him—passion, desire, and need of a kind that could take full control of him were his honour not strong enough to resist. It was his duty and responsibility to control himself and his feelings; he could not betray her trust. Darcy separated from her reluctantly, every fibre of his body screaming for her closeness.
He knew only too well that, if he did not stop that instant, he would have a difficult time maintaining proper behaviour.
“Miss Elizabeth, I think we should go now; your father is expecting us shortly.” He smiled, trying to ease the tension.
She only nodded as Mr Darcy began to put her gloves back on with caring, protective and lingering moves, their hands touching.
It was as though they did not want to separate from each other.
The intensity of the moment and its meaning evaporated Elizabeth’s every rational thought.
She watched their joined hands as though she were hypnotised, happy but embarrassed, pleased but deeply ashamed by what had just passed between them.
Before Mr Darcy released her hands, he added softly, “I should like very much to call on you tomorrow if that would be acceptable to you.”
She knew her face was red with pleasant anticipation at his request, and she liked so much the feeling of his hand holding hers. She could not conquer her nervousness enough to face him, though she was attempting to regain her composure.
She whispered, “I should like that very much, Mr Darcy.”
They walked together to the door, their arms brushing lightly.
“Thank you. I shall look forward to it. Shall we return now?”
“Yes, thank you. I shall go into the ballroom first.”
She cast a last glance towards him and left the room. Darcy breathed deeply and smiled contentedly to himself, suddenly anxious to see her again. Hopefully, this will happen very soon.
∞∞∞
On her way to the ballroom, Elizabeth met her father.
“Are you all right, Lizzy?”
She looked at him, blushing. “Yes, I am. Thank you, Papa.”
“Very well then; let us enter. And I beg you: no more stories tonight! I am an old man, my child.” She began to laugh, grateful to her father for his understanding and attempt to cheer her.
Mr Bennet and his daughter entered the dining room, searching for their names on the cards.
Elizabeth was happy to find herself situated near Jane, who was at Mr Bingley’s right.
Across from Jane were Sir William and Lady Lucas and then her parents, followed by Mrs Long and Colonel Forster.
On her side of the table were a few empty chairs, and then, towards the middle of the table, Lydia, Kitty and Maria Lucas were across from some young officers—Mr Wickham among them—all of them already improperly talking and laughing quite loudly.
From the opposite end of the table, Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst were watching the whole exchange with a superior dignity and great enjoyment.
Elizabeth took a glass of water to cool herself and began to speak with Jane, flustered and embarrassed by the feeling that everybody knew what had just happened between her and Mr Darcy.
Her uneasiness increased on seeing the man himself enter only a few minutes later and take the chair to her right.
“I believe this is my place.”