Chapter 1.11 #2
“Yes, I am aware of that,” she whispered. “But Longbourn, though very charming, is quite crowded, would you not agree? Netherfield seems more appropriate for private talks.”
Bingley looked at her with an expression of deep gratitude, and Lady Cassandra burst out laughing. “I shall write Miss Bennet a note; I am sure Mrs Bennet will forgive you for breaking your promise to call again today.”
∞∞∞
“Charles, there is something I would like to discuss with you,” demanded Mrs Hurst half an hour later. “I understand you intend to visit Longbourn today, and I thought perhaps I should join you.”
“Yes, perhaps…But then again, perhaps not. I know how daunting a task it has always been for you to be in the Bennets’ company, and I would not want to expose you to such agony.”
“That is not true. I have always loved dearest Jane; she is such a sweet person. If not for her poor connections and disastrous family—
“Precisely; I would not have you bear her disastrous family until it is absolutely necessary.” Bingley moved toward the window to join Darcy in his preoccupation with the weather.
“Charles, what do you mean? What will be absolutely necessary? I do not understand you! I demand an explanation,” she cried, her voice rising higher.
“The rain has stopped,” Darcy announced soundly. “I need some fresh air.” Before Bingley was able to inquire, the door closed behind him.
Shortly after, Mrs Hurst left the library to conceal her frustration in the solitude of her room, hastening to write a letter to her sister in London to ask her help against their stubborn brother.
However, she had little hope that Caroline would join them in the next few days.
She had just received an express letter the night before; it contained the detailed description of a party hosted by Lady Sophia where Caroline had enjoyed a wonderful time and had met Lord Markham, a wealthy and handsome viscount who appeared to be interested in her.
Furthermore, Caroline had mentioned she was invited to the opera the next evening and then to a private ball where only Lady Sophia’s closest friends would join them.
Indeed, Mrs Hurst could not count on her younger sister’s support. If only she would manage to secure the viscount and compensate for Charles’s infatuation with the insignificant Jane Bennet.
∞∞∞
The clouds had vanished by the time Elizabeth reached the grove, and with each step, her heart raced more wildly. Her common sense told her she was behaving childishly; she should not expect that Mr Darcy would be there so many hours after their arranged appointment.
Yet, again, her heart won over her reason, and her hope became utter happiness when she saw Darcy descend from his horse and slowly walk toward her.
Their eyes met long before he finally stopped a few inches from her.
“Mr Darcy…what a wonderful surprise…” Her voice sounded barely audible even to herself.
“Miss Bennet—I did not expect to see you here at this hour.”
She struggled to smile back, desperately trying to think of something—anything—to say, but all she could do was remain still, staring into his eyes and wondering what would be the use of mere words.
“No, that is not true,” he continued as he moved a step closer. If he comes any nearer, she thought, there will be no space left between us.
“Miss Bennet, I did expect to see you here. In fact, I came here with the express hope of seeing you. I know I had no right to expect such a thing, I am aware of that, but somehow…I came here as soon as the rain stopped, hoping to meet you,” he repeated, his dark gaze burrowing into her soul.
“I came here hoping to see you, too,” she whispered, wondering if he heard her.
Indeed, he had heard her; the immediate change of his countenance and his fingers daringly taking her hands proved that.
Her own fingers instantly entwined with his as had happened their last night at Pemberley.
He smiled, showing her that he remembered.
“I was so angry with the rain this morning,” he continued while lifting their joined hands to his chest. I was tempted to come through the rain.”
“So was I,” she replied; her nervousness made her knees weak. He was so close that his scent intoxicated her. “But I restrained myself, as I could easily imagine the picture I would present to you after walking in the rain all the way up here,” she laughed, forcing herself to breathe normally.
“I remember that picture,” he answered, his voice low, his head leaning to whisper in her ear. “I remember the picture of you in the rain, and I can testify it was most wonderful.”
A wave of cold chills shook her body; he felt her quiver and withdrew a few inches to look at her, still not releasing her hands.
Unconsciously, she moved a step forward to maintain their closeness.
His hands suddenly released hers and, with tender care, his arms encircled her.
She was ensnared close to his chest, crushed against his heart.
With a will of their own, her arms shyly slid around his waist and, though she knew it was the silliest thing she had ever done and was embarrassed that she was making a fool of herself, Elizabeth began to cry silently—not from sorrow, yet countless tears spilled from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.
How was it possible for her eyes to cry while her heart was dancing with delight?
She thought she could not be happier but proved herself wrong when she felt his lips placing light kisses over her forehead just below her bonnet.
He noticed her frown and stopped, afraid she was displeased with his gestures.
And yes, she should have been displeased and should have separated from him instantly; that was what a proper lady would do.
Instead, she withdrew her hands from around him and untied her bonnet, threw it at her feet, and embraced his waist again, placing her head against his chest and waited—afraid and eager—anticipating his touch.
He did nothing, but his voice whispered her name, calling her “Elizabeth” with such tenderness, that it left her breathless. How was it possible that her name sounded so differently coming from him?
She lifted her eyes to him; his head was already lowered toward her, and their faces almost touched—so when his lips brushed against hers, she was not even surprised. She had no time really to feel their first kiss before he withdrew and his eyes searched hers with worry and hope.
“Elizabeth…were you crying?”
“Yes,” she admitted, yet her voice sounded light and lively and her eyes were laughing at him.
His thumbs gently wiped her tears away, and his lips followed them, tenderly touching her closed eyes and then travelling slowly down her face. When he reached the corner of her mouth, he stopped once more and looked at her soundly.
“My beautiful, crying lady, we cannot go further without talking first. You have owed me a private conversation since the day you left Pemberley.”
Her eyes saddened instantly as the smile vanished from her face. Her lips were trembling as she spoke. “That day…I was certain I would never see you again. While I waited for you to return, I received Jane’s letters…and after reading them, I was certain everything was lost forever.”