Chapter 9
NINE
“Have you determined the life of country lawyer is for you, sir?”
Darcy looked up from his chair, roused from a restless, joyless reverie. Elizabeth stood at the door, observing him closely.
“Much as I am certain my uncle appreciated your assistance, you will be pleased to know the rain has ended, the sun is out, and I have been summoned home by my sisters.”
“Then we are to be freed from our confinement.” He rubbed his face and, setting aside the dullest book he had ever chanced to open, stood. “I shall gather my things and thank your relations for their hospitality. My carriage will take you to Longbourn.”
Elizabeth seemed on the verge of speaking, but only inclined her head. The restraint of it unsettled him more than any reproach. Less relieved than burdened, Darcy withdrew to make their arrangements.
Within half an hour they were seated opposite one another, the carriage moving slowly along the sodden lane. Darcy fixed his gaze upon his hands, every word he wished to speak pressing painfully against his silence.
“You are quiet today, sir.”
He started slightly and looked up. Quiet?
He had thought his silence a kindness—sparing her the discomfort of his company, of feelings she could not return.
He had fled to her uncle’s affairs to escape himself, only to find the work insufferably tedious and his thoughts ungovernable.
Mrs Philips’s careless words had pursued him relentlessly.
‘I know how you hate him.’
Elizabeth had not contradicted her aunt’s words—not where he could hear it. And so he had turned it over and over, recalling every smile, every glance he had once believed playful, only now to suspect them cruel. Had she been amused by him? Had he mistaken mockery for wit, indulgence for regard?
And yet last evening...
He lifted his eyes to her, struck by the pallor of her face, the softness of her expression…
and something like hurt within it. “Is it true? That you do not like me—have never liked me—and that your civility has been only for the sake of your family? That last evening… that it was nothing but a lark, and I imagined the comfortable familiarity between us?”
Her eyes widened, and she lifted her hand as if to stop him.
“No! You heard my aunt speaking without thought, and in ignorance. I was foolishly indiscreet about my wounded feelings after our first meeting; my mother and aunt have made more of it than it deserves. I am sorry you were hurt—but it is not true.”
“I injured you?”
She hesitated, and after a deep breath, shook her head. “I took to heart an unguarded remark, one I realised later was made when you were pressed to behave against your inclinations.”
“You must tell me what I said.”
Her voice softened. “That I was tolerable—but not handsome enough to tempt you.”
Cursing his stupidity, Darcy reached for her hand. “At the assembly? Oh Elizabeth, I was a fool. Bingley would not be silent, Miss Bingley would not be kind, and rather than endure them, I spoke carelessly, rudely. It is wholly untrue.”
His voice deepened, earnest beyond restraint. “I have never known a woman so handsome.”
A most becoming blush rose to her cheeks, and he felt the tremor in her hand. Her eyes met his—bright, uncertain, searching.
“You contradict yourself, sir. Is your opinion not fixed forever?”
The words struck him with full force. Had he spent all his time in Meryton making grand, stupid pronouncements? Idiot!
“Some opinions are,” he said. “I loathe a lumpy mattress, I shall never trust those who cannot love a dog, and as of yesterday, I am wary of mushrooms.” A faint, self-conscious smile touched his lips. “But in this, in you, I have never been mistaken.”
His voice steadied, though his heart did not. “You, Elizabeth Bennet, are lovely, intelligent, and spirited beyond any woman I have ever known—and you have, quite against my will, compelled my affections.”
Her astonished ‘Oh’ pushed him to demand, gently, “What of your opinion? Do you still dislike me?”
“I never disliked you, truly,” she said softly. “Your pride incited some offence, and thus my teasing resentment. But having now seen you in my uncle’s most dreadful banyan, I can never again accuse you of pride.”
Her teasing faltered, her voice gentling. “After the events of the past day, how could I not like you?”
Hope, sharp and unfamiliar, rose within him. “You have seen me at my worst.”
“Your ‘worst’ is hardly terrible. I am grateful you have yet to see mine,” she replied. “But we are friends now—and friends who understand one another better than most.”
“More than friends,” he said, before caution could silence him. “At least, on my side, more than I ever intended, or believed possible.”
She drew a breath, but did not withdraw her hand.
“I feel,” he continued, quieter now, “as though I have come to know you with a rapidity that defies all reason. The unnatural honesty and intimacy of our conversations was allowed by the impropriety of the late hour and dimness of the room.”
Elizabeth laughed softly. “It was shockingly improper.”
Darcy leant slightly forward, his gaze fixed upon hers. “And yet here, in the glory of daylight, I cannot wish it undone.”
“Nor I,” she admitted.
Encouraged, he pressed on, his restraint slipping at last. “You have sometimes chosen to misunderstand me—but I beg you, do not do so now. I wish, if you will allow it, to call upon you at Longbourn. After all, I have not yet spoken of Venice, nor told you of the walks and climbs I hope to show you in the Lakes and Peaks. Oh,” he smiled.
“And Brighton, of course. You wish to visit the sea.”
“I-I...”
“In short, Elizabeth, I would court you, with all the steadiness of purpose I possess.”
Her eyes widened, warmth and wonder shining within them. “You have known me but a month?—”
“And been in danger of you for more half that time,” he replied, his voice low but resolute. “Long enough to know I cannot be easy until I know my fate.”
When she blushed, her expression somehow laughing but shy, he wanted to kiss her more than words could say. In spite of these near overwhelming feelings, he restrained himself.
“Only say that I may try—and I will prove myself worthy of you.”
For a moment she did not speak. Her eyes searched his face as if to assure herself that this was no passing impulse, no fleeting gallantry, but something steady, something real.
Then, with a soft, unsteady breath, her fingers tightened in his.
“You speak as though I hold all the power,” she said, her voice gentler than he had ever heard it.
“But you must know, sir, you cannot have been alone in such danger.”
Hope surged within him.
“I tried to dislike you. I believed I had reason to,” she continued.
“I could not be indifferent to you at all, and it annoyed me not to understand the reasons why you intrigued me.” Her gaze dropped briefly to their joined hands before lifting again, bright and certain.
“You would not remain the man I first judged. It was my error, and somewhere along the way, perhaps when I saw you making crumbs of my aunt’s shortbread, I understood that what I truly felt was attraction, one I knew could not be reciprocated. ”
Darcy drew a breath as though he had been held suspended and only now released. “But it is! And so I may try?—”
“Yes,” she said, her voice warm and joyful. “I would have you try, Mr Darcy, for I believe you will not try alone.”
The carriage seemed suddenly too small to contain the force of what passed between them. Darcy lifted her hand to his lips, his composure shaken at last. “You give me more happiness than I deserve,” he said softly.
Elizabeth’s smile was radiant.
“Then you must endeavour to deserve it.”