Author: Alix James
Category: Other
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Her heart was hammering in her ears, and her knees felt like water. She stumbled more than she leaned against the boulder, one hand to her forehead.
Mr. Darcy had proposed! With no indication of regard, no previous symptoms of attachment—he had simply blurted out a mangled request and expected her to comply! The man could have taught the word ‘arrogance’ its proper meaning.
She paced, she fumed, and even emitted a shriek of frustration when nothing else helped her to make sense of it all. The gray sky overhead and the brown grass at her feet yielded no answer, and she was left simply to make her way home, just as if it had been any other day.
She was not equal to the rocky path she had taken up the rise—that required care, precision, and all Elizabeth was capable of was a rushed departure. And so, she hurried down a different way, even knowing she would have to cross the stile from the Purvis’ fields, then enter the wood to make it home before the rain.
She gained the flat ground and began to run, her boots slipping in the mud and her skirts weighing heavily around her ankles. A raindrop splashed on her bonnet, followed by a second. Elizabeth stopped and looked around her.
Purvis’ estate had a cottage—it was not far, and her father had said it was vacant. He had even—much to Elizabeth’s amusement and her mother’s horror—suggested that they might rent the cottage to house Mr. Collins during his stay in Hertfordshire. It was a few moments out of her way, but perhaps she could wait out the rain for a short while, collect herself a bit, and return home without the stricken look that must surely haunt her now.
She followed the path, round the edge of the wood until she came to the old rail fence and stopped. A thin plume of smoke arose from the chimney. Elizabeth swallowed and backed up. Who…?
The sound of a wood cart in the distance came to her next, and she strained to discover where it had come from. Then, rounding a tree into the clearing, she could see a farmer… why, it was none other than Robert Brown! And beside him on the cart rode his wife. What could be…? She placed her palm silently on the fence rail and stood on her toes to see better.
“Miss Elizabeth!”
She jumped and emitted a shriek of surprise as she spun around. It was Mr. Collins, with his plain hat set high on a perspiring forehead and his beefy hand gripping a walking stick.
“Indeed, my dear cousin,” he intoned gravely, “I had feared greatly for your safety when I saw you set out. I could not prevail upon your father to forbid your going, but when you left sight of the house, I naturally considered it my duty to see to your safety. Why, only imagine what Lady Catherine might say if it were learned that one of my own fair cousins was lost in a rainstorm whilst I might have been at hand to prevent it! When I saw you racing down that hill in such a devil-may-care fashion, I knew I must take it upon myself to… were you with someone? I say, were you going to that cottage just there?”
Elizabeth scowled. “I walked out entirely alone, and I was just turning back to Longbourn.”
“But I was certain I heard voices a few moments ago. Who lives in that cottage there?” he insisted, trying to twist about and see over Elizabeth’s head.
“I do not know who it is,” she interrupted, trying to catch his arm and force him to escort her. “Come, Mama will be impatient for our return.”
“Just so, Cousin. Now, Miss Elizabeth, I do hope this behavior is not a symptom of wantonness or any such vile tendencies. I cannot abide that sort of conceited independence in a woman, and…”
Elizabeth forced herself to ignore him and turned her head to send one last dismayed glance into the wood. Whatever mystery she had uncovered at the Purvis cottage, she was not prepared to share it with her pompous cousin. She ground her teeth and squashed down any feeling that arose until later, when she could afford to examine it in privacy.
18
Darcy slammed his hat down on the writing desk. His gloves followed, and then his coat sailed over the post of the bed. She did not love him… had not, in fact, been hinting at an interest—no, it was worse. She distrusted him, thought him faithless, and even dangerous!
He paced across the room, his head splitting with fury and bewilderment. Wickham—always Wickham! First, he had tried to corrupt Georgiana, and now Elizabeth. His fingers knotted in his hair, and he hissed out an oath.
A knock sounded at his door, but he had no chance to deny the request before Richard stuck his head into the room. “I was waiting for you to come back. Where have you—good heavens, man, what is the matter?”
Darcy pinched his lips and turned around. “Nothing.”
“There bloody well is something. What, did Lady Catherine write at last? Are we to expect her on the steps of Netherfield?”
Darcy blew out a sigh. “I have heard nothing from Lady Catherine. It is a personal matter.”
His cousin came fully into the room and surveyed him from head to foot. “Personal, eh? Well, do you have any capacity left over to answer a matter of family business?”
Darcy suppressed a growl of frustration. “What is it?”
“Daniel Sullivan. One of us must answer his latest letter. Apparently, his elder brother is now expressing disapproval of his marital aspirations and trying to keep him from the altar. I am wondering how much of that might have been influenced by his cousin Coburg, who is Lady Catherine’s nearest neighbor, who…”
“What must be done?” Darcy interrupted wearily. “Has he postponed the ceremony?”
Richard edged cautiously into the center of the room, dropped into a chair, and put his feet out. “He did not say that, but he is expressing doubt as to whether we ought to escort Anne to Plymouth next week. I brought the letter… here it is. I thought it might be better if you answered it.”
Darcy took it and scanned it. “Why me?”
Richard offered a crooked grin. “Well, if it were a matter of personal confrontation, I should have done it, but you express yourself on paper like no other man I know.”
Darcy narrowed his eyes. “On paper.”
“Of course. You have the finest hand of anyone in the family, and you labor over each word so arduously that your letters could withstand even the harshest scrutiny. Do you mind?”
Darcy folded the letter once more and dropped it on the desk beside his hat. “Very well. What of Anne? Have you told her?”
“I thought I would speak to you first, but yes, if it comes to soothing feminine worries, I suppose the task ought to fall to me. By the by, whatever came of that Elizabeth Bennet matter?”
Darcy fought a cough. “What do you mean by that?”
“Is there not a ball tomorrow? And will she not be in attendance? I assume all the local ladies will be present—gossip aplenty, fair faces robbing men of their sense as far as the eye can see.”
“What has that to do with anything?”
Richard rose with a sly grin. “The last complication we need is a curious local woman casting aspersions just now. You will have every brainless girl in Hertfordshire tittering intrigue and every witless bloke in the neighborhood eager to lay wagers and bandy names, including that parson of Lady Catherine’s. Everyone in town all together like that, plenty of spirits flowing? That is a recipe for disaster, especially when Miss Long, a well-known local girl who would normally attend that ball, is not there to enjoy the revelry. A word of advice? Corner your Miss Elizabeth at the ball and keep her attention on you all evening.”
Darcy turned away. “You do not know how difficult a thing you ask.”
“Difficult! When has the master of Pemberley ever failed to attract whichever dance partners he desired? Find some way to satisfy her curiosity, that is all I am saying. Make an ally or a conquest of her—whatever it takes. If it creates a different sort of gossip, well… all the better for Anne, I suppose.”
Darcy spun back and forth on the balls of his feet as he paced and bit out a terse reply. “I will not compromise one lady to salvage the reputation of another who has been a greater fool! Even if I could, I would
not, but it is not possible in any case. Elizabeth Bennet would not dance with me if I were the last man in the world. Do I make myself clear?”
Richard lifted his brows. “Well… perhaps you will just have to become the ‘last man in the world’ and put that theory to the test.” A cryptic smile turned the corner of his mouth, and his eyes wandered to the ceiling. “Indeed, it could work.”
“If you are meaning to control idle talk by commanding the attention of only one lady, be assured that Miss Bennet is not a gossip. Others will say far more than she. Moreover, if it is a matter of securing her interest and even enlisting her aid to direct the conversations in the room, you would have better luck than I, I promise you.”
Richard frowned. “Then find some other means of quieting talk before it rises up to plague us. Distract the troublemakers—or tell Miss Bennet the truth! Write a bleeding letter if you must.”
Darcy pulled out the chair at his writing desk, staring down at the ink well with growing resolve. “A letter. Yes, the very thing. I shall attend to it at once.”
19
Elizabeth pondered in fruitless torment all that afternoon and well into the following day. There was no opportunity for her to go back, no chance to answer her questions or settle her suspicions. She could not even express her affliction to Jane, for that would mean confessing all… no, she could not risk that just yet. She was a speechless wretch, suffering in mournful anticipation as the swirling press of the day brought her ever closer to evening, and the surety of Mr. Darcy’s presence at the ball.
Over and again, she recalled the image in her mind—that had been the Browns, and no one held a lash over them or a pistol to their heads. And if they were there, who was in that cottage? A seed of doubt had burrowed into the pit of her stomach, twining and growing there until she felt perfectly ill—convicted that she had done a terrible injustice in accusing Mr. Darcy of maleficence. Whatever the truth was, it was nothing like her blackened suspicions.
And so, when she took her place in the family procession up the steps of Netherfield, she was determined to avoid Mr. Darcy’s gaze. To her immense relief, he was not in the receiving line, but a casual remark by Mr. Bingley informed her that he had not, contrary to her desperate hopes, taken a fast coach for London, and was, in fact, intending to dance that evening. Dazed from the embarrassed flush of guilt burning every inch of her skin, she rounded her shoulders and crept meekly into the ballroom.
“Ah, Miss Elizabeth!” Colonel Fitzwilliam appeared before her and offered a cordial bow. “You are looking lovely this evening. I hope I might have the pleasure of a dance before the night is out?”
She blinked and stammered a barely coherent response. “Uhm… certainly, Colonel, my… my sets are not all spoken for.”
“Excellent. Then I shall claim the set after supper, if I may be so bold.”
“You may… thank you, Colonel.” And then, for some reason she could not comprehend, her eyes were scanning the upper staircase and balcony. She looked consciously back to the colonel, who had not missed her distractibility.
He offered a peculiar smile—one laden with unspoken meaning. “Well, I shall not keep you from forming other engagements, Miss Elizabeth. Oh, I believe Darcy will be down soon,” he said offhandedly. “Poor fellow was bent over his desk all day, and much of the night, I think. Barely stopped writing in time to dress. Ah, if you will forgive me, I wished to engage Miss Bennet for the quadrille. I beg your pardon?”
Elizabeth gave a tense nod and stepped back, watching him go. No sooner had he passed, however, than Lieutenant Wickham presented himself. “Miss Elizabeth! I hope you mean to do me the honor this evening?”
She laughed. “Naturally, Mr. Wickham, I could not do otherwise.”
“Excellent. You made me nervous just now, speaking to Fitzwilliam.”
She glanced over at the colonel, who was bowing to Jane. “Oh? Is he not a friend, Lieutenant?”
“Permit me to say that I am trying to keep on the opposite side of the room from any of that set. Fitzwilliam does whatever Darcy says, and Darcy—well, I have already told you why he and I are not friends. It is a pity that I must merely take my chances, asking my favorite ladies for a half-hour only after Fitzwilliam and Darcy have already had the pleasure, but ‘twould not do to cause a scene in Mr. Bingley’s home, you understand.”
Elizabeth graced him with a sympathetic smile. “Well, you have nothing to worry on my account, for I should have saved you a set. To be sure, I do not anticipate fielding such a request from Mr. Darcy, so we are both quite safe.”
“Safe, indeed!” he chuckled. “Then may I have the honor of the first, Miss Elizabeth?”
She sighed. “I wish I could, but my cousin has already spoken for that one. The second?”
The lieutenant bowed graciously. “It would be my pleasure, Miss Elizabeth. I would like to stay and talk with you more, but I daren’t cool my heels too long with Fitzwilliam and Darcy both circling the room. I will see you soon?”
She nodded and stepped back, permitting him to blend into the group of officers once more. A shame, that such a cheerful and well-favored man would be made so uncomfortable by others, but she could empathize. There were a few here whose presence she would evade herself, if she could. In fact, if she vanished into the ladies’ retiring room now, it might not be too late to avoid…
“Fair cousin?”
Elizabeth fought a shriveling sense of dread and turned round to face Mr. Collins. He bowed, nearly spilling his drink. “Shall I fetch you some refreshment? I hope I am not too forward when I confess it, and I am certain you will understand and welcome my assurances. I mean to remain close by your side this evening, and I hope by my nearness, you will be spared unwanted attentions from other quarters.” He beamed, a toothy grin made all the more revolting by the faint leer in his eye.
Elizabeth sucked in a bracing breath and prepared for an evening that would be sure to last all year.
Darcy tugged once more at his golden waistcoat. He ought to have worn an older one, a darker shade, less conspicuous… but even in the most impersonal tide of dancers, his height and face were impossible to conceal. Here at Netherfield, there was no hope that he would not be among the most watched persons all evening. He straightened, put a hand on his door latch, and discovered it to be trembling. Perhaps it was not every day that a man confronted the woman who had crushed his heart and abused his character only the day before, but he would survive. He must.
From the landing, he caught sight of her. She was breezing toward the hall; her strides long and purposeful, unlike others, who lingered and twirled about in awe of the candle-lit ballroom. Something had provoked her. His only hope of giving her his letter was to pass it unobserved… no, not during a dance, he decided. Even if she would grant him one, the likelihood of discovery was too high. It must be now, perhaps as she hurried to the retiring room.
He hastened down the stairs and timed his arrival in the hall to coincide with hers. Had he no other purpose, he might have drawn up, short of breath and longing only for her to stand still before him, so he might admire her. Her silken hair was elegantly twined and threaded with dusky flowers, her flowing gown better fitted to her light figure than any he had yet seen. Even her skin on this night seemed more vibrant, her lips more luscious than ever before as they parted in surprise.
“Mr. Darcy,” she greeted him briskly.
He bowed. “Miss Elizabeth. Forgive me, but you seem to have just dropped this.” He extended a folded handkerchief, taking care that anyone about would see that it was nothing suspicious—only a neatly presented square of linen.
She hesitated, and her mouth opened as if to object, but then she looked up to his eyes. Her lashes twitched fractionally, and her expression smoothed. “How clumsy of me. Thank you, Mr. Darcy, for preserving my dignity by returning it before another might have found it.”
He bowed once more. “I wish you a pleasant evening, Miss Elizabeth.” He stepped back, and most a
gonizing of all, he turned away, without ever once asking her for a dance.
20
Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder. The retiring room was nothing but a bustling covey of lace and flowers, perfumes and gossip. No hope of privacy there, and certainly none if she showed her face in the ballroom again. With sudden decision, she rose and left the retiring room. No one was inhabiting the hall down to the left, which she knew to lead outdoors. A moment later, she had slipped out to a balcony above the garden, the long door closing off the heat and noise behind her.
The handkerchief was nothing remarkable, but the moment Mr. Darcy had passed it into her hand, she had felt the rigidness at its center. A note, written close and folded tightly into a square no more than two inches across. Elizabeth worked carefully at its edges until it opened before her, then she turned to catch the light from a torch beside the door.
Miss Elizabeth,
There is much I would wish to say, but in the interests of avoiding discovery, I must keep this note brief, so it may be all the more easily concealed. I first offer my gratitude that you have deigned to accept and read it. I trusted in your curiosity and even more in your perception to receive what I must say with discretion and grace.
I shall not address the feelings I related yesterday, which you found so repulsive. I must, however, be permitted to defend my honor and, in so doing, reveal the truth about some apparent misconceptions. Your cousin, Mr. Collins, has no doubt told you a great deal of my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. He may have also informed you that she has long expressed a desire for me to wed my cousin Anne, thereby uniting both estates and relieving her own responsibilities. Neither my cousin nor I desired this, though we have remained friends for many years.
On the very day you and your sister departed Netherfield, I received word from my cousin that she accepted an offer of which her mother did not approve. She had subsequently run from home via post-chaise, and was even then sheltering at the inn in Meryton. She hoped to enlist my aid in hiding from her mother until her betrothed could have the banns read in his home parish and they could be wed, far away from her mother’s knowledge or influence. Naturally, I could do nothing else but respond, although it has chafed my conscience ever since to compound one falsehood atop another until I cannot even speak the truth without a sense of guilt.