Darcy was still awake well into the early hours of the next morning. He sat back in his chair in the privacy of his room, brandy in one hand, hardly touched, a book in the other, unopened. The curtains were not drawn and he gazed out at the night sky. There was hardly a candle alight in any other window now and all the street lighting had long been extinguished.
He wondered whether Elizabeth were still awake. Was she as restless, as confused and as agitated as he? He shifted in the chair – it would not do to think about Elizabeth Bennet in her nightgown, her hair down and splayed about a pillow, tossing and turning in her bed. If he continued in such a vein, sleep would never find him.
Yet his thoughts still strayed to her. He had not been fortunate enough at the end of the evening to press his lips to her hand after all. The assembly rooms had seemed too busy and he had been conscious of her family and Georgiana around them. Elizabeth had politely accepted a ride home with the Turners and Darcy had gone with Mrs Mountford. He had helped her with her cloak though, and her soft look up at him had prompted him to lean down with a question. Not the question he really wanted answering. After the sheer unadulterated disaster of his first proposal, she deserved something more than a rushed whisper in her ear. But he had asked her if he might call on her soon and had received a quick nod in reply, as her face had flushed prettily.
He put down his glass and book and began to pace, his spirits too tumultuous for him to be still.
The very next time he saw her, he decided with determination, he would ask for a second chance - an opportunity to prove himself at least. If she was not of a mind to leap into marriage –and he would understand some reluctance on her part - then he would seek her agreement to court her and spend time in her company to try and engage her affection. He felt sure she was more disposed towards him now. This was not like Rosings when he had mistaken her teasing nature for a wish to entice him and her silence during their walks together for a wish to appear demure. He laughed now at how wrong he had been. All the while he had been concerned about how the world might view their match and he had not given any deep consideration to how she regarded him. What a cuckold he had been, ‘selfish disdain for the feeling of others’ indeed.
He paced some more and then taking the glass of brandy he swallowed it in one go, shuddering as the liquid burned on its journey down his throat. Despite its inauspicious beginnings he had enjoyed the evening immensely. He had liked Mr Turner. He was a man who Darcy found it easy to converse with. He spoke not of hunting or fishing, or cards or horses, but of his young family, who he clearly adored and of his business, which he had built from nothing and of his previously humble origins, of which he was not at all ashamed, but proud. Jane Turner was as sweet and amiable as Bingley had once described her, and Darcy had found on closer acquaintance, that she had a sharp, well-hidden wit that only occasionally surfaced when she was comfortable with her companions. She was not as bold in displaying it as his Elizabeth, but it was most certainly in existence. Darcy had always liked Mrs Mountford, ever since their first conversation on the night of the Fitzwilliams dinner. She had intelligence and good sense, and a love for Elizabeth that could only endear her to Darcy. As he had stood in the assembly rooms he had imagined their little party far away at Pemberley and thought of how much he would enjoy such a future gathering, and how much Georgiana would like it too. Then he started to think of Elizabeth as mistress of his home and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth unbidden. How she would love the grounds, the park and lake, but particularly the woods. They would walk them together and he would see them anew through her eyes. She would like the orangery too and the folly. He hoped she would admire the house, but if she did not, he would allow her to redecorate the whole pile, floor by floor, to her own taste, if only she would accept him. Hang the expense.
He imagined the servants being charmed into following her instructions. There would be no requirement for raised voices or imperious behaviour; her affability would ensure they would simply follow where she led. Managing such a large house was no easy task, but she was not lacking in any of the necessary qualities. Nor would she be overwhelmed by the responsibility. Unlike his first wife!
How different would this marriage be? How happy it would make him to have love and affection around him - to have the woman he had admired for so long by his side. All his interactions with Anne had been of a distant, polite nature, even the night-time interactions, which he remembered now with a touch of shame. He could still see Anne’s profile, her face averted, her eyes closed. On the first occasion she had told him she would rather not remove her nightgown for the ‘proceedings’ – as she had termed them - and he had found himself only too ready to agree. What a sad state of affairs it had been when he, a red-blooded male had found absolutely no interest in seeing his wife naked. Due to the circumstances of their rushed marriage, the consummation had not come until they had been wed many months already and then only because he’d felt they ought to come together to try for an heir. He had drunk a lot of wine that night and it had allowed him to put things to the back of his mind – her thin cold body, the bony knees he’d had to persuade apart, the awful quietness in the room that had allowed him to hear his own ragged breathing and the slap of his body against hers. When after a year or so, no heirs appeared to be forthcoming, the ‘proceedings’ were abandoned by mutual agreement and he had been glad - despite the passing physical gratification it had brought. He could not face another marriage of convenience, a soulless joining of fortunes. It would not be so with Elizabeth. She would not avert her eyes, she would meet his passion with the full force of her own.
And, God willing, there would be children. Lively, happy, beautiful dark haired children with sparkling eyes.
He stopped and took a steadying breath. He was getting too far ahead of himself. He was planning a whole future on the basis of a few smiles. Promising smiles, admittedly and some flirting and an agreement he would call upon her.
If he was lucky enough to gain her agreement, or even an acceptance, or a promise, then he might give free rein to flights of fancy. Now he needed to remain calm and sleep. He poured himself another measure of brandy and again swallowed it in one go, before laying down on the bed with a hand over his eyes.
The alcohol began to work its magic and he was asleep in a little over a half hour, just as a tiny gig pulled up quietly in the street below and a cloaked figure emerged from a side entrance. The man and woman met by pre-arranged appointment. They laughed quietly, pleased by the great adventure. He stored away her meagre luggage and they were off, bound for Scotland.