She came into the room, her form light and graceful as always, the curves of her body exposed by the lines of her dress. He stood politely, and said, “Miss Bennet, this is a most pleasant surprise.”
She looked at him boldly, a smile playing about her tempting lips, saying, “Surely you knew I would come, Mr. Darcy.”
Involuntarily he took a step towards her, and as he drew nearer, he could see her fine eyes filled with that look of awareness they had held earlier. His breathing became more rapid, and he knew she could read his desire in his stance. “No, I did not,” he said, distracted by the knowledge that she was no more than an arm’s length away from him. “I never seem to know what to expect of you.”
She moved closer, the restless movement of her hands betraying her nervousness. Her eyes darted away from him, a delicate blush rising in her face. He could not help himself; he reached out and touched the soft skin of her cheek with his fingertips, and a powerful surge of desire overtook him. She looked up at him through her lashes, her lips slightly parted.
He could not refuse her unconscious invitation; slowly he lowered his lips until they touched hers. She did not protest, and her hand stole around his neck to prevent an escape for which he had no wish. Deeper and deeper he tasted her, until he knew beyond a doubt that she was his for the asking. In exultation, he caught her hips in his hands, then drew her towards him until he felt the shock of her supple body against his, her need for him expressed in the manner in which she arched against him and gasped as his lips travelled over her face, across her neck, and down into the exposed soft skin of her shoulder.
“Please,” she begged, and he was only too happy to oblige.
***
Darcy opened his eyes to discover light streaming in the window. With a groan he buried his face in his pillow, willing sleep and his dream to return. He hated the abrupt shift from the warmth and happiness of his dreams of Elizabeth to the cold reality that all he would ever have of her was a few memories of visits, watching her play and sing, and being teased by her sparkling eyes. Another man would discover the reality of all his dreams. But it made no difference; for months, there had been dreams almost every night, and he doubted they would stop now.
There was a new poignant sense of loss this morning, though. In a way it was a comfort to know that Elizabeth could feel some attraction to him, that there could be in this sense some truth to his dream, but knowing what could be only added to the pain of knowing he would never experience it.
He thought back to the previous day. It became evident when they returned to Longbourn that Elizabeth was taking advantage of the excitement over Jane’s engagement to avoid private conversation with him. He knew she was only behaving as she ought, how she must behave even if her feelings for him had been far stronger than they were. He would never have wanted her to do otherwise—no, that was a lie; he was far beyond caring what rules of propriety were violated if it meant that any part of her could be his. It was irrelevant, though, since she would never go so far herself.
He rose from the bed, realizing these thoughts were bound to continue to torture him until he could find relief in her presence again. Bingley was no doubt going to Longbourn this morning, if he was not already there; it was enough of an excuse for Darcy to go there too.
***
A pattern was thus begun. Bingley from this time was of course a daily visitor to Longbourn, and almost always came accompanied by his friend. Elizabeth, who was usually left in the somewhat uncomfortable position of being chaperone to the two lovers, gradually grew to be more comfortable in Darcy’s presence, mostly by refusing to allow herself to consider any of their past interactions or the reason for his presence in Hertfordshire, and more specifically in her company. He proved in general an engaging companion, which was rather useful since neither Jane nor Bingley had any attention to bestow on anyone else in the other’s presence. His behaviour was always completely proper; and if her engagement was a subject which was completely avoided by both of them, the rules of it were forgotten by neither.
“So, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth one morning after a week or so of these visits, a hint of a smile lurking around her mouth, “tell me about Pemberley—I heard so much praise for it last autumn from Miss Bingley that it has quite taken on legendary status in my mind.”
Darcy raised an eyebrow, well aware he was being teased. “Legendary, Miss Bennet?”
She seemed to be paying great attention to her embroidery. “Well, from Miss Bingley’s description, I understand that Pemberley is altogether larger and grander than Blenheim and Chatsworth put together, and that Kew has nothing compared to the gardens of Pemberley.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “Then she no doubt told you that the park is of a natural beauty unparalleled in England, and covers in extent almost half of Derbyshire.”
“Only half?” Elizabeth turned eyes full of laughter up at him. “I do not know, then, how there would be room for all the marvels she mentioned, the peacocks roaming the grounds, the tame deer…”
“Oh, the tame deer are nothing,” he responded gravely. “The tame tigers patrolling the grounds are more unique, not to mention the unicorns and the phoenix that inhabit the woods.”
“Tigers? I am not certain that I would care to meet one of them, tame or not,” said Elizabeth teasingly. “And I suspect that very little at Pemberley is truly tame, in any case.”
“Miss Bennet, you dismay me with your doubts! Of course they are tame—we have hereditary gamekeepers whose sole employ is to tame the tigers, and only very rarely is one of them eaten alive.”
“Do not the tigers eat the unicorns, as well?”
“Not at all,” he said, his voice suddenly taking on a more serious note. “The tigers protect the unicorns.”
Something in his air caused a shiver to go up Elizabeth’s spine. Bingley, rolling his eyes at their foolishness, encouraged them all to walk in the garden “despite the absence of leopards, unicorns, and whatnot.” Elizabeth was agreeable to this distraction from the increasingly intense look in Mr. Darcy’s eyes, but just at that moment, Mr. Covington was announced.
Elizabeth felt a moment of confusion, but collected herself to greet him warmly. She had a distinct consciousness of Darcy’s eyes upon her.
“Lizzy, it is a pleasure to see you—you are looking quite lovely today,” said Mr. Covington gallantly, then greeted the others.
“We were about to take a stroll in the garden, sir,” said Jane. “Perhaps you would care to join us?”
“Mr. Covington has just ridden in,” objected Elizabeth, who was eager to separate her fiancé from Mr. Darcy, “and I am certain some refreshment is in order. Let me see to that while you walk out, and perhaps we will be able to join you later.”
Mr. Covington, his eyes on Elizabeth, acknowledged that he would rather stay within. Bingley, hoping to give the two some privacy, prevailed upon Jane to continue with their plan, and said, “Darcy, you must come, too—the fresh air will do you good.”
“Not now, thank you, Bingley,” said Darcy dryly. “I would enjoy some refreshment myself.”
Elizabeth shot him a glance as the other two departed. “Of course, Mr. Darcy, as you wish,” she said neutrally. “I hope your mother is in good health, Mr. Covington.”
“I am glad to say she is continuing to do well, and sends you her compliments,” he replied. “She would have liked to have joined me today, but the carriage is under repair.”
“What a pity! I should have enjoyed seeing her,” said Elizabeth with real regret.
He inquired after her family as Darcy looked on sardonically, wondering what Elizabeth could possibly see in this dull fellow. It grated on his nerves every time Covington called her by her name or allowed an admiring look to rest upon her. Nevertheless, he gave no thought to leaving; as vividly unpleasant as this might be, nothing would induce him to leave Elizabeth alone with Covington while he had a choice in the matter. There was a certain ironic humour, he reflected, in finding himself as her chaperone.
“It has been quite busy at Ashworth. Part of the road washed out in the rains last week, and we have some men working on that, but of course with the harvest coming in, the timing could not be worse,” said Covington. “I am glad to be able to say that we did lay hands on the poachers who had been troubling us, though, and I wager they will not be doing it again!”
“Were they local men?” inquired Elizabeth, who was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the dark silence emanating from Darcy.
“No, fortunately—that always makes it so much more difficult. Then we have to deal with the problem of the families, which is always painful.”
Elizabeth turned to Darcy, determined to draw him into the conversation. “Do you ever have problems with poachers at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy?”
He looked directly at her, and said, “No, Miss Bennet; the tigers take care of them.” He was pleased to see the corners of her mouth twitch.
Mr. Covington looked disconcerted. “Tigers, Mr. Darcy?” he asked politely.
“A joke, sir,” Elizabeth said quickly. “We were spinning stories earlier about the wild creatures of Derbyshire.”
“I see,” he said, looking baffled.
Elizabeth quickly shifted the conversation to a new subject. She could sense Darcy’s eye on her, and once her guest was suitably distracted, she gave him a quick glare. He responded with a slow, mocking look that made her feel hot inside, and she quickly turned her attention away from him.
She made no further attempts to include him in the discourse between her and Mr. Covington, but his presence could not be forgotten for a minute. Even when they finally walked out to join Jane and Bingley in the garden, he did not allow her to walk alone with Mr. Covington, but instead walked on her left side, close enough to her to be skirting the boundaries of propriety.
It seemed as if he were almost issuing a challenge to her, and Elizabeth found it agitated her in ways both pleasant and irksome, but became increasingly more vexatious as the afternoon wore on. After all, how dare he behave as if I have no right to enjoy the company of my betrothed! He has no rights over me, none at all, she thought in exasperation. It is fortunate that Mr. Covington is good-natured; otherwise there might be trouble!
He did not leave her alone even for a moment, and finally, as it drew time for Mr. Covington to depart, she walked him out to his horse after giving Darcy a heated glare which could not be misinterpreted. It earned her a short distance of freedom, enough that she could converse in quiet tones with Mr. Covington without being overheard. “Thank you for calling, James,” she said, feeling oddly as if she should apologize for Darcy’s behaviour.
He smiled widely at her use of his name. “It was my pleasure, dearest one,” he said. “I could have wished for a little time alone with you, though—has your father appointed Mr. Darcy as your watchdog?”
Elizabeth could not help laughing at the idea of her father working in concert with Darcy on such a matter. “I doubt it,” she said. “I fear it is his own idea of being responsible; he has a younger sister whose guardian he is.”
He stepped a little closer to her and raised her hand to his mouth. Kissing it lightly but lingeringly, he said, “Poor girl! He must watch over her like a hawk. Well, perhaps we will have better luck next week.”
She smiled obediently, but dropped her eyes, and knew that her blush at his implication was more out of concern for what Darcy thought of what was happening between them than for his actual words.
“Until next week, then,” she said lightly.
“I will look forward to it, sweet Lizzy,” he said softly. With a sharp glance at Darcy which said this was no concern of his, he leaned over to kiss her cheek, then mounted and was off, pausing to wave from the gate.
She took several deep breaths to calm herself before turning to walk the dozen steps that separated her from Darcy. She would not be intimidated by him, she resolved—having made in the past a proposal she had refused conferred no special rights on him now.
“Miss Bennet,” he greeted her quietly as she made an attempt to walk past him into the house.
She turned and gave him a sharp look. “Well, I hope you enjoyed yourself, Mr. Darcy,” she said tartly.
“Not as much as I might have,” he replied enigmatically, then added with a mocking inflection, “Lizzy.”
Her eyes flashed with anger. “You forget yourself, sir,” she said icily.
He said nothing but bowed slightly. To Elizabeth’s relief, they were joined then by Jane, preventing any further discourse in this dangerous direction.
***
He was galloping pell-mell over the countryside, driving his stallion with his fury as if by doing so he could erase any trace of that man from the world, when his eye was caught by a surprising sight. He reined in abruptly and turned back to see if his eyes had deceived him. It was Elizabeth, sitting at the edge of a brook, her dark hair tumbling down over her shoulders and her bare feet dabbling in the rushing water. She looked up at him for a moment as he approached her, then back at the brook, her expression unreadable. He dismounted and strode over to kneel beside her.
“Elizabeth!” he said, quietly demanding. She looked up at him silently, as if unaware of the impropriety of her position, and her silence only fed his anger and his desire. Why was she here, as if she were waiting for him? It was intolerable; he would no longer allow her to toy with him. He caught her face in his hands and kissed her fiercely. To his surprise, she met him with an equal passion, and he knew then that she had indeed been waiting for him. Their mouths encouraged each other as his hands began impatiently to explore her body, taking possession of her waist, her breasts, her shoulders. She did not protest, and in fact seemed with her movements to be inviting more, enticing him to even greater ardour. She sighed against his lips as his fingers discovered her curves and she slid her arms around his neck.
It was not enough. He had to claim her, every inch of her in every way. Almost roughly he pushed down the sleeve of her gown, freeing her hand and allowing him to draw down the rest to expose her creamy breasts to the air and to his hungry eyes and hands. She still said nothing, only pressed her nakedness against him.
He took advantage of her embrace to press her backwards until she lay upon the grass, her hair spilling around her. Covering her legs with one of his, he kissed her fiercely again, caressing her until her body began to move involuntarily beneath him. He began to feel satisfaction—it would not be enough merely to have her; she had to want him as impossibly much as he wanted her, and he needed to own all her pleasure.
It would never be enough. Without releasing her, he removed his leg long enough to draw up her skirts, then trapped her bare legs again with his, his hardness pressing urgently against her hip.
Not enough, never enough. He pulled away just long enough to dispose of his trousers. With a sense of triumph, he lowered himself between her legs, reclaiming her mouth with the passionate demands of his own. She arched against him, and he pressed his arousal into her until he met the expected resistance, and then with a sharp thrust he took what should have been his so long ago.
The pleasure of her flesh around him was exquisite, and his hunger was great, but as he moved within her he continued to encourage her with his lips and his tongue and his fingers until she shook with waves of fulfillment around him. Then at last he held back no more, and thrust himself into her time and again, hard and demanding and unrelenting until he exploded in a fiery burst of ultimate satisfaction.
He collapsed into her arms, his need finally sated and his anger dissipated. “Now you are mine,” he said, their bodies still joined into one. “You will never so much as look at him again.”
“But I must,” she said softly, speaking her first words since his arrival. “I must marry him—you know that.”
***
Darcy sat up in bed, his forehead beaded with sweat. What a dream! He could still almost feel the sense of her body against his. Then those nightmarish words coming out of her sweet mouth…
He was aware he had behaved badly that day at Longbourn, and Elizabeth had every right to be angry with him. He had not shown her the respect she deserved, and he had spoiled their hard-won myth that he had accepted her status. What had he been thinking?
He knew all too well what he had been thinking, unfortunately. He had been thinking of how much he had wanted to tear Covington limb from limb to keep him away from Elizabeth. On the other hand, he considered what he had not done—he had not challenged Covington to a duel, he had not insulted him to his face, he had not tried to take Elizabeth away by force, he had not—as he had been tempted at one point—announced that she was his mistress. No, he merely had stayed close by her, had been something less than civil, and been overly familiar with Elizabeth that once. Seen in that light, it seemed hardly unreasonable; but it was unacceptable.
He had not been spending his days with her by her invitation; he had been imposing upon her in order to feel the relief and pleasure that only her presence could bring him. He had been selfish, just as she had accused him of being all those months ago, taking what he wanted without thought for her. He had not been thinking of what was best for her—what kind of love was that, which put his needs and desires ahead of hers? And then to behave as if their time together gave him some sort of claim on her, when she had never indicated any desire for his company—what a fool he had made of himself!
It would not do. Yet he knew that it had taken all of his control to stay as calm as he had, and that, should he again be in company with Elizabeth and Covington, he would likely do no better. He cursed himself. What was he hoping to achieve, after all? The benefit of seeing her was a temporary relief from pain, but it was predicated on the absurd invention of forgetting Covington’s existence. It would do him no good in the long term, and soon it would no longer be possible, because she would be living at Ashworth, and he knew that he would not be able to bear to see her there, knowing she belonged to Covington.
He lay back in bed with a curse. He should be accustomed to this by now, the ripping pain that went through him whenever he thought of her marriage, but it injured him anew each time.
What was he to do? The sensible thing would be to put an end to it, to go back to Town and try to find a woman who could help him forget Elizabeth Bennet. But sense never had any role in his feelings for her—when it came to Elizabeth, he lost his rationality completely. She deserved better, though, and he needed to find some way to give it to her, no matter how unpalatable it might be to him.
He would stay away from Longbourn tomorrow, he determined. He would not trouble her with his demands, and would prove to himself that he could resist temptation for a day, at least. Then, perhaps, he could determine the best course of action, and how to separate himself from her, for her sake, if not for his own.
***
Unfortunately, the next day provided him no answers, nor the following day as he continued his lonely vigil at Netherfield. Bingley was understandably puzzled by his choice, but accepted it with his usual good cheer and went off on his own to visit his beloved, never guessing how sick with jealousy it made his friend to watch him go. They had been two of the longest days in his memory—he could find no distraction in books, billiards, or letters. Riding became a constant battle not to turn his mount toward Longbourn, hoping against hope to encounter her somewhere along the way.
He was no nearer to a resolution, either. He missed her with a violence even greater than he had anticipated, her laughter, her wit, her sparkling eyes, all the many facets of her he loved. But why go back? he argued with himself. Then it will just begin again, and you cannot avoid this separation. But each time he tried to convince himself to leave Netherfield, he would think of how he would never see her again, and his desire to steal as many moments with her as possible would raise its head anew.
He was still undecided as to what to do when he appeared at breakfast the next morning. He was inclining towards going to Longbourn, with the feeble excuse that it would look suspicious if, after so many days of regular visits, he suddenly disappeared for days on end. He wondered if she had missed him at all, then cursed himself for being an idiot. She had no doubt found it a pleasant reprieve.
Bingley entered a few minutes later, greeting him cheerfully and helping himself to a heaping serving of food. He had only just seated himself across from Darcy when a servant appeared with a letter. He opened it carelessly and began to scan it, and Darcy saw his face go pale.
“Good God!” Bingley muttered as he read.
“What is it?” asked Darcy calmly, having seen his friend overreact on many occasions in the past.
“It is from Jane—her sister has eloped. The youngest one, Lydia. I must go to her immediately!” He dropped the letter on the table and went to the door, calling for his horse to be saddled immediately.
My poor Elizabeth! thought Darcy, reaching for the letter as if reading his friend’s correspondence were the most natural thing in the world. Skipping past the greeting, he read:
An express came at twelve last night, just as we were all gone to bed, from Colonel Forster, to inform us that Lydia was gone off to Scotland with one of his officers. Imagine our surprise. To Kitty, however, it does not seem so wholly unexpected.—But I am willing to hope the best. My poor mother is sadly grieved. My father bears it better, but Lizzy has gone off and will speak to no one. They were off Saturday night about twelve, as is conjectured, but were not missed till yesterday morning at eight. The express was sent off directly. Colonel Foster gives us reason to expect him here soon. Lydia left a few lines for his wife, informing her of their intention. I must conclude, for I cannot be long from my poor mother. It would probably be best for you to remain at Netherfield today, but I will send you word as soon as any arrives.
Bingley returned for a moment. “I am off to Longbourn, Darcy—I doubt I will see you before tonight.”
“Wait,” said Darcy, his earlier indecision forgotten. “I will come with you.”
His friend looked at him unhappily. “Darcy, do you think that a good idea? I cannot imagine they will want anyone but family there today.”
The image of Elizabeth, alone and in distress, cut through Darcy’s usual reserve on the subject. “Nonsense,” he said, brushing past him. “Someone must look after Elizabeth, and no one else will.”
***
He found Elizabeth in the garden, her arms wrapped around herself, pacing back and forth silently. His heart went out to her as he saw the blank look of pain on her face, and he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms to comfort her.
She did not see him until he was almost upon her. So he has returned, under these impossible circumstances! she thought, looking away lest he see too much in her eyes. She had missed his company these last two days more than she cared to admit, and found the idea he might have given up on her oddly painful. She had chided herself more than once for the impropriety of these thoughts, and tried to throw herself anew into her wedding plans, resolving to think of him no more.
Now, though, the situation could not be worse. Once he knew what had occurred, he would certainly never want anything to do with her again. She wished she could disguise it, but that would only delay the inevitable. Gathering up her courage, she said, “Mr. Darcy, I am afraid you do not find me at my best. My family has received some dreadful news, and I do not think any of us will be suitable company today, I am sorry to say.”
“I have heard,” he said gently. “Your sister sent a note to Bingley, and he is presently inside with her and your mother.”
His kindness almost proved her undoing. She swallowed hard, resolved to keep her composure. “They still believe that they are gone to Scotland,” she said bitterly.
“And you do not?”
“Of course not! She has no money, no connections, nothing that can tempt him to—she is lost forever. You know him too well to doubt the rest.”
A dark foreboding filled Darcy. “I do not know of whom you speak,” he said.
She looked up at him in pained surprise. “I thought you had heard,” she said, heartsick at having to reveal this last shame to him. “She has eloped with Mr. Wickham.”
Darcy was fixed in astonishment. “When I consider,” she added, in a yet more agitated voice, “that I might have prevented it!—I, who knew what he was. Had I but explained some part of it only—some part of what I learnt, to my own family! Had his character been known, this could not have happened. But it is all, all too late now.”
It was a moment before he could take in her words. “I am grieved, indeed,” said Darcy compassionately, “grieved—shocked. But what has been attempted to recover her?”
Elizabeth shook her head bitterly. “Nothing at all—they all believe her gone to Scotland. We are awaiting the arrival of Colonel Forster with more further intelligence, but I cannot, I cannot go inside and pretend there is any hope!” Her voice cracked on the last words.
Darcy did not know how he kept himself from touching her at that moment. “I wish to heaven that I could disagree with you and say they were gone to Scotland, but we both know that I cannot,” he said, in a tone of gentleness and commiseration. “But it is not impossible that this could be mended; please do not give up all hope.”
“Nothing can be done to mend it!” she cried. “I know very well that nothing can be done. How is such a man to be worked on? How are they even to be discovered? I have not the smallest hope. It is in every way horrible!”
Darcy’s face twisted into a grimace of distaste. “There is but one way to work on him, and that is with money—Wickham will do anything for money.”
She looked at him with eyes that spoke only too eloquently of her despair. She knew that her father had no resources of the necessary magnitude, but she would not say that to him; she would prefer that he not know yet how certain was the shame her family would suffer. Let him believe for a little while longer that we are not completely disgraced! she thought, knowing it could not be for long.
“Miss Bennet,” he said in a voice that bespoke his concern, “let us walk a little through the garden while we wait; it benefits nothing to dwell further upon it until we know more.”
“There is no need for you to wait, sir,” she said, her eyes not meeting his. She had no desire for him to know how much she longed for the support and understanding she had no right to expect from him. “This is no concern of yours; I am sure you would be far more comfortable at Netherfield.”
“There is every reason for me to wait,” he said, almost violently, not caring how improper it was. He held out his arm, and, though she would not look at him, she took it and leaned a little upon him as they walked, taking a kind of comfort from his nearness.
After a time she began to shiver, more from the shock of her distress than from any chill, and he insisted on leading her inside. When she refused to join the others, he took her to a back sitting room, and fetched her a glass of wine. He talked to her quietly of whatever came to his mind—Pemberley, Georgiana, Bingley, neither expecting nor receiving a response.
Finally a stir was heard at the front of the house, and Elizabeth leapt to her feet. “Excuse me, Mr. Darcy; that may be Colonel Forster.”
“Yes, let us see what he has to say,” said Darcy.
She caught his sleeve. “Mr. Darcy, I appreciate all you have done, but you cannot afford to be publicly associated with our family at this juncture. You should not be seen here.”
He looked down at her hand on his arm, eternally damning the fact that he did not have the right to comfort her as he would wish. “Thank you for your concern, but I will judge that; at present I find there is reason for me to be here.”
She did not argue further; she was too grateful for his presence. She only hoped he would not regret it later.
The new arrival was indeed Colonel Forster. After a brief greeting to the ladies, he disappeared into the library with Mr. Bennet, Mr. Bingley, and—to Elizabeth’s surprise—Mr. Darcy. It was some time before they emerged, leaving the ladies in a state of high anxiety as to the outcome. The grim look on Mr. Bennet’s face did nothing to reassure Elizabeth, and she immediately glanced at Mr. Darcy, who looked more thoughtful than anything else. She wondered what he was thinking.
“I wish I had better news to deliver,” said Mr. Bennet bleakly. “It appears there is reason to suspect they are not gone to Scotland after all.” Mrs. Bennet gasped in dismay, beginning to sob as her husband shared the remainder of Colonel Forster’s information. The intelligence that Lydia was not in fact married, nor likely to be, came as a devastating shock to Jane, who would not have believed so much evil could exist in the world. It was far too much for the nerves of Mrs. Bennet, who was finally taken to her rooms in hysterics by her second daughter. It was much later when Elizabeth returned downstairs, and she was surprised to find Mr. Darcy still there, apparently waiting for her. Mr. Bingley and Jane were sitting close together, talking quietly; signs of tears still showed on Jane’s face.
She managed a small and weary smile for Darcy as he stood to greet her. He was glad to see it; he had spent her absence reminding himself that he had no right to offer her consolation in the way Bingley could with Jane. It was more difficult than ever to accept it after spending so much of this trying day together, and being treated by her family almost as a member.
“I hope your mother is better,” he said cautiously.
“She is asleep; we gave her a sedative,” said Elizabeth tiredly, knowing that as soon as her mother awoke, her demands and wails would begin anew. “Has Colonel Forster gone?”
“Yes, he left almost immediately, hoping to reach London tonight. Your father is in the library making preparations to follow him in the morning.”
She gave him a quiet smile for his efforts, knowing he had gone well beyond the duties of friendship for her, and too exhausted by the effects of the day to try to deny what this implied about his feelings for her. A knock came at the front door, and she looked up eagerly, hoping for news.
She was destined for disappointment, however, for a moment later Mr. Covington appeared unannounced, having clearly ridden hard. He came straight to her and knelt beside her chair, taking her hands in his. “I am so sorry, Lizzy,” he said with obvious concern and solicitude. “I came as soon as I heard.”
“I…” Elizabeth stammered, staring half-bewildered at him. She could not comprehend Mr. Covington’s presence; it was as if a total stranger was before her. Looking at his earnest expression, she finally admitted the truth to herself: it was not his comfort she wanted. With dismaying clarity, she faced the reality before her—she was to marry one man when it was another she wanted and needed, and it was no one’s fault but her own. There was nothing to be done for it—it was already too late. The tears she had been barely managing to hold back all day suddenly escaped as she faced the bleakness of her future, and she began to sob uncontrollably.
Darcy reacted to Covington’s arrival as if he had been slapped. He had been taking care of Elizabeth, he had been planning solutions—and now he was totally put aside. He watched as she started to cry, she who had struggled so hard to be in control of her emotions all day with him, apparently waiting for this moment when she could let down her guard. She covered her face with her hands, crying even harder now, and Darcy winced as Covington put his arms around her.
He knew then that his game of make-believe was over—he could not look at this tableau and imagine it meant anything but that Covington was the one she loved and trusted. She might have felt an attraction to him at some moments and enjoyed his sense of humour, but in a time of crisis, it was not to him she turned, not even when he was the only one available. It was agony even to breathe as the scene in front of him burned itself into his memory.
Perhaps he had been able to offer her a slight comfort earlier, but now his presence could make nothing but trouble for her. It was her love he wanted, but that was a hopeless cause; all that was left for him now was to give her the best chance of happiness she had. His face set in grim lines, he silently turned and left her to her future with Covington.
Elizabeth remained lost in helpless tears for some time, both for her sister’s lost hopes and her own. How had she found her way into this dilemma? And her position was as hopeless as Lydia’s—even if she were ever free, Darcy could never ally himself with her, not after her sister’s disgrace by a man whose name was punishment for him to speak. She could only be grateful that he had not decamped immediately on hearing of it. She forced herself to breathe more evenly until Mr. Covington released her gently from his unwanted embrace. It was Darcy’s arms she wanted around her, his voice offering her words of comfort. It could never be, of course, but just this once, she wanted to look at him with honesty in her heart; but when she turned to where he had been, he was gone.
***
It was nearly a fortnight later that Bingley arrived for his morning call on his betrothed with Mr. Darcy once again in tow. Elizabeth, in a whirl of embarrassment, could hardly bring herself to look at him when they made their greeting. Since she had seen him last, it seemed her every waking moment, apart from those taken up with worry for Lydia, had been spent trying to reconcile herself to a future without him. There had been a great many such wakeful moments in which to think, since many of her nights were spent in sleepless preoccupation with the feelings she had denied so long.
She had given up hope of seeing him again, at least not for a long time. She had not been in his company since that moment she had recognized the truth of what lay between them; Bingley had brought news the next morning that Darcy had departed for Town and was not expected to return. It had been an acutely painful blow, though she soon realized it was for the best. She needed to make her peace with her upcoming marriage, and it would have been impossible to do so in his presence. Still, she could not stop herself from missing him, and longing for his company.
Now he had reappeared completely unexpectedly, and she did not know what to make of it. She stole glances at him from under her lashes as she sat at her work, but his attention seemed elsewhere, directed to her mother, her sisters, and occasionally on no less an object than the floor.
“Have you heard, Mr. Darcy, that my youngest is to be married next week?” said Mrs. Bennet with great satisfaction.
Darcy replied that he had, and made his congratulations. Elizabeth, humiliated, dared not lift up her eyes. How he looked, therefore, she could not tell.
“It will be a delightful thing, to be sure, to have a daughter well married, and two more soon to come, but at the same time, it is very hard to have my youngest taken such a way from me. They are to go to Newcastle, a place quite northward, it seems, and there they are to stay.”
“Very hard indeed, I would imagine, to have one so dear to you far away.”
“How suddenly you went away, Mr. Darcy!” continued Mrs. Bennet.
Darcy looked grave. “Yes, it was unfortunately sudden; urgent business called me to London. In truth, I am leaving again this morning; I came last night only to settle some matters with Bingley. I cannot stay long, but since I was unable to call to make a proper farewell before my last departure, I hoped to make it up to you now, and to thank you for all the hospitality you have shown me.”
Elizabeth froze at his words. She had somehow assumed that his reappearance meant their old pattern of daily meetings was to resume.
“Leaving again, Mr. Darcy? So soon?” Jane asked.
“Yes, I must be back in London tonight, and next week I will be undertaking a longer journey, and do not expect to return to England for some time.”
Elizabeth looked up at him in shock at this statement. His eyes met hers in a serious look, and she bit her lip, trying to fend off the loss she felt already. She understood his presence now; he had come to say a final goodbye to her. He too must have acknowledged that what was between them must end. A lump formed in her throat, and she looked away suddenly before tears could begin to appear in her eyes.
Mrs. Bennet inquired as to his destination. He replied, “I will be going to Vienna—I have not been there since my grand tour, and I always intended to return there to acquaint myself with the city properly.”
Now that she knew she had lost the small hope of him she had, Elizabeth could not decide whether she more wished him to stay longer or go immediately. It was an acutely painful pleasure to sit across from him, able to look at him but nothing more, and to know there would never be anything more.
She did not have long to think of it, as in fact it was only a brief interval before he said he must go. When he rose to leave, she boldly seized her moment to see him to his carriage, hoping that no one would notice her agitation. She did not know what she wished to say to him, if in fact she wished to say anything, or if she just hoped to be in his company a few minutes longer. His eyes thanked her, however, and that was enough.
She found, though, that she must say something, or stand in uncomfortable silence as the maid brought his hat and coat. “I hope you enjoy Vienna, Mr. Darcy,” she said.
The corners of his mouth quirked in what was almost a smile. “It is a place to go,” he said. Their eyes met again for a long moment, and she looked away first. He moved towards the door, then stopped again just at the edge of the vestibule. “Before I go, though, Miss Bennet, I must beg your forgiveness.”
“My forgiveness? For what?” she asked. For engaging my affections when I was already bound to another man?
“For this,” he said. Before she realized what he intended, he leant towards her and kissed her, a brief, tender touch of his lips to hers. “There is no need for you to come any further. Goodbye, Miss Bennet, and please accept my best wishes for your marriage.”
She could not help herself; her eyes clouded with tears, and by the time she had blinked them away, he was already out the door and stepping into his carriage. He did not look back, and she watched with stinging eyes as the carriage disappeared down the lane, still feeling the sensation of his kiss.