part0026

With a brisk step and a dark countenance, Darcy descended the shallow flight of steps leading away from the large portico that graced the entrance of his uncle’s townhouse.

It had not gone well – not that he had imagined it would. He had not expected Lord Malvern’s wholehearted blessing, but the extreme displeasure with which his communication had been received could not fail to pain him, for himself as well as her .

The footman bowed deeply as he held the carriage door open, and Darcy acknowledged him with a brief nod before getting in.

It could not be helped. It was unfortunate for everyone concerned, but it could not be helped. Fitzwilliam’s words rang in his memory: his sole reward would be in his home. His cousin might have intended them as a warning at the time, but they held true, regardless. He would have his rewards in their happy home. In Elizabeth’s presence and her love. He had almost chosen them over her, and it did not bear thinking what sort of a life this would have led him to. In due course, they would get to know and appreciate her. It would be distressing and difficult if they did not. But it could not be helped.

“Drive on, Thompson.”

Darcy discarded his gloves by his side as the carriage took to the road. He briefly closed his eyes and sighed. What a deuced waste of a day! He should have remained at Netherfield to enjoy the last precious hours of relative privacy left to them, before the large number of guests descended upon the place, in two days’ time, instead of travelling to town to acquit himself of the unpalatable duty.

He had determined, some time after their walk to Oakham Mount, that he would not quit Hertfordshire for the foreseeable future, and would meet with Lord Malvern after the ball. Still, a conversation with Elizabeth made him reconsider .

They were walking in the shrubbery a few days ago, when she suddenly turned to him with a look which he had come to recognise as her attempt to make light of an unpleasant situation.

“You have not mentioned lately whether you still intend to inform your relations in person about our engagement and, much as I hate to say this, there is something you might wish to take into account. My mother will know of it in a matter of days and from then on, there is no telling how soon the news would spread, with Mr Collins’ misguided assistance.”

The notion took him completely by surprise.

“Mr Collins? What can he have to do with it?”

“He was preferred to the rectory of Hunsford some time ago, if you remember.”

Of course. He had entirely forgotten of the man’s connection to Rosings.

“I should not wish to make you go to town,” Elizabeth continued, her turn of countenance warming his heart, “but it will not do for them to learn of our engagement from that source.”

She was in the right, of course. He had not thought about it, and the added complication put different time constraints on his self-appointed task. Little as he wished it, Darcy was forced to acknowledge he should tear himself from Netherfield for one day after all.

He left at dawn, and his cousin joined him. Without being told, Darcy knew full well that Fitzwilliam’s decision was in equal measure prompted by the wish to dedicate some time to his long-neglected family as by the intention to assist him. They travelled to town as fast as the roads, his carriage and the skill of his coachman would allow and, having spent as little time as possible refreshing themselves from the journey, they swiftly made their way to Wimpole Street.

They had the good fortune – or so it appeared at the time – to find the family within, but the number of callers milling in and out of Lady Malvern’s drawing room made it impossible for Darcy to discuss anything of consequence with his aunt and younger cousins. He had perforce to content himself with a brief exchange of civilities, before excusing himself and going to seek Lord Malvern in his study.

His uncle was delighted with the intelligence at first – until he learned that the prospective bride was not Anne, nor was she among the young ladies whose connections he knew and approved of. At that, Lord Malvern grew very quiet. He took his time in pouring a drink – just for himself, as Darcy had chosen not to join him – then proceeded to sip it thoughtfully, in prolonged silence.

By the time his lordship cleared his voice, ready to begin, Darcy had mentally listed most of the objections that were about to follow. They were as familiar to him as might be, since he had spent the best part of the previous autumn, winter and spring reciting them over and over to himself. Some, he soon found, were missing from his uncle’s extensive list, but there were others he had not included in his own. His mother’s disappointment with his choice, had she lived to witness it. Georgiana’s likely discomfort at having to welcome a person so wholly unconnected with her as her sister. Lady Catherine’s distress at learning that the match she and the entire family had expected would not come to pass. Anne’s disappointed hopes, and his duty to her.

Then Lord Malvern proceeded to state that, contrary to popular belief, a happy union came from rational choice, and not from the unbridled force of passion. That there could be no true communion between people accustomed to such different ways, such different circles. That, despite all efforts, one born so far beneath them could not possibly perform her duties with any degree of credit – by which point Darcy decided that the conversation had gone far enough.

It was only the respect for his mother’s memory and the thought of Georgiana’s best interest and comfort that made him try to keep his temper under good regulation and walk away from the discussion without a formal breach with his uncle. In a clipped tone, Darcy thanked his lordship for his concern.

“I would like to reassure you, my lord, that despite fears to the contrary, I have lost neither my head, nor my common sense. I hope your opinion of Miss Bennet will change upon making her acquaintance. I will not trouble you further with assurances you would very likely dismiss as mere infatuation. At this point, I believe I had better thank you for your time and bid you good day.”

Any views that Lord Malvern might have had regarding his nephew’s terse speech, he chose not to express them. Their adieus were cold at best, and very brief. Darcy emerged from his lordship’s study only to be met by the Colonel, who had clearly been lying in wait. A brief handshake and a friendly pat on his shoulder were not enough to raise his spirits, but they certainly helped .

“’Tis just as you expected,” his cousin reminded him. “But you know Pater, his bark is worse than his bite. Give him time. He will grow accustomed to the notion.”

“It makes no difference, either way,” Darcy replied darkly.

It was not strictly true. His uncle’s blatant opposition to the match was placing a great strain on their connection. He would not wish to see Georgiana separated from the only family left to them nor, he found, could he wish for any children he and Elizabeth might have to grow into the world without any real sense of kinship with his mother’s relations. But it could not be helped.

“I will leave you now,” Darcy roused himself suddenly from his ruminations.

“You are returning to Netherfield directly, I assume?”

“As soon as possible. Pray oblige me and convey my apologies to Lady Malvern and your sisters. I do not wish to disturb her again, nor am I equal to drawing-room conversation. Perhaps you would be so kind as to mention the invitation to the Netherfield ball to whomever might wish to attend, but I fully expect it will come to naught. Given my uncle’s opinions on the matter, I imagine your mother and sisters will not be of the party. As for Leighton, I doubt he is in town.”

“No, my brother never is, at this time of year. I will mention it to my father though, for all that it is worth.”

“I thank you. Although from the way we parted and the views he expressed, I am little disposed to wish for his attendance.”

Fitzwilliam gave a short wry laugh at this.

“Pray enlighten me as to the humorous side of the matter, Cousin, for frankly I fail to see it,” Darcy snapped.

“Ironic that you should fear being mortified by your own relations this time, do you not think?” Fitzwilliam elaborated with a wide grin, making the other chuckle ruefully.

“Indeed. It does make for a rather interesting change.”

“Is our aunt Catherine invited as well, perchance?” the Colonel mischievously added, managing to extract a genuine laugh from his cousin at last.

“Heaven forbid. Although that should at least make for a truly memorable occasion.”

“Have you gathered your courage to write to Rosings yet?”

“I am more likely to want time rather than courage, as you well know. But I assured your father it will be done by the week’s end. ”

“Well,” Fitzwilliam exhaled, with an air of finality. “There will be a storm, and you will weather it. I expect it will be worth your trouble,” he added in a manner which sounded suspiciously to Darcy like a retraction of his former views. They shook hands, words once more unnecessary. “I shall see you at Netherfield then, before long. With any luck, I might even surprise you and be on my best behaviour,” the Colonel quipped, as he escorted Darcy to the door.

“Your best behaviour? Cousin, you do not know the meaning of it,” the other replied in like manner, their banter a welcome change from the morning’s vexations.

The light-heartedness did not last long. As they were making their way towards the entrance, they crossed paths with Lord Malvern yet again. He merely nodded formally towards his nephew and briefly acknowledged his second son, whose countenance left him in no misapprehension as to the side he had chosen. Darcy bowed stiffly in response, then left the house in a darker temper than he had ever experienced in Wimpole Street.

Darcy closed his eyes and rubbed his brow as his carriage was making its way towards his London home, with the grim satisfaction that he had performed his duty and had done his uncle the courtesy of informing him in person. His countenance brightened at the thought that, after a swift change of horses and attire, he would mercifully be on his way back to Hertfordshire. Back to Elizabeth.

Despite Darcy’s efforts to return as soon as might be, it was past the usual dinner hour when his carriage rolled down the drive towards Netherfield and ground to a halt before the entrance. The door of his conveyance was opened for him and he stepped out, breathing in the cool and fragrant air. He climbed the steps towards the entrance two at a time with a warm sense of homecoming, finding it odd that Netherfield should cause it, much more so than the house in Berkeley Square – that is, until he came to see there was nothing odd about it: as yet, Elizabeth did not live in Berkeley Square .

But for his impeccable training, the butler would have started in surprise at the sight of the bright-eyed newcomer and, above all, his open smile. He had known Mr Bingley’s friend for a fair while, and despite his comparatively tender years, Mr Darcy had inspired the old butler with a respect bordering on awe, not least with his austere countenance. There was nothing austere about him now, just barely contained anticipation. Although he remembered quite well how it felt to be young and in love, the butler did not presume to return the gentleman’s smile – not outwardly at least – but as he took his coat, hat and gloves, he allowed himself the liberty of supplying, without being asked:

“The family is still at dinner, Sir. Would you care to join them?”

“I think not,” Mr Darcy replied, leaving the butler in no doubt that in fact he desired quite the opposite. But of course he could not sit down for dinner having come straight from the road.

“Very good, Sir. Shall I have a tray brought up instead?”

“I will be joining the family in the drawing room shortly, but a light repast in my room in a couple of hours would be welcome, thank you.”

The butler bowed and disappeared to notify Mr Darcy’s man that his master would most likely wish to refresh himself after the journey as soon as might be, leaving the gentleman to make his way above-stairs at his leisure. Unbeknownst to him, Darcy did not get far. Sounds of voices coming down the corridor gave him pause, and drew his footsteps thither. Hers was the first face he saw when he rounded the corner, and the surprise in her eyes as they darted towards his, only to instantly give way to unmitigated, boundless joy, more than compensated for all the distress and weariness that the day had brought him.

“Darcy!” Bingley exclaimed, advancing towards him. “You made good time. We were not expecting you for two more hours at least. Come, you must be exhausted, and in dire need of refreshment.”

Privately, Darcy begged to differ. He was not in need of refreshment, or port wine, or whatever Bingley was about to ply him with. He was in dire need of a moment with Elizabeth. Nevertheless, he ungraciously conceded he would have to stake his hopes on dry weather and a lengthy walk on the morrow, and forced himself to be satisfied with bowing over her hand, when she approached to greet him and ask if he had a good journey .

“I did, I thank you,” he replied, the bland, commonplace exchange of civilities a poor substitute for what he wished to say. “’Tis very good to be back, though,” he ventured, to which she answered with a quiet but very earnest “Yes,” which at least gave him the comfort of knowing she was not faring much better.

As their guest turned towards her with a few civil words, then moved to affectionately greet his sister, Mrs Bingley valiantly struggled to suppress a smile at the endearing picture the engaged pair presented. She had long suspected a partiality on Mr Darcy’s side, as far back as his unexpected visit in the spring, in fact, and the notion had only gathered strength after his arrival at Netherfield, following Lizzy’s hasty retreat from the North.

Mrs Bingley was prepared to own, to herself at least, that she had been rather concerned at first about her sister’s feelings, particularly with respect to Farringdon and the awkwardness it had brought. However, she knew Elizabeth too well to think that she would accept Mr Darcy’s hand in marriage out of a misplaced sense of gratitude, or for some other equally nonsensical reasons.

A lengthy and warm sisterly conversation, earlier that day, had fully enlightened her as to the strength of Lizzy’s affections, but in all fairness, it was hardly necessary by then. Her sister had verily glowed with happiness ever since the day of the engagement, with the exception of that disquieting moment in the garden, of which Jane did not feel at liberty to inquire yet. Whatever its cause though, the cloud had dissipated, and no one could doubt the couple’s attachment, particularly at that moment, when they could barely tear their eyes from each other, separated as they were by the full width of the corridor, and even more so by convention.

With a small shrug, Jane silenced any qualms she might have had regarding the propriety of the scheme she was now contemplating, and turned with a cheerful smile towards Georgiana.

“We should have our coffee before it becomes undrinkable, do you not think? Mr Darcy, do join us as soon as you can. Oh, and Lizzy,” she added with a blank expression that did her credit, given her candid and ever so transparent soul, “pray excuse the imposition, but would you mind fetching my workbasket? I think I must have left it in the library. ”

Bingley glanced up sharply at this. He felt he knew enough of his wife’s ways to be quite certain that, in all the time since she had come to live at Netherfield, Jane had never chosen to sit and sew in the library. He met her eyes with a quizzically raised brow, to which she responded with a smile and a gentle pressure on his arm, before turning to engage Georgiana in conversation. Bingley held his peace and escorted the two ladies to the drawing room, privately diverted by the thought that his dear wife would do her mother proud – and with a great deal more finesse into the bargain.

The workbasket was nowhere in sight, and the failing light was not helping matters. Elizabeth turned and lit the candles in the two delicately ornamented candlesticks on the mantelpiece – and almost burned her fingers as the sound of the opening door and the tall figure it admitted drew all her attention. She hastily extinguished the flame, mildly diverted by her own distraction. She did not laugh, though. In fact, she did not know exactly what she did, or who moved first, but as his arms closed around her, she could not spare another thought for such inconsequential matters.

This time, their kiss was nothing like the other chaste, tentative ones. It was deep and urgent, betraying all the longing for each other, on this, the first day they were separated after their engagement, all the disquiet his errand had engendered, and the need to put everything aside, except what they had, what they shared.

When she found herself quite out of breath, Elizabeth rested her flushed cheek against his coat and earnestly voiced the thought that had been with her all day:

“I never wish to be apart from you again.”

Darcy exhaled deeply, quite overcome to hear it, and tightened the hold of his arms around her at the unwelcome thought of the impending separation over the long night to follow – and all the other nights that stretched in unbroken chain until the all too distant, the not-even-set-yet day of their wedding. He swallowed and forced the thought aside. Unhelpful – and decidedly unwise to dwell upon it. He sighed, then let his arms fall slowly, the light kiss dropped on her lips once more chaste, before he moved away .

Elizabeth looked up, surprisingly and disquietingly lost without the feel of his arms around her. She made to aimlessly reposition one of the candlesticks to mask her discomfort, but thought better of it and turned to Darcy instead. She placed a hand on his in a light caress as she asked:

“Was your day very taxing?”

“All is well now,” he replied softly, bringing her hand to his lips.

So it did not go well. The thought pained her. She did not wish to come between him and his family, and yet she feared that it could not be helped. Indeed, she could not think of any good reason why his relations – with the fortunate exception of Georgiana and Colonel Fitzwilliam, apparently – would not disapprove of the unremarkable connection at best, and at worst, strongly distrust her motives for marrying him. Prompted by either pride or affection, or both, they surely must think he could have made a much better match, and they would not be wrong. He could have made an illustrious match.

But he had chosen her. What did he say the other day? That he could marry rank and status and have an empty life, or marry her and have all the bliss that a true communion of spirits could bring.

Elizabeth’s chin came up, and her eyes shone with unshed tears as she smiled at the comforting thought. A true communion of spirits. That was what he sought. That was what they both sought. Having been so very fortunate as to find it – and hopefully wise enough to keep it – their life together would not be an empty ornate shell.

“You are so beautiful tonight,” she suddenly heard him whisper, as he gave in to the temptation of holding her again. He dropped a kiss on her brow and laughed softly, a pleasant rumbling sound. “What am I saying? Elizabeth, this is intolerable. I cannot even phrase a passable compliment. Of course you look beautiful. You always look beautiful.”

Elizabeth raised her hand to caress his face, delighted with his jocular manner.

“That I do not,” she protested, knowingly.

“You do. And even more so now,” he replied, entranced by the glow in her countenance. She verily radiated joy, and blissful thoughts seemed to be shining in her eyes as she looked upon him. “You look very happy,” he said as he bent his head to rest his cheek against hers, only to have his hard-won equanimity shattered by the feel of her warm breath against his skin, as she fervently whispered:

The thrill of her unreserved declaration robbed him of all the will to pause and argue that the good fortune was wholly on his side, before gathering her close once more and unrestrainedly indulging in the sweet torment of feverish, hungry kisses that merely fed the longing they might have hoped to quell.

Her hands came up to stroke his hair, entangle themselves in it and bring him closer still, her pliant lips eagerly answering every urgent question she found on his. Breath caught in his throat, and his hold tightened.

Nothing had prepared him for this. Neither sense, nor judgement, nor wisdom – for this was beyond them all. That she might love him, want him, need him as much as he needed her was something he had never dared consider, not even in his most hopeful hours. Yet far-fetched dreams seemed to be answered now, and her ardent response sent his senses spiralling into ungovernable turmoil towards a fierce desire, so acute that it nearly bordered pain.

He could not let her go, not now, not yet, not ever – and his lips roamed hungrily over her beloved face, to linger at last on the spot beneath her jaw, where her pulse drummed wildly. As wildly as his. Her scent was intoxicating and Darcy inhaled deeply, and sought her lips again, wilfully losing himself in the exquisite delusion that the glorious moment would not have to end.

Yet sense – or rather scattered shreds of hazy sense – clamoured somewhere, woefully unheeded, only to stubbornly whirl back again to forcefully remind him that it simply would not do to be found thus by the servants who were bound to come sooner or later to draw the shutters and prepare the house for the night. He knew he ought to listen, for her sake if not his – so, with a ragged breath, he willed himself to stop and closed his eyes, his brow resting on hers.

But could not bring himself to step away this time.

“We should return to the others…” he said at last, not wanting to.

Darcy drew back to smile into her eyes at her unenthusiastic concurrence, yet when he spoke again, there was no light-heartedness in his tone or manner, just the quiet intensity of the absolute truth.

“I want to marry you as soon as may be, Elizabeth.”

“I know…” she laughed, before adding soberly: “And I you.”

His lips found hers again in a far briefer and much too tame a kiss, before he pulled away to whisper earnestly:

“When, my love?”

Elizabeth eventually returned to the drawing room without the elusive workbasket. She forgot to mention it to Jane for quite some time, and when she did remember, she could not help noticing that her sister had grown remarkably disinterested in its whereabouts. Elizabeth thought no more of it – her mind was too busily engaged with very different matters – which was probably why she needed the best part of ten minutes to see through dear Jane’s unexpected and ever so timely slyness.

Much later, when they were bidding each other good night at the end of another lovely evening, Elizabeth finally found an opportunity to whisper a heartfelt “Thank you,” as she embraced her sister and warmly kissed her cheek.