A Pemberley Medley (A Pride & Prejudice Variation) (10 page)

Even Mr. Darcy could not dampen her spirits at that point, so she folded the letter and put it once more away before greeting him with all civility.

He took his place walking beside her and said, “You seem happy today, Miss Bennet.”

“I am indeed. I received a letter from my sister Jane, who is in excellent spirits.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“Apparently Mr. Bingley came to call at my uncle’s house, and she was able to report that he was in good health.” Elizabeth stole a sly look at him, to see how he bore it, but he seemed unperturbed.

“Yes, he had mentioned he might do so when I saw him last.”

Elizabeth turned to stare at him in surprise. He looked uncomfortable, and shrugged his shoulders at her questioning look. “Did you see him in London, then?” she asked.

“Yes, I did.” He seemed disinclined to say anything more.

Her cheeks flushed, Elizabeth fixed her eyes on the path ahead of them. Had Mr. Darcy told Mr. Bingley of Jane’s presence in London? It seemed the most likely explanation. But what had he meant by it?

She remembered that she had confirmed Jane’s affection for Bingley just before Mr. Darcy’s surprising departure for London. And then, on his return, the first question he had asked her was whether she had heard from Jane.

He must have done it. She felt warmth all over at the idea, certain he must see how embarrassed she was. She wished she could thank him, but how could she when he had not admitted to the action? Not to mention that he was engaged to another woman.

It was dangerous to let herself feel warmth toward him. Tightening her bonnet strings, she said, “I understand there is reason to congratulate you, as well.”

He gave her a puzzled look. “I do not understand.”

He had said he abhorred disguise, but that was another falsehood. “Lady Catherine told us of your forthcoming engagement to Miss DeBourgh.”

“That nonsense again?” he exclaimed irritably. “I have no intention of marrying my cousin, now or ever.”

“But she said….” Elizabeth reviewed the conversation at Rosings in her mind, and realized that Lady Catherine had neatly avoided stating directly that the two were engaged. A feeling of relief suffused her.

Mr. Darcy’s annoyance had not yet faded. “How could
you,
of all people, believe such a thing?”

“I am not in the habit of disbelieving what I am told,” she said in confusion, perceiving that he was affronted. In an effort to reduce the tension, she changed back to the previous subject, rashly saying what she had only minutes ago decided not to say. “I cannot help but thank you for speaking to Mr. Bingley. His visit made Jane very happy.”

“Do not thank me. I did nothing more than a friend’s duty of confessing my error.”

“Still, it was generous of you.”

His mouth twisted. “I would not wish Miss Bennet unhappy, nor stand in the way of my friend’s joy. The experience of having a sister in pain is not unknown to me.”

She stole a glance at him. “I am sorry to hear it.”

“When my sister was but fifteen, George Wickham took advantage of her innocence to persuade her that he loved her. His object, of course, was her dowry. It was pure chance that led to their elopement being foiled.”

“You need not tell me this, sir,” she said uncomfortably.

“I would not wish you to be misled by Wickham’s charming manner.” There was a bite in Mr. Darcy’s voice.

“I do not doubt your word.” At least not any longer. The words hung unspoken in the air.

“I am glad to hear it, for I do not wish you to be under a misapprehension. Especially regarding me, when it is clear your opinion of me is not high.”

“Mr. Darcy, in truth I find it hard to hold
any
opinion about you for more than a day at a time, since you persist in surprising me, and I hear such differing reports of your character as to confuse me completely.”

“Differing reports? From Mr. Wickham?”

She shook her head, then with a sudden urge to tease, said, “I have many sources of information, sir. For example, after hearing Miss Bingley praise the neatness and deliberateness of your letter-writing, I now hear that you are prone to write half the night and then burn the results.”

He stiffened, and a flush rose in his cheeks. “There is some writing best consigned to the flames.”

“Such as?” She was playing with fire, but for some reason, she had no desire to stop.

“Such as words of ardent admiration directed toward someone who would have no desire to hear them.” His voice was oddly flat, and his eyes seemed fixed on the horizon.

She had not expected so direct an answer, and it left her confused, embarrassed, and unable to find words for an answer. But something about the set of his jaw told her of his pain, and she could not bear to be the cause of it. “Unless, perhaps, the lady is in possession of
differing opinions
owing to the many differing reports she hears.” She blushed furiously at her forwardness.

He froze and stared at her, his mouth opening as if to say something, but nothing emerged. Elizabeth could not quite hide a self-satisfied smile, but did not meet his gaze. After a moment, he appeared to recollect himself and began to walk again. Elizabeth was beginning to think she had misjudged his words and truly embarrassed herself when he finally said in a somewhat strangled voice, “Indeed.”

She could not decide how to interpret that, especially since he seemed to have developed a sudden interest in the line of trees on the horizon. He did not show the pleasure she had hoped he might, leaving her to consider the worst possibilities. Perhaps she had done nothing but convince him she was, like so many others, a fortune-hunter of the worst sort. The thought was intolerable, so with great energy she began to discuss the recent improvements Mr. Collins had made to the parsonage at Lady Catherine’s behest. It was the dullest and least flirtatious subject she could devise.

Mr. Darcy made little response, but there was nothing unusual about that.

Elizabeth’s words continued to haunt her, bringing flushes of embarrassment to her cheeks whenever she thought of their interchange. She held many a conversation in her imagination with Mr. Darcy where she attempted to turn her forwardness into a light-hearted joke, but found that even thinking of him tended to put her wits into disarray. She was tempted to avoid the grove completely the following morning; but her courage, which always rose with each attempt to intimidate her, would not allow such cowardice.

And so it was that she found her way to the grove before the morning mists had been dissipated by the sun, dew staining the edge of her petticoats. Mr. Darcy was already waiting there, and his countenance warmed at her approach. His appearance relieved her greatest anxiety; had she indeed offended him, all he need do was avoid the grove, but instead he had come to meet her. After a brief murmured greeting, he offered her his arm and they began to walk.

They were but a short distance from the Parsonage when Mr. Darcy said, “Miss Bennet, are you indeed a lady of differing opinions?”

Elizabeth’s heart began to race. “I pride myself on never maintaining the same opinion for more than an hour at a stretch,” she said with mock solemnity.

He inclined his head. “Then I will have to hope that I am choosing the correct hour to give you this, rather than allowing it to join its fellows as kindling for the fire.” He took a letter from his pocket and held it out to her.

Her hand trembling slightly, she took it between her fingers, aware how close to his body it had been lying. She was too embarrassed to meet his eyes, knowing this was an impropriety that could not be ignored.

“I will leave you now,” he said quietly, and when Elizabeth automatically held out her hand to him, he took it in a firm grip. “And now, in the eventuality that I may never have the opportunity to do this again…” He raised her hand to his lips and applied a kiss that was more a caress than a formality. Then he held the back of her hand to his cheek, his dark eyes capturing hers, and Elizabeth forgot to breathe for a long moment.

Darcy released her hand after brushing it once more with his lips. “I wish you good day, Miss Bennet.” And then, with a slight bow, he turned again into the plantation, and was soon out of sight.

“Good day, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said to his retreating back. As he walked away, she instinctively pressed the letter to her chest., a smile beginning to curve her lips.

She found her way into a private part of the garden where she could not be seen from the parsonage. With the strongest curiosity, she opened the letter, and, to her increasing wonder, perceived an envelope containing two sheets of letter paper, written quite through, in a very close hand. The envelope itself was likewise full. Sitting on a small marble bench, she then began it. It was dated from Rosings, at five o’clock in the morning, and was as follows:

If this letter is not to be consigned to the flames, I must consider where to begin. I have told you so often in my dreams and in these letters of my ardent admiration of your person, the extraordinary pleasure I derive simply from being in the same room with you, how the sound of your laughter brings warmth into a cold world, how your eyes sparkle when you tease me, that it is easy to forget that I have used nothing more than glances to communicate those sentiments to you in reality. But start somewhere I must, so I will begin at the night of the ball at Netherfield. I was determined to dance with you that night, to have the privilege of your attention for an entire half hour, a prospect as intoxicating as fine wine. For weeks I had remained on the periphery, listening to your conversations, noting at whom you smiled and whose attentions you preferred to receive, what made you laugh, and how you would step in when you felt someone was in danger of being offended. I wanted to understand your magic, what enchantment you used to keep me in thrall, what secret element you possessed that would not allow me to look away; I, who have looked on the greatest beauties of the ton and remained unmoved.

I first came to Netherfield shortly after settling my sister’s household in London, after the dreadful affair of which you are aware. I have never been much inclined to social events, preferring a quiet night with a few friends to a ball at Almack’s, but at that point my disinclination for society was at its greatest. The man who, although we had grown apart, was my oldest friend, had betrayed me in the worst way possible. I was in no mood to make new acquaintances, and anything that smacked of fortune-hunters enraged me. I cared nothing for what anyone thought of me, and felt little pleasure in anything. Then, one day, someone at a party asked my opinion of something. I responded tersely, no doubt rudely, and you turned your fine eyes on me and said, “And at last Mr. Darcy has dazzled the room with his knowledge! We must all be duly grateful.” Your laughing voice seemed to make the candles burn brighter, and I became your captive. But every time I attempted to approach you, you seemed to fly away. You refused to dance with me at Lucas Lodge and later at Netherfield during your sister’s illness. Thereafter my only delight was to look on you, to hear you speak, to think of you, to dream of you each night.

My dearest Elizabeth – and I must hope you will forgive my forwardness in addressing you thus; but since I have written you so many letters that were never to be read, and it is of little matter to the fire how forward the words it burns might be, I have taken that liberty too often to surrender it now, because the sound of your name, the appearance of it coming from my pen, is an addictive delight – you cannot imagine the torment I felt at leaving Hertfordshire, knowing I was unlikely ever to see you again. I doubt I could have found the resolve to do so for my own sake; it was only out of a sense of duty to Bingley that I could force myself to leave the web of bewitchment you had cast upon me. I wish I could say that I forgot you quickly, but it would be a lie; you were my first thought in the morning and my last at night, and you danced through my dreams like a siren I could not hope to escape, nor did I wish to. For a time I thought it would drive me to madness, and I had only just regained some sense of myself when I left London for Rosings, only to find the siren herself at the end of my journey. Even a brief time in your company was enough to place me once again in the gravest of danger, perhaps even more than I had been in Hertfordshire, because now I had the certainty that I could not escape the memory of you. I tried with all my might to stay away, but a teasing Cupid kept throwing you in my path – at church, where I could not attend to a word of the sermon, as all my prayers were of you; when you dined at Rosings, and I knew that all the family expectations in the world could not compensate for the joy I received whenever a smile would touch your lips. I was lost before I began.