His Good Opinion: A Mr. Darcy Novel (24 page)

Darcy nearly growled at the thought of Richard knowing any personal details regarding Elizabeth. "What are your intentions toward Miss Elizabeth?" he asked abruptly.

Richard smiled. "She is a lovely lady--beautiful, charming, and sweet. I like her a great deal."

Darcy twitched reflexively and then had to adjust his seat in the saddle when his confused horse sidestepped. "I see."

Richard glanced over at him. "Of course, I might like her even more if my cousin was not in love with her."

Only years of training kept Darcy from letting go of the reins entirely. His jaw dropped, and Richard laughed heartily. "Did you think I would not see?" he asked. "One minute you told me I would regret being friendly to Mr. Collins--a point I must allow--and the next you practically invited yourself to his home."

"You... knew? All along?"

"From the moment I saw Miss Elizabeth and observed how suddenly tongue-tied you were. Even you, William, are normally more conversant than you are when Miss Elizabeth is in the room. But I looked at you when we left the Parsonage that afternoon and knew I would never get you to tell me the truth."

"Then why..."

"I thought if I gave the appearance of courting Elizabeth, you might finally make a move." The Colonel grinned. "It seems I was correct."

Darcy groaned when he saw how neatly he had been played. "All that time, all those suggestions that I tell Lady Catherine I would not marry Anne..." His eyes narrowed as something occurred to him. "You have been most assiduous in your attentions, Richard." His voice was dangerously soft. "In fact, one might say you had been trifling with her affections."

Richard tilted his head. "I cannot say I have ever received real encouragement," he answered at last. "However, if it will assuage your concerns, I will find a way tomorrow of letting her know I am not seriously courting her."

Darcy nodded. "Yes, I would advise you did, Cousin," he said, and then rode off before Richard could reply.

In the morning, Richard renewed his promise to make his own situation clear to Elizabeth. Darcy kept to the study until he returned, sometimes reading a book, sometimes pacing the floor while he rehearsed his proposal.

"My dearest Elizabeth, you must allow... No, that is too bold, Darcy--entreat, do not demand. Loveliest Elizabeth, pray make me the happiest of men..." He snorted. "Hackneyed!"

"Not to mention, if our aunt heard those words you would not live to utter them to their intended recipient."

Darcy spun on his heel and found Richard leaning against the closed door. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough to pray Miss Elizabeth is as patient as she is lovely," Richard returned. "Good lord, William--she will never be able to answer if you do not finish the question."

Darcy crossed his arms. "I am trying to find the right words. But speaking of her answer, did you deliver your message?"

Darcy could not interpret the slow smile that spread across his cousin's face. "Oh, yes."

"And?"

"And..." Richard stretched the word out so long that Darcy wanted to strangle him. "And, I do not think you need to worry about her answer."

"Why --" Darcy coughed to remove the frog from his throat - "why do you say that?"

Richard examined his fingernails. "Simply something she said."

"Which was?"

He tapped his chin. "How did she phrase it? I believe her words were, 'I wonder he does not marry.'" The colonel dropped all pretense of disinterest and strode across the room to slap Darcy on the back. "Congratulations, Cousin. Had I a fortune of my own, I might give you some competition, but as it stands, I am sure you will both be very happy."

Richard was gone before Darcy recovered his speech. He stared at the closed door for several long moments, Richard's--no, Elizabeth's words--resonating in his mind. "So, she wonders that I have not married," he said at last. "Well, Elizabeth, after tonight you will wonder no more. Before this evening is out, you will know the whole of my heart."

Darcy still had not worked out exactly how he would manage that when teatime arrived. He knew, however, that he must, for he and Richard were to leave Kent on Saturday. If he did not declare himself tonight, there would hardly be time to make the engagement known to their friends in the neighborhood. He was particularly determined to inform his aunt, if only to stop his cousin's taunts.

He had a half-formed idea of offering to escort Elizabeth into the house when she and the Collinses arrived and then stealing her away to someplace private where he might propose. With this in mind, he met the Hunsford party on the lane and noticed immediately that Elizabeth was not among them. "Good evening," he said. "But where is Miss Elizabeth?"

Mrs. Collins's brows rose, and he wondered if he had been too obvious in his attentions. "My friend did not choose to come," she replied. "She stayed at home with a headache."

"Will you not do us the honor of walking into the house with us, Mr. Darcy?" Mr. Collins asked.

"No, thank you," Darcy said, his mind racing.
Elizabeth is home alone
. "I am afraid I was just on my way into the village on some business. Please make my excuses to my aunt--I did not have time to inform her."

Mr. Collins bowed low, but before he could speak, Darcy strode down the lane. Elizabeth was alone. That situation he had not known how to bring about, she had wrought with ease.

He remembered the concern on Mrs. Collins's face and his steps slowed for a moment. Would she be too ill to receive him? He shook the thought off and continued to the Parsonage with all haste. Unless she was in her bed, he would find a way to speak. "I will not leave Kent without asking her to be my wife."

He reached his destination in good time, and a servant ushered him into the little sitting room where he had first asked on Easter Monday if she would consider his suit. She sat in the same seat tonight which she had occupied then, and the memory agitated his emotions further.

Elizabeth stared up at him, and Darcy realized he had yet to speak. "I beg your pardon," he said. "I heard you were ill and came to see for myself if you were feeling any better."

Darcy barely heard her reply in the affirmative. He sat down in the chair opposite Elizabeth's for only a few seconds before he stood back up and paced the confines of the small room, turning his hat over in his hands.

None of the speeches he had prepared would come, but he would not remain tongue-tied tonight as he had done on that previous morning. He gathered his courage and reminded himself of what she had told Richard only hours ago, and then he turned to face her.

"In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

Elizabeth gasped and pressed a hand to her chest. Such a display banished what little doubt lingered in Darcy's mind, and his nervous pacing ceased.

"After many months of loving you, I find that nothing will do except to ask for your hand in marriage." He flushed slightly, aware that she might well wonder why, if he loved her so deeply, he had not declared himself before.

He looked down at his hat, then up at her. "I am aware, of course, that in so doing, I go against every wish of my family--even against my own better judgment. The lowness of your connections has long prevented me from truly seeking you as the mistress for Pemberley, but my own heart would not be dissuaded.

"Those who know me best will be surprised by the imprudence of my choice, but I am sure they will understand when they have met you."

He placed a hand on the mantelpiece and drew himself up straight. "And now, my dear Miss Elizabeth, will you not end my suffering and promise to be my wife?"

Here he stopped to finally take a breath. He looked over at her and found her gazing at him with some consideration in her expression. She blushed, and he felt the queer stirrings of unfettered joy deep in his heart.

"In cases such as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned. It is natural that obligation should be felt, and if I could
feel
gratitude, I would now thank you." She pursed her lips. "But I cannot--I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly."

Darcy could not breathe for a moment, and he gripped the mantel to avoid toppling over. As if she had ascertained his distress, her voice softened. "I am sorry to have occasioned pain to anyone. It has been most unconsciously done, however, and I hope will be of short duration. The feelings which, you tell me, have long prevented the acknowledgement of your regard, can have little difficulty in overcoming it after this explanation."

Her meaning was clear, and yet he could not understand it--he had believed he had her favor far too long to accept this change in the situation graciously. The pain in his chest spread upward, and he had to swallow a lump in his throat before he could speak. "And this is all the reply which I am to have the honor of expecting! I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little
endeavor
at civility, I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance."

Elizabeth's eyes sparked with indignation, and despite himself, he could not help but admire their brilliancy. "I might as well inquire why, with so evident a design of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character? Was not this some excuse for incivility, if I
was
uncivil? But I have other provocations. You know I have. Had not my own feelings decided against you, had they been indifferent, or had they even been favorable, do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps forever, the happiness of a much beloved sister?"

The blood which had drained from his face at her refusal rushed back.
So that is why she constantly mentioned Bingley.
The unexpected intelligence stole his power of speech, and she continued before he could form an answer.

"I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No motive can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted
there.
" She rose from her chair and paced the room, before turning back to him. "You dare not, you cannot deny that you have been the principal, if not the only means of dividing them from each other, of exposing the one to the censure of the world for caprice and instability, the other to its derision for disappointed hopes, and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind."

Darcy barely withheld a snort.
Misery of the acutest kind? Is that not overstating things, Elizabeth? Bingley and your sister will learn to love others as soon as those around stop reminding them of their foolish infatuation.

Apparently, she had expected an answer to her question, for after a moment's pause, she said, "Can you deny that you have done it?"

Her claims regarding Bingley and her sister restored Darcy to some of his equanimity. He rested one shoulder against the mantle and shrugged. "I have no wish of denying that I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your sister, or that I rejoice in my success. Towards
him
I have been kinder than towards myself." He could not withhold his bitterness.
Would that I had taken my own advice.

Elizabeth took a deep breath, and Darcy braced himself for whatever might come next. "But it is not merely this affair on which my dislike is founded. Long before it had taken place, my opinion of you was decided. Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received many months ago from Mr. Wickham." Darcy dropped his hat in shock, and she looked at him with all the triumph of a vengeful Boadicea. "On this subject, what can you have to say? In what imaginary act of friendship can you here defend yourself? Or under what misrepresentation can you here impose upon others?"

Wickham!
Darcy bent to pick up his hat and took the second to rein in his growing temper. "You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns," he bit out when he had straightened up.

Elizabeth, so bold, did not shy away from his anger. "Who that knows what his misfortunes have been can help feeling an interest in him?"

This was more than Darcy could bear. "His misfortunes!" he repeated sarcastically, wondering what story exactly Wickham had spun to Elizabeth. "Yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed."

"And of your infliction!" she cried out, and he finally saw in her expression the full weight of censure he had somehow missed before. "You have reduced him to poverty, comparative poverty. You have withheld the advantages which you must know to have been designed for him. You have deprived the best years of his life of that independence which was no less his due than his dessert. You have done all this! And yet you can treat the mention of his misfortunes with contempt and ridicule."

With his emotional lassitude broken, her words brought a wave of indignation and hurt; indignation that she could believe such things about him, and hurt that she did not first allow him to explain what had happened before accusing him. "And this is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which you hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully. My faults, according to this calculation, are heavy indeed!"