Pride and Prejudice (Clandestine Classics) (52 page)

They walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects. She soon learnt that they were indebted for their present good understanding to the efforts of his aunt, who did call on him in her return through London, and there relate her journey to Longbourn, its motive, and the substance of her conversation with Elizabeth, dwelling emphatically on every expression of the latter which, in her ladyship’s apprehension, peculiarly denoted her perverseness and assurance, in the belief that such a relation must assist her endeavours to obtain that promise from her nephew which she had refused to give. But, unluckily for her ladyship, its effect had been exactly contrariwise.

“It taught me to hope,” said he, “as I had scarcely ever allowed myself to hope before. I knew enough of your disposition to be certain that, had you been absolutely, irrevocably decided against me, you would have acknowledged it to Lady Catherine, frankly and openly.”

Elizabeth coloured and laughed as she replied, “Yes, you know enough of my frankness to believe me capable of
that
. After abusing you so abominably to your face, I could have no scruple in abusing you to all your relations.”

“What did you say of me, that I did not deserve? For, though your accusations were ill-founded, formed on mistaken premises, my behaviour to you at the time had merited the severest reproof. It was unpardonable. I cannot think of it without abhorrence.”

“We will not quarrel for the greater share of blame annexed to that evening,” said Elizabeth. “The conduct of neither, if strictly examined, will be irreproachable, but since then, we have both, I hope, improved in civility.”

“I cannot be so easily reconciled to myself. The recollection of what I then said, of my conduct, my manners, my expressions during the whole of it, is now, and has been many months, inexpressibly painful to me. Your reproof, so well applied, I shall never forget. ‘had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.’ Those were your words. You know not, you can scarcely conceive, how they have tortured me,—though it was some time, I confess, before I was reasonable enough to allow their justice.”

“I was certainly very far from expecting them to make so strong an impression. I had not the smallest idea of their being ever felt in such a way.”

“I can easily believe it. You thought me then devoid of every proper feeling, I am sure you did. The turn of your countenance I shall never forget, as you said that I could not have addressed you in any possible way that would induce you to accept me.”

“Oh! Do not repeat what I then said. These recollections will not do at all. I assure you that I have long been most heartily ashamed of it.”

Darcy mentioned his letter. “Did it,” said he, “did it soon make you think better of me? Did you, on reading it, give any credit to its contents?”

Though they had discussed the contents of the letter briefly at Pemberley, Elizabeth felt safe to discuss the matter more openly and plainly now. She explained what its effect on her had been, and how gradually all her former prejudices had been removed.

“I knew,” said he, “that what I wrote must give you pain, but it was necessary. I hope you have destroyed the letter. There was one part especially, the opening of it, which I should dread your having the power of reading again. I can remember some expressions which might justly make you hate me.”

“The letter shall certainly be burnt, if you believe it essential to the preservation of my regard, but, though we have both reason to think my opinions not entirely unalterable, they are not, I hope, quite so easily changed as that implies.”

“When I wrote that letter,” replied Darcy, “I believed myself perfectly calm and cool, but I am since convinced that it was written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit.”

“The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness, but it did not end so. The adieu is charity itself. But think no more of the letter. The feelings of the person who wrote, and the person who received it, are now so widely different from what they were then, that every unpleasant circumstance attending it ought to be forgotten. You must learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.”

“I cannot give you credit for any philosophy of the kind. Your retrospections must be so totally void of reproach, that the contentment arising from them is not of philosophy, but, what is much better, of innocence. But with me, it is not so. Painful recollections will intrude which cannot, which ought not, to be repelled. I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle. As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately an only son—for many years an only child—I was spoilt by my parents, who, though good themselves—my father, particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable—allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing, to care for none beyond my own family circle, to think meanly of all the rest of the world, to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own. Such I was, from eight to eight and twenty, and such I might still have been but for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! What do I not owe you! You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception. You showed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased.”

“Had you then persuaded yourself that I should?”

“Indeed I had. What will you think of my vanity? I believed you to be wishing, expecting my addresses.”

“My manners must have been in fault, but not intentionally, I assure you. I was so very torn. My attraction to you was never in any doubt. You excited me more than I ever imagined possible and I wanted you in every conceivable way, but I could not overlook the misdeeds I believed you to have committed. I never meant to deceive you, but my spirits might often lead me wrong. How you must have hated me after
that
evening?”

“Hate you! I was angry perhaps at first, but my anger soon began to take a proper direction.”

“I am almost afraid of asking what you thought of me, when we met at Pemberley. You blamed me for coming?”

“No indeed, I felt nothing but surprise.”

“Your surprise could not be greater than
mine
in being noticed by you. My conscience told me that I deserved no extraordinary politeness, and I confess that I did not expect to receive
more
than my due.”

“My object then,” replied Darcy, “was to show you, by every civility in my power, that I was not so mean as to resent the past, and I hoped to obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill opinion, by letting you see that your reproofs had been attended to. How soon any other wishes introduced themselves I can hardly tell, but I believe in about half an hour after I had seen you.”

He then told her of Georgiana’s delight in her acquaintance, and of her disappointment at its sudden interruption, which naturally leading to the cause of that interruption, she soon learnt that his resolution of following her from Derbyshire in quest of her sister had been formed before he quitted the inn, and that his gravity and thoughtfulness there had arisen from no other struggles than what such a purpose must comprehend.

She expressed her gratitude again, but it was too painful a subject to each, to be dwelt on further.

After walking several miles in a leisurely manner, and too busy to know anything about it, they found at last, on examining their watches, that it was time to be at home.

“What could become of Mr Bingley and Jane!” was a wonder which introduced the discussion of their affairs. Darcy was delighted with their engagement. His friend had given him the earliest information of it.

“I must ask whether you were surprised?” said Elizabeth.

“Not at all. When I went away, I felt that it would soon happen.”

“That is to say, you had given your permission. I guessed as much.” And though he exclaimed at the term, she found that it had been pretty much the case.

“On the evening before my going to London,” said he, “I made a confession to him, which I believe I ought to have made long ago. I told him of all that had occurred to make my former interference in his affairs absurd and impertinent. His surprise was great. He had never had the slightest suspicion. I told him, moreover, that I believed myself mistaken in supposing, as I had done, that your sister was indifferent to him, and as I could easily perceive that his attachment to her was unabated, I felt no doubt of their happiness together.”

Elizabeth could not help smiling at his easy manner of directing his friend.

“Did you speak from your own observation,” said she, “when you told him that my sister loved him, or merely from my information last spring?”

“From the former. I had narrowly observed her during the two visits which I had lately made here, and I was convinced of her affection.”

“And your assurance of it, I suppose, carried immediate conviction to him.”

“It did. Bingley is most unaffectedly modest. His diffidence had prevented his depending on his own judgement in so anxious a case, but his reliance on mine made everything easy. I was obliged to confess one thing, which for a time, and not unjustly, offended him. I could not allow myself to conceal that your sister had been in town three months last winter, that I had known it, and purposely kept it from him. He was angry. But his anger, I am persuaded, lasted no longer than he remained in any doubt of your sister’s sentiments. He has heartily forgiven me now.”

Elizabeth longed to observe that Mr Bingley had been a most delightful friend, so easily guided that his worth was invaluable, but she checked herself. She remembered that he had yet to learn to be laughed at, and it was rather too early to begin. In anticipating the happiness of Bingley, which of course was to be inferior only to his own, he continued the conversation for a little while. When he was convinced they were in no danger of being interrupted by the lovers he turned to Elizabeth and said, “As we now, I believe, are very much alone, would you consent to honouring me with a kiss?”

It had been some time that she had wished for the same thing herself and she agreed eagerly, words having failed her. Mr Darcy placed his hands on her upper arms and leaned in slowly, his eyes intent on her mouth.

“You have no idea how much I have dreamed of your lips against mine,” said he. “The memory of your kiss often kept me awake at night and well into the morning hours and I have long since desired to be inside you again, to feel your heat engulfing me, to have your soft, beautiful body writhing in ecstasy beneath mine own.”

Darcy’s words set Elizabeth alight and when his lips finally descended on hers, she murmured her approval and opened for him willingly, her body becoming pliant in his arms. His tongue slid effortlessly into her mouth and caressed hers. They kissed passionately for long moments and Elizabeth soon became aware of the wetness between her legs, of her fervent desire to have his sex buried to the hilt inside her. The kiss deepened, and Darcy crushed Elizabeth into his body, allowing her to feel the hardness of his manhood, to understand that his desire for her was as strong as it had ever been. When their mouths finally parted, Elizabeth trailed kisses along his throat and neck until she reached his earlobe and took it between her teeth.

“Please take me,” she whispered. “I need it. I ache for it.”

Her words were met with only a grunt of approval by Darcy. He stepped back and checked their surroundings, partly to assure they were alone, but also to discover a hiding place for them that was away from the road. He took hold of Elizabeth’s hand and led her from the lane to the trees beyond. They walked on for a short time until they came to a small clearing and without another word, he pulled her to the ground, laying her down on the grass and covering her body with his. He thrust his hips frantically, emphasising the urgency of his need to be buried inside her depths.

Much to Elizabeth’s relief and pleasure, Darcy lifted her skirts quickly and removed her undergarments, then fumbled to free himself from the confines of his own clothing. When his large manhood was revealed, it sat firm and proud against his stomach, and though she had seen it before, the length and girth of it still surprised her, making her wonder again how it was possible it could fit. As he held it in his palm, his hand moving steadily up and down, a bead of moisture appeared on the tip and Elizabeth had the most curious desire to taste it. She remembered Darcy with his mouth on her sex and how wonderful it had felt, how much pleasure she had derived from the act, and wanted to reciprocate. She moved out from under him and sat up, leaning forward to take him into her mouth.

The pained moan that tore from Darcy’s lips caused Elizabeth to pull back and look up at him in alarm.

“Oh God, did I hurt you?”

Darcy’s eyes were wild, dark with need, his lips parted as he drew in deep breaths. “Heavens no. Your mouth is…perfection. But I fear I may not be able to hold back if you do that for very much longer.”

Reassured she had not harmed him, Elizabeth returned his smile, and while holding his gaze, she leant forward again and swept her tongue across the tip of his sex, capturing the drops that were leaking there and savouring them. Darcy squeezed his eyes shut, let out a low moan and placed his hands on her head, his fingers tangling in the soft strands of hair as he held her in place. With nothing to guide her but instinct, Elizabeth closed her mouth and slid it down his length, but the tip of him nudged the back of her throat and she had to draw back or choke. The action drew a primal grunt of pleasure from Darcy’s lips and so Elizabeth repeated the action, moving up and down on him, letting his wordless moans and contented sighs direct her. She was only permitted the pleasure of the act for a few short moments before she felt a tug on her hair and heard Darcy’s breathless words.

“Elizabeth, please stop. I beg of you.”