The Grand Tour chapter 1
This story begins after the disastrous proposal at Hunsford Parsonage when Darcy finishes his letter to Elizabeth. What if the meeting in the grove had not been confined to handing a letter to a lady? A shorter way to happiness, perhaps?
This first chapter is the setting up for a longer story, which will take our beloved hero and heroine to the European continent on a Grand Tour. Darcy did not participate in this aristocratic "rite of initiation". Because of the political turmoil on the continent in the period following Darcy's graduation, his father thought it too dangerous an undertaking for the heir of Pemberley. His untimely death made it completely impossible for Darcy to leave England at all. So, why not grasp a second chance with both hands and travel together with your spouse with whom you can share all those exciting experiences...?
As this is my very first attempt at writing fanfiction and English is not my first language, I'll start prudently and will mainly focus on two characters, Elizabeth and Darcy.
A special thank you goes to Roya, Lisa L, Clare and Rebekah. I am most grateful for their invaluable help, advise and encouragement.
Renée
Chapter 1
Part 1
Thou art more lovely and more temperate...
... I shall endeavour to find some opportunity of putting this letter in your hands in the course of morning. I will only add, God bless you. Fitzwilliam Darcy
When Darcy signed his letter to Elizabeth Bennet he was utterly and completely exhausted. His right hand felt numb, his body cold and his mind empty... but he did not care. It did not signify that he had not slept all night; In fact, he cared not for anything but the woman who seemed to be lost to him forever. Her lovely face haunted him; her fine eyes, her rosy cheeks, her red lips, her sweet smile... Softly he let her name flow over his lips: Elizabeth, Lizzy, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth.
This handsome, intelligent woman, who kept him awake night after night, the one who aroused feelings in him he never knew existed, hated him and refused quite decidedly the offer of his affections. The love, tenderness and admiration he felt for her were all for naught. He wanted to hold her, cherish her and... not least of all, love her passionately. He ached at the thought that he would never be allowed to kiss those beautiful lips, to caress her silky skin and while casting a glance at the four-poster bed, he meditated on the very great pleasure a vision of Elizabeth reaching out for him could bestow... No, he tried to drive such thoughts from his mind, I must check myself-she will never be mine.
He realized that his initial feelings of anger and hurt pride had faded away during the course of the night and had been replaced by an emotional mélange of disappointment, nausea, yearning and desire. Desire, oh yes, even more ardent than before. But alas, his love for her would remain unrequited; how was he ever to conquer this?
Tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me... he had said that about her and haughtily refused to dance with her! In that despicable fashion, he had treated the woman he now desperately wanted by his side. He congratulated himself... Fitzwilliam Darcy, rich, powerful, handsome... one of England's most eligible bachelors had ruined his chances to marry the only woman he had ever loved or would love, apart from his mother and sister.
Elizabeth, the most precious woman in the world to him, held him in contempt. He laughed bitterly at the irony of it all. During her stay at Netherfield, he thought it better not to give her too much attention as not to put ideas in her head, despite his growing attraction. Leaning backwards in his chair, he moaned at the very idiocy of his state of mind at the time. He had been the only one who had ideas; she wasn't interested in him in the least! How could he have made such a miscalculation? Insufferable presumption that is what it was! Thinking of his appalling experiences in London society where mothers almost literally threw their daughters into his arms, he realized that in general he did not hold women in high esteem. He was all too aware of how his marriage prospects were viewed by the ton. Thus, he did not have any doubts about the reception of his proposal. Why could he not have foreseen that he had proposed to a woman of utter integrity, a woman who would not marry but for mutual love and respect. She was not interested in his station in life; she did not care for his riches. She did not like him, which was for her the very reason to refuse him. No wonder he had fallen in love with her! From the very beginning of their acquaintance, he had known subconsciously that she was different from the young women he had known thus far.
He cursed himself for having acted on impulse; so very unlike him! After this long night of reflection, he knew very well why he had. Jealousy had got the better of him. When he saw her again at Hunsford Parsonage, the passion - which he thought would lessen in time - almost immediately came back to him in all its force. He couldn't keep his eyes from her and his memory had not done her justice; she looked even lovelier than he remembered.
While observing Elizabeth and his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam so comfortably conversing together, he desperately wanted to have his share in the conversation, but could not bring himself to it. He felt terribly shy and awkward. Later, at Rosings Park, they were playing music together, laughing - sometimes at his expense.
The very idea that Fitzwilliam might become her suitor was well nigh unbearable. How could he have been so stupid, so short sighted? Honesty forced him to admit that he wanted to claim Elizabeth as his own before his cousin could have seized the opportunity to do so.
The painful recollection of the proposal kept intruding. My feelings will not be repressed... he had said, but what about hers? Did he ever wonder what she felt?
You were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry... Gradually, he came to the conclusion that he had behaved in an unbelievably naive, insensitive, arrogant, selfish and indeed, shamelessly ungentlemanlike manner.
Ungentlemanlike behaviour... Could a gentleman be censured more severely than that? He closed his eyes as in pain at the recollection of her words. At the very moment he considered that question, he resolved upon making amends. His first ambition was to try to change her opinion of him. He was convinced still that they were meant for each other and he would do everything within his power to make her see that as well. He would win her heart, but in such a way that he deserved it, that he would be worthy of her. He dearly wished the letter would make her think better of him. Whether she could forgive his interference with the relationship between her sister and his friend remained to be seen. But he was convinced that, at least, she would believe his account on his dealings with that scoundrel, George Wickham.
He groaned as he stood up and poured some water into the basin on the dresser. He splashed his face with cold water and extinguished the last burning candle with his thumb. As the morning sun threw its first rays through the windows, he decided to dress without the help of his valet and get some fresh air before breakfast. He put the letter in his pocket in the event he would meet Elizabeth during this walk; an encounter he both feared and longed for.
Chapter 1
Part 2
Elizabeth got up early after a sleepless night during which she had tried to compose her thoughts. She felt confused, angry, quite sad and... if she could be truly honest with herself, flattered. Being proposed to by such a great man... being loved by him!
Thinking of the future prospects of her family, the idea that she had acted too hastily, even selfishly, crossed her mind, but she dismissed it quickly. No, he had been cruel towards his father's protégé, he was arrogant and, what was worst, he had ruined Jane's only probable chance for happiness. How could she ever esteem, let alone love, such a man? She reviewed the events of the previous day and could not but come to one conclusion: refusing him was the only right thing she could have done. Father would surely understand, though she had no intention of telling him. The thought of her mother's probable reaction to her second refusal within a time span of half a year - this time, the rejection of a man of £10,000 a year! - made her chuckle. All the smelling salts in the world could not be enough to soothe her hysteria. No, she decided to keep this to herself and perhaps she might confide in Jane, eventually.
Suffering from a severe headache, she did not wish to join the Collinses at the breakfast table. The distasteful manner in which her cousin consumed his food was too much to bear at this particular moment, as was the endless chitchat of Maria Lucas. She excused herself and went out for a walk. It was a beautiful sunny morning and she was badly in need of some fresh air.
After having walked for more than an hour, Elizabeth seated herself on a fallen tree at the border of the forest overlooking the valley. She enjoyed watching the beautiful landscape warming itself in the morning sun and, while closing her eyes, she deeply inhaled the delicious scent of the spring blossoms, still covered with dew. Melancholy overcame her when her mind unwillingly wandered back towards the events of the previous day. To distract herself from her black thoughts, she opened her volume of Shakespeare's sonnets she always carried with her...
"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day..." she read aloud.
"Thou art more lovely and more temperate..." she heard a familiar
voice softly reciting behind her.
She started and while turning around, she could not keep her balance and fell backwards.
"Oh, Mr. Darcy! I did not hear you approaching!" Elizabeth cried, while inelegantly lying in the grass with her legs in the air. She immediately pulled down her skirt and tried to right herself.
Darcy reached out his hand for her: "Forgive me Miss Bennet, for startling you, but I could not resist. You were reciting one of my favourite sonnets."
The situation was awkward to say the least, and particularly embarrassing for Elizabeth, who was blushing furiously. However, they both couldn't help smiling somewhat sheepishly, as Mr. Darcy pulled her to her feet and Elizabeth adjusted her gown and brushed off blades of grass.
While asking her if she was hurt, the expression on Darcy's face spoke of concern and guilt. He could not help but notice though how lovely she looked; her bonnet removed, a soft breeze blowing through her beautiful hair... not to mention her fine legs, of which he was so fortunate as to have caught a glimpse. He sighed inwardly.
Utterly confused, about his gallantry and obvious concern, she nervously assured him that she was quite well and that there was nothing the matter with her. After an uncomfortable moment of silence, Darcy asked - not all together certain about her condition: "Will you not sit down again, Miss Bennet, to recover from the shock?"
He spread his greatcoat out over the tree and Elizabeth, more pleased by his solicitous manner than she liked to admit, took the invitation and sat down.
"Will not you sit down as well, Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth shyly asked while indicating the place next to her with her hand.
Darcy was more than delighted to oblige and sat beside her.
"Is Sonnet Eighteen your favourite too, Miss Bennet?" Darcy asked.
Elizabeth did not really feel like admitting it was, but could not
lie either, and answered him in the affirmative.
And then, all of a sudden, a most remarkable and unexpected event occurred; before they knew it, they were engaged in a lively conversation on literature, music and other subjects that interested them. Apart from their shared love for Shakespeare, Darcy appeared to be a great admirer of poets like Goethe and Schiller, whereas Elizabeth was a devotee of Jean de la Fontaine. She told him that she was particularly fond of his fables in which the author so wittily expressed his sharp observation of human failings, such as vanity and pride.
Intelligent a man as Darcy was, her underlying meaning did not escape his notice. However, he did not feel insulted. On the contrary, his devotion for her grew even stronger. Above that, the situation as a whole was so much more than he had hoped for! He had but planned to hand her the letter, leave and let events take their turn. He considered this a good omen and wanted to prolong their conversation for as long as propriety allowed.
"You're quite right, Miss Bennet, Jean de la Fontaine, is a great connoisseur of the human mind and I admire his wit. Undoubtedly, you know 'Le Corbeau et le Renard', or foolish vanity versus cleverness?"
"I most certainly do," she replied smiling, and recited:
"Maître corbeau, sur un arbre perché, *)
Tenait en son bec un fromage.
Maître renard par l'odeur alléché,
Lui tint à peu près ce langage:" ...
"Et bonjour Monsieur du Corbeau
Que vous êtes joli! que vous me semblez beau!"
Darcy and Elizabeth exclaimed the last line in unison. They looked at each other and burst out laughing. For the first time since their acquaintance, they both felt perfectly at ease in each other's company.
"Your command of French is exquisite, Miss Bennet," he said while looking at her with undisguised admiration.
He was in awe; she knew French fables by heart and could recite them in impeccable French! She definitely was not only the handsomest woman he had ever met, but far more accomplished than the half a dozen young ladies of his acquaintance whom he believed earned that qualification.
"I thank you, Mr. Darcy. My dear father taught me French as well as German. As a child, my father had a French governess who, amongst other things, taught him those languages. And he taught me anything I wanted to know: languages, literature, history, geography and mathematics. He is a great reader, you know, always has been, and does not take pleasure in anything else, apart from making sport of other people...if they deserve it," she added, with a mischievous smile.
"Father often told me he did not want me to waste more time on lace than absolutely necessary. I suppose I take after him. For as long as I can remember, the library has been my favourite part of our home. And if I would ever have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library."
Darcy chuckled at her subtle allusion to Miss Bingley's insincere remark one evening at Netherfield and thought to himself what a wonderful library he had to offer to her, if only he got the chance...
When Elizabeth comprehended that she was greatly enjoying her discourse with Mr. Darcy, her heart started pounding faster. Who is this man? She thought. She had refused him and instead of never wanting to see her or talk to her again, he was all ease and friendliness, no false dignity at all!
They were engaged in a conversation she would never thought possible under normal circumstances with a man of his taciturn disposition, let alone after all that had happened. What was it again that Colonel Fitzwilliam once said about him? "He is lively enough in other places..." And what about herself? She realized that she actually took pleasure in this unexpected meeting and could not help but notice how handsome he looked when smiling.
"Miss Bennet." The sound of his voice woke her out of her reverie. "As much as I have enjoyed this conversation with you, I cannot act any longer as if yesterday's event has not happened. I would like to express my gratitude. After my abhorrent behaviour, I quite expected you would never talk to me again. I cannot tell you how pleased I am that this is not the case and I thank you for your generosity. As a matter of fact, last night I wrote you a letter."
Here, Darcy paused, cleared his throat and spoke while having a somewhat embarrassed and, at the same time hopeful expression on his face: "I would very much appreciate if you would do me the honour of reading it, Miss Bennet and... I apologize for all the hurtful things I said," he added hesitantly. "I was labouring under a terrible misapprehension, so it seems; I was convinced you were wishing, expecting my addresses. When you opened my eyes, I fear my pride was wounded and my anger took the better of me. I do hope you will be able to forgive me one day. I beg you to ignore the beginning of the letter and please, forgive me my frankness on my feelings concerning your family..."
Without awaiting her answer, he finally said, "Well, you must have long been desiring my absence, I shall leave you now."
While he was saying these last words, they both stood up from the tree. He took the letter from his pocket and handed it to her, put on his coat, bowed and made a move to walk back in the direction of Rosings Park.
Elizabeth was stunned and didn't know what to say. But before Darcy actually took his leave, she called him. "Mr. Darcy, pray do not leave yet. I owe you an apology for my conduct of last evening as well. The reason for your call was most unexpected and up to now, I was convinced of one thing only; that you disliked me as much as I... disliked you."
Conscious of the use of the past tense, she hesitated. All of a sudden, she thought that the word 'dislike' was utterly out of place. Her thoughts ran incoherently through her brain, but she collected herself.
"Anyway, Mr. Darcy, your proposal astonished me beyond belief," she continued. "I never noticed any particular regard from you for me, and I was well aware of the fact that you held my relations in contempt. You could not have made yourself clearer on that subject yesterday evening"
While looking at the letter in her hand she wondered if she had done the right thing to accept it. Elizabeth frowned at the thought that her curiosity appeared to be stronger than her sense of propriety and slightly blushing, she said: "I thank you for the letter, Mr. Darcy. I will read it. I have to emphasize though, that I cannot possibly answer it, propriety forbids it."
"I am well aware of that, Miss Bennet," replied he, "I only hope for one thing: that you will think better of me after you have read it. And...," here he hesitated.
"Yes, Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth asked.
"If I were to visit Mr. Bingley at Netherfield in the near future, would you mind if I accompanied him if he were to call on your family?" He asked while eying her intently.
Elizabeth did not know what to make of this and turned her head away from his probing look. Was it an allusion to certain intentions he had with regard to Jane and Mr. Bingley? Was he perchance asking her permission to court her anew?
The question unsettled her somewhat and not knowing what to say, she confined herself to a barely visible nod, curtseyed and began to walk towards the parsonage.
With a smile on his face and a feeling of lightness in his heart, Darcy watched her disappear in the woods...
To be continued...
*) Mister Raven, perched on a tree,
Held a cheese in his beak.
Mister Fox, enticed by the smell,
Addressed him in language like this:
Oh! Good morning, Mr. Raven.
How pretty you are! How beautiful you seem to me!
Chapter 2
Part 1
Those lips that love's own hand did make, breathed forth the sound that said `I hate'*
For a short while Darcy stared contemplatively as Elizabeth had disappeared out of view. When he finally could bring himself to return to Rosings Park, his pace was not agitated as it had been after he had left the parsonage the evening before; this time, he did not feel the urge to make haste in the least. Holding his hat in his left hand, enjoying the breeze blowing freely through his hair and playfully swiping the grasses with his cane, he pursued his way at leisure. He enjoyed the landscape surrounding him and was of the impression that the colours of the countryside were brighter, the scent of the spring blossoms more alluring and the singing of the birds more melodious than usual. Turning his face towards the sun, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It seemed as if a new awareness had entered his mind and he sensed a different, more powerful kind of vitality.
He felt lighter at heart, of this there was no doubt; he could almost call himself happy, but was it rational to feel this way? How very like me he thought, smiling refusing to abolish reason altogether.
He whispered, “I hate' from hate away she threw, and saved my life, saying `Not you'”*
Sweet, torturous poetry… he remembered Elizabeth's observation at Netherfield on poems driving love away, when her mother was lamenting over a lost love of her sister Jane. How very wrong she was! He thought to himself, indeed, poetry is the food of love. At least, it had spanned what appeared to be an unbridgeable chasm between them this very day. Would it perchance have opened the door to a future together? A voice in his head chastised him for letting his mind move forward too rapidly. But their conversation had been so entertaining, so enlightening! Indeed, this was the first conversation since their acquaintance in which so many different aspects about themselves were revealed in a most spontaneous and easy manner. He could hear her lilting voice in his head and he could smell her sweet lavender scent still. He recalled the warmth in her voice when she talked about her father or her elder sister; her resigned tone and soft sighs when she spoke of her mother or younger sisters. Every little detail was forever burned in his mind: her expressive countenance, the gestures of her hands while talking, the movements of her head, the way she looked him straight in the eye and the delicate raising of her eyebrows when he said something that seemed to astonish her.
He was moved when noticing the bright sparkle in her eyes when she revealed her dearest wish: a journey to the continent. She had told him that she dreamt of visiting all the fascinating countries she had read about since she was a little girl: France, Austria and in particular Italy…
How amazing that she did not only share his tastes in music and literature, but that she cherished the same wishes. We truly have a lot in common, he mused.
He thought back to a conversation he had with his father on this very subject. Despite his determined application, his father would not let him go on a Grand Tour upon his graduation from Cambridge. The political situation of the European continent was too turbulent and subsequently the crossing of the North Sea an act of utter irresponsibility. Darcy remembered how very disappointed he was, but he knew that his father was quite right in deciding thusly. Unfortunately, his excellent father's untimely death made it completely impossible for him to leave England at all, as the management of Pemberley and the raising of Georgiana now fell on his shoulders. But he never stopped thinking about it. He would dearly love to broaden his horizons and get the chance to acquaint himself with the cultures and customs of the continental countries about which he had read so much.
Darcy expected that the opportunity to travel anew would be here ere long. With Bonaparte's power declining slowly but surely, the continent should be spared more battles soon and get a chance to recover itself from all warfare. It would mean the end of the continental system as well and the relations between Great Britain and the European continent could be restored. Further, Georgiana was at an age where he could very easily travel, and he could entrust the day-to-day management of Pemberley to his steward. Now Darcy could not help but imagine taking this long-awaited trip with Elizabeth at his side.
The very idea of embarking on such a fascinating journey with his beloved made his heart pound faster. He imagined himself strolling with Elizabeth, arms linked, around the Coliseum in Rome or along the quays of the Seine in Paris; secretly holding hands in their box at the opera house in Vienna; or admiring the richly decorated canal houses in Amsterdam from a barge.
- A journey to the continent. Travelling abroad… together! His eyes lit up at such a prospect. - Making such a journey with Elizabeth as his wife and companion. Happy thought indeed!
As a little boy, his father would often take him on his lap and tell him all about his exciting adventures travelling. He remembered how he used to hang on his words on those occasions. As he grew older, he used to lose himself in one of the tub chairs in the library at Pemberley with one of his father's books on ancient Rome or Florence, forgetting all about time while enjoying the beautiful engravings, recounting his father's dramatic tales of battles and intrigues in those foreign lands. He cherished these memories. How he had loved and admired his father; how he missed him still!
As he walked on, his mind wandered back to his recent encounter with Elizabeth. He could still feel the closeness of her body. How he restrained himself to not touch her knee with his hand! The sight of her legs in the air after the fall had taken his breath away. He had imagined kissing her right there and then. He chuckled. She would never have tolerated that… or would she? No, never! Unwittingly, he brought his hand to his cheek where she presumably— and rightfully - would have slapped him.
Darcy realized the paradox that held him: it was impossible not to think of her when she was not there and he could not keep his eyes from her while in her presence. Either physically or mentally, the object of his love and most ardent passion was omnipresent. This time however, he would not fight the thought of her as he had done for the past six months. The nagging ache the vision of Elizabeth had caused not so long ago had been replaced by a pleasant, almost constant sensation in the pit of his stomach.
Arriving at Rosings, he ran up the steps towards the main entrance and entered the hall, where his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, cordially welcomed him and told him that he was greatly missed. From the breakfast room he heard the piercing voice of his aunt calling: “Is that my nephew, Fitzwilliam? Where has he been?”
Rolling his eyes while handing his hat, cane and coat to the footman, he greeted his cousin more jovially than was his wont; to the colonel's utter astonishment, he slapped him on the shoulder.
Darcy knew he should not avoid his aunt any longer and followed the sound of her voice into the parlour, leaving his cousin behind with a simultaneously puzzled and amused look on his face.
“Forgive me Aunt, for being late for breakfast,” Darcy said curtly, “I had business to attend to that could not be delayed.”
Hardly listening to what he actually said, not even wondering about what business he could possibly have in Kent, Lady Catherine immediately commenced a rambling circumlocutory on the pleasure she and in particular, her daughter Anne, took in the sojourn of her cousins and how their stay had made her daughter blossom. Darcy had difficulties keeping his countenance while hearing the observation on her daughter and rubbed his chin to disguise the small smile he was unable to completely suppress - Anne blossoming, indeed! he thought while shuddering inwardly.
Lady Catherine invited the two men in the breakfast room to partake in their morning meal.
Though the sideboard offered a large variety of delicacies, Darcy was not feeling very hungry. No wonder, his heart was so overflowing with emotions that his stomach felt as if it was locked up. He confined himself to a buttered roll and a cup of coffee.
As he was meditating on the previous events, he could hardly attend what his aunt was saying and responded only with an occasional slight nod. Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had noticed a change in his cousin, kept looking quizzically at him.
“Why, Darcy, are you listening at all to what I am saying?” Lady Catherine asked in her loud and patronizing voice, finally perceiving the absentmindedness of her nephew. “You did not answer my question on the duration of your sojourn at Rosings. Pray tell me, could not you and Fitzwilliam stay for a week more?”
“Forgive me Aunt, but as great a pleasure as that would be, it is not possible. Cousin Fitzwilliam and I will leave Rosings tomorrow morning as planned. I have urgent business to attend to in London and I have not seen Georgiana for too long. I miss her dearly. I beg you to understand”
“I most certainly do not comprehend this at all, Nephew! Your sister is far too busy studying the pianoforte to miss you. And brothers can easily do without their sisters. Besides, you are with Georgiana for most of the year, whereas dear Anne and I have the pleasure of your society but for a fortnight,” Lady Catherine said in retort.
“Excuse me Aunt, I fear it is high time I gave my valet instructions for our departure,” Darcy said, completely ignoring her last statement. Before his aunt could seize the opportunity to object, he put his napkin down, stood up and strode hurriedly out of the room, leaving each one of the three remaining persons in a completely different state of mind; Lady Catherine was most seriously displeased, Colonel Fitzwilliam utterly amused and cousin Anne remained perfectly indifferent to his unusual behaviour.
After having given his valet, Rowland, instructions in connection with his departure and ordered him to prepare his bath within the hour, Darcy needed to be alone for a while and lay down on his bed. In fact, he very much did not wish to leave Rosings, since Elizabeth would remain in Kent for another few days. But it could not be helped; he had to see Bingley as soon as may be. If Elizabeth's sister and Bingley truly had fallen in love with each other, his mistake was grievous indeed, to say the least. He had decided to confess to his friend his unjust interference and apologize. He knew that this self-imposed mission would be one of the most difficult in his life and that the price he had to pay for it could be high: the loss forever of Bingley's friendship. However, it was a price worth paying if he might, on the other hand, regain Elizabeth's respect.
All of a sudden Darcy was overtaken by an extreme fatigue. Indeed, he had not enjoyed a good night's rest, having spent the better part of the night composing the letter to Elizabeth, and the events of this morning were emotionally and physically taking their toll. Thus, while lying on his back looking at the gaudy decorated canopy, his eyelids grew heavy and he slowly drifted away into a slumber…
”Why is Elizabeth in my room? What is she doing here?” The object of his love and passion walked towards him. He saw her lips moving but he could not hear what she was saying. “Come closer, Elizabeth, my love, I cannot hear you,” he whispered. She was wearing a diaphanous gown revealing her luscious body in a most sensuous manner. She sat beside him on the edge of the bed and whispered endearments to him. While stroking a lock of hair from his forehead, she called him her beloved husband and softly kissed his lips. “You cannot possibly feel comfortable with all these clothes on, my love. Allow me to,” she said and started to untie the knot of his neck cloth…”
Bathed in sweat, breathing heavily and with his heart pounding wildly inside his chest, Darcy sat straight up in his bed and looked bewildered around him. He had awoken from a slumber filled with the sweetest of dreams. He was bitterly disappointed to not see Elizabeth sitting next to him, but Rowland standing beside his bed informing him that his bath was ready.
He had actually dreamt that they were husband and wife! Elizabeth had called him her beloved husband! “Good God,” he groaned while falling backwards on the bed. Why had he awoken so soon? Too soon! Elizabeth had only begun to undress him. He could well imagine where this dream would have lead to! Damned Rowland - he thought, giving his valet a vexed look. Darcy had to restrain himself not to chide the poor man.
He stepped out of bed and made his way to his dressing room. Silently, Rowland helped him undress and Darcy stepped into the tub. While enjoying the relaxing feeling of the hot water enveloping his body, he wondered how he could possibly go on like this and still keep his sanity. Although he most strongly felt that the hope he cherished was justified, he had yet to win her heart. Therefore he had to keep his thoughts in check.
Fencing, he said to himself, extensive fencing. He must schedule more fencing sessions…
* From Shakespeare's sonnet CXLV (145)
Chapter 2
Part 2
When Elizabeth was certain that she was no longer in view, she began to run. She was most anxious to read the letter, but could not do so before she would have to return to the parsonage. She had been away long enough as it was and would not wish Charlotte to be concerned for her.
Because her mind was full of thoughts about Mr. Darcy and all that had happened but a few moments ago, she found it difficult to retain her pace, and she slowed down shortly afterwards. She felt confused, no, she thought - confused was too inadequate a word. Perplexed, mystified and admittedly, pleased, were words that rendered more appropriately the turmoil of her emotions.
She blushed while thinking back of her fall and the manner in which Mr. Darcy had expressed his concern; he had been so kind, so perfectly gentlemanlike. Gentlemanlike…? When he pulled her to her feet, she had noticed a strange look in his eyes she could not decipher; at least, it had everything but that unreadable or disapproving expression in it she was used to and he had made a movement with his head towards her face as if he wanted to kiss her. No, I am imagining things; he would never do an improper thing like that… or would he? Unconsciously she touched her lips with her fingers as if to anticipate the imprint of his. No man had ever kissed her and she wondered how that would feel, how that would taste. She coloured of embarrassment at the thought of imagining a kiss from a man she had disliked so ardently not so long ago. This is absurd, she mused, I have never had such improper ideas in my head before!
When they conversed, he seemed so interested in all she had shared. To her utter astonishment, he had even listened attentively when she talked about her relations. In the course of their conversation he did not have in the least that severe reserve about him. He seemed so at ease. They both had been at ease; she had felt that most strongly. Never before she had seen his manners so little dignified and he had never spoken with such gentleness. The way they had recited the stanza of the fable in unison had been so droll! The remembrance of it made her laugh out loud.
When he sat next to her on the tree, she had felt a strange sensation flow through her body. She recalled his warmth, his pleasant scent, his penetrating gaze when she spoke and the dimples in his cheeks when he smiled. She could not explain it; she had never felt a similar sensation before and it had made her shy and self-conscious. The fact that she actually felt it anew at its remembrance and that she found that feeling rather nice was most disturbing. As these thoughts concerning a man she had just last night refused disconcerted her, she tried to suppress them.
What would his letter reveal? It could not be a repetition of his addresses, surely. But what other reason could there be for going through such a trouble? How hard it shall be to be patient for the next hour. Quite insufferable!
While entering the house, Charlotte met her in the hallway and almost begged her to eat some breakfast. Elizabeth could not refuse a second time and followed her friend to the dining room. - The letter! When will I finally be able to read the letter? She could not think of anything else. She desperately wanted to break the seal and read it. Much to her relief, her cousin, Mr. Collins, had already left the breakfast table, accompanied by Maria, and Elizabeth found herself alone with Charlotte. As she still did not feel hungry, she drank a cup of tea and ate some bread with Charlotte's homemade honey.
Trying to be patient and making an effort not to think of the letter tucked in her reticule and its writer, she conversed with her friend about the weather, the beauties of Kent and the wonderful time they spent together so far. Charlotte informed her that they were not invited to dine with Lady Catherine that evening.
“Presumably because it is the last day of the visit of her nephews and she wishes to keep the two men all to herself and her precious daughter,” Charlotte said, smiling.
“I suppose you are right,” Elizabeth answered distractedly, while becoming aware of the fact that this was the first time she actually regretted not going to Rosings Park. She wondered what was wrong with her. Again, she felt that strange sensation flow through her body and again, she tried to repress it, as she dared not admit how pleasant that feeling was.
“Pray, Lizzy, is something wrong?” Charlotte asked. “You seem a bit out of spirits. Are you not well? You seem flushed. You are not feverish, are you?”
“Not at all, Charlotte, I am quite well, there is nothing the matter with me. I am only a little bit tired, due to this morning's exercise, I suppose. So, I hope you do not mind if I retire to my room for a short while.” Elizabeth replied, barely hiding a sigh of relief to have finally found an excuse to be alone.
“Of course not, my dear, take all the time you need.” Charlotte answered, carefully scrutinizing her friend. Since her return from Lady Catherine's yesterday evening, Charlotte felt as if something was bothering her friend, but she could not make it out, really. She was inclined to think that it had to do with Mr. Darcy, but Elizabeth was so categorically disapproving about the man, that she had put those thoughts aside. Still, she was concerned about Lizzy's changed demeanour and sincerely hoped nothing was wrong with her health.
Elizabeth excused herself and forced herself to leave the dining room in a quiet and dignified manner. However, upon reaching the hall, she hastened to the staircase, lifted her skirts and ran up the stairs, taking two steps at a time to get to her room without delay. Her patience had been put to test more than she could bear and she could not contain herself anymore. She only hoped that Charlotte would not hear her making such haste. Slightly out of breath, she let herself unceremoniously fall on her bed, took the letter from her reticule, hurriedly broke the seal and started to read.
“Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of those sentiments, or renewal of those offers, which were last night so disgusting to you…”
After having read the first sentence, a feeling of sadness overcame her. He had warned her about this, he had asked her to forgive him beforehand. But she could not reprove his rather sarcastic phrasing; she realized there and then how great his pain and disappointment must have been.
While reading on, the expression on her face changed from utter astonishment to anger and from sadness to shame, and when she finished his long letter, her chagrin was beyond description; she knew intuitively that every word he had written on the subject of Mr. Wickham was the absolute truth.
She had dared call a reserved, honest man conceited and proud, all the while boasting her ability of fathoming human character! She, who had believed a man like George Wickham; a flatterer, an impostor, an ungrateful liar and a ruthless seducer of innocent young girls! In spite of certain improper actions on Wickham's part, which should have opened her eyes much sooner, she had cherished tender thoughts - however superficial they might have been - for this useless man! Feelings she might have even shown to him! The realization made her feel almost physically ill. It struck her that she had not seen the impropriety of his communications to a stranger before.
Utterly embarrassed, she recalled how she would not listen to Jane's reasonable analysis of the two men and how she had brushed all of her sister's arguments in favour of Mr. Darcy aside. She had been blinded by anger, hurt pride and prejudice, for the mere reason that this man did not think her handsome enough to tempt him and would not dance with her. How could she have ever thought so highly of herself! How could she have misjudged his character so! Insufferable presumption, it was.
One evening at Netherfield, Mr. Darcy had called himself resentful, when she had challenged him. His good opinion once lost, was lost forever he had said and she pitied him. But the truth of the matter was that she, Elizabeth Bennet, was the most resentful creature in the world! Prejudiced as she was after their first acquaintance at the assembly, she kept holding rancour against him, regardless of the fact that he had never wronged her again at later gatherings and that he had never again behaved in a particularly arrogant manner, at least not before he proposed to her. On various occasions, Charlotte had suggested that perhaps Mr. Darcy had a particular regard for her. Had she not told her that he looked a great deal at her, had she not called her a simpleton for allowing her fancy for Wickham to make her appear unpleasant in the eyes of a man of ten times his consequence at the Netherfield ball? Why had she been so certain that Mr. Darcy had no aim but to criticise her? How could she have misconstrued his intentions so?
While meditating on all the misunderstandings and her mistaken interpretations, she was obliged to admit his behaviour had been impeccable throughout, whereas hers was often bordering on the uncivil. She blushed from mortification, as she thought back to her impertinent questioning at the Netherfield ball. She had never even given herself a chance to form an objective opinion about Mr. Darcy, for the simple reason that she did not wish it; she wished to dislike him, she had chosen to dislike him. She had liked herself too much!
Perhaps she was too severe upon herself, but she felt an extreme need for thorough introspection. She never felt worse in her life. She was utterly ashamed. And there was nothing she could do; she knew very well that there was nothing she could do. She could not possibly write and apologize, however fervently she wished to!
While perusing the passage with his observations on Jane and Mr. Bingley for a second time, she remembered Charlotte's opinion on showing one's regard, not concealing it. Even on this subject, her indignation had altered into understanding; however wrong Mr. Darcy had judged the depth of Jane's feelings for Mr. Bingley, Elizabeth knew that his comprehension of their attachment was based on the same observances that her friend had counselled against. She was almost certain, that his allusion to his visit to Netherfield when they took their leave this morning meant an acknowledgement of his mistake and a wish to mend it.
She had to admit to herself, however, that his actions separating Jane from Mr. Bingley had nothing to do with the manner in which her former dislike of him took root. After all, she only learned about his interference shortly before his proposal. No, she must be completely honest with herself; initially, it was none but her own wounded pride that had formed her negative judgement of him; a judgement that had been confirmed later by Wickham's scandalous lies. The Colonel's disclosure on Mr. Darcy's actions regarding Jane and Mr. Bingley only added fuel to the fire that Elizabeth had already stoked.
She coloured while reading the passage on her family's behaviour. In all honesty, she could not deny the truth of his observations. Embarrassment, shame, sadness and regret, she was not yet capable to direct her thoughts properly and, again, she suffered from a raging headache. This time, however, she put the blame for it entirely on herself; it was her own foolish, arrogant conduct towards Mr. Darcy that had caused it.
As she lay on her back, eyes closed to protect them against the bright daylight, one hand behind her head and the other pressing the letter against her chest, she thought back to their early morning encounter once more. She had asked him about Derbyshire and had noticed how his eyes lit up when he described the beauties of the country and how he considered himself fortunate to have been raised there. His childhood had been most happy, he had said. When he explained certain aspects of his estate, she realized what a great responsibility a man of such a young age had to bear on his shoulders. Gradually, she started to look at him in a different perspective.
She had been amazed about his openness; Mr. Darcy had spoken about his parents and how he missed them still and he had talked about his younger sister, Georgiana, with so much warmth. He could not hide his pride when telling her about Georgiana's musical talents. He had even expressed a wish to introduce her to her once. Did he wish to continue their acquaintance? That was hardly thinkable after all that had happened, Elizabeth recalled her astonishment at that particular moment.
While she was reviewing the conversation in her mind, she could hear his voice. For the first time in their acquaintance, she had become conscious of the warm, rich sound of it. She blushed while remembering the way he had looked at her with his dark eyes. She felt as if she had seen the man as he really was for the first time this morning and she liked what she had seen. She could not but admit her dislike of him had vanished into thin air. To own the truth, she had started to esteem him and she took pleasure in the feelings he aroused in her.
The acknowledgement of her regard for him also left her insecure of his; in her heart she knew that he meant what he said on the subject of continuing their acquaintance, but she could not understand why. Why would he think she was worthy of his regard still? Confusing feelings of guilt, remorse and regret overwhelmed her and while softly whispering “Fitzwilliam…” she rolled to her stomach, embraced her pillow and started to weep distressingly.
To be continued…
Copyright held by Renée, 2003
Chapter 3
Part 1
After luncheon, Colonel Fitzwilliam suggested a stroll around the park of Rosings to take advantage of the fine weather and enjoy the outdoors in Kent for one last time. Truth must be told, the Colonel was most anxious to ascertain the reason his cousin was behaving so differently and he imagined that a walk would be the perfect occasion to achieve this goal.
As excellent a walker as Mr. Darcy was, he hardly ever declined such an invitation and he consented readily to this one. He, for his part, proposed to call on the parsonage on the way back to take their leave of the Collins' party. Obviously Mr. Darcy longed to see Elizabeth again and if he could allow himself to hope, speak with her. He desired most fervently to know whether she had read his letter and if it had made her think better of him. He would give anything for an opportunity to exchange some words in private, and for one of her smiles, preferably one meant for him and for him alone.
Thus, in full anticipation, but each of them for entirely different motives, both cousins went on their way.
The exactingly organized Lenôtre-style1) gardens of Lady Catherine De Bourgh's vast estate with its geometrically trimmed hedges and labyrinths, neatly arranged flower beds, tidily raked straight gravel paths and severe formations of trees formed a fascinating contrast with the picturesque, wild, hilly landscape surrounding it. On this afternoon in April of the year 1813, the blossoming orchards, strawberry fields and the soft rolling wood-covered hills alternated with hop farms, vineyards and pastures bathed in the soft warmth of the spring sun, which disappeared from time to time behind some fleecy clouds drifting by in a mainly blue sky. It truly was a perfect day.
Walking down the path leading to the main gate, the two cousins casually conversed about how interesting it was that the austere aspect of Rosings Park was not at all in discordance with its surrounding landscape, but that the two admirably complemented each other and thus formed a harmonious unity.
“The straight-lined manner of thinking of our dear aunt, combined with her excessive condescension towards her tenants is perfectly reflected in her estate,” Mr. Darcy remarked dryly, which was met by uproarious laughter from his cousin.
The two men continued their walk in amiable silence, each one of them deep in thought.
As the cousins made their way towards the parsonage, Mr. Darcy could not help but imagine a continuation of his dream. He imagined pressing soft kisses on her lips, whilst Lizzy wrapped her hands around his neck drawing him closer to her. He fantasized holding her against him so as to feel her soft body against his. A shiver of pleasure ran through his body.
The colonel, for his part, was lost in more mundane thoughts, trying to think of a way to satisfy his curiosity about his cousin's latest conduct. At the exact moment that Mr. Darcy was envisioning a passionate kiss while removing the pins out of Elizabeth's hair, the colonel chose to break the silence and come straight to the point: “Pray, Darcy, is there something you wish to tell me? I hope you do not mind me saying so, but you do not, uhmm, seem yourself of late."
"I have no idea what you mean, Fitzwilliam, there is absolutely nothing the matter with me," Darcy replied coolly and not a little annoyed about being so rudely disturbed from his delightfully improper dreaminess.
"Why is it then that you seemed so out of spirits these last few months and then this morning, I hear you whistle and see an almost constant grin on your face? Oh, and I might add you flush for no apparent reason, as you are at this very moment," the colonel continued, expressing his observations in a seemingly nonchalant manner.
"I whistle, I grin, I flush?" Darcy asked sheepishly.
"You most certainly do, cousin, and I do not recall you ever slapped me on the shoulder before! Did something happen during our stay at Aunt Catherine's that perchance escaped my notice? I dare say you give the impression of a man in love!" The Colonel declared slyly, barely hiding a chuckle.
Upon hearing the colonel's last words, Darcy blushed to the roots of his hair. "In love? Me? Why... I mean, no,” Darcy stammered, feeling utterly uncomfortable.
"Oh come on, admit it man, these last two weeks you could hardly keep your eyes from a handsome young lady of our acquaintance every time we were in her company and I am most certainly not referring to cousin Anne nor to Mrs. Collins' sister,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, casting an arch glimpse at his cousin.
Noting that Darcy grew more and more embarrassed and uneasy, the colonel became increasingly diverted and teased on: “You do understand to which young lady I am referring, do you not? The one with the fine eyes?”
“Of course I know who you mean, Fitzwilliam, and yes, Miss Bennet has beautiful eyes. I merely made an impartial observation. However, I shall not deny the pleasure a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow,” Darcy replied evasively.
“So, Darcy, you are not in love with her. Those continuous glances you cast at her can be explained as being but the result of an objective observation of a man who recognizes beauty as such,” the colonel replied, not even trying to hide his irony.
“Forgive me for having misconstrued you so completely, old boy, even though this is a heavy misfortune indeed!” the colonel continued, feigning disappointment. “Miss Bennet is not only one of the handsomest women my eyes ever beheld, but one of the most spirited and intelligent as well. Above that, she does not play the pianoforte half as ill as she claims she does! I do not remember having heard anything that gave me more pleasure lately. As a matter of fact, I would not hesitate one moment to fall on my knees for her and beg her to marry me. But, alas, a poor soldier and second son like myself is not in the position to afford the luxury of a wife with no money. `Tis no matter, Darcy, I know your disposition, you would not marry but for the deepest love and respect. What a shame you do not cherish tender feelings for her, you two seem such a perfect match and, wealthy as you are, you enjoy the advantage of not being in need of a woman's dowry.” Once again Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at his cousin inquisitively, while doing his best to hide a grin.
“You have said quite enough, Fitzwilliam, I perfectly comprehend your meaning. Very well, I confess,” Darcy said huskily, “I like Miss Bennet. I like her very much indeed. In fact, I love her. I believe I fell in love with her from the very moment of our acquaintance. There, I have said it,” M. Darcy replied, relieved on the one hand, but somewhat vexed on the other since he did not like the idea that his cousin had noticed all those qualities Elizabeth possessed he admired himself so much. His remark on her outward beauty he found particularly exasperating.
“I knew it,” Colonel Fitzwilliam cried out excitedly, “That is wonderful, cousin, congratulations! When will you propose to her?”
“I already did, yesterday evening,” Darcy said.
“Well, when will you go to her father then?”
“I will not be going,” Darcy whispered. Turning his head away from his cousin to hide his mortification, he added, “She refused me.”
“She did what? You must be joking!” the Colonel cried incredulously, “In heaven's name why? But, Darcy, I am at a loss, how can you possibly be so merry after her refusal?”
“Very well, cousin, I will acquaint you with the complete history of our acquaintance.” Darcy said reluctantly, but at the same time, somewhat relieved that he had an opportunity to confide in somebody he trusted.
Thus, Darcy told his cousin everything: the way they had met, how she had aroused feelings in him he would not acknowledge at first and how soon these feelings had intensified. He explained how he had struggled against them in vain and that their renewed acquaintance in Kent ultimately resulted in what was likely the most abominable proposal known to mankind. Utterly embarrassed he described the manner in which he had declared his love for her while feeling the absurd necessity to point out the inferiority of her relations and the degradation it would entail for himself and his family.
“I do not remember ever having acted so utterly without thought or respect towards anybody, let alone towards a woman worthy of the highest esteem and regard,” Darcy continued, “I can only think back on it with abhorrence. Pray, do not say anything, cousin. I already have chastised myself since and will keep doing so until I have made amends. Anyway, she refused quite decidedly and, as if I had not been presumptuous enough, I even had the audacity to ask her why she rejected me.”
Here, Darcy stopped and looked his cousin straight in the eye “She told me bluntly that I ruined the happiness of her eldest sister by separating her from Mr. Bingley and that I had denied the wishes of my late father with regards to Mr. Wickham. Apart from that, she made it perfectly clear to me how utterly disgusted she was by my superciliousness.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam was speechless; the look on his face was one of utter astonishment. He merely wanted to find out whether he was right in his assumption that Darcy had formed an attachment to Miss Bennet and, if so, whether he had perchance made the decision to court her. That this would be the response to his teasing was the last thing he had expected. He knew not what to say, in particular because he had played a part in Darcy's misfortune by telling Miss Bennet about his interference concerning Mr. Bingley and her sister.
“Good God, Darcy,” he uttered finally, “I did not know that she was acquainted with that scoundrel, Wickham. But what is worse, I must confess that it was I who informed Miss Bennet about your interference in the relationship of your friend. I had not the slightest idea that her sister was involved. I understand her sudden headache now,” he said remorsefully, “But I still do not comprehend your joyful mood!”
“Ah, so it was you who told her about my role in that affair. Well, it is of no consequence, Fitzwilliam, please do not make yourself uneasy, this is not yet the end of the story.”
And Darcy went on. He told him that his honour drove him to defend himself against the offences laid at his charge in a letter and he concluded by informing his cousin on their encounter in the grove this morning. An encounter that resulted in a most pleasing, enlightening and promising conversation.
“You wrote her a letter and you met her this morning?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked unbelievingly. My, my, cousin Darcy, propriety incarnate, unchaperoned in the woods with a beautiful woman... Maybe that's why he is so cheerful! The colonel thought amused.
“Yes, I did. I can scarcely comprehend it myself, but for the first time since our acquaintance I did not feel awkward or tongue-tied. I was completely at ease in her company and we conversed for at least an hour on a variety of subjects that interests us. It would appear we have quite a bit in common, you know. Miss Elizabeth is so accomplished, she even speaks French and German,” Darcy said with a faraway and contented look in his eyes.
The colonel looked at him compassionately and said: “Darcy, you acted, let me put it mildly, maladroitly; and if it would not be so painful, your account of the proposal would have made me laugh. However, judging by the events of this morning, I can imagine that all is not lost and I believe a certain amount of optimism is in order. I believe that you will have to find a way to show Miss Bennet who you really are and I am certain that, in the end, she will learn to have the same regard for you as you have for her.”
Encouraged and moved by his cousin's words, which confirmed his own feelings, Darcy suggested that they make their way to the parsonage and take their leave of the Collins' party.
During the last segment of their walk, Mr. Darcy, in a mood of utter volubility and being so fortunate as to find himself a willing ear with the Colonel, enumerated all of Elizabeth's intellectual and physical merits. In the end, Colonel Fitzwilliam could not be convinced of but one thing: there was not a young lady in England to be found who could possibly be handsomer and more accomplished than Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
To be continued…
Chapter 3
Part 2
O! let my looks be then the eloquence 1)
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
Who plead for love, and look for recompense,
More than that tongue that more hath more express'd.
After having cried away her frustration, anger and shame, Elizabeth regained her composure and attempted to guide her thoughts in a more positive direction. Mr. Darcy had made it perfectly clear to her that he wished to continue their acquaintance and she knew now that she wished it as well. The letter was sufficient proof to her that he was a honourable man and that she had no reason to believe that he was merely being courteous. Had he not said that disguise of every sort was his abhorrence? She decided to trust him and she dearly hoped for a possibility to thank him for his letter before his departure from Kent.
Elizabeth freshened up, changed her gown and went downstairs to join the rest of the party. Although she was in time for luncheon, she found herself alone with Charlotte. Her friend explained that Mr. Collins had left with Maria for a tour over Lady Catherine's estate which he had promised her some days ago and that they had taken a picnic basket with them.
To Charlotte's great relief, Elizabeth had no trouble this time eating the tasty meal prepared by Collins' cook.
“I notice you regained your appetite, Lizzy. I am very pleased to see it,” Charlotte said.
“Why, yes, I only needed a little rest and feel much better, Charlotte. It was exactly as I told you, I was simply a little tired from the exercise,” Elizabeth responded, “I would very much like to spend the rest of the afternoon in your lovely garden reading. The weather is so nice for this time of year and the country air so refreshing. I would love to finish the book I borrowed from Mr. Collins' library before leaving for London.”
“Capital, Lizzy! I will join you later, if you like, and continue my needlework. We have all afternoon to ourselves, let us take advantage of it,” Charlotte said, anticipating that this could be the very opportunity to subtly inquire after her friend's recent conduct, which had been very unlike her. Lizzy had never complained about a headache before, let alone about fatigue after a walk and she had been far more silent than was her wont. Charlotte could not come to but one conclusion, something significant had occurred and she was determined to find out what it was.
After luncheon Elizabeth set herself at a table in a sheltered but sunny corner of the pretty garden her cousin maintained with so much devotion and opened her book. She was amusing herself with Moličre's plays which, to her great surprise she had found in Mr. Collins' library, somewhat lost between the great many sermon books the shelves contained. She was reading his satire `Les Précieuses ridicules'2), and how very diverting it was! For a while it kept her thoughts away from Mr. Darcy and his letter. At various occasions she had to laugh out loud because of the foolishness and ignorance of the two ridiculous young ladies who reminded her so much of Miss Bingley and her sister. If Moličre had lived now, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst might have been his sources of inspiration Elizabeth mused, remembering Miss Bingley's inane opinions on the subject of `accomplished women'.
As of their own volition, her thoughts wandered from Caroline Bingley to Mr. Darcy and from Mr. Darcy to his letter. She could almost hear him read the letter to her and she realized that she wanted to hear his voice again, the thought of which lead her back to his proposal. She softly whispered his declaration of love, imagining his voice expressing it You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you…
She dearly wished to see him again and thank him for his letter. She desperately wanted to make him know she believed his account of Mr. Wickham and that, even though he acted on a misapprehension, she understood his actions concerning Mr. Bingley and Jane better.
Deep in thought as she was, she hardly noticed that Charlotte had joined her.
“Daydreaming, Lizzy?” Charlotte asked.
“Why, yes… umm, no… well, my mind was wandering a little, I suppose,” Elizabeth stammered.
As Elizabeth's reply did not really lead to what Charlotte wished to hear, she decided to be more direct, “Lizzy, are you certain that there is nothing the matter with you? I ask you this as a friend and I dearly hope you will not be offended. I noticed an alteration in you since yesterday evening that I cannot account for, my dear. Cannot you tell me what it is? You know you can rely on my confidence.”
Elizabeth felt a strong need to confide in Charlotte, but she scarcely knew where to begin! Her mind and her heart were so full! While thinking of a way to tell her friend what had happened these last two days, both women were roused by the sound of the doorbell.
“Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, ma'am,” the maid announced a few moments later, leading the two gentlemen into the garden.
With her heart pounding wildly in her chest, Elizabeth immediately stood up and curtseyed. She coloured when her eyes caught the intense glance Mr. Darcy casted at her. Their eyes locked in a gaze that seemed to last forever. The eloquence of all that needed to be said was but expressed in their eyes as they gazed at each other.
“Welcome, Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, it is very good of you to call. Will you not sit down?” Charlotte's voice brought them back to earth and Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy managed to tear their eyes away from each other.
Mr. Darcy explained that they had come to bid their farewell since their departure was on the morrow and, accepting Mrs. Collins' invitation, seated himself on the chair closest to Elizabeth. Colonel Fitzwilliam declined the offer to sit, but asked Mrs. Collins to show him the garden, “Mrs. Collins, as we have been remained indoors during our calls, I did not have the pleasure yet of admiring your lovely garden. Would you be so kind as to take a turn about it with me and enlighten a perfectly ignorant man as far as botany is concerned on all the beautiful plants it contains?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam discreetly aimed to give Miss Bennet and Mr. Darcy an opportunity to talk in private and Charlotte readily consented, since she intuitively understood from the way her friend and Mr. Darcy looked at each other that they indeed desired some time alone. In fact their stares had merely confirmed the conjectures she already had and she presumed that the questions she wished to ask her friend had become superfluous. She did not care one whit for the impropriety of leaving them unchaperoned and thanked God for the fact that her husband was away. The way Mr. Darcy felt towards Elizabeth had been obvious for a long time. Had not she drawn Lizzy's attention often enough to Mr. Darcy's partiality towards her? She realized with satisfaction, that she had been right all the time. It was high time that Elizabeth began to acknowledge her own feelings.
Left alone in each other's company, Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth did not speak, their eyes were locked for a moment before Elizabeth turned her head away from his and cast her eyes on the ground, the colour of her cheeks hightened most becomingly. The physical and emotional tension, the nervousness they both felt made them shy and self-conscious. The situation was awkward but they did not feel as uneasy as in the past. So many things had happened in such a short lapse of time of which they both wished to speak, but neither of them knew how to begin. They just did not seem able to find the appropriate words. The emotions were simply too overwhelming.
Mr. Darcy had to restrain himself not to declare his love for her immediately and take her in his arms. His daydream had enflamed his desire to well-nigh unbearable heights. She looked so lovely in her simple, though tasteful, muslin gown, that he could not help but notice highlighted the contours of her body, and which matched so perfectly well with the beautifully woven cashmere shawl caressing the soft curves of her shoulders. He savoured the sight of her small, delicate hands resting on the book she was reading, of her beautiful dark curly hair he so loved imagining unpinned and flowing over her shoulders, but unfortunately, most of which was now hidden under a sun hat. From her hair, his eyes wandered to her delicate profile and stopped at the long lashes of her eyes… He sighed inwardly, truly she possessed the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. Today, they did not have that usual inquisitive, playful and sometimes rather ironic look in them that he found so beguiling. Her whole countenance expressed shyness and embarrassment, which made him realize that their feelings must be similar at this very moment.
Elizabeth was the first to break the silence. She turned towards him and said, “Mr. Darcy, I like you to know that I am very happy you called. I so desired to have an opportunity to personally thank you for your letter. I, I am so ashamed of what I have said to you, I misjudged you so dreadfully and I wish to apologise.”
Mr. Darcy's eyes lit up at her words: she had believed him! This fact alone gave him cause for jubilation. “Oh no, Miss Bennet, pray, do not apologise. It was I who behaved abominably and it is I who should beg for your forgiveness,” he replied with emotion, while spontaneously putting his hand on top of hers. This tender gesture intensified the pleasant sensation in her stomach Elizabeth had felt since his arrival and, to Mr. Darcy's utter delight, she made no attempt to withdraw her hand. “You could not have known Mr. Wickham's real character since he is a master of concealment and you had no reason to doubt his words. Whereas I made a very bad impression on you on several occasions. I am well aware of that.” Mr. Darcy concluded.
“Mr. Darcy, I am truly disappointed in myself. I always thought myself to be a person who would not let someone throw dust in her eyes and I was taught not to judge on appearances alone. Still, I did so in your case and in Mr. Wickham's. I was completely wrong about your character and Mr. Wickham's. I am most heartily ashamed of it,” Elizabeth said.
Thereupon she explained to him that she understood his concerns better with regards to the partiality of Mr. Bingley for her sister. Even though he was mistaken in his premises, she made it perfectly clear to him, that, after having read his defence, she comprehended his motives to separate Mr. Bingley from her sister and that they were stemmed from a sincere attempt to protect his friend. “Mr. Darcy, I wish to emphasize that there is no doubt whatsoever that my sister Jane held Mr. Bingley in the highest regard. She never actually complained after Mr. Bingley's departure from Netherfield, but she lacked her natural cheerfulness since. However, I do believe now you did not wish to hurt either party,” Elizabeth concluded.
Mr. Darcy was almost too moved to utter a word. What a forgiving, generous nature this lovely woman possessed! Somehow he managed to say, “Miss Bennet, often enough it seems as if my power of speech fails me completely in your presence and, in cases like these, I am unable to find the appropriate words to express my feelings. So, please, allow me to show you my gratefulness for your forgiveness in a different manner.”
He was conscious of the fact that what he was about to do was highly improper and that he ran the risk of losing her respect he had only just gained. He instinctively felt however that the moment was right. While focusing on her mouth, he leaned his face towards her, closed his eyes and pressed a soft, but volatile kiss on Elizabeth's lips.
When his lips left hers, Elizabeth kept her eyes closed for a brief moment as if to prolong the sensation wishing to engrave the feeling of his lips against hers forever in her mind. If Elizabeth was honest with herself, his kiss had not taken her by surprise. A secret part of her had expected it. Propriety demanded she should object, but she did not wish to. The kiss had felt so right. It seemed to her like the culmination of the warming of her regard and esteem since this morning. And how sweet this endorsement had felt! Apart from the rush of heat that went through her body when his lips had touched hers, she felt an overwhelming, uncontrollable emotion towards this man who was the first to kiss her on the mouth. Is this love? she mused.
When she slowly opened her eyes, she looked into his and perceived the warmest, gentlest of gazes anybody had ever bestowed on her. Thereupon, she gave Mr. Darcy his ardently longed-for smile; she smiled for him and for him alone.
“Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth,” he whispered, while looking at her intently and softly stroking her hand, “Did I already tell you that a journey to the continent is the second of my two dearest wishes?”
Initially a little puzzled by his remark, Elizabeth started to laugh one of her infectious laughs and playfully answered: “No, Mr. Darcy, you did not. Although I cannot say if your first, non-revealed wish applies to that as well, I am inclined to believe that indeed we have a lot in common.”
To be continued…
1) From Shakespeare's sonnet XXIII (23)
2) Moličre's “Les précieuses ridicules” has officially been translated in English as `Pretentious young ladies', which is not an exact reproduction of the French title. However it does render the disposition of the young ladies involved admirably. This satire is about two young women who only focus on the superficial aspects of life (expressed in a ridiculously exaggerated use of language amongst other things) and have no idea what innate refinement entails. Their pretensions lead to the vengeance of two rejected lovers.
In 17th century France, the notion `Préciosité' (preciosity) stood for a social and aesthetical attitude characterized by an affectation in tastes, language and manners.
© Renée, 2003