Fault or Virtue: An Imaginative Retelling of Jane Austen's 'Pride and Prejudice' (18 page)

Their eyes met again, and Elizabeth saw his eyes were deep, dark pools of
emotion. It unsettled her, but she not dare back down. If she were ever going to have this
discussion with him, there could be no better moment. He could not possibly want her at
Pemberley. This, she knew. How could he, after all that had transpired between them? He
was kind enough to not go against the wishes of his best friend and his sister, but that did
not make her staying there easier. Even if they could piece together the friendship they
once shared before the disastrous proposal, there was still her undeniable association with

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Wickham. Surely such an alliance would not destroy the friendship he had with Bingley,
but theirs was of a different kind. Surely, if Bingley and Georgiana had not campaigned
in her favor, Darcy would have endeavored to never see her again.

“Mr. Darcy, I must apologize for my presence here at Pemberley at all. I
understand that you have only acquiesced to the arrangement at the behest of your friend,
my sister, and yours, but that does not make it fair. As soon as it is polite, I will excuse
myself and return to Longbourn. I do not wish to make you uncomfortable in your own
home, sir.” Darcy stood silent for a moment, stunned.

“Miss Elizabeth, I hope that in no way have my actions or addresses given you
reason to believe there is any truth in that statement,” he let out a long breath, as if
grateful that the words had come out, “but if I have, it was only because I have been
desperate to assure that you were not made uncomfortable by my presence.”

“You have shown me nothing but kindness, Mr. Darcy, but I am trespassing.”
“It does not happen often, Miss Elizabeth, but you are wrong in this case. I am
very pleased to have you here, if I am allowed to say so,” he paused, considered, and
continued. “They would have been my actions and words that could be cause for

discomfort and embarrassment, but I will assure you that I will not renew those
sentiments which cast our friendship asunder,” Elizabeth reddened at the memory of the
proposal, “it was a mistake that cost me dearly.”

“Do not be so selfish as to take all the blame,” Elizabeth said, and he responded
with a sad smile.
“I am selfish enough to take up all of your time when you have come with a
purpose. I will leave you to it, and return to mine. I am at your disposal if you need me,
Miss Elizabeth.” He bowed meekly and returned to his desk, leaving Elizabeth to peruse
the shelves while pretending he was not there. A small book, bright red nearly hidden
amongst the other books of poetry caught her eye. When she had managed to pry it lose
from its imprisonment, she discovered a small golden rosebud on the cover. As she
studied the flower, she did not hear Darcy’s approach, and so jumped when he spoke
from just behind her.
“Miss Elizabeth, might I advise you against that particular collection?”
“If I were not a guest here, Mr. Darcy, I might demand a reason,” she raised one
eyebrow wickedly.
“A reason would include a detailing of its contents, which would defeat my
purpose entirely.” He raised both eyebrows, challengingly.
She put the book behind her back before answering.
“Ah, I am beginning to understand. Then perhaps I might rephrase my demand.
What would a book with such contents, be so easily accessible, nay, what is such a book
doing in your library, sir?” She was treading on impertinent, inappropriate ground, but
she did not care. She had missed their discussions, their disagreements, and this had
certainly done away with the tension between them.
“Then I might fear you had overestimated its contents. It is a book a poetry, but
not one that I would recommend to a young lady.”
“I did not seek your recommendation, Mr. Darcy.” She was enjoying this teasing
immensely, and though Darcy was the object of her taunts, he enjoyed it equally.
“I might mention that I was warned specifically against that collection.”

She brought the book out from behind her back to study the cover again, aware
that this made Darcy nervous.
“You are familiar with it, it is in your library, and you have gone against such
advice, why should I not do the same?”
“You and I are of a habit of forming our own opinions of things, regardless of
what we have heard. I cannot deny you that book, for it was originally purchased solely
because I was told not to, and I have done my duty in warning you against it.”
“Surely it cannot be so very bad,” Elizabeth hinted.
“You will see for yourself,” Darcy countered.
“You cannot think I will take it now, having been warned! What would you think
of me?” She was disappointed that the game had ended, and handed the book to Darcy,
cherishing the moment their fingertips met.
“I cannot fault you for what I have committed, but I will make a suggestion which
I hope you will find agreeable. If we but add this to more books of your choosing to keep
in your room, how am I to know whether or not you read it?” Darcy smiled smugly and
returned the book to her.
“I will agree under the condition that you assist me in choosing the rest of the
books, for as this is your library, you will know what will best keep me entertained as I
will certainly avoid this.” She gestured to the little red book.
“As you wish, Miss Elizabeth.”
They picked several novels and two more books of poetry before Elizabeth called
the stack “beyond satisfactory.”
“If it is still your habit to rise early and walk out after a late night, might I
accompany you? I would be interested to know your thoughts on the books we have
chosen.” He gave her a sly smile that suggested he only had one book in mind.
“Why of course, Mr. Darcy. But I hope you are as familiar with all of these books
as you are with the red book, for it is the others we will be discussing.”

As soon as Elizabeth returned to her room, she eagerly ripped open the pages of
the red book.
What could be so bad? Surely Darcy had been exaggerating if he had kept
it in his library.

Three lines in and she was assured there had been no exaggeration on his part. In
fact, Darcy had made it sound rather more innocent. Her eyes grew wide as she
continued, unable to stop. Indeed it was a book of poetry, but the subject of which should
never be discussed amongst society. She flipped through to the next poem, believing that
the entire collection could not solely be dedicated to detailed acts of the flesh. Page by
page revealed that she had been wrong. The thoughts expressed, the feelings, the
descriptions, all made her sweat, and somehow she knew that Darcy would know that she
had read it.

As much as she tried, she could not put it down. Each piece unlocked a mystery
only to introduce another. She was no stranger to the acts between husband and wife, but
passion was something new to her. She began to wonder if the women that were the
objects of these works were not married to these men at all, and perhaps this form of love

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did not exist in the marriage bed. Not until she had combed each piece, could she think of
sleep. Even then, it did not come easy. The images haunted her and the feelings they
aroused kept her awake. She was determined to return the book to the library in the
morning before her walk, and well before anyone was up. The further she was from this
book, the better. A sense of guilt and embarrassment came over her as she thought of
facing Darcy.

“I am delighted to see you, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy caught up with her just as
she began one of Pemberley’s many walking paths. She had succeeded in slipping the red
book back into its original home, assured that no one knew of its being temporarily
disturbed, save Mr. Darcy.

“Good morning, Mr. Darcy. I had not thought it necessary to wait for you, and I
see I was correct.” She raised a teasing eyebrow at his knack in finding her on walks.
“Though I know you are not one to miss your morning exercise, I must still admit
surprise at seeing you up this early after all that reading you meant to accomplish last
night.” It was his turn to raise a teasing eyebrow, and Elizabeth thought she regretted ever
teasing him in the first place, for he was always ready with a taunt to fire right back at
her.
“Even still,” he continued, “our talk must not revolve around your reading. We
might enjoy the great outdoors a great deal better if that is the subject of our walk this
morning.”
“As eager as I am to avoid the topic of reading this particular morning, Mr. Darcy,
I am afraid that while you may see the great outdoors, with its might oaks, lapping rivers,
budding flowers, and the like, I find that the world appears to me in a rather scarlet shade
this morning.” She decided to face the subject head on. He knew that she had read the
book, she was sure of it. What use was there in denying it? And if he were attempting to
tease it out of her, she would not give him the satisfaction of coaxing it out of her. She
had come out right and said it, and therefore, it was his turn to be embarrassed.
“Ah, yes. I am sure you have paid particular attention to the roses in the garden
this morning, as well, if scarlet is what is occupying you.”
“I asked you this last night, Mr. Darcy, but I would hear your answer again,
having gained more knowledge of the subject. Whatever is that book doing in your public
library?”
“As I explained, it is a book like any other. It is there to be read at anyone’s
leisure, or not.”
“And what if your sister were to one day come upon such a book? Would this
wisdom extend to her reading it?”
Darcy looked uncomfortable for a moment and Elizabeth feared she had gone too
far.
“I would by no means suggest that she read it, but I would not deny her the
opportunity if that were her choice. She is young, yes, but after what has occurred
between herself and George Wickham, perhaps a wider range of knowledge on love
would do her good.”
“Love, Mr. Darcy?” she asked.

“You would have me call it lust? It is a book of love poetry. However
unconventional, they are intended as expressions of love.”
“With such shocking subject matter, I wonder that its sole intention was not to
astound the world, Mr. Darcy.”
“Let violence and bloodshed shock the world, Miss Elizabeth. But love should
have no part of it.”
They continued in silence for a while, until they reached a great tree that caused a
deviation in the path, and the two slowed to round its great trunk.
“I know that you have vowed to marry for love, Miss Elizabeth, but do not vilify
passion. When the two are combined, passion and friendship, that is a marriage of true
love.” He said it with such nonchalance that it did not weigh as heavy as it might have,
and Elizabeth silently thanked him for making the point so lightly.
“And when it is passion alone, what then?” She regretted asking. The tree
reminded her of their kiss, and she dare not meet his eyes for fear it would be repeated.
“I have neglected attraction,” Darcy answered, still maintaining indifference,
“attraction can lead to…errors and misinterpretations, but when combined with love,
leads to passion.”
“You sound an expert on the subject,” she said, finally meeting his gaze.
“Indeed with such a book in my library, I must grasp some knowledge of the
subject. However, I speak confidently, but have no more to offer than speculation.”
“And observation, no doubt.”
“And limited experience.” He fixed her with a funny expression which made her
blush, and they quickened their pace, not daring to raise the subject again.

“It is nice to see you again, Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy said when she joined him in
the breakfast room some hours after their walk.
“Despite your loss of rest due to books, how did you sleep?”
“Dreadfully, Mr. Darcy.” She let her answer sink in before she continued. “The
beds here are far too comfortable and far too roomy.” She smiled at him playfully and his
face relaxed into a playful smile of his own.
“I could send for a replacement, if that would make you feel more at home.”
“That purpose would also require you find me several snoring neighbors and a
bed-mate. You see, Jane and I have shared a bed since our infancy.”
Darcy froze in sudden anticipation and longing. What Elizabeth had meant as a
perfectly innocent comment made him desperate to suggest himself as her potential
bedmate. Darcy remained so flustered and aroused that he did not have time to school his
expression before Elizabeth’s eyes were on him, and it did not take her long to realize
what she had said. Each was too agitated; one, regretting what she had said, one, what he
had thought. Silence was decided as the safest means of continuing breakfast, until they
were joined by Georgiana and therefore pressured into relaxed pleasantries.
“Good morning!” Georgiana’s voice rang through the room, cutting through the
stillness.

“You look well this morning, Georgiana,” replied Elizabeth, giving Darcy more
time to recover.
“That is very kind of you. You always look well in the morning, Elizabeth. I
should like to accompany you on one of your morning walks, it does wonders for your
complexion. Does it not, brother?”
“In order to remain chivalrous, is difficult for me to recognize when a lady as
beautiful as Miss Elizabeth looks better than usual. Is that correct, Georgiana?”
“Your attempt at flattery may have missed its mark,” said Georgiana after
Elizabeth responded with laughter.
“I will cherish what compliment there is in that statement, Mr. Darcy. Thank
you.”
“If only I could arise as early as you, Elizabeth. William has always risen with the
sun as you do. I’m afraid it is not in my nature. Perhaps I must be happy with an
improved complexion in the afternoon.”
“Then Miss Elizabeth must be happy with only my company in the early hours of
the morning.”
“The morning hours are your most flattering, William. You are often in the
calmest of moods in the morning. No estate business has yet to trouble you.”
“I suppose that is true,” replied Darcy, studying his sister for a motive.
“If we had only known that in Hertfordshire, we would have scheduled our
assembly differently!” cried Elizabeth, eager at the opportunity to tease him.
“Poor Hertfordshire,” giggled Georgiana.
“Do you intend to prove yourself correct so quickly?” Darcy growled teasingly.