There was a copse not far ahead. It would have to do, for he could not wait long. He steered her down the path along the hedgerow. Now he covered her hand with his own again, this time tightening his grip possessively, and he felt a gentle squeeze of his arm in response.
It was all he needed. Dizzy with delight, he said, "You cannot know how much relief it brings me to finally say these words to you. I have fought it for so long. My mind would not allow the inclination of my heart because of the many obstacles that stood between us. The objectionable connections of your family, the effects on the consequence of my own family of any alliance between us, stood forever as an insurmountable barrier. I could not accept such low connections, even more so, given the behaviour of certain members of your family. What would society say? I could not overcome it. That last evening when you were in Kent, I finally knew my struggles were in vain, and I resolved to make you an offer when the opportunity might present itself."
A soft smile came over her face. "So long ago as that? You are tardy, sir."
"Longer even than that, had my judgment not fought my inclination with such force."
"I had no idea. I thought then that you disliked me."
"Disliked you? Of course not." He was sorely tempted to show her just how far from dislike his feelings were. "But you departed unexpectedly, and I took it as a sign that I should heed my misgivings. I regretted it more often than I can say. When I saw you here, it was as if no time had passed. Now your situation is different, and the distance between our ranks yet further, an alliance even more inconceivable, yet I cannot imagine a life where I cannot be with you whenever I wish, to hold you close and tell you of my love, to show you the ardour I feel." He stopped the flow of words before he went even further beyond the realm of propriety than he already had. More quietly, he said, "Please tell me you will relieve my misery." He could no longer resist. He cupped her cheek in his hand--that incredibly soft skin he had imagined so often--and turned her face towards his.
Elizabeth looked disturbed, no doubt at his presumption, but he was certain that would change. And then it was done, just the merest touch of his lips to hers, the briefest sensation of warmth, softness, and sunlight. As he drew back, he closed his eyes to savour the sensation and was caught completely off guard by a flash of burning pain across his face.
He stared in shock at Elizabeth, his hand involuntarily moving to his injured cheek. In his astonishment, the only thought that registered in his mind was that it was a blow intended to injure.
Her eyes were filled with tears as she cradled her hand against her chest. It must have hurt her, as well. "How dare you?" she said, her voice trembling. "How
dare
you? Have you no shame? I should have expected it, after all I had heard of you from Mr. Wickham, not to mention your arrogant behaviour towards my family, but I allowed myself to think better of you. I was a fool."
"Mr. Wickham?" The hated name stood out from her unexpected tirade as he flinched from the fury in her eyes. "What did he tell you?"
"Nothing but the truth! How you cheated him of his inheritance, of your insufferable pride, and I saw for myself your complete disdain for the feelings of others, especially those who were
below you
. Well, now your intolerable pride will have to be your consolation, for I will not!" Her voice grew too choked for her to continue, and tears poured down her cheeks. She shook her head silently, a look of horror in her eyes. Before he had even guessed her intent, she gathered up her skirts and fled, running as swiftly as if the Furies of hell were in pursuit.
***
Elizabeth stared straight ahead. There was no place to hide, no place where she could take time to compose herself, as if time would help! Instead she had no choice but to make her way down Gracechurch Street, fighting to hold back the tears that were no doubt still evident on her cheeks. She knew she was an object of interest, that the Londoners on the busy street would be wondering about her reddened eyes. She had never missed the privacy of the countryside more. At home she could have fled to her special corner of the churchyard, under the ancient oak tree, and cried until she had no tears left.
She hurried up the steps of the Gardiners' house, hoping not to meet anyone on the way, but the odds were against her. She was no sooner in the door when she heard her aunt speak her name with concern. She shook her head without stopping and raced upstairs, past the nursery where her young cousins called, "Lizzy! Lizzeeee!" Not till she reached the dark, dusty storage room on the top floor did she stop. She closed the door behind her and leaned back on it, her breath coming in short gasps.
Her worst fears were realized. She had been so happy when Mr. Darcy began his avowal, so full of hope that a proposal of marriage was to follow, that she had let all her reservations fly from her, at least until his words of disdain for her family and background forced her to conclude that his intentions were not the honourable ones she had hoped for. His words still rang in her ears--
But now your situation is different, and the distance between our ranks yet further, an alliance even more inconceivable.
So inconceivable that he expected her to be his mistress, and he showed his disregard for her reputation--the reputation he clearly thought she had left behind with her father's death--so far as to kiss her in a public field. And she had not stopped him. Her fury at her own foolishness was almost the equal of her anger at his presumption.
She wiped the back of her hand across her face. She should have recognized his intent long before, when he refused her invitation to meet her aunt and uncle. She
had
known it, but she had not wished to admit it to herself, for then she would have had to give up the pleasure of his company for the brief moments when she could again imagine herself as Miss Bennet of Longbourn.
There were footsteps on the stairs. Elizabeth swallowed hard and opened the door. Margaret stood there, balancing on the balls of her feet, a concerned look on her face.
"Lizzy, whatever is the matter? Are you hurt?"
Elizabeth wished for the innocence of childhood when pain was the result only of injuries. "It is nothing, dear. I merely twisted my ankle." It was the best she could do on the spur of the moment.
Margaret's brow furrowed. "But you ran up the stairs!"
"I did not wish anyone to see I was crying. Is that not silly of me?" She gave a shaky laugh. "Pride makes us do the most foolish things."
The most foolish things, indeed.
***
Darcy squinted into the dark mirror in his bedroom. The mark still showed, an expanse of red across his cheek, even after the furious trip across London. No one had dared stand in his way. He poured cool water from the porcelain ewer into the basin, dipped his handkerchief into it, and wrung it out. Carefully he placed the cloth against his face. It would not do to have the entire household gossiping about what sort of trouble the master had found himself in. He had more than enough on his mind without that.
More than enough. His eyes narrowed at the thought of Elizabeth. How dare she? Did she not realize he was paying her the highest compliment he could? Apparently she was far more foolhardy than he had ever conceived. To believe Wickham--well, he supposed the man could be cunningly convincing, but then for her to pretend to enjoy his company and still believe such lies? Was it all a deliberate attempt to humiliate him?
He turned away from the mirror. He did not want to look at himself anymore. Instead, he paced the narrow confines of the room, his footsteps muffled by the exquisite Persian rug. Past the window, past the door, and back. Past the bed where Elizabeth would never lie in his arms. The wrenching pain brought him to a stop. He leaned his forehead against the wall, feeling the pattern of the wallpaper pressing into his skin. She had made a fool of him. That was the one thing he could never forgive.
His fury warred with the deep ache in his chest. Her treatment of him was nothing short of despicable, the words she said burnt into his heart, never to be forgotten. He never wanted to see her face again, never hear her name, only to forget that he had ever known a woman named Elizabeth Bennet.
The heaviness of his life slipped back over him. He would never again experience the joy and freedom only her eyes could bring him, and now even his memories of her were tainted.
***
Elizabeth was determined to think no more of Mr. Darcy, but the harder she tried to avoid thoughts of him, the more they intruded. He had clearly thought she would agree to his insulting offer. He had likely thought his offer generous, in offering her some degree of independence. She had hoped for a proposal of marriage. Elizabeth felt she could never wash the shame away.
He had spoken to her of love. Remembering those words brought tears to her eyes.
For the next week, she stayed within doors as often as possible, venturing out only when accompanied by her young cousins or her aunt. But one day, on returning to her room, she spotted a folded paper on her small vanity.
She picked it up. It was fine, heavy paper and sealed on the back, with her name written on it in a firm, masculine hand. How had it come to be there? She would have known had it come in the post. Who could have placed a letter in her room? Only a member of the family or one of the servants, and none of them would employ such a subterfuge. Perhaps someone had bribed one of the servants to put it there. Suddenly she knew who it must be from.
All the humiliation of that morning returned in a rush, the humiliation and the hurt that Mr. Darcy, the man whose companionship she had come to enjoy, would think her capable of agreeing to such a proposition. Darcy would never have made such a suggestion to Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn. Indeed, he had never said a word when her father was alive, because he had known she would never agree. Now, in her reduced circumstances, he thought her easy prey. And in truth, it was only her uncle's generosity that stood between her and a genteel poverty.
At such a point, what would her principles matter to her? If she had flirted with every available gentleman as her mother had wished, she would likely be married by now, but she had insisted she would never marry without affection and respect. Brave words, but all they had done was to make her more vulnerable to the predations of Mr. Darcy. And he would not be alone in thinking her susceptible. Another man might not take no for an answer. Her reputation was all she had, and reputation could be ruined in the matter of a minute.
She touched the letter. Half of her longed to read it, hoping for more words of love, but it could contain nothing respectable. The mere fact of reading it would ruin her reputation if anyone knew it, and someone in the household already knew of its existence. Perhaps that was what he hoped for, to damage her reputation enough that she had no choice but to accept his offer. The thought made her feel ill. There was only one thing to do.
***
The butler handed Darcy a card. Mr. Edward Gardiner. He frowned, not recognizing the name. He was in no mood for yet another person begging a favour. Gardiner, though--that was Elizabeth's uncle's name. What would Elizabeth's uncle want with him? Perhaps it was some sort of message from Elizabeth. After all, she had no means to reply to his letter.
"Show him in."
Simms bowed and returned a moment later with a fashionably dressed gentleman a few years older than Darcy. He did not look as if he came from Cheapside. He also did not look friendly.
"Mr. Darcy? We have never met, but I believe you are acquainted with my niece, Miss Bennet."
Darcy motioned him to a seat. "I have that honour, it is true."
"My niece came to me last evening in some distress. She told me she had found a letter addressed to her that she believed you had written. Having some care for her own reputation, she did not open it." The implication was clear that he felt Darcy did not care about Elizabeth's reputation. He drew the letter out of his waistcoat pocket and tossed it onto Darcy's desk.
Darcy flipped it over. Still sealed. She had never read it.
"Do you deny, Mr. Darcy, that the letter is yours?"
"No, sir, I do not. I admit my means of communication may have been irregular, but Miss Bennet had, under false information, made some slanders against my character, and I felt the need to inform her of the truth of the matter. That is all the letter contains." The injury he had felt when Elizabeth flung her accusations at him still hurt more than her blow ever could. That all this time she had been believing Wickham's lies! And still did, by all appearances. As his initial anger with her had faded, the injury of knowing she believed ill of him had grown. The letter had been his only hope to relieve himself of that burden.
Perhaps he could still let her know the truth, albeit indirectly. "Please read the letter, and you will see it contains nothing more than a defense of my character."
Mr. Gardiner stood and drew himself to his full height, but made no move to take the letter. "Mr. Darcy," he said in tones that could only be called scornful, "you attempted to solicit a respectable young woman, the daughter of a gentleman, to be your mistress. Under the circumstances, I fail to see how you could expect me to have any concern for your character. You have insulted my niece and our entire family. You have no character, sir."