Mr. Darcy's Undoing Page 5

  As soon as their carriage pulled away, Bingley began to praise Miss Bennet. “I tell you, Darcy, she is the most amiable lady of my acquaintance. I had thought perhaps that time had sweetened my recollections of her, but it is not so—she is as kind as she is generous, and you must admit her beauty is undeniable!”

  Darcy, who in fact found her rather bland next to the liveliness of her sister, agreed that she was a very beautiful woman. As Bingley rambled on about her virtues, Darcy’s mind drifted back to that night in Hunsford, and he heard in his mind as clearly as if it were today—Do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps forever, the happiness of a most beloved sister? His lingering sense of happiness from being near Elizabeth disappeared instantly. He asked abruptly, “Do you intend to ask her to be your wife?”

  Bingley seemed to pale slightly. “I am considering it,” he said, his tone defensive. “I know that it is your belief that she is indifferent to me, but you do not know her as I do, and I do not think her mercenary.”

  There was silence as several moments elapsed. “No, I think you are correct, Bingley,” said Darcy carefully. “I have been given to understand that I was mistaken in that regard.”

  His friend looked at him in astonishment. “Given to understand? Whatever do you mean by that?” he exclaimed.

  Darcy was glad that the darkness of the carriage partially disguised his expression. “I happened by chance to meet with Miss Elizabeth Bennet this spring. When the subject arose, she made it clear that I had misinterpreted her sister’s natural modesty and reserve as indifference, and it was her belief that her sister cherished a tender regard for you.”

  “You learned this in the spring, and you are only now seeing fit to tell me of it?” cried Bingley.

  “You are quite right, Bingley,” Darcy said levelly. “I should have told you as soon as I learned of it.”

  “You most certainly should have!” Bingley exclaimed. “I cannot believe you did not!”

  It was almost a relief, Darcy found, to face Bingley’s ire. It eased his guilt, and perhaps more importantly, it distracted him from regrets about Elizabeth and the opportunity he had missed with her owing to his own foolish pride. “That is not all I should confess,” he said, as if impelled. “Miss Bennet was in Town last winter for three months, and I knew of it, and concealed it from you.” If I am truly fortunate, he thought bleakly, Bingley will be so furious that I will have to quit Netherfield immediately, and thus rid myself of this impossible situation! He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat as a sharp pain lanced through him at the thought of leaving. He wanted only to order the carriage back to Longbourn, where he could find solace once more in Elizabeth’s laughter and bright eyes.

  He was so caught up in his own concerns that he almost forgot Bingley’s presence. He was startled, then, when finally Bingley said with obvious anger, “How dare you presume so!”

  Darcy shrugged. “Miss Bennet had called on your sisters, and they came to me with their concerns. We judged it best not to risk hurting you by telling you of it.” The excuse sounded lame even to his own ears.

  “Risk hurting me?” Bingley’s disbelief was obvious. “Do you have any idea what I have suffered this last year, thinking she did not care for me?”

  Darcy experienced a sudden urge to tell him that he knew quite intimately what such suffering was like, but he knew it would be foolhardy in the extreme to let Bingley guess at his improper attachment. “You have my deepest apologies,” he said stiffly. “I was completely in the wrong, and can offer no excuse. I should never have interfered.”

  Bingley did not respond, and the rest of the ride passed in a tense silence. Darcy breathed a sigh of relief when they finally arrived at Netherfield. He did not know what had induced him to make such a confession when he was trapped in the carriage with Bingley—it would have been easier had he been able to walk away sooner. Once they were inside and had handed off their coats and hats, he turned to Bingley once more.

  “I do not mean to try your patience,” he said. “I will depart in the morning. Again, I apologize for my misjudgements.” He made a slight formal bow, and headed to the stairs. He was nearly to the landing when he heard Bingley’s voice call after him.

  “Darcy, wait!” he said loudly. “You at least owe me more of an explanation than that!”

  With a sigh, Darcy said, “Very well.” He returned downstairs and followed Bingley into a sitting room where he helped himself to a generous serving of brandy. “What is it you would like to know?” he asked tiredly.

  “All of it—tell me all of what happened!”

  Briefly, Darcy recounted the history of Miss Bennet’s visit to London. “I thought no more of it after that,” he continued, “until I happened by coincidence to meet Miss Elizabeth Bennet in Kent, when I was visiting my aunt there. During the course of… a conversation, she gave me to understand that her sister had been quite unhappy since your departure from Hertfordshire, and that she herself was aware of the role I had played in the matter. Whether or not she has confided any of her suspicions to her sister, I cannot say. This was the reason I suggested we return to Netherfield for the shooting—I hoped it would allow you to meet her once again, and, if you were both still so inclined, to return to the point where you were November last.”

  Bingley stood and began to pace the floor. “I do not know where to begin! That you and my sisters should conspire so against my happiness! That you were so inclined as to not mention this to me for months! That you went so far as to discuss this with my Jane’s own sister! I cannot understand what inspired you,” he said bitterly.

  “At the moment, neither can I,” said Darcy wearily. “It was done with the best of intentions, though, if not the best of understandings.”

  “Tell me again—what exactly did Miss Elizabeth say of her sister’s sensibilities?”

  Darcy closed his eyes. That was not a moment he cared to return to in memory, but he at least owed Bingley the truth of what was said. “We did not discuss you,” he said. “In a moment of anger, she accused me of destroying her sister’s happiness. That is all I know of her thoughts at the time.”

  Bingley looked shocked. “She must have been very angry indeed to say such a thing!

  Darcy grimaced. “She was. I had said some… ill-considered things, and she was quite right to object to them.”

  “She seems to have forgiven you, at least,” said Bingley accusingly.

  With a bitter smile, he stood and put down his empty glass. “Yes, she seems to have forgiven me. Good night, Bingley, and good fortune in your wooing of Miss Bennet.”

  “You are not still planning to leave, are you?”

  “I fear I must—it is best that I do,” said Darcy, thinking of Elizabeth.

  “Darcy, I do not deny being angry with you, but that is no reason to run off!” exclaimed Bingley. Ruefully, he added, “Besides, I may need you as a witness to my innocence if Miss Bennet does not forgive me for failing to call on her in London.”

  “Somehow I suspect she will forgive you anything,” Darcy said dryly, the relief of knowing that he would be able to see Elizabeth again outweighing all else. “Well, if it is your wish, I will stay a bit longer, to see you settle matters with Miss Bennet.”

  “And I shall!” said Bingley happily. “I most certainly shall.”

  ***

  The gentlemen arrived early at Longbourn the following morning, and were welcomed effusively by Mrs. Bennet, who was certain that this third visit in as many days was a declaration of Mr. Bingley’s intentions. She was determined to find a way for him to be alone with Jane, and when Bingley, who was of a similar mind, proposed walking out, Mrs. Bennet announced that she had need of the younger girls at home, but that Lizzy and Jane were free to go if they wished. Elizabeth shot a quick glance at her mother at this, wondering
if she had any inkling of Mr. Darcy’s attention to her, but she knew it to be false—not even her mother would condone such a thing, now that she was engaged.

  Her mother approached her as she was donning her bonnet. “Lizzy, you must keep Mr. Darcy out of Mr. Bingley’s way—you will know how, but Mr. Bingley must be alone with Jane,” said Mrs. Bennet. “You need not put yourself to any inconvenience; there is no occasion for talking to Mr. Darcy, except just now and then.”

  Elizabeth was not inclined to inform her mother that, regardless of whether Jane and Mr. Bingley should have some private discourse, she herself had no intention of being alone with Mr. Darcy. They seemed to have a silent pact not to mention his proposal and letter, but she did not wish any opportunity to challenge it.

  They started out, Mr. Darcy setting a good pace with Elizabeth by his side, while Mr. Bingley and Jane soon lagged behind. There was indeed little conversation among the pair in the lead; Darcy seemed in a somewhat grim mood. Elizabeth had no intention of leaving Jane in an uncomfortable position, however, and they had not gone far before she stopped and said, “Mr. Darcy, we are leaving my sister behind; pray, let us wait for them to catch up to us.”

  To her utmost surprise, instead of complying, Darcy took her hand and placed it on his arm, making it clear he had no intention of stopping. Elizabeth, displeased with this forwardness, was about to open her mouth to protest when he said, “Forgive me; your concern is, of course, laudable and proper, but Bingley needs a few moments with your sister—he has something particular to discuss with her, and the least I can do is to provide him with the opportunity to do so. They are well within our sight—there can be nothing to object to.”

  Darcy had turned his eyes straight ahead as soon as he was done speaking, leaving Elizabeth looking up at him in shock. Being told so bluntly of Mr. Bingley’s intentions was surprising enough, but to see Mr. Darcy with a rather grim countenance at the matter brought unpleasant memories. “You seem less than pleased, sir,” she said tartly.

  He turned to her with a look of dismayed surprise. “Not at all, Miss Bennet,” he responded. His gaze softening as he looked at her, he added, “I must ask your forgiveness once more; I am not in the best of humours today, but it is my hope that Bingley will receive a satisfactory response from your sister.”

  Elizabeth, quite unsure how to respond to this, simply dropped her eyes. She was not quite comfortable with how physically close he was to her, nor with her hand on his arm. His presence seemed to loom quite large.

  Darcy sighed, apparently reading her dissatisfaction. “Very well, if you would know, Bingley and I had words last night, and it is still somewhat in my mind. I made a confession to him, telling him of my interference in his affairs. I could not allow myself to conceal that your sister had been in Town three months last winter, that I had known it, and purposely kept it from him. I told him, moreover, that you had… that I had known for some time that she was not indifferent to him. His surprise was great, and he was understandably quite resentful.”

  She had forgotten Darcy’s tendency to discuss surprisingly intimate matters openly with her. Feeling something of the danger of this, especially on a topic so closely related to their unfortunate encounter, she responded cautiously, “I see. It seems, though, that you and he are reconciled.”

  His mouth twisted, and he did not look at her. “Bingley is a forgiving soul; and I do not doubt that his anger will pass completely once he is no longer in any doubt of your sister’s sentiments.”

  Something in his tone raised her concern, and she looked at him searchingly. If he was not concerned with Bingley’s judgement, it must be that he had not forgiven himself—or perhaps he felt she would not forgive him. With a unforeseen urge to reassure him, she tightened her hand on his arm momentarily, and said quietly in a voice of sympathy, “I am sorry—that must be difficult.”

  Her warmth was unexpected, and almost proved his undoing. Darcy had known he was playing a dangerous impromptu game in confiding his feelings to her, but had not gone so far as to anticipate how she might respond. Now he turned to face her, barely holding in check his desire for her, and his longing to tell her what he felt. Their eyes caught and held, his with an unspoken need, and as he looked into her lovely eyes, he saw a new awareness dawn there which made his heart race.

  This cannot be! he chastised himself desperately, fighting his spirit’s desire to celebrate. She is not free! He cleared his throat, hoping his tension would not be apparent in his voice. “Do you suppose Bingley has had adequate time? Perhaps we should walk back to meet them.”

  Elizabeth, her mind whirling in confusion, murmured her assent. She did not know what to say, or how to look, and was relieved to quickly cross the distance to join the others. She was grateful for the distraction when she saw Jane’s face shining with happiness. No words needed to be said—Jane instantly embraced her and acknowledged with the liveliest emotion that she was the happiest creature in the world.

  “’Tis too much!” she added, “by far too much. I do not deserve it. Oh! why is not everybody as happy?”

  Elizabeth’s congratulations were given with a sincerity, a warmth, a delight which words could but poorly express. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Darcy shaking Bingley’s hand warmly and offering his own felicitations.

  Both Jane and Bingley were anxious to return to Longbourn. Jane was all eagerness to tell her mother, and Bingley to ask Mr. Bennet’s consent. They could not restrain themselves from reassuring one another as to the depth of their happiness, which fortuitously helped to cover the silence of the other pair, each of whom was deep in thought.

  Darcy was struggling with a profound sense of envy for his friend’s situation. As his initial euphoria wore off, he remembered nothing had changed, nothing at all—even if there had been a brief moment when Elizabeth had wanted him, she would still be Mrs. Covington all too soon. It was hard in face of Bingley’s joy to face the fact that he would never be in that same position. He glanced at Elizabeth, who appeared unwontedly serious, and wondered what she was thinking.

  It is less than two months till my wedding, thought Elizabeth, as if by sheer dint of repetition she could forget what had occurred. I have no right to be thinking of any other man, especially not that man! She did not understand what had taken place; the feelings her encounter with Darcy had aroused in her were as yet unknown to her. That they were dangerous was clear, and likewise that she would need to forget they had ever occurred. She firmly resolved she would not make herself unhappy over Darcy, and she would not think of this again. With a sigh, she began to enumerate to herself once again the advantages of her upcoming marriage.

  Chapter 3

  She came into the room, her form light and graceful as always, the curves of her body exposed by the lines of her dress. He stood politely, and said, “Miss Bennet, this is a most pleasant surprise.”

  She looked at him boldly, a smile playing about her tempting lips, saying, “Surely you knew I would come, Mr. Darcy.”

  Involuntarily he took a step towards her, and as he drew nearer, he could see her fine eyes filled with that look of awareness they had held earlier. His breathing became more rapid, and he knew she could read his desire in his stance. “No, I did not,” he said, distracted by the knowledge that she was no more than an arm’s length away from him. “I never seem to know what to expect of you.”

  She moved closer, the restless movement of her hands betraying her nervousness. Her eyes darted away from him, a delicate blush rising in her face. He could not help himself; he reached out and touched the soft skin of her cheek with his fingertips, and a powerful surge of desire overtook him. She looked up at him through her lashes, her lips slightly parted.

  He could not refuse her unconscious invitation; slowly he lowered his lips until they touched hers. She did not protest, and her hand stole around his neck to prevent an escape for which he had no wish. Deeper and de
eper he tasted her, until he knew beyond a doubt that she was his for the asking. In exultation, he caught her hips in his hands, then drew her towards him until he felt the shock of her supple body against his, her need for him expressed in the manner in which she arched against him and gasped as his lips travelled over her face, across her neck, and down into the exposed soft skin of her shoulder.

  “Please,” she begged, and he was only too happy to oblige.

  ***

  Darcy opened his eyes to discover light streaming in the window. With a groan he buried his face in his pillow, willing sleep and his dream to return. He hated the abrupt shift from the warmth and happiness of his dreams of Elizabeth to the cold reality that all he would ever have of her was a few memories of visits, watching her play and sing, and being teased by her sparkling eyes. Another man would discover the reality of all his dreams. But it made no difference; for months, there had been dreams almost every night, and he doubted they would stop now.

  There was a new poignant sense of loss this morning, though. In a way it was a comfort to know that Elizabeth could feel some attraction to him, that there could be in this sense some truth to his dream, but knowing what could be only added to the pain of knowing he would never experience it.

  He thought back to the previous day. It became evident when they returned to Longbourn that Elizabeth was taking advantage of the excitement over Jane’s engagement to avoid private conversation with him. He knew she was only behaving as she ought, how she must behave even if her feelings for him had been far stronger than they were. He would never have wanted her to do otherwise—no, that was a lie; he was far beyond caring what rules of propriety were violated if it meant that any part of her could be his. It was irrelevant, though, since she would never go so far herself.