“It certainly was,” Jane replied softly.
“You are very quiet. You had a nice evening, did you not? You danced with some very charming men.”
“I did. And you danced with Mr Darcy.”
Elizabeth felt foolish for the rush of pleasure the remark induced. “Much to the relish of every gossip in attendance.”
“Does it not trouble you that so many people think you and he are…involved?”
“Not particularly. They will find something else to talk about soon enough, and Mr Darcy and I will be forgot.”
“I do not doubt it, but that was not my meaning. I meant, does it not bother you that it isMr Darcyto whom you have been connected? I thought you hated him.”
Elizabeth nodded into the dark. “So did I, at one time. But he is not the proud, disagreeable man I once thought him.”
“Do you admire him?”
Elizabeth hesitated. She and Jane had asked each other that question about plenty of men over the years; always it was with a certain encouragement or teasing. This time her sister sounded almost sad. “Is something wrong?”
The long silence that followed was a clear affirmation. Elizabeth reached across the space between their beds and felt for Jane’s hand to hold. “Whatever is the matter?”
“Oh Lizzy, I hate to speak against him if you have decided you like him, but…I wish my uncle had not invited him to dinner.”
“You would speak against Mr Darcy? His faults must be grievous indeed, for you never speak ill of anyone if you can help it.”
“Likely not grievous to anyone but me.”
All notion of making sport evaporated from Elizabeth’s mind. “Tell me.”
Jane took an unsteady breath. “On the day that I called on Caroline Bingley, he warned me to stay away from Mr Bingley.”
“What? No, there must be some mistake.”
“He said that he feared Mr Bingley had inadvertently raised my expectations while he was in Hertfordshire, that any hope for a renewal of his attentions was in vain, and that an alliance with me was out of the question.”
Elizabeth was too incensed to know immediately what to say. Memories of her dance with Mr Darcy whirled mockingly before her eyes, along with every mortifying feeling she had allowed herself to entertain that evening. For when he had said that to pretend not to know each other had been her idea, and that he had never agreed to it—when he made the impassioned point that they were by no means strangers—an idea had formed in her mind that, just maybe, their many meetings had not been accidental, that perhaps he had been deliberately seeking her company.
When all along, he had been knowingly keeping Jane and Mr Bingley apart. Had that been his purpose in continually intercepting her—to ensure she never got her message to his friend? The thought made her bilious with anger.
She pushed her covers aside and sat up. “Why did you not tell me this before?”
“I was embarrassed. And I had no idea you had seen him so often.” Jane, too, sat up. “I daresay he had his reasons for saying it. It is well if you like him. I only wish that I did not have to sit at the table with him.”
Elizabeth gave a furious bark of bitter laughter. “Oh, do not worry, Jane. I believe I may safely promise that neither of us will be sitting at any table with Mr Darcy.”
21
ARGUMENTS ARE TOO MUCH LIKE DISPUTES
With his free hand, Darcy turned his collar up against the cold. The day was not freezing, but atop his horse, the wind made it feel so. By rights, he ought to be roasting, for his heart was pounding as though he had fought ten bouts at Jackson’s.
His perturbation was not on account of the audience towards which he rode. He was confident of posing a sufficiently pleasing offer, and Elizabeth’s acceptance would be reward aplenty for any awkwardness compassed in the asking. Rather, it was his persistent brooding on the many objections to the match that had kept his heart racing and his mind whirling with agitation since deciding to propose. It was not enough to change his mind; all his incessant reveries these past few weeks, all his tortured longing these past five months, none of it had compared to holding her in his arms for the duration of one waltz. That he wished her to be his wife was the only thing about which he was in no doubt.
But her connexions had not altered overnight; her family’s situation had not improved. There was a significant possibility that, at some point, society would fall out of love with her. Add tothat her mother’s infidelity, which would forever dangle over the marriage like the blasted Sword of Damocles, and Darcy thought he could be forgiven for his lingering qualms.
Even so, when he turned Jupiter into Gracechurch Street and recognised one of two women approaching on foot as Elizabeth, he felt the serenity he had been unable to find on his own finally settle upon him. She grounded him in that way. It was another reason he knew she was for him.
He saw the moment she noticed him, for she stopped walking and began speaking to her companion—her sister, he could see now—in a somewhat urgent manner. He dismounted, thinking it more polite to approach on foot, but the nearer he got, the more animated Elizabeth became. In the end, with one final hasty glance in his direction, she gave her parcels into Miss Bennet’s possession and propelled her with a little shove up the nearest steps to what he presumed was her uncle’s front door. Initially gratified by her eagerness to speak to him alone, Darcy’s pleasure faltered when Elizabeth began striding towards him with an expression that looked anything but eager. He slowed Jupiter to a standstill and bowed.
