FD
Dinner that night proved tedious. Miss Bingley insisted upon lamenting the upcoming ball and the many preparations it required. Darcy ignored her, his thoughts occupied with the hope that he might walk out on the morrow. The storm clouds still hung heavy overhead, though they had yet to release their burden. He retired early, determined to make the attempt.
Morning dawned with a distinct chill in the air. He set out on horseback, keeping an eye on the gathering storm. Elizabeth awaited him atop Oakham Mount, where he dismounted and took her hand in greeting.
“You look lovely this morning,” he said, pressing a kiss to her fingers.
“I worried the rain would begin before I could set out.” She smiled, her eyes alight with warmth. Darcy led her to their fallen log, and together they gazed out over the fields in companionable silence.
“Mary retired before…” she hesitated. “I shall make the attempt after breakfast.”
Oh, how he adored her! He reached out and took her hand, which rested on the log between them. Darcy caressed her fingers, pivoting so he faced her.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he began, “I…admire you—very much.” He could not say love yet, not until he was certain she was unlike the others. His heart yearned to trust her, but a lifetime of judgment and cruelty had taught him caution.
She looked at him tenderly. Elizabeth’s free hand rose and touched his cheek where the crimson stain marred his skin. She did not recoil; rather, she traced its edge with her thumb.
“I look forward to our dance, sir,” she said. “The first set! Never has that dance meant so much to me…until now.”
Darcy lifted his hand to rest over hers, still pressed to his cheek, and closed his eyes. With his other hand, he wove hisfingers through hers where they rested on the log between them. A sudden raindrop struck his face, jolting him out of his reverie.
“You will be soaked by the time you reach home,” he said, releasing both her hands.
“As will you,” she teased. “Until we meet again, Mr. Darcy.”
She rose and hurried away, pausing at the edge of the mount to wave. Darcy remained still until she was out of sight, then mounted his horse and trotted back to Netherfield.
I am well and truly lost.
Chapter Thirteen
November 26, 1811
Netherfield Park
Darcy
DaysofrainkeptDarcy indoors, affording him ample time for reflection as the sky let loose its relentless deluge. Rain streamed down the windowpanes in steady rivulets, distorting the view beyond. His musings matched the turmoil outside.
I love her,he thought after days of contemplation.I love her and wish to marry her.Yet, did he dare ask? What if she refused? He could not endure the heartbreak such a rejection would bring.
But she said I might call upon her,he reasoned. Surely that signified she would be amenable to more. Still, the burden of his disfigurement pressed heavily upon him, a silent reminder that love might never be freely given. Darcy thought he hadconquered these feelings long ago, yet now, when faced with a chance for happiness, they surged forth, filling him with anxious dread, borne from years of judgment and rejection.What if,his mind whispered,what if she is not what she seems?
The war within him raged until he concluded that the course was to ask Elizabeth for her hand in marriage—and pray for a favorable reply.
That evening, Netherfield would be filled with guests. He would dance the promised first set with Elizabeth, and ere the night concluded, he would propose. If—when—she accepted him, he would be the happiest of men.Georgiana will adore her.Yes, his shy, withdrawn sister would be delighted to have a sister at long last. Together, he and Elizabeth would help revive the wounded girl. It was a heartening thought.
Darcy’s valet assisted him in dressing for the ball. He wore a blue coat, and a cream, gold-embroidered waistcoat. His cravat was tied in an elaborate knot, held in place by a finely wrought jeweled pin. He studied his reflection in the mirror, imagining how he might appear were the dark red stain absent from his face. If he looked intently, he could discern his resemblance to his father. But there was no sense in mourning what could not be changed. He turned away.
As he walked toward the ballroom, he heard the other guests arriving. Servants completing the final touches to the decorations. Candles and mirrors lined the walls, casting a warm glow throughout the space. A chalk design adorned the center of the floor, soon to be trampled beneath eager feet.
Darcy positioned himself where he could watch the entrance, eager to glimpse Elizabeth the moment she arrived. He did not wait long. The Bennets were among the first of the guests to appear. She looked radiant. Her gown was cream, with gold embroidery along the hem of the skirt. He felt a thrill of pleasure— they matched, and entirely by chance. She paused just insidethe doorway, scanning the room until her eyes met his. Her lips curved into a smile, and she stepped forward. Darcy left his post near the wall and quickly closed the gap between them.
“You look lovely, Miss Elizabeth,” he said in greeting.
“I thank you, sir. It appears we have unintentionally aligned our apparel this evening.” She smiled and gave him a playful wink. “Did you ask my maid what I intended to wear?”
Her teasing manner eased his nerves, and he shook his head. “I categorically deny it,” he stated, adopting a firm tone. “It was purely a happy accident.”
