“Trials have a way of shaping a life. Faced with one particular difficulty, my father resolved to change. The result is what you see. Life’s troubles may bring regret, yet when they end so well, one cannot but acknowledge their purpose.”
Her voice stayed light, though memories of despair could not but press close. The familiar whisper—that her suffering had been the price of others’ welfare and happiness—stirred within, but she pushed it aside.I will not have my evening spoiled.
Mr Darcy seemed to sense her disquiet and then spoke of books and other pleasanter things. They conversed easily until the music ceased. When the final notes faded, he escorted her to the side of the floor before crossing to claim Suzanne’s hand for the next set.
The evening unfolded in the happiest manner. Before supper, Mr Bingley proposed to Jane, and Mr Bennet announced the engagement at table. The ensuing exclamations varied from delighted to dutiful. Miss Bingley looked thoroughly put out; her smile resembled a grimace, and she never touched another morsel from her plate. Mrs Bennet’s transports of joy were at first unrestrained, but a tender look and a reassuring touch from her husband subdued her to gentler rapture.
Mr Darcy watched Elizabeth often, though she pretended not to see it. His countenance was inscrutable. She longed to lose herself in that steady look, to rest her head against his shoulder, and to feel the security of his arms.It was time she admitted to herself what her heart now knew—she loved him, deeply and irrevocably.
The truth had come so gradually that she had not recognised it for certain until that moment. She had played with the notion in her mind at times but never had she felt such a strong sentiment. The discovery of her feelings—so new, so fragile—made her heart flutter with a joy she longed to trust.
He had hinted at his wishes often enough these past weeks; the dear man was always patient and kind.I could accept him,she thought.If he were to ask.Yet, a familiar sense of panic struggled for release. She felt the heat of the room, and rising hastily, she quitted the dining room to seek the cool air of Netherfield’s terrace.
Mr Darcy found her there. She did not need to turn; she knew he would follow, and she felt his nearness as he came to stand beside her. For a few moments, neither spoke.
“Miss Bennet will be very happy with Bingley,” he said at last. “I am sincerely pleased for my friend. His good fortune only reminds me of what I lack—the love of a worthy woman. Mrs Fiennes, is there any hope? I know you loved your husband—most ardently, if I have judged aright. Am I wrong to believe I might bring you equal joy?”
The words reached her like a dream. She wished to answer yes; her heart already had. She loved him dearly and wanted to be with him always. Yet, as she parted her lips to accept, no sound came. At last, she managed softly, “May I have time to consider your proposal?”
Mr Darcy looked surprised, but not disheartened. “Of course.” His hand found hers where it rested on the stone balustrade. “I shall eagerly anticipate your reply.”
Her heart sank. Even as he spoke, she knew she could not yet give him a favourable reply. His fingers lingered for an instant before he released her, and she could not at once part with the warmth he left behind. The night was still, yet her thoughts were not; for the first time in years, hope pressed softly at the edges of her heart—an unfamiliar guest she did not quite know how to welcome.
Chapter Thirty-Three
27 November 1811
Longbourn
Elizabeth
Elizabethremainedwakefullongafter the household slept. The carriage ride home had passed in near-silence. Fatigue excused the quiet; no one remarked on her abstraction when she had turned her gaze to the darkened fields beyond the window.
The ball was a blur; she could remember little of import. Her thoughts were fixed on Mr Darcy and his proposal. She found herself feeling broken, so lost—broken in a way she had never admitted. Had she not always buried thoughts of her past in a vain attempt to preserve her peace? It had served her for a time, that wilful blindness, yet peace so founded could never last. What hope had she of accepting the love of a good man while she still fled from her own memories?
Now, seated before her dressing table with a single candle burning beside her, a disquieting truth began to unfold before her. She had, to some extent, considered the damage that could occur when one refused to acknowledge what had been, but had never faced it.I have never confronted my past,she thought. Since her husband’s death, she had allowed her memories to surface only in dreams or unguarded moments, then forced themback into the recesses of her mind. It had seemed easier to bury them. Now, she recognised how foolish that was. Such suppression, understandable in one so young, had nonetheless been unwise. In seeking to escape the past, she had endangered the future.
She could not accept Mr Darcy—not when she was wounded and unhealed.But how am I to tell him?She had no wish to give pain to the gentleman who loved her. Her own heart seemed to shatter as she considered the way forward. He deserved her whole affection, not the bruised and trembling heart that still beat within her.
The truth,she resolved.I shall begin with the truth.
She reached for her writing desk and placed it before the candle’s glow. For a moment she sat motionless, then pulled a piece of paper towards her and began to write.
Longbourn, Hertfordshire
27 november 1811
My dear sir…
She sanded and sealed the missive. Each word lay heavy on her heart, yet the quiet peace that followed assured her she had done rightly. She needed space to think—away from Longbourn, from her family. She and Elinor would accompany Suzanne to London.It is best to face one’s demons where they dwell.The pain connected with her home in Hertfordshire had long since faded; the spectres that lingered in London must at last be banished. Whether Mr Darcy would still be waiting for her when they were, she could not know.
Darcy
He had barely slept. As the first light touched the sky, Darcy left his chamber and ordered his horse saddled. A good ride would clear his thoughts. He had, in essentials, proposed to Elizabeth at the ball. Though her wish for time to consider the matter had disappointed him, hope yet lived within, for she had not rejected him outright.’Tis progress.Perhaps her heart may one day open to another.
Thor waited for him, a great grey he had owned since its coltish days. Darcy mounted, accepted the reins from the groom, and with a light flick of his crop, set off at a canter. When he reached the open fields, he urged the horse into a gallop and turned towards Oakham Mount.
He felt certain Elizabeth would be there. She was not a slug-abed, even after a late evening. Anticipation quickened his pulse as he neared the rise, and it was with pleasure he discerned a solitary figure at the summit. Drawing closer, he slowed his horse and dismounted.
