Any man who wilfully deprived someone who had been brought up to depend on his family’s patronage was depraved. She could never commit herself into the care of a man capable of that.
But thus far Mr Darcy had proven himself to be loyal, considerate, and not at all like a man who would even treat an enemy the way he treated Wickham. Who was the real Mr Darcy? The one she had seen today, the one who wanted to be a better man, the one she found herself enjoying knowing better—or the one Wickham said ruined his prospects out of jealousy?
She was not about to mention Wickham now, however; not after the way Mr Darcy had silenced her before Kirby came in. Now was not the time for an argument. To avoid any further mention of Wickham, Mr Darcy’s proposal, or whatever his feelings were, Elizabeth changed the subject. “What if they ask a grand sum, one Lady Catherine might not be able to pay for the cousin of her parson?”
“My uncle, Lord Fitzwilliam, will pay,” Mr Darcy said.
Elizabeth felt herself breathing faster. “Foryou. What if Lady Catherine writes to Longbourn to ask for the money rather than front the money herself? My uncle Gardiner might be able to spend a few thousand to recover me, but not my father.” She knew she was talking faster but could not help it. “We have no money—you know that—and what if the kidnappers will not wait while Lady Catherine arranges for anyone connected to me to come up with the money?”
Mr Darcy rose from his seat and took her hand. For a long while he said nothing; he simply held it, gently stroking his thumb back and forth. His touch was a comfort, an anchor in her swirling sea of fear and confusion. She felt herself calm, and the wave of panic receded.
“We cannot control any of that,” he said, “and worrying will do us no good. There are people who will pay the ransom, even though they will know it is foryouand not Anne. And you cannot think that I will not do everything in my power to convince these men thatIwill pay for your release.” He gave her hand a squeeze before letting go. She missed its warmth immediately. “We have other things to think on that wecancontrol. Now, are you ready to answer to the name Miss de Bourgh? You are twenty-nine, you are an heiress, and you cannot exert yourself to do anything.”
She recovered enough to smile a little. “Are you ready to call me Anne instead of Miss Bennet?”
“I shall do my best, although aside from your hair colour, you bear no likeness to such a dull creature.”
She knew what he was doing. “How uncivil of you to say,” she said, endeavouring not to laugh. “How does she address you?”
“She has called me ‘Darcy’ since we were children, even while alone, rather than ‘Fitzwilliam’. And I do not think she has begun a conversation with me in nearly as long.”
That did not bode well for a happy union. “Everyone believes you will marry her, you know.”
“Everyone?” he repeated. Elizabeth realised he meant thatsheknew better, and she felt her cheeks burn. “Lady Catherine certainly believes it and speaks of it as often as she can to whomever will listen. My family wants to believe it, although after my parents died, I told them all that I would not marry her. I even told Anne.” He thought for a moment. “Fitzwilliam knows I won’t marry Anne. I think he guessed that I admired—well, it is no matter. Despite my family’s wishes, I have no intention of marrying Anne, and they refuse to accept it.”
“In a prudential light it is a good match. Your second son inherits Rosings, and Miss de Bourgh is already an heiress of tens of thousands of pounds.”
“If one looks at marriage as a balance sheet, it seems perfectly reasonable, and as a child I suppose I had been conditioned into thinking I would grow up to marry Anne.” Mr Darcy shook his head. “But when I was old enough to realise what a life association meant, I shrank from the prospect.”
His expression made it look like he had actually been repelled. “The pressure from your family to marry her must be great.” She realised Mr Darcy was serious when he mentioned the family obstacles to overcome if he marriedher.
“It is a good match for myfamily, but not a good match for my happiness, and fortunately, I am not in a situation where practicality and finances must be the deciding factor.” Hegave her an earnest look as he came nearer. “Anne is a brittle shell: shatter her, and she is empty inside. Some might say the money, the connexion, the family approval, it would all make it worthwhile. But I could never bear it.”
“Of course not.” There was no chance of him forming a rich life with Miss de Bourgh. Now that she was paying attention to Mr Darcy—forced into paying attention—it was plain how unhappy he would be with a woman like his cousin. “There is no true partnership there, and a person like you would be miserable in an empty union.”
“You are not such a person either.” He said it like he knew it to be true, down to his bones.
“No,” she whispered. She had refused two respectable offers—one splendid, if she were honest—because she did not love or admire the men who asked her. But now, despite whatever it was that had caused his terrible breach with Wickham, she felt she could now respect Mr Darcy.
“What manner of marriage do you want?” he asked tenderly.
The room was now dim, and Mr Darcy was standing very near to her. He might have the right to ask her to marry him, but she had the right to refuse, and there was nothing else about his proposal to discuss. The matter was closed. But something about the room, their isolation, their frightening situation, it all combined to make her want to answer his impertinent question.
“My parents have no affection for one another, and no respect, either. My mother was attracted by security and status, and my father by a pretty face. They live in the same house, but there is nothing between them, Mr Darcy.” He touched her arm, running his hand up and down as a slight reassurance. She was uncertain he even realised he had done it. “They have given up on one another, and their daughters suffer for it. We have no means of support after my father dies, and little guidance orattention while they are still with us. I would never want a union like theirs.”
He nodded slowly. “You must have always known that you needed someone who would see you as their equal partner.”
“I want someone who will respect me, someone I can trust to take care of me.” The truth had burst forth from her heart. “I want to be treated with dignity in public and in private, and I want someone who I can trust will have as much admiration and love for me in twenty years as he does on the day we marry.”
“And someone you can love and respect in return.”
His gaze never left hers, and her breathing hitched. In this moment, she wanted to believe that he was such a man. Mr Darcy’s chest rose and fell, and she wondered what he was feeling as his amber eyes pierced hers. If he leant down and kissed her, would she put her arms around him and kiss him back?
Elizabeth turned her head, and the moment was gone. Why would she presume that Mr Darcy was the type of man who would respect and confide in his wife? He cleared his throat and stepped away, and she busied herself with lighting another candle with a spill from the vase. Her flustered movements made it take three tries.
What was she thinking, imagining kissing Mr Darcy? All thoughts of affection following the esteem she was beginning to feel for Mr Darcy had to be pushed aside. Someone had kidnapped them for ransom, and she still did not feel brave enough to ask what had happened between him and her friend Wickham.
The air still felt thick when she felt ready to face him. He was looking at his watch when he said, “We should try to sleep.”
