“It is not that late.”
To her surprise, he started untying his cravat. “I am too worried to read whatever books are here in what little light wehave, and I do not want to talk any longer.” He tugged sharply, and the linen snapped in his hand.
This did not feel like a slight against her, although if he had said such a thing in a drawing room yesterday, she would have been insulted. Maybe he did not want to talk about what they both wanted in a marriage partner.
“Besides,” he went on, taking off his shoes, “we do not know when that door will open or what will happen when it does. It has been a terrifying day, and whatever sleep we can get would do us both some good.”
That made sense, but she was distracted by Mr Darcy arranging the pillows. He tossed one to the far side of the bed and placed the other nearest to him. She suddenly realised what he intended to do. “You should sleep on the floor,” she cried.
He gave her a look as though she were stupid. “There is literally not enough space to lie down anywhere in this small, crowded room but there,” he said, pointing at the bed.
“I do not want to sleep next to you.”
Mr Darcy looked up from his coat buttons in complete shock. “Are you afraid of me?” he asked, incredulous.
Her stomach dropped. “No!” The thought had never crossed her mind that he would harm her. “I simply am not in the habit of sleeping next to aman.” How could he be so calm about sharing a bed? “Is it your habit to often sleep next to women?”
Mr Darcy said nothing, only tilted his head slightly, and the unintended meaning behind her impulsive retort flashed across her mind. This was now a thousand times worse, and if the entire house fell down around her at this moment, she would not mind it at all.
“Well, Miss Bennet,” he said deliberately, “if you had given me a different answer last evening, that might be a question I would consider answering.”
She was absolutely certain her cheeks were on fire, but there was nowhere to hide and no way to avoid him. She could not grow nervous. She had to show a little courage, if only to prove to herself that she would survive this ordeal with her dignity.
“You are right that this is the only sensible place for us both to sleep, but you could be a little kinder,” she said, trying to sound calm. “How many single women find themselves having to sleep next to a man, let alone one whose proposal she refused?”
Mr Darcy did not answer. He had removed his coat, and seemed to debate what else to remove, his hand hovering near his waistcoat buttons. Her heartbeat darted in those few seconds, and she wondered what his arms and chest looked like under his shirt. In the end, he only removed the pocket watch before forcefully pulling back a corner of the blanket that covered the bed.
She saw how his complexion had reddened when he finally looked at her. The pause was, to Elizabeth’s feelings, dreadful.
“If you think I am not as affected, as distressed, to be here with you in such an intimate way, then it is a good thing that you refused me because you do not know me at all.”
He got in, turned his back to her, and wished her good night.
She felt absolutely stunned, and she was determined not to climb into the bed until she was certain Mr Darcy was asleep. She would wait for hours, and she perched on the edge of the bed, staring at the flickering candles.
She would never have guessed what emotions and passions lay beneath Mr Darcy’s unbending pride.
There was no doubt of his having superior abilities and understanding. And he was not as ill-tempered as she had previously thought. But aside from the complete awkwardness of the situation keeping her awake, Elizabeth was distracted bythe fact that Mr Darcy had a temper to love, and she had been too late to see that he also had a temper worthy of being loved.
It was a shame that he had done such a despicable thing to Wickham. But how could Mr Darcy be friends with an amiable man like Bingley, speak so affectionately about his sister, go to such lengths to try to protect her from their kidnappers, if he was as selfish and hateful as she previously thought?
I like him.
Elizabeth chanced a quick look at him, but he was still turned away from her. She could not reconcile the man lying on the bed behind her who had ruined Wickham’s prosperity with the man who spoke so endearingly about the sort of life partner he wanted.
When she knew Mr Darcy slept from the deepness of his breathing, she blew out the candles. Somehow, even from here she sensed the relaxation of his body.
Still wearing all of her clothes but her shoes, Elizabeth laid on top of the bed and stayed as close to its edge as she could. In all of her immodest and curious imaginings of sleeping with a man, of him lying atop her, and whispering and doing all manner of bold things, she had never imagined the man being Mr Darcy.
It was no longer so laughable a thought as it was yesterday.
The strain of the day was the only reason she could sleep so near to him. As she closed her eyes, she wondered if he reflected with regret on how he had destroyed Wickham’s prospects as much as he genuinely regretted ruining Jane’s happiness.
When he woke earlythe following morning, Darcy sighed at the sight of Elizabeth on the other side of the bed. She was curled up as tightly as possible, at its very edge, and had even refused tosleep under the blanket. There was no tone, gesture, or expression given now, just the simple rise and fall of her chest. Somehow, Elizabeth looked pretty, graceful, and intelligent even in her sleep.
I still admire her and love her, despite my feelings not being returned.
Darcy rose to dress and rummaged through the battered washstand in the corner but only found old toothpowder and a few cloths of dubious cleanliness. It was better than the alternative, and he poured out enough water for himself. Running a cloth over his stubbled face, he thought about his conversations with Elizabeth last night.
