He hesitated, and she saw his hesitation in the smile upon his face. It was strange how easily she could read his expressions, for seldom in her life had she either tried or succeeded in doing so with others.
“Why this hesitation?” she asked at last.
He met her gaze without surprise; her intuition no longer astonished him. It was the same with him in her presence. Not only her countenance, but the very movement of her body, revealed her feelings or states of mind as if she did not care to let those secrets be unveiled to his eyes...only.
“May I ask you something?”
“Anything,” she replied, laughing lightly, and that crystalline sound thrilled him, for it brought back the memory of those happier days when their future had not yet been written.
“Are you to be married?”
A faint colour rose in her cheeks—an occurrence so rare that he marvelled at it. Elizabeth Bennet was usually mistress of her every look and feeling.
“Yes, I am to be married.”
Her answer, calm and unhesitating, made his heart tremble painfully, though it was senseless, for he too was soon to marry. He drew breath, as if to speak again, then faltered.
“But…” He broke off, unable to finish the thought.
She smiled a little and, as though reading his mind, continued the thought he could not frame, “Why to…him?
“Yes,” he answered, slightly ashamed yet curious at the same time. “You are not the lady who marries for money.”
“I am the woman who marries for…an academy.” Her voice carried that delicate shade of irony which so well became her.
“I do not understand.”
“Mr Clinton has no direct heirs, and the distant relations care nothing for the work of the Academy. They see only the value of the estate.”
He looked at her, genuinely astonished. “But you might remain to direct it, and find a husband…more suitable.”
Elizabeth laughed again, yet this time the mirth rang hollow. “I do not recall ever offering you counsel in the choice of your wife.”
He bowed his head, defeated. The silence that followed was heavy. He regretted having begun the conversation; yet, though he had gained the knowledge he sought, it brought him no ease.
“I had to know,” he acknowledged; there was no sense in concealing the truth from her.
They were silent again. Then Elizabeth spoke, her voice low and tremulous. “Perhaps we shall meet in hell for what we do now…both upon the point of marrying…yet…”
“At least we shall be together there,” he murmured.
They both laughed—softly, sadly glancing towards Mary, who was coming towards them, uneasy for her sister, and perhaps because they had stood together too long.
“They wish you to play,” Mary said. “They are still too fearful to ask me to sit at the pianoforte.”
“So unjustly, Miss Mary,” Darcy offered; and for the first time since she had known him, Mary felt a regard for him which he appeared fully to return.
“I do not know if they are unjust,” Mary replied, “but I am certain I have still much to learn.”
Though they were parted, the evening remained exquisite for Darcy, for he could gaze upon Elizabeth without restraint while the concert lasted; and afterwards, they separated, the music yet vibrating in their ears, and her precious gaze living in his heart, and his in hers.
“You are mad,” the colonel uttered as they withdrew for the night. Once again, Darcy was struck by his cousin’s tone, which seemed more frustrated than angry. “For God’s sake, go to Kent and do what is right!” he unexpectedly cried, leaving Darcy in profound disquietude.
“Right?” Darcy shook his head. This is impossible, and nothing could be done about it.
Chapter 32
If he had believed that the happiness of seeing her again would endure beyond that first evening, he was deceived. He awoke on the morning of the wedding with the sun streaming through his window, yet in his heart there was only darkness.
