Abigail Reynolds - What Would Mr. Darcy Do?

Darcy stopped and turned to face her. With determination, he said slowly, “I will not attempt to conceal that I would wish never to hear of or see George Wickham again, but please understand me clearly, Miss Bennet, I will not allow him to come between you and me. I will not let him cost me what is dearest to me ever again. And if this requires that I acknowledge his existence upon occasion, so be it.”

Relief coursed through her. “I will endeavor to remember that.”

“Thank you.”

Elizabeth, feeling overwhelmed by the import of their conversation, ran her fingers through the flowers as she passed. She paused for a moment, then broke off a sprig of flowers, allowing the sweet scent to soothe her restless spirits. He raised an eyebrow. “Lavender, Mr. Darcy. It is a favorite of mine.”

“An unusual favorite—I believe most ladies would choose the rose,” Darcy said, and Elizabeth felt gratitude that he had so well understood her need to move to a more neutral issue.

“Perhaps what pleases me is different. Lavender is not so bright or showy as roses are, but it is hardier and smells as sweet.”

“If we are to be choosing flowers for their virtues, perhaps I should give you forget-me-nots.”

“Then we both favor the flowers of the springtime, for I would have to choose sweet williams for you,” she said daringly.

Their eyes caught and held. Elizabeth found her breath coming quickly. Darcy reached out a hand and touched the inside of her wrist. “Miss Bennet, I have said I can be patient if I have hope. Can you give me that?”

Blushing, she said, “I believe you already know the answer to that, Mr. Darcy.”

“Some answers need to be heard.”

Elizabeth felt dizzy. “Sir, if I were to follow only the dictates of my heart, you may rest assured that you would be satisfied.”

The power of his gaze as he gripped her hand tightly was irresistible. He reached out to touch her face, and she became achingly conscious of how little she wished to resist him. Carefully, she looked away, and taking his arm once again, directed them to begin walking again. Lightly, she said, “I would remind you, sir, that we still remain in full view of the house.”

“But it would be difficult for an observer to see in detail at this distance,” he said, allowing his lips to caress her hair lightly. Placing a finger under her chin, he tipped her face gently up until their eyes met again. “And no one will hear if you call me by my name.”

She could not resist him. Her longing was evident in her voice as she whispered, “Fitzwilliam.” His eyes blazed, and, as if hypnotized, she watched his face lowering toward hers until she could resist the pull no longer, and raised her lips to his.

Somehow Darcy found the strength to pull back after the briefest taste of the pleasure of her kiss. “Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth,” he murmured.

Because she could not stop herself, she raised a hand and touched the tips of her fingers to his cheek. The feeling of his skin seemed to burn down her arm, and her face unconsciously reflected the yearning she felt. Darcy closed his eyes against the invitation he read in her eyes, and, taking her hand from his cheek, he kissed her palm, her fingers, the soft skin inside her wrist. He heard the sharp intake of her breath, and felt the last of his control beginning to dissolve. “Elizabeth,” he said urgently, “we must not…” But even as he spoke, he was drawing her into his arms and seeking her mouth with ever-increasing urgency.

Elizabeth’s astonishment in the pleasure of his kisses paled next to the intoxicating response she experienced as she felt his body against hers, the passion of his kisses deepening from moment to moment. Realizing how close she was coming to losing herself in his arms, she somehow forced herself to pull away.

He released her immediately. Unable to bring herself to look at his face, she turned away from him, and, with feelings of the deepest mortification for her behavior, covered her eyes with her hand.

“Shall we return to the house, then?” asked Darcy, his voice slightly unsteady.

She nodded, still avoiding looking at him. As they walked, she sought desperately for some comment to make light of the situation, but her thoughts were still too full of the sensation of his kisses.

“Miss Bennet, it seems I must make a habit of apologizing to you for my behavior. I would like to assure you that I do not usually engage in this sort of conduct, though I fear you would have every reason to disbelieve me under the circumstances; however, it is true, and I regret most sincerely having offended you.”

“I thank you, sir, but I am not offended, except at my own behavior.”

“Please, do not blame yourself in any way; I am completely at fault,” Darcy responded, not without distress.

“That is most courteous of you to say, sir, but we both know that the conduct of neither of us, if strictly examined, was irreproachable.”

“If so, I am still much more at fault than you.” Tentatively, he asked, “Miss Bennet, I beg of you, if it is not too much to ask, to tell me what upsets you so much that you will not look at me?”

Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth crossed her arms in front of her and turned to regard him. In a pained voice, she asked, “What must you think of me?”

“You are concerned about what I think of you?” A relieved look lightened his face. “My dear Miss Bennet, I think of you as a virtuous young woman who I sincerely hope will be my future wife, and I count myself among the most fortunate of men that you apparently have enough feeling for me as to occasionally allow that feeling to overwhelm your sense of propriety where I am concerned. Please, you need feel no concern whatsoever on this subject.”

“It is discomfiting, to say the least, that after never having allowed a gentleman even the slightest liberties in the past, I seem to have overnight begun to behave like my sister Lydia.”

“Hardly, Miss Bennet, you have consistently applied restraint—”

Elizabeth interrupted, “Hardly consistently!”

He applied a look of mock disapproval to her before continuing, “—whereas you would have every reason to think that I would stop at nothing to take advantage of you.”

“I think not; the word ‘no’ seems to have been quite efficacious to date.” She smiled rather tentatively at him, and was relieved to find that he returned her smile. With harmony somewhat restored, she added, “But I am, perhaps, not quite ready to face my family. I think I shall sit on this bench—in extremely full view of the house—for a few minutes yet, and I would be happy to have your company, sir.”

He made a slight bow. They sat, and forcibly turned their conversation to safer topics, while Elizabeth made valiant but eventually futile attempts not to be completely distracted by the light touch of his hand against hers on the bench, a situation which to the casual observer would appear to be quite innocent, but which felt anything but that.

As soon as the gentlemen had taken their leave, Elizabeth, feeling quite unequal to any discussion regarding Darcy that might arise between her family members, took the opportunity to retire to her room to be alone with her thoughts. She was unsurprised, however, to hear a knock on the door heralding the arrival of Jane, full of concern for her well-being.

“Lizzy,” said Jane, taking her hand, “what happened? Please, tell me all about it.”

Elizabeth surprised herself and her sister by bursting into tears.

“Oh, Lizzy. I am so sorry. I hope he was not too cruel.”

“No, he was not cruel. He said everything I could hope he would say. He was charming and solicitous…”

Jane, more than puzzled over her sister’s distress, asked, “Did he renew his addresses?” In response to her sister’s slight nod, she added, “And did you accept him?”

“I told him I needed time.”

“Lizzy, why? Why not just accept him? You love him, I know you do!”

“Because, Jane, I do not have your touching faith in everyone’s goodness, and I have learned to my chagrin that my judgments of people are not as accurate as I had always thought. I misjudged Darcy badly in the past in many ways. Now I am judging that he has changed greatly in regard to his pride, but I am choosing to believe this based on the evidence of five conversations. Five, Jane! Given my history of misjudgment, should I base my future happiness on what may be no more than a temporary aberration and a great deal of wishful thinking on my part? My heart wants to accept him, but my head tells me to be cautious.”

“Bingley has known him and trusted him for years, Lizzy. That cannot count for nothing.”

“I know, and Miss Darcy believes him to be the finest brother in the world, but I need evidence of my own.”

“So you told him you needed time. Then what happened?”

Elizabeth, with a teary smile, said, “Then we progressed from behaving badly to behaving disgracefully, and then we had a fight over who was most at fault for it. Jane, you must never leave us alone together—we cannot be trusted.”

“Dearest Lizzy, of course, if that is what you wish. But did you part well?”

“Yes, except for the stress of knowing that we both could think of very little apart from how much we wished for the privacy to disgrace ourselves yet again! Oh, Jane, how do you and Bingley survive this longing and look so happy all the time? This is agony!”

Jane smiled gently. “The agony was all in the waiting and wondering for me. Perhaps, once you and Darcy have settled this between yourselves, it will be easier.”