Perhaps
She couldn't help but stare a little, transfixed. The man before her was not the composed, well-spoken and controlled Mr. Darcy that she had become accustomed to seeing. No, he was far from it, breathing heavily, drenched to the bone and looking as though the words he wished to speak would simply not come to him. Not even his pride was in attendance today. He was in short completely not himself.
Her dislike for Mr. Darcy had been so firmly fixed at the start. Overhearing his words about her person that first evening of their acquaintance had made certain of it... but there were times when she had wondered or rather questioned.
Months had passed and the times she had spent in his company had not reflected the man of that first evening though she could admit that her view was still somewhat skewed.
He had behaved abominably, had done things that showed a pride in his position that was not at all becoming. His refusal to interact with others while he had been staying at Netherfield had been but the least of his faults. Refusing to mingle with those lower than oneself was a common thing even among those of lesser social standing than he.
No, what had truly cemented her disdain those first months was the account told by Mr. Wickham. That a man would cheat another out of their inheritance was a terrible thing indeed but that he also went against his own father's wishes for a man that he had grown up with showed a complete lack of loyalty.
Time of course had added perspective to the tale and caused her to think upon what she had learned. Her own example of improper behavior so readily put before her by her own family caused a reflection that did not speak well of Mr. Wickham either, for even should the tale hold truth (she had seen no evidence to affirm of deny) he himself behaved in way that could not be justified. To slander a man's character to a complete stranger was a questionable thing indeed and not something to be easily set aside.
Still at the time it had cemented her dislike and given he excuses to cover her wounded pride (though why she was so hurt she did not know).
Through the months intervening her last sight of him, her keen mind had picked out behavior that did not meet the likeness she had made of him. His friendship with Bingley, his quietness even when within his friends home, the care he took of his friend and the kindness with which she had seen him treat the servants. She was no fool, the man could not be as bad as Wickham said and retain such connections even with his high standing in society, in fact no man can be all bad or all good. They must be attributed only the traits which they express, and in this she found that Mr. Darcy was not wanting in the good aspects that she had denied he attained.
It was not long before she realized that she spent a great deal of time considering the man's character. A great deal more time than she had ever spent thinking on any man before.
He somehow stirred up in her such feelings that she could hardly account for all that she thought. Surely no man should occupy her thoughts so very much. She even dared think that she thought more on Mr. Darcy than her mother thought of marriages for her daughters.
It was at this point that she came to the unhappy conclusion that her heart was most disagreeably engaged.
For it was also at this time while Jane was in London that she became suspicious of not only Caroline and Louisa's involvement in the separation of Mr. Bingley but of Mr. Darcy's as well.
Was he not his friends most trusted advisor? Had he not left with the rest of his party? He could surely not be ignorant of the reasons. Caroline and Louisa had made it very clear that they thought the alliance unworthy. How much more his exalted friend?
It was this suspicion that caused her very active loathing of the man. She could forgive his slight to her and his supposed atrocious behavior to one who should have been as a brother but something so close to her heart as her sister's happiness was not so easily forgiven.
Yet she couldn't help but think that of all his faults the only ones she had true proof of was his misspoken words about her to his friend. Outside of that his only wrong that she had born witness to had been his overly formal and stiff way of interacting with others in society and sometimes... she almost thought that perhaps... maybe he was just uncomfortable with talking to those he did not know. Perhaps it was not pride, perhaps he was merely shy..
She often questioned the words of Mr. Wickham, he had been so open with her but it often made her ask, if only to herself, why he was speak such private matters to an acquaintance he had only just met. Surely the character of such a man should be questioned, stating such things so openly without any others who could witness as to its truth... could a man be trusted who has no trouble slandering another who he claimed to bear no ill will towards. Who was the better man? The one who spoke nothing of the matter or the one who told his side to all that would hear him?
The only trouble was that she had no other words to go by, all those who were close to Darcy spoke nothing of any of it. They kept their own council and so she was forced to drift unknowing of the truth.
There had been times, sitting by the fire at Netherfield or in the hall at Rosings, that she had looked upon him favorably. She had tried to view him without bias and when she had she had come to the uncomfortable conclusion that he was a very fine man indeed. He was handsome and well mannered (setting aside his pride or shyness, she had not yet decided which it was) and was clearly diligent in his work. He had often been about dealing with his aunt's estate in a way that she could tell, from her own dealings with her father, to be fair.
She had even found that when she spoke to him he was well informed and that his conversation was intelligent. She even found herself enjoying those times which they quietly argued, in fact she had often started such squabbles just to enjoy the banter that followed. He became more animated when they argued, lost some of his reserve and his eyes sparked in way that left her feeling oddly warm though such times were rare indeed under the watchful eyes of Lady Catherine and because of his own quiet nature.
She found herself observing him more and more often, drawn to him despite her reasons opposing any attachment to him. She had to remind herself constantly what he had done, what she suspected he had done to Jane. Dear sweet Jane. And with those thoughts her dislike for him would return in force and she would be safe once more from those stirrings in her heart.
He had been as stiff and uncomfortable with her as ever during her stay at Hunsford thus far aside from those few (cherished) conversations. The truth of the matter was that during all her evenings at Rosings he had been all that was a gentleman and the only thing she could find fault with (and thus entertainment) was his relation to Lady Catherine. A woman that she found far more disagreeable than even Mr. Darcy himself though her reasons behind this dislike had far less history. While she disliked Mr. Darcy for his supposed wrongdoing (that she was increasingly unsure of) she truly disliked his aunt for her character.
All together her stay had been rather dull so to see Mr. Darcy so discomposed while standing before her on this rainy afternoon was completely unexpected and utterly out of character. However surprised she was at his appearance it was nothing to her surprise when he spoke.
He visibly pulled himself together, rallying himself for whatever his purpose had been in seeking her out only to fall apart again the moment his mouth was opened. "I-I can bear it no longer... I- Please allow me to tell you how greatly I admire and-and... I-I love... I love... I love you. There would be no greater honor than for you to gift me with your hand."
She had stared at him, surprise taking over her features at having been so taken off guard. For though she had to the barest amount, acknowledged a certain feeling for the man, she had never in all her long ponderings thought that he would view her in such a way. She prided herself in reading people, and indeed she had read many things in Mr. Darcy but this... this she had not foreseen in the least. No matter what strange (and most unwelcome) stirrings she had had towards the man she had never expected a man of his station or disposition (proud or shy, however it may be) to show such an interest in her. She was practical enough to see that such an alliance simply was not made.. but here he was making her an offer, an offer that no doubt went against the desire of his family and was so far below his station as to make it uncommon in the extreme.
She almost softened thinking of what he must have had to overcome merely to ask such a thing but then an image of Jane flashed through her mind and suddenly it mattered not because her happiness meant far more than his. And with that her mind was settled.
Brown eyes were looking at her hopefully and his hands were nervously fidgeting with the brim of his hat. His entire being seemed to hang upon her answer and he visibly wilted upon hearing her reply.
"I am sorry to have injured you, it was not my intention... I did not know. But I cannot, in such circumstances, accept you." She turned her face away, unable to see the pain in his eyes despite her resolve. She could not answer any other way, she couldn't. It mattered little how she had come to feel about the man before her, (having admitted to herself that she was not indifferent) what he was said to have done and what she suspected he had, did not allow her the liberty of following her emotions. No man who could harm her sweet well-mannered sister would ever be accepted by her.
"Can I ask what circumstances you speak of that you must reject me?" He was no longer looking at her, truly he seemed unable to meet her gaze at all, distracting himself with anything else in sight, which was at present his boots.
For some reason this made her angry, he was willing to ask for her hand but unable to look her in the eye. "Do you think that I could ever accept the man who has ruined the hopes of a dear sister? Did you think that you could tempt me after separating two people who were so dearly in love?!" She had stepped up to him as she spoke, her voice deadly cold and filled with loathing.
There was no doubt as to who she was talking about, she saw the realization reach his eyes but also the... confusion?
"You refer to the eldest Miss Bennet?" he clarified.
"I do!"
"You accuse me of separating the couple?" He inquired softly.
"Do you deny it?"
"Of course I deny it!" He almost shouted, wanting to have no association with such an act of cruelty, and then continued on more quietly. "I was not even aware that they ceased contact. I returned to London the morning after the ball and had no knowledge of their leaving Netherfield until Caroline sent me a missive the following day.."
"Caroline..." They said the name at the same time and both with a similar amount of distaste.
Realization had dawned upon both of them that perhaps there was more to the situation in Hertfordshire than originally thought. That a sister would do such a thing to the happiness of her brother, over whom she had no power, was unheard of. Lizzy had known her to be cruel but to be the sole instigator spoke very poorly of her indeed. Where before she was allocated to the label of mercenary in Elizabeth's mind, she now had many others that were even less complimentary.
They were silent for a moment before both their thoughts returned to their original discussion, his with resignation and hers with trepidation. She began to shift from one foot to the other wondering whether it would be wise to ask of him all that she had heard and feeling more and more foolish of her unwarranted dislike of the gentleman, along with no small amount of hope. Surely if her suspicions on this most dearest of wishes were so far wrong then the accusations of a questionable source could also be.
"...Do you have other reasons for your refusal...?" He was even more hesitant now, almost as though he could not bear to hear another reason for her dislike but could not help but wish to know what had caused her vehement rejection. There was no longer any hope in his voice, just a tired curiosity.
Seeing his dejection she wished that she had no other reason but she could no longer help herself, she had to know the truth. "..There is the matter of Mr. Wickham.."
"Mr. Wickham?" He looked at her sharply, "You are so eagerly interested in that man's affairs." He was angry now, more angry than she had seen him since his last encounter with the man they were now discussing.
"He told me of your dealings and his current state of poverty. Do you have an answer sir, for his misfortune?" She replied flatly.
"Misfortunes?" His fists clenched and he continued in a seething tone. "His poverty is a result of his own actions! I gave him the living he was due in his inheritance but he refused it in favor of money equal to its value. Money that he gambled away within a month! He returned to me demanding more which I then refused." His impassioned speech stopped abruptly as he began to pace the small area of the stone pergola, trying to word the next part of his tale. He came to a halt before her once more and looked down, embarrassed of his next words. "I had not heard from him again until last summer. He had met with my sister while I was away from her on business. He declared passionate love for her and persuaded her to elope with him... She is to inherent 30,000 pounds... I am grateful that I returned to her when I did... I do not know what-.." He swallowed heavily and turned from her once more.
She could not reply, for the feeling that had taken up residence in her breast prevented it. That her heart had been true, that her hours of reflection had come upon the truth of it and the words and actions of others had been naught but lies filled her up with joy. For Miss Bingley spoke right it is a sad thing to discover your favorites guilt.. And now for it all to be false!
How could one be so happy?
He had not looked at her since the beginning of his explanation and he did not look at her now as he began to walk away, he did not even wait to see her response before he decided to leave. "I cannot say that my dealings with Mr. Wickham do not bring me shame. Had I been a better brother... perhaps.." There was a brief pause where she was sure he would continue but he did not. Instead he said, "I am sorry that this is your opinion of me... I had not known that my character was so disagreeable to you. That you should think-... No matter, I see that I cannot change it. I will leave you be."
He was already down the stairs and out into the rain before she came out of her stupor and raced to follow him. She did not know what she had intended to do or what she had intended to say, following him had been complete instinct, so had been grabbing his arm. Though it was what she had done next that made her blush for many years after.
Instead of reasoning with him, with herself, instead of relieving his distress in a ladylike manner, instead of discussing her misconceptions and her now overwhelming relief at being wrong she did something far less articulate but no less apt at answering him favorably. She kissed him. Without a thought to propriety or what others would think she followed through on a desire that she had long felt but had been denied.
He did not react at first, unable to believe that after having been rejected so passionately he was now being kissed with equal fervor. It was beyond his wildest hope and only moments before he had had none but now his heart sky rocketed. His moment inaction did not last long, for when ones dream is handed to them in such a neat package one does not refuse.
His eyes closed and his arms came up around her and his hands came up to caress her face as his lips began to move against hers. She was in heaven, everywhere he touched he sparked a fire and she could not help but run her fingers up his shoulders and into his hair. The heat of his skin contrasted starkly against the rain pounding down around them and caused her to draw even further into his pleasant warmth.
There could be no better feeling than this, to be wrapped safely in the arms of the one you love, sharing something so intimate. He was lost in the softness of her lips, in the curves that were now pressed against him and the way she responded to his attention.
He was so lost that he almost did not notice her begin to shiver. Almost. He could have stayed as he was the rest of his days but her needs broke the haze that surrounded him and he pulled back to look at her.
Her face was upturned and she had not yet opened her eyes. Her lips were swollen and her cheeks flushed and rain was running down her face in rivulets but he was sure she had never looked more beautiful than in that moment.
"Elizabeth." Her name sounded like a caress and she was certain that no one had ever said it quite like that before, with so much wonder, so much love.
She opened her eyes to see that he was looking at her exactly like he had said her name. The awe in his gaze made her wonder that she had not seen it before. How could they not have known, after all these months, that this was how they were meant to be?
He pulled back towards cover and out of the still pouring rain, smiling jubilantly all the while. He was so completely happy that he wondered if it was possible that one person contain so much.
The only trouble was that while her actions had made him almost certain of her affection there had as yet not been any explanation and he would be a liar if he said that he was not at all worried. For though her actions would have been considered to be acceptance of his proposal in normal society he had found that while she was almost always proper, Miss Elizabeth Bennett was not always concerned with the expectations of people in general.
His smile dimmed a little at this, though he attempted to hide in favor of holding onto the moment for but a small while longer. She had noticed his change in mood however and had accurately interpreted its cause.
She had been foolish in believing, or partially believing, what she had been told about a man who was so very clearly the essence of a true gentleman. By listening to the lies of one man she had prejudiced herself against him unfairly. She took his shyness for arrogance and his reserve for pride when in truth he was not at all conceited.
"Mr. Darcy." She smiled gently, taking a hold of his hand and placing a kiss upon his open palm. "I believe I have done you a great wrong. You had wounded my pride and so I could not forgive you for what I imagined was yours. My beliefs about your character were unfounded and foolish, based upon the lies of one man but what else I saw, your kindness and intelligence drew me to you despite it all. I would be a happy woman if I were to be your wife."
There was a brief moment of disbelief before he (in a very un-Darcy like display) proceeded to lift her into his arms and spin her in the small space the cover provided. Only releasing her when they were both breathless and dizzy.
"I came to Rosings to see you. I had to see you. Even in my attempts to dissuade myself, even knowing that you disliked me so very much, I could not help myself. Your society was so different from my own, you did not seek my favor due to my wealth rather you despised me for it. A most happy change when compared to the women of the ton, the women who claim such high standing. Your charm and wit bewitched me and your character is far beyond that of any other of your sex." He was babbling but he could not stop himself, he was almost afraid that if she had a moment to think about it all she would change her mind.
It was a new side to Mr. Darcy that she had not seen and she found his uncomfortable chatter most endearing. She laughed happily, "You think too highly of me Mr. Darcy! I cannot even claim to be an 'accomplished woman' and yet you hold me in high regard." She jested, a reference to one conversation at Netherfield that felt like it was so long ago.
He looked at her sheepishly, somewhat glad that she had stopped his babbling but couldn't help but grin as he teasingly replied, "Perhaps it is best that you are not, for you are fearsome enough without the ability to paint tables."
"Tables I may not but I can embroider cushions!" She replied with a grin.