Have you changed your mind?
"How little of permanent happiness could belong to a couple who were only brought together because their passions were stronger than their virtue."
Following the film's chronology, this story takes place while Lizzie and her aunt and uncle are staying near Pemberley at The Rose and Crown Inn.
Lizzie was about to enter the dining room of the inn when she saw him. She didn't need long to realize that the tall figure in the opposite side of the room belonged to Mr. Darcy. She stopped dead on her tracks and with a fluttering heart, grabbed onto a curtain to hide herself from view.
How foolish she was! Hiding like a little girl who's afraid of being punished for some childish mischief. She knew her immediate reaction had been ridiculous, but instead of coming out she decided to lift the heavy fabric slightly just to find out what he was doing.
She realized he was at her aunt and uncle's table. What could they be discussing? They seemed to be having a very amiable conversation judging by the exchange of smiles.
Lizzie couldn't believe this was all a coincidence. She remembered telling him the inn's name earlier during their accidental meeting at Pemberley. At the same time she couldn't allow herself to believe he'd pay them a friendly visit, and much less so after the awkward exchange they had had.
She waited until he left to approach her aunt and uncle in order to satisfy her curiosity.
"Was that Mr. Darcy leaving the table?" she asked trying to sound casual.
"Oh, Lizzy there you are! Indeed it was!" exclaimed her aunt "What a gentleman. Not at all what you described, mind you."
"A very friendly young man," her uncle agreed.
"What a pity I missed him," she commented nonchalantly while sitting down and browsing the dishes.
"Do not fret, my dear," her aunt reassured her, "you will have plenty of time to talk to him."
Lizzie's eyes snapped up to meet hers. She checked her tone before speaking next, she didn't want her nervousness to show through her tone of voice. "And why is that?" she asked softly and with a smile.
"Mr. Darcy has honored us with an invitation to stay at Pemberley!" exclaimed her aunt. "He said there is more than room enough for us all. A most agreeable proposal. Is it not, Lizzie?"
"A very generous offer," said Lizzie trying to hide her bafflement. "But, we were to part tomorrow."
"We decided to lengthen our stay a couple of days. I gather this is reason enough to change our schedule," said her uncle.
"Surely, we would be an imposition," she remarked trying to change their minds.
"Of course we suggested that ourselves, but he was very insistent."
"Think of it this way: this is a perfect opportunity to complete our tour, and furthermore, to experience the daily life in one of those big houses," said her aunt. "And what better guide than the owner himself?" she added.
In the face of those arguments she knew her cause was lost. She couldn't help but wonder what Mr. Darcy's invitation meant. Did he still care for her or did he just want to be friendly to show he held no grudge towards her? Be that as it may, Lizzie despised the way her body was reacting to the news. She didn't need a mirror to know her cheeks were burning red; this was confirmed by her aunt, who worriedly asked her if she was feeling feverish.
"The room is a little too warm for me, that is all," she lied. "I better go up now."
"Keep in mind he is expecting us tomorrow morning."
Lizzie reassured them saying she would be ready before excusing herself and leaving the table.
She couldn't manage to sleep much that night. When she wasn't wondering about the motives that could have prompted such an invitation from Mr. Darcy, she was visualizing how their meeting would unfold. What would he say? How should she respond? Should she acknowledge the unfair accusations she had laid on him when he proposed? Or, was it better if she acted as if nothing had happened? Anxiety latched onto her with an iron grip. After much tossing and turning, sleep finally overtook her a few hours before sunrise.
...
Mr. Darcy sat in his personal library waiting for Miss Bennet's party to arrive. Although he was staring at several contracts scattered on his desk, truth be told, his mind was somewhere else. Yesterday morning, after having seen Elizabeth in his own home, he had allowed himself to believe she had changed her mind. Their conversation had been short and awkward, her nervousness throughout it had been palpable. He wasn't sure if he could attribute that to regret, shame, or affection. He hoped for the latter, but to be sure he needed more interaction with her. By offering his home to her aunt and uncle he was sure the matter would finally be settled.
He had never been thus affected by a woman. She was always there, in the back of his mind. Her eyes, hair and figure, her wit and defiant behavior, all combined dangerously inciting in him both admiration and desire. He cursed the day they had crossed paths, for he hadn't had a peaceful night's sleep since.
Suddenly the sound of the door opening brought him back to reality. Georgiana was peeking through the creak with a playful smile on her face. That could only mean that their visitors had arrived.
"Brother, they are almost here!" she said with excitement.
He stood up trying not to seem eager, adjusted his coat and walked to her.
"Come along then, it would be rude to keep them waiting."
...
"This is our second visit, and yet it makes no difference: the grandeur of this house does not cease to amaze me," commented Lizzie's aunt as they were approaching in the carriage.
"I could not agree more," said her uncle. "What do you think, Lizzie?"
Lizzie was completely oblivious to the question, her mind occupied with worries concerning her impending meeting with Mr. Darcy.
"Lizzie," her uncle called again, pulling her out of her daze.
"Excuse me, uncle. What were you saying?" she inquired.
"Are you well, my dear? You seem feverish again." Her aunt remarked putting a hand against her forehead.
Lizzie brushed off the comment laughing lightly. "Not at all. Probably the heat," she said fanning herself with her hand.
The weather was actually pretty chilly. Her aunt and uncle exchanged looks of confusion, but she pretended not to notice.
The carriage stopped by the steps to the front door of Pemberley. Mr. Darcy, Georgiana and a couple of servants were already expecting them.
"Miss Elizabeth!" Georgiana greeted happily once she had descended.
Lizzie was touched by her excitement. "Miss Darcy," she said mirroring her smile and they both curtsied in unison. Bashfully, Lizzie then lifted her gaze to Mr. Darcy. The eye contact alone sent a pulse of electricity through her body. Ignoring it, she curtsied once more, "Mr. Darcy."
"Miss Elizabeth, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner," he greeted. "Please, let John guide you to the rooms. I do hope you are satisfied with them."
"I am sure we will be," answered Mr. Gardiner.
John, one of the servants, helped carry the group's belongings accompanied by other two. He politely asked them to follow. The servants led them to the second floor of the manor. While Lizzie would be staying alone in one room, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were to stay in another one at the end of the corridor. Her chamber was exquisitely furnished, much more so than the ones she had seen at Netherfield. Before they left her to freshen up, John told her Mr. and Miss Darcy would be expecting them in the parlor for tea.
Once left alone in the room she started pacing, her mind was in a turmoil. She felt so small. She looked at herself in the mirror and tried to fix the few hairs that had escaped her up-do. What was she doing in Mr. Darcy's home? Was she supposed to go down to the parlor now? Should she wait longer? If her aunt and uncle weren't there yet it would be very awkward indeed.
"This is ridiculous!" she thought, reprimanding herself for acting so immaturely. She stopped pacing and took a couple of long breaths, managing to slow her heartbeat down to a more tolerable speed. She exited her room and walked with all the confidence she could muster to the parlor. Luckily her aunt and uncle were already there. Miss Darcy was playing the piano and they were all listening intently.
She slipped into the room as quietly as she could, she didn't want to interrupt. Although she managed to, it made no difference; Miss Darcy spotted her and stopped her playing abruptly, she ran to her.
"Miss Elizabeth! I am so happy you are here at last," she said, her eyes shining with excitement. "My brother has told me so much about you."
"Thank you," Lizzie assumed Georgiana's reaction meant her brother had spoken good of her, and she felt relieved. "I am sorry I interrupted your beautiful playing."
"Do not worry, Miss Bennet. Would you like to accompany me? We can play together," she suggested.
Although she was sure her lack of skill would disappoint her, Lizzie couldn't refuse her. She followed her to the pianoforte and sat down next to her. While Georgiana was looking at the different scores, Lizzie couldn't help but overhear the conversation Mr. Darcy was having with her uncle.
"Mr. Gardiner, I heard you are fond of fishing," said Mr. Darcy. "If we leave to the lake now I believe we will have time to bring our catch for supper."
"Then what are we waiting for?" Mr. Gardiner replied eagerly.
"Georgiana, take good care of Miss Elizabeth and Mrs. Gardiner," Mr. Darcy said with a playful smile. "We will be back before sundown. Ladies." he said bowing his head to then exit the room followed by Mr. Gardiner.
Lizzie knew then that Mr. Darcy's invitation only intended to prove he held nothing against her for the awful things she had accused him of. Not once did she catch him looking at her like in other occasions. Furthermore, if he were still romantically interested, why would he leave the room so soon to spend the day fishing with her uncle?
Although throughout the previous sleepless night she thought these were exactly the news she wanted, her own reaction took her by surprise. Instead of feeling liberated, as she had expected, she felt disappointment.
"Let us play this one," said Georgiana choosing one score finally.
Lizzie tried to look cheerful. "You must be forewarned Miss Darcy," she said jokingly, "you will have to help me, for I play very poorly."
...
Mr. Darcy and Mr. Gardiner where waiting patiently for the fish. To Darcy's surprise he was actually enjoying the company of the man. The advice Miss Elizabeth had given him at his aunt's house came to mind. She had told him, with that bluntness that characterized her, that he needed to practice his social skills.
Socializing with Mr. Gardiner turned out to be an easier task than trying to act normal around Elizabeth. He was always very aware of her presence, but in an attempt to hide this, had consciously evaded to look her in the eye. Mr. Darcy feared that the exchange of gazes would initiate another painfully awkward conversation, and this time with an audience. He knew he had to change that approach once they came back to the house. After all, the only way he could ever find out if her feelings had changed was by interacting with her.
"I got one!" exclaimed a startled Mr. Gardiner, pulling him out of his thoughts.
…
When the fish was served at the dinner table, Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Darcy were complimented for their catch by the three ladies. Mr Darcy was seating at the head of the table, while Georgiana and Lizzie were to his left and right respectively; Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were seating one in front of the other.
"Mr. Darcy, thank you once more for your hospitality," said Mrs. Gardiner. "This has truly been an experience to remember."
"It is I who should be thanking you, and I am sure my sister will agree. We rarely have any guests," he commented looking at her.
Georgiana assented with her head effusively. "Indeed, brother. We had a wonderful time. I can only wish Miss Elizabeth continues visiting very often," she said suggestively looking back at her brother.
Mr. Darcy cleared his throat. He glanced at Elizabeth to see her reaction.
"We have just arrived," Lizzie responded in good humor. "We still have a whole day ahead of us tomorrow, let us enjoy it before thinking of goodbyes."
She had chosen her answer very carefully. Mr. Darcy couldn't tell whether or not she was looking forward to visiting them again.
During the conversation that followed, Mr. Darcy never found an opportunity to talk to Miss Elizabeth alone. He was hoping he'd be successful once they moved to the parlor.
...
Lizzie couldn't believe how scared she was of Mr. Darcy at that moment. She couldn't recall any other time in her life in which she had felt as nervous and impatient. But impatient for what? A look, a word? She didn't even know! He hadn't addressed her at all and that increased her expectation.
By the time they moved to the parlor she decided she would spend the rest of the evening reading a book. She trusted that was the only way she could stop looking at him so often, prevent herself from wondering what his thoughts were. While she was browsing the titles she heard Georgiana start to play for her aunt and uncle at the other end of the room.
"Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy called from behind her.
The sound caressed the back of her neck. She suppressed a gasp and turned around abruptly to meet his gaze. His closeness wasn't improper, but Lizzie knew the reaction she was having to him was. Although nobody could ever notice this but herself, her guilty conscience forced her to steal a quick glance towards her aunt and uncle. They were completely oblivious to her. Their focus was entirely on Georgiana.
"Your sister plays so beautifully, Mr. Darcy," she remarked trying to fill the silence.
When he failed to give her a response she reluctantly turned her gaze towards him.
"She practices daily," he said. "Are you looking for any book in particular?"
She noticed the depth of his eyes for the first time, he was a very attractive man. She turned sharply towards the bookshelf, fearing her thoughts were clearly reflected on her face.
"I was just admiring the vast collection," she said, unwillingly letting some alarm seep into her voice.
"I hope you find it to your liking."
Mr. Darcy didn't dare suppose she was nervous on his account, at least not romantically. He thought that maybe she was still mortified about the proposal incident.
While Lizzie was perusing the titles -or at least pretending to-, Mr. Darcy took an opportunity to admire the back of her lovely figure. The nape of her neck was particularly entertaining, he wondered if her skin would be as soft to the touch as it looked. He took a step closer.
Lizzie sensed his proximity, she had become very aware of his every move. Her heart and breathing seemed too loud all of a sudden, and she was sure her skin looked shamelessly flushed. Her reactions frightened her, she felt as if her body were screaming to the world that she was not at all indifferent to the man behind her.
She reminded herself that the only way to get through the evening would be by burying herself in a book. Lizzie grabbed a title randomly and turned around to face Mr. Darcy. A gentle smile dissimulated her discomfort.
"This one will do," she said, holding it to her chest.
"I was not aware this kind of literature stirred your interest," he remarked, recognizing the cover.
Lizzie turned the book around and opened it to the first page looking at the title for the first time: The Scandalous Life of Lorraine Debois. If her memory served her right, this book was supposed to be banned. She was holding in her hands a very descriptive account of an adulteress.
Her eyes rose to meet his. Lizzie distinguished a faint smile on his features. Was he making fun of her?
"I must have made a mistake..." she admitted, trying very hard to conceal her embarrassment. "But, I wonder..." she continued, attempting to turn the tables. "How is it that this sort of book makes its way into the bookshelf of a most respected gentleman."
"A gentleman?" he asked.
The flashback hit her with force: and those are the words of a gentleman?
"Yes, sir," she insisted, pretending to be oblivious to the reference of that day.
"It was a present from the author. He has been a friend of the family... since long before this scandal," Mr. Darcy grabbed the edge of one of the pages and turned it to show the inscription:
To my dear friend, Fitzwilliam.
I trust you will put this in your lovely bookshelf. Keep it on a high rack.
G. Lacroix.
Read it, you moralist. It may actually teach you something.
"It seems to me that you failed your friend, Mr. Darcy. That was not very high at all," she observed, trying to lighten the conversation. "So, did you?" she asked.
Regretting the question immediately, she bit her lower lip. She was definitely crossing the line of propriety.
"Did I what?"
Lizzie didn't complete the question. Instead, she closed the book and put it back in its original place.
"You mean to ask me if I read it?"
She turned to face him again. Her aunt and uncle were still entertaining themselves with Georgiana. She nodded at him in complicity, failing to hide a mischievous smile.
That smile made his heart skip a beat. He could tell that he had her complete and undivided attention.
"I am afraid I did, madam," he answered vaguely.
Thinking maybe Mr. Darcy would care to elaborate a little further, Lizzie remained silent for a while. He didn't.
"And was it the great source of knowledge your presumptuous author friend claims it to be?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.
"I would not go so far as to call it a great source of knowledge, but it did broaden the ideas I had concerning love."
"What? Concerning love?" she interrupted mockingly.
"This offends you," he observed with some amusement.
"Of course it does! How could you learn about love from the account of an adulteress and her lover?" she snapped. "I do not mean to insult your friend," she quickly added, remembering that the lover was the author himself.
"Miss Elizabeth, I would not encourage a respectable young lady to read it. But your judgment is harsh considering you are not aware of the whole story."
Lizzie knew he was not only talking about the book. He was referring to Mr. Wickham, too. She would return in kind.
"I find it surprising that you did not warn him of the moral perils of his decisions. I was sure you took pleasure in lecturing your close friends on what they should do." she added sarcastically, referring to Mr. Bingley.
Their eyes met with intensity, the timidness completely forgotten. Both defying the other to back down.
"I did warn him. Should I apologize for not being a hypocrite who immediately turns his back? He has been a good friend, regardless of his questionable decisions."
"I do not mean to question your morals, I question whether you can learn about love from such a book," she tried to take the argument back to less dangerous grounds. "Their circumstances are enough for me to understand that there can be no love between them. How little of permanent happiness could belong to a couple who were only brought together because their passions were stronger than their virtue?"
"They have been together ever since," he observed.
"She cannot possibly be happy!" she exclaimed a little too loud.
"Lizzie, is everything alright?" her aunt asked from the other end of the room.
"Yes, of course. Just a friendly discussion," she assured her with a smile.
"Please, join us. We are having such a lovely time." Mrs. Gardiner suggested.
Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth exchanged looks one last time before walking towards the party. Both were successful at pretending everything was fine. Georgiana played a couple of more songs before Mr. Gardiner realized how late it was and suggested they retired for the night.
...
Elizabeth changed into her nightgown with a sigh of relief. There was nothing better than taking off a dress at the end of a long day. She braided her hair to the side carelessly and tucked herself under the covers of the luxurious bed. It was so comfortable, and yet she didn't feel tired at all.
She let the candle of the nightstand keep burning while she stared at the ceiling. Sleep didn't seem to come. She tried to avoid thinking of Mr. Darcy by focusing on Lorraine Debois... was she happy? Was there something in that book that could prove whether she was or not?
Mr. Darcy had certainly enjoyed pointing out how wrong she was, hadn't he? Wouldn't it be wonderful to prove him wrong?
Her thoughts came back to him automatically. She couldn't help but hate him a little. The heated exchange of words wasn't the cause, that was rather a consequence of the real reason. The power he had over her was frustrating, and although she had felt it before, it was easier to ignore when she thought he was manipulative, disdainful and condescending.
Hours passed by and curiosity kept nagging at her. She could go downstairs and take a peek now that everyone was sleeping. It was now or never, all other copies in England had probably been burnt.
In a moment of determination, Lizzie grabbed the candle and made her way towards the parlor as quietly as she could.
...
Mr. Darcy's waistcoat was lying on the floor. He hadn't even bothered to change. He was sitting in front of the chimney of his room, looking into the fire while thinking of her. He remembered every word she said during their discussion, and the fire in her eyes while she spoke. He wondered what she would've done if he had silenced her with a kiss.
He shook his head and brought his hand to the bridge of his nose. He couldn't be thinking about these things, not anymore. She had already expressed how little she thought of him, and the events of the night had probably only strengthened her stance.
Mr. Darcy knew sleep wouldn't come anytime soon. Maybe a little reading would do the trick.
...
Lizzie was completely lost in the book. She had flipped the first pages guiltily, but after a while she couldn't seem to stop turning them. She was curled up on a chair with the book on her knees. She had set the candle on a table beside her, it illuminated the room dimly.
Yes, Lorraine was married, but to a cruel man that would abuse her in horrible ways. She realized with some disappointment that Mr. Darcy had been right. The context did give her a new perspective on virtue, marriage, love and passion. But the text was explicit; the author wasn't ashamed of painting a picture of Lorraine's naked figure, or of describing the nights they had spent together.
Lizzie had some idea about what happened behind closed doors between a man and a woman, but the way it was depicted in the book made her crave it for the first time. She felt the need to be wanted like that, and wondered if Mr. Darcy had ever imagined doing those things with her. She didn't expect the wave of heat that the mere thought provoked inside of her.
She heard the door opening. Her guilty conscience made her swift and clumsy at the same time. She jumped from the chair and hid the book behind her back (her finger still holding the page were she had left off). When Mr. Darcy entered the room, she was standing as straight as a soldier waiting for inspection.
Mr. Darcy raised an eyebrow. He tried hard not to be distracted by the perfect shoulder her nightgown failed to cover.
"Miss Elizabeth," he said, acknowledging her presence.
"Mr. Darcy," she responded, bowing slightly only to feel completely ridiculous afterward. "I... I was having a hard time falling asleep," she began explaining. "I thought maybe some light reading would help."
"I was having the same problem," he commented.
"Maybe I should go," she said.
"Nonsense, you are my guest. I will take one with me, you can have the parlor."
Mr. Darcy walked towards the bookshelf, Lizzie knew he wouldn't fail to notice the book she had picked. She just stood there, waiting for him to comment on the fact. He grabbed a book and turned around to face her. Just when she though he would say nothing...
"Have you changed your mind?" he asked nonchalantly.
Lizzie smiled like a child that's been found out. "I am not sure," she answered.
"Or you are too proud to admit that you have," he suggested, walking towards her.
"I still have a very strong opinion when it comes to these matters, Mr. Darcy," she explained calmly, trying to keep her temper in check.
"I know of your strong opinions," he commented, eying her up and down.
Lizzie felt completely exposed under his gaze. Of course! She was in her nightgown, how could that have escaped her mind? She walked towards the bookshelf to hide her front from him, leaving the book on the lower rack.
"You presume to know of my opinions," she corrected without turning back around. "Although Lorraine had a very legitimate reason to leave her husband, this book is all about flesh. Why not fill it with poetry? How about sweet romantic gestures?"
"You know nothing of what you speak of." He accused from behind her.
"And you do?"
"Have you ever felt that?"
She guessed he had walked towards her without her noticing it. His voice felt so close to the back of her ear, she closed her eyes involuntarily.
"Love, you mean?"
"Not the kind related to duty and responsibility. But the one that takes peace of mind away from you. Have you?"
She could actually feel the vibration of his voice.
"No," the lie came out as a whisper. She opened her eyes trying to focus, her hands tightening into fists. "Ladies are taught not to have those feelings, until we marry."
"A contract does not make feelings appear or disappear," he argued. "It is ridiculous to suggest it."
"You find me ridiculous now, Mr. Darcy?" she accused him, turning to face him.
He was definitely closer than she expected him to be. She supported herself on the edge of the bookshelf's embedded desk.
"Never," he answered.
He seemed to be suffering, his pained expression was full of longing. His eyes traveled to her lips for a few seconds before returning to meet her gaze.
"You speak of poetry and romantic gestures, but you fail to see that -when couples are not brought together by interest or conformity- all those things are also a product of passion."
Feeling embarrassed by the topic, Lizzie angled her body to the side. Nevertheless, she continued to argue.
"You mean to say the only thing men really want -even the most decent of you- is to disrespect us?"
"Romantic gestures and marriage proposals are the respectful way of letting you know that we want you. Not mentioning the endless nights picturing the taste of your lips and the feel of your skin does not make them go away."
Did he say marriage proposals? "Are you aware of what you are implying?" she inquired.
Lizzie was mortified and thrilled at the same time by his shameless words. As unladylike as it was, every inch of her body was enjoying the conversation.
"Indeed. You have tormented me many nights," he admitted, admiring her with a heated gaze.
His words pushed her to face the bookshelf again. "We should not be speaking of these things," she whispered sticking to protocol, but not at all wanting to put an end to it.
Mr. Darcy took that decisive step and trapped her between his body and the bookshelf. He placed his hands around her waist possessively.
"And yet, you do not run from me," he whispered, his breath blowing hotly against her ear.
Lizzie whimpered and leaned her head to the side, surrendering to him. Her heart was beating so, she thought it would escape her ribcage. She turned around to face him once more. Her desire was like a fire within her, and it made her feel inexplicably braver.
Their faces where inches apart, both looking for something in the eyes of the other.
"Tell me, have you changed your mind?" Mr. Darcy asked passionately. "Or, tell me that your body does not react to mine and we shall speak no more of it."
Lizzie knew he was no longer speaking about her opinion of the book. He was asking if he had changed her mind concerning his marriage proposal.
She leaned in and kissed his lips gently. She pulled back after a few seconds to assess his reaction.
Mr. Darcy kissed her again. He started with soft pecks, trying to be gentle, but gradually his lips became hungrier. He bit her lower lip, coaxing her to open her mouth, while he took an opportunity to explore her body with his hands.
Lizzie had never felt so alive, his touch made her feel as if her body had been made for him. Her friends and family would be shocked, but she couldn't stop herself. She felt possessed. She exposed her neck to him when he started kissing it, and clung to his broad shoulders as if her life depended on it.
Mr. Darcy pushed her until she found herself sitting on the bookshelf's desk, her back against dozens of century-old book spines. He crashed his lips against hers again. Lifting her nightgown, he hooked one of his hands behind her knee and slowly began to slide it up her thigh, savoring every inch of skin to skin contact.
The feel of his hands was simply right. She had never felt so wanton and complete. His hands traveled from her hips to her waist. He tentatively grazed her breasts and when she arched her back in response, his caresses became bolder.
Those sleepless nights' imaginings fell short, he never anticipated she would respond so ardently. Her thighs opened for him, and he settled himself between them instinctively.
She felt him grind against her core, and the unexpected wave of pleasure made a loud moan escape her lips. The sound made both of them stop abruptly. What if someone heard them? They stared at each other in the candlelight still gasping for breath, their eyes heavy-lidded.
"Stop," she begged, half whispering. "We can't."
That had felt good. Too good. The fact that she hadn't wanted it to stop scared her, if she continued there was no turning back.
She disentangled herself from his grasp and straightened her gown.
"What you must think of me," she said, feeling ashamed of that animalistic display.
"I could never think badly of you," he assured her. "But you cannot deny there is something between us."
"I do not deny it," she admitted. "But my body's reactions have nothing to do with what you did to my sister. This cannot happen!" she reprimanded herself.
"How many apologies do you want?"
"Apologies do not undo what you did!"
Mr. Darcy held her face between his hands and hushed her. He looked at the door fearing someone would come in.
"Would you at least lower you voice?"
"I should go now," she said holding his wrists. "If somebody finds us like this... Just forget this ever happened, alright?"
Lizzie snuck out of his hold and exited the parlor.
Mr. Darcy was left alone with his thoughts. He smiled. She did feel something for him. If he could only find a way to make up for his mistake...
AN. The story then would follow the original course. The letter concerning Lydia would reach them the next day at Mr. Darcy's home and would cut their visit short.