Darcy woke the next morning with Elizabeth on his mind.
The way Elizabeth's eyes had tightened as she listened to her horrid uncle's attacks. He had not even been willing to pay the little money for a circulating library. He stuck her in the attic. He wanted to turn her into a maid.
Mrs. Bennet. She was still attractive in the way that healthy women a few years past the age of child bearing could be if they dressed well and cared for themselves, but she was a horrible woman.
To think, he'd been disposed to think well of Mrs. Bennet simply because Mr. Phillips despised her.
Darcy rolled out of bed and looked out the window. It looked like a cold day, but it was warm in his room, and his bare feet wriggled comfortably on the rug. The leaves had all fallen from their trees. The last parts of the fields were being harvested. Soon there would just be stubble.
She was so beautiful.
That smiling light in her eyes, her pretty hands around the cup of coffee she prepared, the quirk of her eyebrows. The way tears had gathered in her eyes. He wanted to kiss the tears from her eyes and make her smile.
She deserved a better life. Her brightness and happiness would surely be ground away by years of such treatment. She should have opportunity to flourish, to read, and to smile. She should be able to enjoy pretty dresses and see the theater and opera. She should be able to go where she pleased.
What would happen to Elizabeth when he left Hertfordshire? She would either never marry or eventually marry a farmer or craftsman in desperation to escape her uncle and mother. Maybe a very foolish man. She would not be happy.
Elizabeth deserved better.
Never harm a woman. The first rule was to treat others as you would wish to be treated. That was what he had been taught. Darcy paced. He wanted to help her. He wanted to see her removed from this situation.
He wanted to hold her, and kiss her, and place her in his bed. Then he would kiss his way down her throat, and her breasts, ever so slowly pulling her dress down. Then he would kiss her stomach, and then start kissing upwards from her feet.
Darcy sat down, with his dressing robe wrapped around him, the red silk hanging off his muscular thighs. What every other woman he had ever been with lacked, a matter of spirit, she had it.
But how to convince her to enter his protection?
She knew there was no glorious marriage in the future for herself and would eventually accept Jane would not have a great marriage either. And she liked him very much already. Surely it could not be so hard.
But Darcy felt confused. He never had managed such an affair on his own. His uncle always pushed a new girl on him too quickly. Well it was time to make good on his boast that he could find his own woman.
Darcy grabbed the bell to ring for his valet.
His mind was leaping ahead of what he knew. He could be certain of nothing, not her character, not her willingness, not even his desire, without a much longer acquaintance. Two nights was too quick for his certainty that she was who he needed to be rational.
John entered the room to help Darcy dress. Once he was settled into his outfit and shaved, Darcy said to his man, "I have a task for you — it will require discretion. I wish to learn everything known in the neighborhood about Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Her history, her friends, her habits. She grew up with far greater consequence than she has now, how has she adapted? Do avoid making it appear I am curious about the lady — ask about in general. But it is Elizabeth Bennet I'm interested in."
Darcy's man bowed and set off. John was a clever fellow who could manage the situation.
He would need to proceed cautiously with Elizabeth, else he might ruin everything and make her despise him. She was still a gentlewoman and a maiden.
It was near a week before John returned with his report. At one of the evening parties Darcy attended during that time, Elizabeth and her sister were not present, as the Goulds had chosen not to invite them for small soirees. But the next dinner out, he saw her again. It was a perfect evening.
John gave a quite military report. She'd been a daughter of Longbourn, her father died from an infection which set in after a riding accident, her mother lived richly and then became bankrupt, then the family had been split among their relations. And now Miss Lydia had married a village blacksmith.
Miss Elizabeth had lived in London with her aunt and uncle for two years, and the hope had been that she and Miss Bennet would marry. Nothing had come of it, and now it was quite likely nothing ever would. Miss Elizabeth was clever, lively, and well liked, but after Lydia's behavior, many suspected she could easily turn wild.
She walked for an hour most mornings, often with a book in her hands. She loved reading, balls, her sister, laughter, and clever jokes.
Darcy focused on the information about her walks. He'd already known the rest from talking to her. He could meet her casually in the road. Darcy took long morning rides round about the environs of Meryton. The first two days yielded no sight of Elizabeth, though he did make the acquaintance of a great many cows and farmers.
On the third day, however, Darcy was still a mile out from Meryton when he saw Elizabeth winding her way along the side of the road, with a book held in front of her nose as she walked. She looked about when she heard the approach of Darcy's horse.
She blushed and immediately hid the book inside her long green coat. She wore a pretty straw bonnet and looked neatly bundled up with her kid gloves and thick pelisse. Darcy rather regretted that the autumn weather required her to cover her figure up far more than the evening gowns he'd seen her in before. She was still gorgeous.
Elizabeth looked at him with a beaming smile and bright eyes as he approached her.
Darcy rode up and with an athletic jump dismounted easily and greeted her, "Miss Elizabeth, alas the sun is now dim in my eyes because you shine more brightly by far."
She laughed, her head bobbing up and down and the mahogany curls around the edge of her bonnet shaking about. "No poetry today? Or was that an attempt at your own composition? It did not rhyme."
He took her hand and kissed it, letting his lips linger, but not too long lest he seem dangerously rakish. He threaded her arm with his own and took the horse's halter in his other hand.
"I expected you would provide the poetry today. Is it some volume of Wordsworth's that you hid so quick in your pocket?"
"Yes, yes — Wordsworth." Elizabeth stopped walking and bit her lip. Darcy did keep her arm as she drew her head up and declaimed, "Oft when on my couch I lie, my heart with pleasure fills, and dances with the daffodils."
"No. No. Not that poem. You were supposed to extravagantly compliment the beauty of my eye and the fairness of my face."
"You suggested Wordsworth — he cares more for daffodils than daffy Bills."
"A daffy Bill! Is that what you think me?"
She smiled impishly and inclined her head, her eyes dancing.
Darcy shook his head, pretending to be disgusted. He then asked, "What were you reading? Since you were not repaying my efforts to amuse you by memorizing your own compliments on my gentlemanly figure."
"'Tis a tragedy that your Sisyphean labors have gone unrewarded and unrecognized."
"No. Not at all. They are amply rewarded. When I hear one lady's laughter, I have all the reward I might need." He looked at her meaningfully, and Elizabeth blushed. Then Darcy said jauntily, "Now do tell what you are reading."
"No — no, by no means."
"But, I shall then be forced to guess."
"And if you guess right, I shall be forced to deceit."
"It can hardly be so embarrassing — unless…you are reading some Papist pamphlet as you intend to convert to Romanism and become a nun. See, I have settled it satisfactorily. But do not become a nun, Shakespeare would disapprove."
Elizabeth giggled.
"Recall the sonnets: 'Thy unused beauty must be tomb'd with thee, Which, used, lives th' executor to be'."
She crimsoned. "I've read them close enough to know what a shocking reference you intend to make."
"Shall you breed another thee, or ten times happier, be it ten?"
She clapped her hand over her mouth. "Oh my. That is a quite improper question."
"You proclaimed Shakespeare to be the subject. I merely follow your wishes."
She rolled her eyes. "I wished you to quote precisely that line."
"So you do not intend to become a nun — you are reading a radical French text which preaches the abolishment of marriage and death to all priests and noblemen. I like my uncle very much, so I must object."
"You are closer." Elizabeth pursed her red lips together. "But still very far."
"Then I must resort to flattery, since guessing has failed: Oh bounteous goddess, Venus of Meryton, Diana of these country roads, I beg you, relieve my agony of suspense."
She grinned at him. "I had thought you were charming. That was the effort of a coxcomb."
"I swear I could praise you more nonsensically than that."
"That, I believe."
"You must give me some hint — any hint."
"It is a novel."
"No!" Darcy gasped and pulled the hand holding the horse's halter to his breast. "Say it is not so. I had believed only men wasted their time on such petty entertainments. I thought your mind and wisdom to be like that of Minerva, only greater."
"Would not the goddess of wisdom wish to know about novels, for the sake of curiosity if nothing else?"
"So your excuse is that you only read this novel for the sake of curiosity."
Elizabeth laughed. "'Tis no excuse, at least, it no longer is. Only a morbid fascination has kept me reading the past hundred pages."
"Ah, then you have no cause for embarrassment, no matter what the novel is. Is it The Monk? Quite a scandalous piece."
Elizabeth gave up and with a defeated sigh pulled her arm away from his so that she could take the volume out of her coat pocket. Looking away from Darcy she handed it to him. He took it in his sadly freed hand. He much preferred to be holding Elizabeth's arm to her book.
"Pamela?" Darcy looked at her, fully believing that Elizabeth did not like the book which had been such a rage amongst young women so many years earlier. He grinned. "You hope some foolish Lord will marry you after repeated attempts at your virtue?"
Elizabeth turned her eyes down and bit her lip, her cheeks reddening. "You said I have no cause for embarrassment, since I do not like the book."
"I also implied I thought that was merely an excuse. I see why you would not admit to reading it."
Elizabeth said, "I despise Mr. B. He is a worthless man. It speaks ill of my sex that so many of us admire such a book with such a poor model of a hero. I read it because Maria Lucas adores the book, and she wished to hear my opinion."
"Really?" Darcy blinked. He had never read it, but he knew the plot had a squire try to convince a very beautiful housemaid to become his mistress, and then when he failed to convince her to accept his offer, he married her. Before he could stop himself, Darcy glanced at his horse and said quickly, "You despise him so much for seeking to make the girl his mistress? Is that so very wrong in your mind?"
"No, it is not that which makes me despise him."
"You do not despise him for that?"
Elizabeth stared at him. Darcy realized she could easily put a poor characterization on his asking such questions. Even though it was a discussion of literature, it was even more pointed than her earlier flirtations. He felt a fear that he would frighten her away. He opened his mouth to try to take back the question.
Elizabeth spoke first. "That alone it is not enough to generate my hatred. I disapprove, but I'd not wish to despise so many gentlemen. Mr. B. did not listen when she refused. He conspired to keep her from returning to her family, he destroyed her opportunity to find another position, he read all of her mail, and eventually stole her letters so they would not reach her parents. He even hid in the closet while she—" Elizabeth clapped a hand over her mouth. "Never mind. Mr. B's defects go far beyond seeking a…mistress."
"He did what in the closet?" Many years ago Darcy had read Henry Fielding's parody, Shamela. It had been licentious and arousing. But Darcy had thought it was mostly the satirist's exaggeration. Surely no such scenes would be in a novel that had been that widely read by young ladies.
"This conversation is quite inappropriate already — Mr. B. hid in the closet while she and the housekeeper undressed, and then once they were in bed popped out and tried to kiss her."
Elizabeth's face had turned red all the way up to her forehead and down to her chin. But she grinned at him widely, evidently pleased by having told the slightly naughty story. Darcy grinned back at her. She blushed and looked away, still smiling.
Darcy shook his head and glanced at his horse and then looked at the cows in the field they were walking along. "How was that book allowed to be so widely read by young girls?"
"Oh, that is simple." Elizabeth's voice was suddenly scholarly and enthusiastic. "If you read novels, or look at collections of plates and illustrations from the time, it is clear that manners and modes of fashion have changed greatly over the years. Now, while the looseness and flow of high-waisted gowns" — Elizabeth illustrated the modern style by touching her hand right below her breasts, where a yellow silk cord tied the sides of her coat together. Darcy's eyes had a little trouble going back to her face — "have often been spoken of as a sign of the deteriorating morality of her day, collections of Hogarth and novels such as Tristram Shandy and Pamela show that despite their stiffer dresses and the men's wigs and the general unnaturalness of fashion, morals were far looser then. You have already quoted a line from Shakespeare which proves the point for his century."
"Our morals are not terribly strict."
"Perhaps you are right; one hears such stories of the Prince Regent and nonesuch. Still, however exposed the indecent is today, it was even more exposed then."
"You are right. Have you read Fielding? I have read his parody of Pamela, I just had no idea those scenes were in the original."
"You mean Shamela? I have not read it. But I did read Tom Jones. I do not think highly of how he jumped from one woman's bed to another while claiming to be in love with his patron's daughter." Elizabeth flushed red, and then looked down shyly. "Oh, I should not talk about that. Do say you do not despise me for speaking so forwardly about such topics. It shows a lack of delicacy. Ladies today are supposed to pretend they know nothing about any such matter. But I have read too widely to be as delicate as girls of this era are intended to be."
"Miss Elizabeth, you could never offend me. Besides, my uncle's plan of education for my sister was…unorthodox. Next to her you are a paragon of delicacy." Darcy's face heated at how Elizabeth quirked her eyebrow at him. "Enough of this topic. I have a different subject I have meant to raise."
He pulled Elizabeth's arm closer to his side and leaned his head closer to hers. "I have a question about you — about a characteristic behavior of yours. First though, I have a confession — one which will shock and horrify you. Are you prepared?"
Elizabeth theatrically widened her eyes. "Oh, yes! I dearly love to be horrified."
"Good." Darcy spoke with assurance. "For this is particularly horrible. That night we first met at the assembly ball. Before Bingley convinced me to dance with you, I stood next to a painting. A portrait of our dear monarch — you follow so far?"
Elizabeth nodded, a smile playing on the edges of her pretty lips. "I had noticed you there. You looked most intent."
"I was very intent. But, alas, it was a face far prettier than our monarch's that I studied. Though, I fear, less regal. Yes — from your blush I see you suspect. My study was your face, and an interesting object it was. Have I horrified you by confessing that I am such a poor subject of his Majesty that I would allow the face of a beautiful woman to distract me from the contemplation of Him?"
She pressed a hand against one of her bright red cheeks. "You should not flatter me so — and I do not believe it. I do not — you are too proud an Englishman to let even a very, very beautiful woman" — she grinned at him, with a twisted smile — "distract from the contemplation of that face which has led us, His children, for so many years."
"Ah, I see you missed a key part of my confession. Was yours merely a beautiful face, the old lined features of our monarch would have drawn me. However — and here we come to what I wish to ask you — it was the play of emotion that entranced me. A portrait cannot change, not even one of his Majesty. You sat with a huff, and you had this expression of sad melancholy. It made me wish to comfort you. But you then closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the wall, and this soft, content smile crossed your face. It made me wonder what image played in your mind to bring it. And then, a frown grew to mar your features. However, as I watched, you opened your eyes and straightened with what seemed to be an iron bar of determination. Then you pulled your fingers into a delicate fist and shook it at whatever thought troubled you. I lost my concentration upon you then, for Bingley demanded my attention, but I cannot curse him for it, for I did dance with you as a result."
Her eyes were wide and her mouth open with a smile. "You watched me that closely? Why — I remember sitting there."
"So I ask, what thought went through your mind? I have seen you sit to the side of a room with a similar smile twice since. What are you thinking?"
Elizabeth blushed and shook her head. "No, no. It is too private, too embarrassing. I cannot say."
Darcy flashed her his dimpled smile, throwing all of his enthusiasm and curiosity into the effort. "Please, please. The curiosity — you must save me from it."
"Mr. Darcy, that is a very charming smile. Does it usually gain you your object with females?"
Darcy nodded and flashed a different grin, this one smug and self-satisfied. "Yes, usually. Please do tell me, I promise not to laugh very hard."
Elizabeth giggled. "And if I do not wish to be laughed at, at all?"
"Nay, do not say that. You would not be so cruel — you have said that you dearly love to laugh, I cannot believe you would deny to the rest of the world opportunities to laugh."
"I do see your argument — but I have never claimed to be even or just in all things. While I may enjoy a laugh that does not mean my vanity will survive being the object of one."
"Yes, but is not vanity a vice? If being laughed at can kill your vanity, would that not be beneficial to you?"
Elizabeth laughed again. "You make a compelling argument. However, to no avail." Her face turned serious, and she looked Darcy in the eye. "It really is a matter too private to speak of."
"I understand." Darcy realized his voice was little flat. He wanted to know, and…he wanted Elizabeth to trust him far enough that she would tell him anything.
Elizabeth pursed her lips and shook her head. She poked Darcy in the arm. "Don't be like that. You look like a child denied a sweet. You can't expect to know everything."
"Perhaps you could tell me something else about yourself, something less private and less embarrassing — but still embarrassing?"
"Why don't you tell me something about yourself? And then, if it impresses me far enough, I'll reveal some nibbet of the deep secrets that lie within my head."
"Fair." He wanted to tell her about himself. To prove that she could tell him anything. It was an odd emotion: Darcy had never felt such a desire before. It frightened him a little. He wanted to tell her about how his father died, about his faded memories of his mother, about his uncle, about his cousins, about how he met Bingley.
Things he had never told anyone else.
Despite the light teasing tone of their conversation, he suddenly felt serious.
"Do not think too hard on it," Elizabeth spoke, "we are only just becoming friends."
"Is not exchanging intimate secrets how close friendships are established? I think — Miss Elizabeth, there is something about you — something in your manner. I spoke truly when I said that since I saw you that evening I have wished to understand you better. You and I shall become dear friends. Only…I am reticent. I am not in the habit of presenting my secrets. I do not share myself easily."
"Neither do I."
"But you speak so easily."
"As do you — I fancy myself a good observer of character, you are flirtatious and forward in your conversation. The opposite of reticent, but I can tell that much of what you say is learned patterns that only play on the surface, it is not who you truly are — oh, do not become offended. It is a very charming surface."
"You are right." Darcy stopped walking and grinned. "Aha — I know what secret of my past to reveal, and it is quite embarrassing. Though I am not sure if it is so very private."
"I am all ears — and a mouth, which I use to inform you that the rest of me is ears."
"As a university student, when I attended parties, I almost never talked to women — I was not terribly fond of the men either, I fancied myself a scholar then, and most men seemed numbskulls who only spoke about hunting."
"I have gained the impression that, among your other talents, you are quite the sportsman."
"And I have, through introspection, made the discovery that boys of twenty are in general numbskulls."
Elizabeth laughed. "And so you would not wish to be judged by the habits and beliefs of your former numbskull self."
"I would not talk to women, and when I was forced to I inevitably insulted them, on accident. I habitually stood at the edge of rooms scowling and thinking about Latin."
Elizabeth giggled again, turning her pert nose up delightfully.
"When my cousins visited me during my second term at Cambridge they discovered this awful habit. Now both are charming men — though I assure you, they are shorter than I am. They consider easy conversation with women as a key accomplishment of a gentleman. I disagreed. So Richard and Derwent wrestled me to the ground and sat on me until I changed my mind. Embarrassed by defeat, I gracefully accepted my lessons."
Darcy stood back and held his hands wide gesturing at himself. "What charm you perceive in me, is a result of their teaching."
Elizabeth clapped. "An excellent tale — should I ever meet your cousins; I must thank them on behalf of my sex. Your height and noble mien would make you well worth looking at no matter what, but without those conversational skills, I fear you would not be half the paragon of masculine perfection that you are. I do have one complaint, while that story is embarrassing, you promised a story that would be quite embarrassing."
He flashed Elizabeth his dimpled grin until she blushed and looked away. "But I have not finished yet. The smile, the one you complimented as very charming, does it change your opinion to know that I spent some four hours grinning at then Captain Richard Fitzwilliam again and again until my other cousin, the Viscount Derwent, at long last pronounced it satisfactory and demanded I spend ten minutes in front of the mirror practicing it each morning for the next month, or else he'd box my ears in."
Elizabeth laughed; it was a happy warm sound. "I entirely withdraw my complaint. Show me the smile again."
He did and Elizabeth immediately laughed. Darcy waggled his eyebrows at her, and she laughed harder. When her amusement flagged he grinned at her again and she giggled once more.
"I fear," she said, "I'll never see you smile that way again without laughing. I cannot decide if the effect is ruined or improved."
"Now that I have satisfied you, it is your turn to tell me a story about yourself."
Elizabeth bobbed her head. "It is. You have earned something. I hardly know what to say though — I fear I have nothing so amusing which springs to mind."
"I don't wish amusing. I wish true. But though, if your tale is amusing, so much the better. My cousins have been like brothers to me since my father died. Tell me about something you have done with your sister — our first conversation was about how much you care for her. Why?"
"You want me to talk about Jane?" Elizabeth raised an arch eyebrow. "She is perfect after all."
"No." Darcy shook his head. "I want you to talk about yourself with her. Excellent as I am sure she is; your sister alone does not interest me at all."
Darcy could see in Elizabeth's blush and the pleased tilt of her lips that, though she clearly adored her sister, being told that she was of far greater interest affected her. Miss Bennet's features and figure were nearly perfect, while Elizabeth's were only very fetching — no doubt Elizabeth was used to Jane receiving greater consideration from men and her awful marriage obsessed mother.
It made Darcy sad for Elizabeth. It did not seem to have hurt her, but she deserved to be the first.
She was the first for him.
"Jane, Jane always — she always thinks the very best of everyone; she always does the right thing. Not like me, I ran from being too ladylike and proper. She would have thought well of Squire Booby, not due to blindness but simply because she believes the best of everyone. When things go wrong — she was always the one — when Father was dying, Jane was only thirteen. Mama retreated to her room when Papa took sick and did not come down until Mr. Collins — the father of the present Mr. Collins — arrived to take possession of the house. I sobbed and sobbed, and refused to believe it could be real. Once Father died, I ran about everywhere and hid from the nurse and Mama and everyone. I climbed trees and let my dresses become filthy. Jane was left alone to make sure everyone was cared for and the servants were managed. Lydia was only five. I felt so awful for Jane when I realized how alone she'd been, and how I should have helped."
"You were only a child yourself, twelve?"
"I was eleven. I know what you think, it is very true, Mama should have managed. But she has never managed well."
"No. I dare say she does not."
Elizabeth flushed with embarrassment.
Darcy grabbed her arm and squeezed it. "I should not speak against her. I do wish you had someone to protect you. What she said to you was not right."
"I do not mind. I really do not." Her clear brown eyes looked into his warmly. "I thank you for taking my part."
"That is the second time you have said you do not mind about a serious matter. Perhaps you should mind. I mind for you."
"It would not do a morsel of good if I let her words hurt me. I swore after her bankruptcy, when she…she screamed at me and Jane for a full hour, blaming us for not marrying… Jane had only received kind words from her before. It was devastating the way Jane's face fell when she realized what Mama could say. I'd always known she could be cruel, but Jane never believes ill of anyone. But she now knows about Mama."
Of course Mrs. Bennet had screamed at Elizabeth. Such tirades were likely to be common if she could say something of that sort in front of strangers. Darcy asked softly, "What did you swear?"
"I swore I would never let anything she said make me unhappy. And I don't. Life is so beautiful, every day, friends, books, cold afternoons, conversations with tall handsome gentlemen who are a little too flirtatious, but very kind. I love life, and I will not let Mama make me unhappy."
Was he very kind? Something twisted in Darcy's stomach. He needed to live up to the trust in her eyes. But he did not know what that meant he should do.
Elizabeth added, "I should not have told the story. It is quite improper to tell it. I should not expose my mother so, but you… It is so natural and easy to talk to you."
"We are to be the best of friends, are we not?"
"Yes. We are. So then there is nothing wrong with me saying so much. Please know, she was not so bad before Papa died."
"Did she love your father so much?"
"No — they were, it is hard for a child to tell, but I remember them barely being fond of each other. She mourned that he left her with so little money, not the loss of him."
Darcy mumbled as he pulled his horse alongside with them, "My father was much the opposite."
Elizabeth squeezed his wrist. "I…I can tell it still hurts you. That you miss your mother. And your father."
"I was a little older than you were when your father died. It was a year apart, twelve and thirteen. But, my uncle was the best of guardians. He…he has always dedicated himself to ensuring I received the education he believed would make me happiest. And…what you said about living life to the fullest…that is what he always tells me to do."
"I think you do."
"I hope so. But sometimes…it is hard to know what I should do." Darcy looked at the path pensively. Elizabeth squeezed his wrist kindly. He looked back at her sweet and striking face. She had such pretty black eyebrows and long eyelashes. Such perfect brown eyes. She did not break their gaze quickly.
Darcy at last said, "Do tell me more about Jane. What happened when your mother's money ran out?"
"We went to London. It was us two sent there because Mama wanted us to find husbands. We were happy for a while. But Jane is becoming desperate. No matter how beautiful Jane is, young tradesmen want a wife who brings capital."
"Did she have no serious suitors?" Darcy tilted his head.
"One — Mr. Thomas. He was almost fifty and a widower with several sons. Jane had no affection for him. He didn't want to understand Jane or care for her. He only wanted to possess such a beautiful wife. Lydia's marriage made him abandon Jane on the point of offering. I was happy when we returned from London, because…she would not have married him, not when she had no affection for him, but I worry for my sister. I am glad she does not have the guilt refusing would have given her."
"You think she should have refused. You cannot think — she will not marry well. Not without money, and with your new connections it is even more impossible."
"Jane will marry someone who she can love, and who sincerely cares for her. I must believe and hope that. I must. She is too good and sweet. She was not meant to be unhappy."
"Fate is not always kind. There is great unfairness, injustice — that your sister too deserves better does not change her situation. Hope will not bring a suitor."
"I know. But I must hope. I know that every single member of England's gentry is a fool. You need not preach acceptance of that reality to me." Elizabeth's eyes flashed brightly. "Jane is perfect, and only a fool would ignore her due to her connections and lack of money."
Darcy opened his mouth. He should not have said as much as he already had.
Elizabeth slumped her shoulders. "Forgive me. I should not rage so. And each person has a duty to look after their own interests first. But I am worried. So worried. Oh I never admit it even to myself, but she might never marry, and I do not think she can be happy as a permanent dependent."
"Do not apologize. I should not poke at a tender point. We do not know what the future brings. I can hope she will marry very well indeed. If only your sister had some money."
"Yes — poverty is an even greater sin than being Lydia's sister. Responsible young men feel they must have some money. I cannot blame them. It is difficult to establish a career. Oh, I sometimes feel as though I would do anything if I could get Jane a dowry."
Anything?
Darcy immediately thought that her moral compunctions might be silenced if he provided her sister with enough money to find a man to marry.
But that would not do at all for him. He didn't want her to ignore her compunctions because she cared for Jane more than herself. He wanted her to see such concerns as superstitious social hypocrisy. If she agreed to be his mistress to help Jane but felt guilty and dirty… He didn't want her to feel guilty.
He wanted her to be happy. He couldn't touch her unless she truly wanted him to.
At the way Darcy froze Elizabeth hurriedly said, "I don't mean I would actually do anything. I would not take up highway robbery, or poison off someone's rich old uncle."
"Then what would you do?"
Elizabeth blushed very red and shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes. "My mind goes in quite silly directions — and I will never tell you what thought made me blush — but it was quite absurd. I do not know, perhaps it is merely an expression."
"Suppose we took up highway robbery together. How much would you need to steal before there was enough for your sister?"
"Oh, I would not be so greedy — really. When I fantasize about it…I give her five thousand pounds. It is what Mama wasted. It would not be above the station she was born into." Elizabeth added hurriedly, "I know that must be but a trifle to you — but to someone in Jane's position it would mean everything."
"Five thousand is more than a trifle for me. But not very much. You are not extravagantly greedy in your fantasies."
"Should I be?"
Elizabeth looked at him directly with her eyebrows raised. Darcy looked aside. "Thank you for telling me of your sister."
Elizabeth's smile when she replied was soft and sad. "I do…I really do understand her situation. But she was meant to be a mother and a wife."
"What about your own situation? The scandal affects you as much."
"Oh. I am not selfish. I will not think of myself in this case. Besides, I can be happy anywhere."
"You do not expect to marry? Are not family and children part of most girl's dreams? I beg you not to reply with your quip that a short, bald man will marry you at last. What do you really hope?"
He peered at her closely, waiting for a reply.
Elizabeth frowned thoughtfully, nibbling at her lower lip. "My dreams were never focused on marriage. Jane wants that. But for me…so many marriages I see are unhappy, or just tolerable. I cannot stand the thought of such intimacy without great affection. I would far prefer to remain a spinster, so long as I am a spinster aunt, than to marry without the deepest affection. I know women are expected to only feel complete once married, but I enjoy my life as it is at present. I am completely happy."
"You cannot want to stay…" Darcy hesitated. He didn't want to poke at her again. "I am glad that you are happy."
"Mr. Darcy, despite the doubt in your voice, I really am happy. I love the countryside, I adore my friends and my sister, and I have my books. I do not need material things."
"It is not…material things are not of so great importance. But while you are brave and determined, over time… I do not think life in Mr. Phillip's house will seem so palatable forever."
A frown marred her face. "Well, there is nothing I can do on the matter. So I'll not let it make me unhappy."
Darcy nearly said: What if there was something you could do. Something that seems wrong, but really is not, not in any important way. She cared too much for her friends and sister. They were the center of her life.
But she could not stay in her uncle's house forever. And he wanted her more than ever.
Darcy shook all those thoughts away. He should focus on the present. "I hope you are never unhappy. Never. Enough somberness. Miss Elizabeth, let us go towards happier topics." He grinned at her, and at first hesitatingly and then happily, Elizabeth grinned back. "Choose the next subject."
