Elizabeth burned from more than just the sun, acutely aware of her state of undress and the impropriety of the situation. Though she was tempted to finish dressing, it seemed pointless by now. The damage was already done.
Her earlier shock at seeing Mr. Darcy faded into annoyance. How dare he intrude upon her privacy so soon again, as if she did not value it at all? Did the man have no sense of decorum?
She crossed her arms over her chest, clutching at the edges of her sodden chemise as she frowned at him.
As if sensing the bent of her thoughts, Mr. Darcy frowned. "I did not expect to find you here again," he snapped. "Do you mean to haunt this pond every waking hour, like some water nymph or sprite? How is a man to enjoy a leisurely walk without stumbling upon your bathing?"
Elizabeth bristled at his accusing tone, tilting her chin up in a show of indignation. "I was not aware this pond belonged solely to your enjoyment, Mr. Darcy, else I never would have trespassed. May I suggest if you wish to avoid such encounters in future, you announce your presence rather than skulking about to spy on others?"
His cheek colored slightly at the justice of her words, though he made no immediate reply. At length, he said stiffly, "My apologies. I did not mean to offend."
"Of course not," she replied. "That has never appeared to be among your concerns."
Darcy frowned, staring at her for a long moment as though trying to discern her meaning. "I see you are determined to think ill of me, no matter my efforts at courtesy."
"Your courtesy need improvement, sir."
"And yours often leaves something to be desired," he retorted.
"I make no claim to courtesy where none exists," she said. "Yet I suppose that is the trouble—when we lack a proper sense of our own defects, it is difficult to perceive them in others."
"I lack a proper sense of my own defects?" The audacity of her words rendered him speechless for a moment. Then his lips curved into a sardonic smile. "It seems you see me clearly enough, Miss Bennet. For my part, I am aware of you, perhaps more than you realize."
His eyes traced the length of her in a way that made her flush, though she would not give him the satisfaction of trying to cover herself. Let him look his fill, if that was his purpose here.
"It seems I cannot escape you, no matter where my path leads," he bit out.
But there was something raw in his gaze that spoke of deeper meaning. Elizabeth felt an answering tug in her chest, though she refused to examine it.
She lifted her chin. "You may escape me easily enough by respecting a lady's privacy. Now if you will excuse me, I have tarried here long enough."
Mr. Darcy's cheeks colored. "My apologies. I shall walk to the other side of these trees while you dress, but I wish to speak with you—on a matter of importance."
Elizabeth frowned. She waited until Mr. Darcy's retreating back was fully hidden before hastily donning her clothing.
From behind the trees, his voice carried over clearly. "Miss Bennet, given the unfortunate circumstances of our encounters, my honor demands that I take responsibility for compromising you in the eyes of the world."
She froze, one arm entangled in her sleeve. "Whatever can you mean, Mr. Darcy?"
"You know full well what I mean," he replied. "Our meetings here have been highly improper, and if discovered, would irreparably damage your reputation. There is only one path forward that would satisfy my duty as a gentleman."
Elizabeth's heart leapt and sank in the same moment. She yanked her dress over her head and stomped to the copse of trees Mr. Darcy was hiding behind, by no means prepared to have this conversation in such a state of dishabille.
"Mr. Darcy," she said warningly.
He emerged from behind the trees, features set in a frown of determination. "Do not argue, Miss Bennet. We must marry. Immediately."
"We must do no such thing!" Elizabeth cried. "Marrying against our wishes will help no one. I insist you not take responsibility for events beyond your control."
"The state of your reputation is well within my control," Mr. Darcy snapped, "and you cannot forbid me from doing the right thing. I will not be one of those cads who ruins a woman's good name and leaves her to face the consequences. It is entirely my fault you were discovered here, and I will not shirk my duty."
"Confound your duty and your honor too!" Elizabeth threw up her hands. "What of my wishes? Do they not signify at all, or must I enter into a loveless union to satisfy your misplaced sense of obligation?"
In a state of dishabille and righteous indignation, Elizabeth faced Mr. Darcy, their shared tension palpable. As the heated exchange continued, a flicker of vulnerability crossed Mr. Darcy's face, quickly replaced by an air of affronted pride.
"And this is your opinion of me?" he demanded, his voice low and strained. "You have said quite enough, Madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings. Please forgive me for having taken up your time."
With a curt nod, Mr. Darcy turned on his heel, his tall frame retreating from Elizabeth with an air of wounded pride.
Elizabeth did not regret her harsh words to Mr. Darcy as she watched his figure disappear into the distance. While she had not meant to humiliate him, his arrogant and selfish behavior deserved censure. The idea of being forced into a marriage for the sake of duty and propriety was abhorrent to her, as was his purported mistreatment of dear Mr. Wickham.
She shook her head, wiping away the memory of his stricken expression after her retort. Let him think what he chose about her refusal—she owed him no apology or explanation. They came from very different worlds, and any attachment between them could only end in misery for her and ruination for him. His pride would recover soon enough from the blow she had dealt in rejecting his suit.
Still, much as she tried to dismiss the encounter from her mind, the image of Mr. Darcy in agitation kept returning to plague her. The heat in his gaze, the tension in his countenance, the roughness in his voice as he entreated her had awakened a answering spark of awareness within her. Even as she hardened her heart against him, her body seemed bent on betraying her, kindling at the memory of his nearness with a visceral longing she dared not admit.
With a cry of vexation, Elizabeth hastened her steps back to Longbourn. She had dodged a bullet by refusing Mr. Darcy, but the danger was not entirely gone. Her heated response to his presence suggested she had not left her disdain unscathed. And she feared that regardless of his character, she might never be free of her reaction to Fitzwilliam Darcy.
The next day the sun beamed down warmly upon the lush green lawns of Lucas Lodge, where the air was alive with laughter and the promise of a delightful afternoon. The Bennet family, having received an invitation to the lawn party, approached in eager anticipation. Elizabeth her spirits high, engaged in a lively conversation with her dear friend Charlotte Lucas, discussing the latest gossip and marveling at the splendidly laid-out garden.
As they walked, Charlotte regaled Elizabeth with tales of a recent visit to Meryton, and Elizabeth had just begun describing to Charlotte the latest chronicle of her sisters' nonsense when she stopped abruptly, the words dying on her lips. Coming around the side of the house was the Netherfield party.
Elizabeth's breath caught in her chest, and her heart raced as her gaze darted among the party. Charlotte, noticing her friend's distraction, followed her gaze with a questioning look.
The Bingley sisters, bedecked in the latest fashions, sauntered with practiced grace. Louisa Hurst, arm-in-arm with her husband, chatted animatedly. The ever-charming Charles Bingley, his wide smile radiating warmth, looked positively delighted to be in attendance.
And then, as if sensing the focus of Elizabeth's attention, Caroline Bingley paused and turned back revealing the enigmatic Mr. Darcy striding last in the grouping, his tall frame and dark features impossible to mistake.
Mr. Darcy's eyes locked with hers for a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, the air between them crackling with an intensity that belied the gaiety surrounding them. Elizabeth, her pulse quickening, forced herself to break the connection, turning her attention back to Charlotte, who had been patiently awaiting her return to the conversation.
"Mr. Darcy is looking well," Charlotte observed, her tone neutral as she watched her friend closely.
Elizabeth swallowed, attempting to regain her composure. "Yes, quite," she replied, her voice betraying a hint of breathlessness.
As the afternoon wore on, Elizabeth tried in vain to distract herself from seeking out Mr. Darcy. Laughter and music filled the air, the mingling scents of flowers and tempting delicacies teasing her senses-yet nothing could compare to the enticing sight of Mr. Darcy's tall, commanding figure. The memory of encountering him by the pond made her cheeks flame anew, and no matter how she tried, her gaze kept returning to him as though by its own will.
Worse still was the expression in his eyes when they met hers across the crowded lawn. Heat and barely restrained longing seemed to smolder in their depths, as if he could see right through to the turmoil of longing and self-recrimination seething her soul. How dared he look at her so, as if they shared some intimate secret? As if he had rights over her, that could only be granted by desire. Did he mock her with those silent stares, like a cat preening upon a mouse?
Despite her best efforts to maintain a light-hearted facade, Elizabeth's thoughts were consumed by the enigmatic gentleman, his heated perusal of her wet clothed body the day before and ridiculous offer to marry her the day prior.
At one point, as Elizabeth found herself near the musicians, she glanced over to see Mr. Darcy engaged in polite conversation with a group of gentlemen. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, and she felt the familiar warmth rush to her cheeks before she hastily looked away.
Charlotte, ever observant, had been watching the interactions between her friend and Mr. Darcy with growing curiosity. As she sidled up to Elizabeth, she could not help but remark, "It seems you and Mr. Darcy have been quite preoccupied with one another this afternoon."
Elizabeth, caught off-guard by Charlotte's sudden inquiry, stammered, "I-I am not certain what you mean, Charlotte. Mr. Darcy and I have merely been attempting to navigate the social niceties of the event."
Her response, vague and tinged with nerves, only served to hasten Charlotte's suspicions.
A peal of raucous laughter from Lydia and Kitty pierced the air, drawing attention from several of the party guests. Relief washed over Elizabeth. "I must attend to my sisters," she said hurriedly, rushing off to curtail their boisterous behavior.
As she approached Lydia and Kitty, she found them regaling John Lucas with their animated retelling of a recent mishap in Meryton.
"Lydia, Kitty," she chided gently, "I understand that you are enjoying yourselves, but do try to remember that we are guests here, and should comport ourselves with a measure of decorum."
Lydia rolled her eyes playfully, but nodded in acquiescence. "Very well, Lizzy. We shall endeavor to be on our best behavior."
Satisfied, Elizabeth turned her attention to the rest of the party. She was pleased to see Mr. Bingley engaged in a quiet conversation with Jane, his admiration for her sister evident in his warm smile and attentive manner. Elizabeth's heart swelled with hope; she dearly wished for a match between Jane and the amiable Mr. Bingley, knowing it would bring her sister great happiness.
As the merriment continued, Elizabeth felt a sudden thirst and decided to fetch a glass of punch to quench it. As she approached the refreshment table, she found it momentarily unoccupied, save for the broad-shouldered figure of a gentleman whose back was turned to her. She moved closer, intent on retrieving a glass for herself, when the gentleman turned, revealing the unmistakable countenance of Mr. Darcy.
A momentary awkwardness settled between them, their eyes meeting with a sudden intensity that sent a shiver down Elizabeth's spine. Heat flooded her cheeks as the memory of Mr. Darcy's gaze upon her unclothed form rose unbidden to her mind.
Mr. Darcy cleared his throat, color visible at the tips of his ears. "Miss Bennet, may I...may I offer you some punch?" His usually composed tone wavered slightly.
"Yes, thank you," Elizabeth said hastily, grasping at the change of subject. She took the glass he offered, avoiding the brush of his fingers against hers, though the near contact still made her pulse leap.
They stood gazing at one another, a dozen words hovering on Elizabeth's lips though she could not bring herself to utter a single one. The memory of Mr. Darcy's his eyes dark with longing as he gazed at her by the pond threatened to rob her of speech entirely.
Mr. Darcy gave a curt nod, his cheeks nearly as crimson as Elizabeth's own. His dark eyes flickered to hers for a brief moment before sliding away, unable to maintain contact. "You are most welcome, Miss Bennet."
With their drinks in hand, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy stood awkwardly for a moment, the silence between them growing heavier with each passing second. Elizabeth knew she must say something to break the tension, but her mind seemed to be entirely devoid of clever repartee.