"And remember that I have not much reason for supposing it to be Bingley. What he told me was merely this; that he congratulated himself on having lately saved a friend from the inconveniences of a most imprudent marriage, but without mentioning names or any other particulars, and I only suspected it to be Bingley from believing him the kind of young man to get into a scrape of that sort, and from knowing them to have been together the whole of last summer."
Chapter 10, "Pride & Prejudice"
Strongly might Col. Fitzwilliam deny being sure that Bingley was the friend whom Darcy had influenced, but Elizabeth could not doubt it.
That Darcy had parted them then boasted of it to his kindly cousin filled her heart with rage – and determination to not let him win.
She looked down for a moment, then looked back up at him.
"Col. Fitzwilliam, it seems that you have the happiness of two hearts in your hands," she said.
Intrigued, he inquired how.
"Did Mr. Darcy tell you how we are acquainted?" she asked.
"I believe he said you met last fall, when he was staying with Bingley in Hertfordshire," he said.
"Yes, indeed. While Bingley was there, he became attached to my sister Jane," she said pointedly. "Unfortunately, directly after the matter came to Mr. Darcy's attention, Bingley left the county for town with Mr. Darcy and has not returned, nor paid any visit to my sister, who has been in town since Christmas, which Mr. Darcy knew."
It did not take long for Fitzwilliam to admit the parallels in the tales.
"Do you think that it was right for Mr. Bingley to be parted from my sister?" she asked.
He denied it vehemently.
"I am glad you feel as I do," she said. "I plan to write Jane to tell her of Mr. Darcy's maneuver. Might I prevail upon you to write Mr. Bingley? If doing so would not make you liable to your cousin's disapprobation?"
"I may be a poor, dependent cousin, but not a coward, thank God. I shall write Bingley directly. To think of Darcy boasting of such a thing on our very way to see you, the sister of the lady he wronged."
"He told you this tale on your way to the parsonage?" she asked.
"Yes, the last words I heard from him that day. You heard how silent he was. He scarce said another word the rest of the day. Or the rest of our visit, for that matter."
Elizabeth nodded, smiling grimly.
"Thank you, Col. Fitzwilliam, both for this intelligence and your willingness to act upon it. Shall we retire to our letter-writing?"
With agreeable farewells on both sides, they parted.
At the parsonage Elizabeth found that the Collinses had gone to Rosings. She took possession of the library to write to Jane. Her letter was brief but heartfelt, assuring her that any appearance of alienation of affection on Bingley's part was a matter of interference, not inclination. Elizabeth found herself echoing Charlotte's advice, to show her affections if — when — they should meet again.
As she wrote, she could but wonder about Mr. Darcy's feelings toward her. To tell such a story under such circumstances without sharing the relationship to the person about to be introduced? It defied reason. One might be tempted to think Mr. Darcy in love. And fighting it mightily.
She had just handed the letter to the servant to post when Mr. Darcy was announced.
She received him in the library, and gazed at him so frankly that he lost what self-possession he had and looked blankly at her.
"Well, Mr. Darcy, what have you to say for yourself?" she asked.
He started guiltily. Of what did she suspect him? Did she know he had some to declare himself? He could not swear that he had decided to do so, yet here he found himself on the brink.
Her eyes flashed defiantly at him. She was even more bewitching than he had ever beheld her, and dumbfounded, he fell to his knee before her.
Her eyes widened in surprise and she gasped as he reached to take her hand.
"Elizabeth, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?" he asked, his throat nearly closing about the words.
"Mr. Darcy! What can you mean by this?" she asked, aghast. "Pray, come to your senses. Everyone knows that you abhor me. And that you are engaged to your cousin. Do not make a mockery of me by such a gesture."
She retreated backward, tugging her hand from his.
He slowly rose.
"What make you believe I am engaged?" he asked, a dangerous tone in his voice.
"My information comes from Mr. Wickham," she said, ceasing her retreat.
"And you believe all his claims?" he asked, looming over her.
"I see no reason to doubt them," she said evenly, meeting his gaze.
"Then I am afraid that you are not as good a judge of character as you believe, for Wickham is the most abominable scoundrel."
"How dare you, sir?" she demanded.
"Wickham dared plenty. First to take 3,000 pounds in exchange for the living, as he refused to take orders. After he wasted that, he returned to ask for the living, which I refused. He then turned his attentions to my sister, despite her tender age. He attempted to elope with her to secure her fortune to himself."
Elizabeth groped her way into a seat. Such perfidy in a man she had thought a paragon. If true, this turned all she had believed on its head. But she could not imagine that Mr. Darcy would lie about such a matter.
Wonder gave way to determination. Mary King and the young ladies of Hertfordshire kept company with Mr. Wickham. She rose and addressed him.
"Mr. Darcy, I think you know on what intimate footing Col. Forster's officers stand in Meryton society," she said, fixing him with a steely gaze. "Not excepting Mr. Wickham."
"He seemed popular," he admitted.
"And you permitted the young ladies, my sister and peers, to enjoy the attentions of a person known to you to be an unmitigated scoundrel?"
Darcy blanched. His duel with Wickham had been inconclusive. He had felt himself enjoined from any further action against him, but in the furious light of her gaze, he found some fault in himself for thus leaving young ladies vulnerable — not excluding his beloved Elizabeth!
But he was unable to look away, her eyes transfixing him, as if transmitting a blaze of fury.
Any justification he might offer — that any fortune large enough to tempt him would be overseen by keen-eyed guardians, that Wickham was no more dangerous than any fortune hunter — seemed inexcusably feeble.
"What you have me do?" he found himself asking.
"Write to my father to warn him," she said promptly. "He can warn the other fathers."
He sat himself at the desk and began to write, then paused.
"Might I address a question to your father?" he asked hopefully.
"No," she said flatly. He sighed and went back to his writing.
After some pains, he produced a tolerable letter, which he offered to her.
She took it and read. It was a good letter and represented Wickham's character without reference to Miss Darcy. She declared herself satisfied and requested he post it at once. He obeyed, wondering at his own complaisance.
When he returned, she was stood at the window, looking out. He moved behind her, entranced by the back of her neck.
Amazed at his own daring, he let his hands rest upon her waist.
"Mr. Darcy, do not let yourself be led into an imprudent connection," she said, turning her head to address him.
The curve of her cheek captivated him and he let his lips touch there.
"You anticipate much," she observed.
"I do," he replied. "Already I find myself leaping to obey your wish, just as your husband ought."
She turned about in place, her face suddenly dizzyingly close to his own.
"Draw back, Mr. Darcy," she warned him.
"I cannot, Elizabeth," he said, his hands coming to her waist again.
Then his lips found hers. She drew up to him, the delicate sensation igniting feeling from the balls of her feet through each place she touched him.
His longing — first indulged then curbed for long months before he had succumbed before its power — strengthened like a stream during a storm. He gathered her in his arms and kissed her ardently.
Her feeling of triumph over the infuriating Mr. Darcy, tempered by the revelation of Wickham's perfidy, had gained strength again. That he did not know that his own message was preceded by two to town, contravening his will — was delightful.
She longed to tease him with it but decided to keep silent about it — for now.
The pleasure of feeling him in her power mixed with the pleasure of his embrace in a perilously potent combination. The indominable, distant Mr. Darcy was her professed lover!
She could not doubt the strength of his ardor, particularly as his hands had slipped down her back to pull her yet closer.
She pulled back to chide him.
"Mr. Darcy, you take my approval for granted, not to mention the banns."
"You would not wonder if you knew how long it had been since I had first been congratulated on our impending union," he replied.
"Who would dare?" she asked in wonder.
"Miss Bingley not only wished us joy not long after the assembly where we first met, but advised me on portraiture as well as other family concerns."
Elizabeth burst out laughing. The sound delighted Darcy and sternly he reminded himself that kissing the laugher would stem it.
The resolution lasted only moments before he must kiss her again.
Then she must retreat a step and ask if he was not sure Miss Bingley had not been speaking of her marriage to him, but this he denied vehemently.
"But once she had you, she should stop teasing you, whereas you know that I would ever plague you," she explained.
"The only plague I suffer is your absence," he said, collecting her against him once more. "Tell me you will cure me of it."
Her fingers played with the hair at the back of his neck and she looked up at him fondly.
Again, he demanded her answer.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Darcy. I could think only of how terribly we shall be chaperoned once we announce our engagement. It is rather dreadful to contemplate."
His eyes lit with happiness. And of course he must kiss her again.
"My aunt will keep the Collinses for at least an hour more," he said thoughtfully.
In answer she pulled him down to kiss him.
—
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