Chapter 4

Darcy leapt off Plunder, tossing the reins over the churchyard gate. In a few quick strides he was up the steps and flinging open the church door.

He spared no attention for those filling the first pews; his gaze was entirely fixed upon the small gathering of people before the nave, facing the vicar—including a dark-haired woman in blue silk, and a hulking man—Collins, he was certain—in black clothing. His sudden arrival did not at all prevent the ancient clergyman from the ceremonial speech already in progress.

“…wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou?—”

“She will not! Elizabeth, no, please!” he gasped, forgetting, in his panic, even proper forms of address. “Marry me, instead, I beg you!”

Time froze, as bride and groom simultaneously spun towards the interruption.

To his utter embarrassment, the bride was not Elizabeth Bennet. Rather, Miss Charlotte Lucas stared back at him in buck-toothed amazement. Elizabeth, he noticed at last, was seated on a pew at the front with every member of her family, equivalent looks of incredulity and wonder on their faces. The vicar frowned his disapproval. Miss Lydia giggled, and time restarted.

He abruptly became aware of his position in the middle of a church, hatless, his neckcloth soaking and ruined, his greatcoat dripping on the aisle floor. He flushed.

“I—I apologise,” he managed, straightening, adopting the pose of offended dignity he had used so many times when falsely accused of Wickham’s misbehaviours. “Please forgive me the interruption.” He followed his apology with a brief bow, and made the swiftest exit he could without breaking into a run.

He let himself into the adjacent graveyard via a rusted iron gate. The rain had stopped, at least—not that it mattered in the slightest; he could hardly appear any stupider. A conveniently placed bench, out of sight of anything except a large monument erected to some long-dead, much beloved rector, served as a good enough place to bask in humiliation. He leant forward, resting his forearms on his knees, staring at the ground while trying to absorb what had just occurred.

The leading citizenry of Meryton had just witnessed what had to be the most inane, ridiculous proposal of marriage in the history of inane, ridiculous proposals. At least Elizabeth is not marrying William Collins today, he reminded himself. Although neither was there any guarantee she would consider yet another proposal from another great fool. Never had he felt so idiotic.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, he did not look up, hoping whomever it might be would simply continue on their way. However, the steps paused beside him, and then the sound of rustling fabric and the creaking bench told him that the person was now seated beside him. In his peripheral vision, he saw a dark woollen coat—but peeking from its edge was the emerald green he had noticed Elizabeth wearing. He ought to have stood at her approach, he realised—but what was one more blunder in a morning which already included so many?

“Mr Darcy,” she began, when he said nothing.

“I was rather hoping you would believe I had departed for a destination unknown,” he muttered.

“Yes, well, I did not think you would leave your fine horse here to fend for himself.”

“Ah. Of course.” He took a deep breath. “I apologise for the, um, scene in the church. I am certain I embarrassed you, as well as myself.”

“As to that, I was surprised, certainly. I had not the smallest idea you felt anything at all for me.”

He forced himself to meet her eyes, and was surprised to see her smiling. “Bingley says that I treat others with dismissive conceit in order to disguise my fear of taking risks—especially risks involving beautiful women.”

At this, she actually laughed. “I think you may tell Mr Bingley that your days of avoiding risk are long past.”

He cared little that she was laughing at him, but her cheeks pinkened as he smiled back at her. It gave him a sliver of hope.

“I know I have not behaved in any way that might produce your admiration. I am certain my contemptible conduct upon the occasion of our first meeting left you no good impression of me, and I afterwards failed, not only to apologise, but?—”

Darcy scrubbed his hand through his damp hair, which rain had twisted into hated curls. How to explain? What to explain?

“I have allowed Wickham unfettered access to you and your neighbours, without providing any of the many reasons proving he is an unprincipled scoundrel.”

She gasped a little. He soldiered on; he might as well get this all out of the way—all the things he ought to have said, ought to have done.

“I am sure he has done his best to ruin whatever little approbation I might have retained. I promise, however, that I can provide sufficient proof of his deceitfulness. If you never like or trust me, I would not have you fooled by him.”

It was her turn to stutter. “I—I would prefer to draw my own conclusions, I think.” All her pretty blushes had faded now.

Darcy leant back against the bench, looking at the sky instead of the woman he loved, unable to bear seeing her disappointment.

“He was for many years my good friend, my comrade in arms, so to speak. His father held management of Pemberley, and was equally close to my dear father. It took me far too long to realise that the friendship was one-sided. He required my reputation and my father’s, my money, and little else. His uses for those, however, were many; his ability to explain away poor decision and blackhearted motive, legendary. The last thing I wish to do is provide particulars, for the more I do, the greater I find my own culpability. Why did I cover those debts, pay those women’s families, without explaining to my father and his that his behaviour was beyond the pale? I distanced myself from him, but preserved his ability to retain their influence.”

“This is horrible,” she said, shaking her head.

Did she refer to Wickham, or his own negligence? Or both? He had hardly demonstrated trustworthiness. He must provide more details, solid facts, not simply vague allusions.

“Yes. In his will, my father left a thousand pounds to him, but also the promise of a living, should he take orders.”

“Yes—he has spoken of what is owed him.”

“What is owed him?” He gave a humourless chuckle. “Nothing at all. He was paid three thousand for his surrender of the benefice.”

“So much,” she said in almost a whisper.

“Yes. That was well before he tried to elope with my fifteen-year-old sister.”

“He did what?” Her dark eyes were huge with shock and dismay.

He finally looked at her, sadness filling him. She, too, had young, silly sisters. Although they had no enticement of a large settlement, like Georgiana, perhaps it only made him more dangerous.

“I am sorry, so very sorry, that I did not explain sooner.”

“I can understand why you did not,” she replied. “I am uncertain whether I would ever have been so honest as you have been with me.”

“I have no doubt of your secrecy on this matter.”

They sat together in the quiet. He could think of nothing to add, and wondered if there was any hope left for him. She was the first to break the silence.

“Mr Darcy, a few days ago, my sister received a letter from Miss Bingley. In it, she claims that Mr Bingley will not return to Netherfield this winter, and intimated that he would, instead, be pursuing an alliance with your sister.”

He raised a brow in surprise; he had not known that Miss Bingley had perceived his future hopes for Georgiana. Still, it seemed unlikely that Bingley would care to wait several years for his sister to mature, and he could admit that Georgiana had never shown the slightest interest in him. Besides, Georgiana was in no condition, at present, to even think of marriage to anyone, whilst Bingley appeared to be ready for commitment. With a little regret, he gave up the idea of the match forever. In this he could relieve Elizabeth, if relief she required.

“Bingley has no interest in my sister, nor she in him.” He hesitated. “Could it be that Miss Bennet has deeper feelings for him than that of an acquaintance?”

She looked at him in some disbelief. “Could you not tell that she does? I thought it obvious that her heart is engaged.”

“If you say it is so, it must be. I could not see it, but then, Bingley has recently called my powers of perception into dispute. I shall write to him, and admit that he was right and I was wrong. It is my guess that he shall return to Netherfield immediately upon receiving word.”

“Your friend relies upon your judgment.”

“He is most unaffectedly modest, and in nothing is judgment more important than in matters of the heart. It is perhaps unfortunate that he should only have me to turn to.” Another long silence followed.

At last Elizabeth sighed. “My perceptive powers are no better. I have been racking my brain for some evidence of goodness in Mr Wickham, and now that I consider it, I find nothing to lay to his credit. Charlotte advised me some time ago that Jane should make her feelings for Mr Bingley more obvious. Not only did I disagree, but I never told my sister of the conversation, that she might decide for herself how best to act.”

“We are protective of those we care for.”

“Yes.” It was her turn to hesitate. “It is not only that.”

She peered up at him through her lashes and he wished with all his heart that they weren’t speaking of Wickham or Bingley, but of her, of his feelings for her—and of any possibility of her feelings for him. All he could do now, however, was listen, and pray listening was enough. He tried to show her, through his very posture, that every word she spoke was important to him.

“Not only?”

“No. I probably should not admit this but…but as you have shown your willingness to, hm, take risks, I will take one as well. It is my family—undoubtedly you have noticed that we are not the most appropriately behaved. I love them, but I grow very frustrated at times with their conduct, and I believe my sister is so upset by some of it, that she tries—perhaps even harder than she ought, if that is possible—to act, always, in the most decorous manner possible.”

He tried to think how to respond, finding words in remembering the colonel’s. “You have not met all my family members yet. Take my word for it that if you do, we would be able to trade stories.”

She grinned at this, and he felt as if he had presented her a bouquet of roses. He could not help but press for whatever tiny advantage he might have gained.

“I do not wish to offer further embarrassment, and one word from you will silence me on the subject forever but…may I have the opportunity, Miss Elizabeth, of calling upon you? Or have I wrecked any chance of redeeming myself in your eyes?”

She looked at him for a long moment, and in the time it took her to reply, he lived through a thousand lifetimes, alternating between hope and despair.

“As it happens, you have not embarrassed me at all, sir. Yes. Yes, you may call.”