Chapter 2

Two

Oppressed by a host of differing emotions, not the least of which were anger and indignation, Elizabeth slowly turned back towards the gentleman and responded with exaggerated impertinence.

"We are to continue last evening's mode of incivility, are we? Very well. I beg your pardon, but no, in the interests of graciousness, I think it best I not linger. Good day to you, sir." She dropped a negligible curtsey and walked away.

Mr Darcy's voice followed. "Please, Miss Bennet. I require but a moment of your time."

Elizabeth never thought herself wanting in self-possession, but even with a tolerably stout heart and a good dose of fortitude, she had had quite enough of Mr Darcy to last a lifetime. In her own defence, his insulting proposal had come on the heels of Colonel Fitzwilliam's information that his cousin had congratulated himself on having saved a friend, Mr Bingley, from the inconveniences of a most imprudent marriage—meaning to her sister Jane. Congratulated himself! Such arrogance!

For five weeks, her sojourn in Kent had passed pleasantly, if uneventfully. Then everything changed when the prideful Mr Darcy—whom she assumed had been pledged to Miss de Bourgh—had asked her, with nary a complimentary word, to be his wife.

Guilt, sharp and unwelcome, now halted her escape. In good conscience, Elizabeth knew she had behaved no better than a termagant the previous evening, and no matter how much he might deserve it, she would not subject him to the same unduly harsh treatment again.

As she turned to face Mr Darcy, she chastised herself for so cruelly rejecting him. Not for a minute did she rue her refusal of his offer, but she owed him an apology.

I may as well give the man his moment, express my regrets, then take my leave of him . After what passed between them, the less time spent in one another's company the better.

To his credit, Mr Darcy seemed disinclined to disturb the wretchedness of her mind with idle conversation. Such never was his wont.

"I have been wandering about in the hope of meeting you." Reaching into a breast pocket, he spoke with aplomb. "Will you do me the honour of reading this?"

Determined to display no further symptoms of pique, Elizabeth instinctively accepted the letter, though she looked at it as though it might bite her. "Whose messenger are you this morning, sir? Historically, such envoys have come to grievous harm when bearing bad tidings."

"Ah yes, shooting the messenger, a time-honoured response to news as unwanted as my amorous addresses." Averting his eyes, Mr Darcy scrubbed a gloved palm across his mouth. "I beg your pardon. That was uncalled for. As for shooting the messenger, I remain unafraid of you." A fleeting smile failed to reach his eyes. "And whether the contents of that letter are to your liking or not, they are meant merely to serve as explanations of past events. Without expectation, it is my hope that after a perusal, you might alter your perception of me and my behaviour."

"This is from you ?" She scowled at the epistle before pushing it towards Mr Darcy's chest. "I cannot possibly accept it." When he—childishly, in her opinion—hid both hands behind his back, Elizabeth had no choice but to keep possession of the letter. Dropping it to the forest floor and grinding it beneath her heel would be preposterous.

The gentleman's next words were spoken with what seemed to her a degree of urgency. "There is vital information therein pertaining to Mr Wickham. Before you return to Hertfordshire, you must be informed of that man's dangerous propensities. You, your sisters, your friends, Meryton merchants—everyone—should be made aware of Wickham's habits and history. I regret not doing so while at Netherfield, but I had other people and their reputations to protect."

Doubtful, Elizabeth gave him a searching look before nodding and placing the letter inside her pelisse's pocket. Seemingly satisfied, he offered a perfunctory obeisance and was about to turn away from the plantation when her words halted him.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam noticed Charlotte and me gathering eggs earlier this morning and stopped to bid us farewell. I was sorry to see him go."

Mr Darcy's tone was unmistakably surly when he replied. "Yes, I am sure you feel ill-used by so forced a relinquishment."

Although temptation was strong, she refrained from kicking the gentleman's shin. I am making an effort to bury the tumult of my feelings beneath the restraint of society. Can he not do the same? "The colonel informed me that you are unable to depart tomorrow as planned." God willing, you and I, however, shall part now and for evermore. "I assume you are to remain for Miss de Bourgh's ball."

Their fraught history notwithstanding, Elizabeth thought they should be perfectly capable of conversing like well-bred gentlefolk. Let us see how long it may last.

In keeping with his customary mien, Mr Darcy replied in a dispassionate tone. "I am, yes. On the twentieth we shall celebrate my cousin's birthday. Apart from that, there are certain matters at Rosings requiring my attention. And you? Will you stay and attend the celebration?"

In defiance of the awkwardness in which she found herself, Elizabeth forced amiability into her voice. "Lady Catherine graciously invited me to the event and was rather put out that I would not delay my departure. However, my travel arrangements were made well in advance, and I shall leave as scheduled on the eighteenth. It is with regret that I shall not be here for Miss de Bourgh's special day, but I am eager to be with Jane in London." A calm demeanour could not draw a veil over the angry accusation brimming within her eyes. "As you fully are aware, late in November my beloved sister suffered a devastating disappointment. Since then, she has contended with misery of the acutest kind."

Elizabeth thought it entirely possible she, herself, was more indignant over Mr Bingley's desertion than even her elder sister. Jane weeps. I fume. What was it his royal highness said at Hunsford? ‘I have no wish of denying I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your sister or that I rejoice in my success.' Hateful man! "Mr Darcy, I regret?—"

From behind, heavy, hurried footfalls sounded on the path. As she turned, one of Rosings Park's liveried footmen came to a panting, bowing halt before her.

"Miss Bennet, I have been searching everywhere for you. Lady Catherine requires your presence. Immediately, if you please, miss."

Icy fingers clutched Elizabeth's heart. "Whatever for? Has there been an express from Longbourn or London? Or has something occurred at Hunsford?"

"I have not been made privy to that information, miss."

In a gesture of proper respect, Mr Darcy offered his arm and seemed intent on escorting her to his aunt. "If I may, Miss Bennet?"

She flinched. "There is no need, sir." Glancing at his countenance, she descried the indisputable hurt caused by her reluctance.

Poorly done, Lizzy. Do not be so spiteful. Thanking him and gingerly placing her hand upon his sleeve, Elizabeth thought she might never again be in charity with not only Mr Darcy but with herself.

The footman trailed behind as they headed down the frost-covered woodland path and into the park. Although Mr Darcy walked with long, confident strides, Elizabeth easily kept pace, anxious about the tidings awaiting her.

Both silent as the grave, she fancied that Mr Darcy, he of the furrowed brow and undue interest in the hawthorn hedges— as prickly as the man himself —was as discomfited in her company as she remained in his.

Discourse about the item in her pocket was avoided, but the letter practically burnt a hole there, so afire was her curiosity to know its subject. She feared that in addition to information pertaining to Mr Wickham it might contain a further appeal for her hand.

In his presence, she could not help but recall Mr Darcy's fervent declaration from the previous evening. It had started so beautifully. ‘You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.' Who would not be affected by such an avowal? Had he stopped there, she would not have responded so harshly or have regrets that morning about the petulance and acrimony she had hurled at him. Despite the chilly air and the ice gripping her heart, a warm flush overspread Elizabeth's body, and a dreadful embarrassment radiated down her arm to where her gloved hand rested upon the sleeve of the man who claimed he loved her.

But he could not long occupy her thoughts, for alarming presentiments of disaster began running pell-mell through her mind. Lady Catherine's summons could only mean she had learnt of some calamity or of her nephew's proposal. After all, Miss de Bourgh was supposedly promised to him.

They walked through the park and into the gardens, each step bringing Elizabeth closer to what surely would bring either sorrow or her ladyship's wrath. Seeking suspension of anxiety, she prayed for the latter. But if it was about the proposal, why should she be reprimanded and held accountable for an unexpected and unwanted offer? Why must she suffer the consequences of another person's folly?

Will Mr Darcy find himself in the hateful position of being obliged to remain by my side and answer for his transgression?