Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

At last, at long last, he was at the parsonage. Elizabeth, her friend had said, was there alone, and he had rushed thither at once. He had not had time to think, to plan his proposal. He had not expected the opportunity to present itself so quickly and unexpectedly. A maid had let him in and shown him to the small room where Elizabeth was reading quietly on the sofa, some needlework on the small table at her side. She sat up at once at the sound of the maid's voice, announcing him. Her eyes were wide, her shoulders stiff.

She opened her mouth, ready to speak, but Darcy could not allow that. If he did not confess his feelings now and make his offer, he would lose the nerve to do so, and would slink away, as he had done only a few days before. He was not a man given to whims of the heart, to unstudied exclamations. Impulsivity was foreign to him. Furthermore, he had no prepared speech, no gift of a silver tongue. But his heart would not allow him to remain silent, and he knew he must get the words out before his stupid brain caused him even greater pain. No, he must have his say right away, with no danger of interruption.

"You must allow me," he began, "to tell you how much?— "

Something very loud crashed immediately outside the door.

He stopped at once, the next word he had thought to utter dying a rather sudden death.

Elizabeth startled and leapt to her feet.

"Forgive me. I must see…"

There came some rather alarming noises, then, the noise of shattering porcelain and a stifled oath followed by absolute silence.

Elizabeth opened the door and stood quite still for a moment. "Oh…" she breathed at last.

"I'm so sorry, Miss!" The young maid's desperate voice sounded clearly from the hall. "I was only trying to dust the inside, as Mrs Collins told me, but it was too heavy and it came crashing down, and ‘twas nothing at all I could do to stop it, and, oooohhhh!" Her sentence ended in a wail, the sort Darcy heard from his hound when it had caught its foot in something and could not get loose.

He shifted towards the door, where, over Elizabeth's elegant shoulder, he saw the remains of a massive and rather ugly urn lying all over the floor, cracked and broken beyond all repair.

"And ‘twas the lady's favourite, as well! She'll have me off in a moment over this, she will, and with no reference. Ooooohhhh!" The wail sounded again.

Darcy stepped forwards. "I know that urn. My aunt used to have it in her small sitting room. She hated it. I believe that is why she gave it to Mrs Collins. She wished to be rid of it."

"Charlotte hated it too," Elizabeth added, "but did not dare say a word for fear of offending Lady Catherine. Mr Collins insisted it be placed here, where Lady Catherine might see it whenever she came to inspect… I mean, to visit the parsonage."

"Made in Sheffield," Darcy added, "and by poor apprentices as well, the sort who never become full masters. Clean up the detritus and I shall inform Mr Collins that Lady Catherine decided it was not a suitable piece for that corner and requested it be removed. I shall vouch for it. You need not fear for your position."

"Really, sir?" The maid gaped at him with disbelieving eyes .

"I am a man of my word. I shall take any blame affixed to this. All will be well."

This poor maid should not have to suffer for his aunt's poor judgement.

The maid bobbed enough thank yous to make her sea-sick, and hurried off, presumably to get a broom to clean up the mess.

"You…" Elizabeth was staring at him with the most perplexed expression he had ever seen on her handsome face. "You amaze me, sir. That was exceedingly kind. I did not expect it."

What an odd comment. Whatever could she mean? But no time for this now. He had a proposal to make.

"Shall we sit down again? I have something rather particular I wish to say."

She gave him another curious glance, but walked back to the sofa and reclaimed her seat.

Darcy opened his mouth, but nothing came out. What was he going to say, anyway? He rather thought he had started well earlier, before the young servant had broken that dreadful urn. The words had sounded poetic in his head, but the interruption had quite flummoxed him, and as he had feared, his brain was trying to wrest control from his heart and the ensuing battle for supremacy was not going well for either side.

After all, no matter how much he yearned for her, everything about what he was planning was madness. Could he really be considering taking a wife from so… ordinary a family? Was he flirting with lunacy to be inviting Mrs Bennet to be his mother-in-law, with her mercenary grasping and indiscrete gossiping? And the younger two sisters—oh heavens! What dreadful influences they would be on his own dear sister. Poor Georgiana, who had suffered so much of late.

Although, now that he thought about it, the very best influences his considerable fortune could buy had not saved her from a most imprudent choice, or a dire decision. No; only merciful fate and plain good luck had done that.

Very well. Perhaps this was not the most foolish thing he could be doing. And he did ache for Elizabeth. Beautiful, sparkling Elizabeth!

He must try once more.

"You must allow me," he proclaimed once more, "to tell you how?—"

Somewhere, quite close, a door slammed.