Chapter 34

At first, everyone settled to watch their game, which was to be a complete one—no one-hour time limitation, no two out of three, winner take all. Miss Bingley made snide remarks to Miss de Bourgh—who had rejoined the chess players after dinner, as her mother had not—regarding bluestockings and their tedium. Miss de Bourgh tittered, remarking that she would never do anything so shocking as compete against a man. Elizabeth disregarded them both.

But as time wore on, one by one the company drifted upstairs. There was not much to see—both pondered for many minutes before making each move. Miss de Bourgh was gone by midnight; it was at least an hour later before Miss Bingley finally surrendered to fatigue.

Mr Darcy was crafty, sly, and ingenious. He launched an offence Elizabeth had never seen in the many hours played against her father, and which took all her attention to counter. She had just moved her knight, when suddenly the sound of a loud snore penetrated her consciousness.

Mr Bingley was on the sofa, his head leant against its back, mouth open, snoring. Jane was propped against his shoulder, also soundly asleep, a spot of drool staining Mr Bingley’s coat.

Elizabeth hid a smile, stood, and stretched. “My sister will die a thousand deaths of embarrassment when she realises that she committed the unpardonable sin of slumbering upon Mr Bingley.”

Mr Darcy rose as well, giving her a half-smile. “You are certain now that she truly does like him?”

Elizabeth gestured to the sleeping couple. “Is it not obvious?”

“I have never seen him quite so enchanted.”

“Jane, as I have already explained, guards herself from the suspicions of the impertinent.”

“Am I impertinent?” he asked gravely. “I apologise if so—I am perhaps too accustomed to worrying over Bingley in his decisions.”

“I referred to the impertinence of his sister more than any insolence of yours. Your disquiet comes from true concern, I know.”

He paused in some contemplation, coming round to her side of the table as he studied their board. “Bingley is young. It is very early—too early, I think—for him to make any momentous decision regarding his future.”

Elizabeth was not fooled by the nonchalance of his tone; he had said it before. Still, disappointment shot through her; the fatigue she had not acknowledged provoked an honesty she ought to have disguised.

“Why do you not simply admit it, Mr Darcy? You find our fortune lacking, our connexions abysmal. We are in your home as friends of a friend, not with your approval. In a word, you believe he can and should do better.”

Flushing, she looked down at the chessboard awaiting his next move. Her desire to win, to impress him with her skill, seemed so stupid now. To him, the Bennet sisters would never be worthy or worthwhile. She had, briefly, forgotten she was only a spectator here, pretending to belong.

“Elizabeth.”

She startled at his informal use of her name, turning back to face him. His dark eyes were serious and steady. “I said he is young, and he is—he will be two-and-twenty in less than a month. I have seen him fall in and out of love a number of times. The others were nothing serious, and he raised no expectations. With your sister, it would be different. It would be dreadful, I think, if he were to fall out of love after raising her hopes.”

She held his gaze. He was trying to be kind, but the truth was there, between them. “That is all true. And what I said is true as well.”

“I do not know your sister well enough to guess how she might take disappointment, but I can assure you that I welcome you, both of you, as guests in my home. How many moves before you have me in check again?”

She blinked at the subject change. “Three, possibly four, depending upon which pawn you sacrifice.”

“I thought as much. Will you marry me?”

“What?” Her whole body froze, silencing even her next breath.

“You heard me, I think.”

“Mr Darcy! You cannot be serious!”

“Very serious, I assure you.”

She could only stare at him, gaping. “Why?” she finally got out.

“I am a man who does not trust easily, and yet I trust you. I admire you. I am attracted to you. I am in love with you. Those seem ample reasons. Or do you mean, why do I ask now? Because our chaperons are lost to dreams and we are alone with a semblance of privacy.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “It is late, and you have allowed fatigue to interfere with your reason. You know I reside with my uncle in Cheapside. My mother is the daughter of a solicitor—that alone must materially affect any rational man in your position who might be evaluating my marital prospects. These facts cannot dissuade Mr Bingley, for Jane’s birth is better than his. But perhaps you do not fully realise the degradation. I have no settlement—nothing, as I have been informed that Mama’s five thousand will be divided between my sisters. My uncle has settled something on Jane—she would not come to a husband penniless. I refused it, however. He has four children of his own. I will not be more of a burden to him than I already am. Besides, it would not matter—whatever he could possibly afford to give me could not touch what a bride for Pemberley ought to bring.”

There were other reasons, of course—if he only knew that she wrote for the papers, he would be horrified. But everything she had named should be enough; Georgiana’s settlement was thirty thousand pounds. Elizabeth could not even imagine such a sum.

“You see why I trust you. Most women in your position would lunge at the opportunity.”

“It might mean I have little common sense, as well.” He took a step nearer; she could smell sandalwood and spice, an alluring scent. “If you persist in this irrational behaviour, it definitely means you do.”

He grinned at that, enough that a dimple showed. “I am not allowed to marry for love, then?”

“For a man in your position, it must be just as easy to fall in love with an heiress as a pauper.”

“And yet here I am, surrounded by heiresses without so much as a murmur from my heart.”

She waved this away. “Miss Lushington does not want to marry you, Sarah is more than half in love with your cousin, and Miss Bingley and Miss de Bourgh are—” she stopped herself.

He raised a brow, stepping still closer. In response she took a step backwards—and her back hit the wall behind her.

“Are what?”

“Perfectly respectable. Perhaps you ought to pay more attention to their hearts, which seem to shout loudly for any attention from yours.” Her own heart pounded loudly enough that she feared he could hear it.

“I have known Anne all my life, and Miss Bingley for nearly a decade. If my heart was ever going to whimper in defeat to Cupid’s arrow, it would already have done so, do not you think?”

Do not say what you are thinking, Elizabeth, she cautioned herself. Then she said it anyway. “Perhaps it is running for its life. You might owe your good health to their pursuit.”

What could only be described as a mischievous gleam appeared in his dark eyes as he leant towards her. His face was inches away; though she was very vulnerable, trapped between the wall and his large body, she felt…powerful.

“I want to kiss you,” he said, his voice low and deep and surprisingly matter of fact. “I want to kiss you more, I think, than anything I have ever wanted.”

If there was a kernel of truth to those articles printed in so many papers, he might be a very dangerous man—but for a woman, any man could be. The idea of trusting him was just as foolish as it was dangerous. But Elizabeth could not take her eyes from his mouth.

“It is very late,” she repeated. “You will come to your senses in the morning. Doubtless, so will I, and we shall pretend this conversation never happened. But if you truly, temporarily, have lost your reason, I shall admit to—temporarily—losing mine. It will certainly be my last kiss ever, for the rest of my life. Do make it a good one.”