A Pemberley Medley (A Pride & Prejudice Variation) (3 page)

He walked around the table, looking for a card with his name. He experienced a sense of foreboding as he neared the place where Elizabeth sat, and was somehow unsurprised to discover that some mischievous fate had placed him beside her. He took a deep breath before seating himself.

Elizabeth, who had been awaiting his appearance, looked over at him. “We meet again, Mr. Darcy,” she said, with a smile which would have been impish had she been more in spirits.

“So we do, Miss Bennet,” he said evenly, thinking this was to be a very long meal indeed. To make matters worse, they were seated among a sea of Bingley’s relatives who were unknown to him, making the prospect of other conversation poor as well. He smiled grimly, recalling dancing with her at the Netherfield ball and her challenge to him to converse with her. Well, he would show her that he had attended to her reproofs, no matter how painful it might be. “You seem to have made quite an impression on my sister,” he said.

“It was unintentionally done,” confessed Elizabeth, who had been wondering how to explain this very thing. “Miss Bingley introduced us, and I imagine she was feeling lonely.” Realizing that this might sound like a criticism of his choice not to accompany Georgiana, she added quickly, “She is quite delightful, I must say. You must be very proud of her.”

“Thank you,” he said gravely. “I was surprised she wished to travel so far to attend Mr. Bingley’s wedding, but she was quite insistent, even though there would be few people of her acquaintance here. She has, of course, known Mr. Bingley for a great many years, and looks to him almost as to another brother.”

“I can sympathize with her; there are a great many more strangers here than I would have anticipated, but I gather Mr. Bingley has a very wide acquaintance.”

“You seem to know his groomsman quite well.” He had not meant his words to sound quite as accusing as they did, although it had been in his mind ever since he saw her walking down the aisle laughing with the man who had taken the place he had refused in the wedding. He had been indulging in the guilty pleasure of watching her during the wedding, storing up memories, and the sight of her clear enjoyment of another man’s company had brought out an uncontrollable surge of bitterly painful jealousy. It had taken every ounce of self-control he possessed not to snatch her away at that moment.

She gave him a puzzled look. “Not well; we only met a few days ago. He is very amusing - he is to be married himself soon, and is already full of bridegroom’s anxieties.”

He felt a greater relief at her words than he would have thought possible.
What does it matter whether she looks at another man or not?
he chided himself.
She has made clear she wants nothing to do with you - what difference does it make who she chooses in your place?
Despite his efforts, though, he knew it did make a difference; it was hard enough knowing she would never be his, but the idea of her with another man was completely intolerable.
I should not have come,
he thought, not for the first time that day.

All subjects of conversation seemed to fail them at this point, and apart from the occasional half-hearted effort on each of their parts to comment on the food or the occasion, they remained mostly in a silence which grew increasingly painful to Elizabeth. She could not stop wondering what he was thinking of her; his countenance seemed to suggest that he was far from pleased with the current situation. She could not say why it was that she suddenly wished so fiercely to see the sort of smile she had sometimes seen on his face when he had looked at her in the past, or some sign of the man who had ended his letter with, “I will only add, God bless you.”

She looked for comfort over towards Jane, and saw her blushing becomingly, her eyes cast down, as a smiling Bingley murmured something in her ear. The sense of pleasure she felt in this sight was tempered by the unexpected realization that she could no longer imagine herself ever being in Jane’s place; at some point, having refused Mr. Darcy had transformed in her mind to a knowledge that she would not marry anyone else. A deep sense of loneliness filled her, and she looked down abruptly, wondering when it had happened that she had bound herself to him in such a manner. In the cold silence of the man at her side she heard an echo from the past:
I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor their offenses against myself....My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever.
Little had she realized when she teased him that day how painfully this very characteristic would come to play against her.

It was more than she could bear. Fearing that her composure was at risk, Elizabeth hurriedly excused herself and slipped from the room. She sought out a back sitting room where she would be likely to be undisturbed, and took advantage of the quiet to try to calm her nerves.
It is not as serious as all that,
she lectured herself.
After all, nothing has actually changed; you are no worse off than you were last night. So you no longer have his good opinion - this cannot be of importance, given that you will be unlikely to see much of him in the future.
She would have to confide in Jane, she decided; if Jane knew the circumstances, she would help her avoid Mr. Darcy’s company when he might visit Mr. Bingley. She could only wish that she found these plans to be reassuring instead of acutely painful.

She did not wish to face him again, and had the event been any other than Jane’s wedding, nothing would have kept her from walking home to Longbourn at that moment, but she would do nothing to detract from Jane’s memories of her special day. She decided simply to remain where she was until she was calm enough to face him once more. No one would trouble her there, and she could just curl up in the window seat and look outside.

She sat there for a brief period of time until she was startled by a noise from behind her. Embarrassed, she jumped to her feet from her inelegant position only to see Mr. Darcy standing just inside the doorway, his cheeks as flushed as hers.

“Pardon me, Miss Bennet,” he said in a voice gentler than she had heard from him that day. “I did not wish to disturb you, only to tell you that I have decided to depart immediately, so you may return to the dining room whenever you wish. My regrets; it was never my intention to trouble you in any way.” He bowed slightly, clearly preparing to leave.

“No, wait, please, Mr. Darcy,” she said quickly. “Please do not leave on my account; I know how important your presence here today is to Mr. Bingley, whereas he may see me whenever he chooses. I will manage.”

He shook his head. “I cannot allow that. I would not wish to make you uncomfortable, and I am the unexpected guest.” His eyes were fixed upon her.

“Please, Mr. Darcy,” she said in a low voice. “I will be far more uncomfortable if you leave early.”

He looked at her, indecision clear in his expression. “If that is what you truly wish...”

“It is,” she replied, aching from the tension in the air between them.

He did not look happy. “Well, then, I will leave when the other guests begin to depart, if that is agreeable to you.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“I shall trouble you no longer, then. Please allow me to apologize for disturbing you on a day which should have been joyful.” He hesitated a moment before turning to depart.

Elizabeth felt a tight pain in her throat. “Only if you will accept my apologies as well for the untrue and unkind things I have said to you,” she said.

Darcy was torn between a desire to leave and a wish to remain with her. “Miss Bennet, you are very kind, but I have long since acknowledged that the fault that evening was mine. It is not an occasion I look back upon with pride.”

She had known that he must have regretted his choice to propose to her, but it was bitter to hear it so directly all the same; and she had trapped herself into a conversation which could have no happy resolution. She could think of nothing at all to say, and closed her eyes as she felt tears beginning to prick at them. “It is nothing, sir; please forget that I said anything,” she said, and was horrified to hear her voice trembling. The pain in her chest only grew worse, and, realizing she could no longer control herself, she chose the incivility of turning her back on him over the humiliation of allowing him to see her cry. She could only hope that he would take her hint and leave her.

Her wish was not to be granted, however. Instead, she felt his hand touch her arm lightly. “Please, Miss Bennet,” he said, his voice pained. “I am not worth your tears.”

His words only heightened her own sense of loss and she began to cry harder, covering her face with her hands. He stood looking at her in indecision for a minute, feeling helpless in face of her pain which he could not explain; and then, with an exclamation, he gave in to instinct and put his arms around her in hope of comforting her.

She had no wish to fight him. Holding her handkerchief to her eyes, she rested her head upon his shoulder and wept uncontrollably. She knew only that his embrace offered her comfort and relief, and that she felt no desire to be anywhere else.

Darcy’s heart ached for her pain, and he spoke words of consolation, urging her to calm herself; yet he found himself in the extraordinary position of both wanting to comfort her and hoping she remained in tears so he could hold her a little longer. This memory of having her in his arms would have to last him a lifetime, and he was not eager to let it go, especially after her free hand stole around his waist. He knew that she was not aware of what she was doing, but he allowed himself to imagine that she knew and was accepting him. “Please, Elizabeth, do not cry,” he said, calling her by the name he always used in his thoughts, but had no right to speak. “It will not matter, it will be over soon.” He only wished he understood her better, that he might have some clue as to why his appearance had upset her so deeply. “My sweet Elizabeth, I am so sorry; I never meant to hurt you,” he said.

Gradually her storm of tears passed, and he waited for her to push him away, but instead she rested quietly in his embrace, making no move or protest. He tried to still his pounding heart, cautioning himself not to read anything into her choice when she was clearly still upset, but it was hard not to hope, and when hoping, to wish for more. He knew that he should release her and step away, but he could not bring himself to do so. Finally, when his conscience could no longer tolerate taking advantage of her distress, he said gently, “Miss Bennet?” She looked up at him from within his arms, her fine eyes still luminous with tears.

He could no more have kept from kissing her than he could have stopped the sun from rising in the east. Gently, tenderly, he brushed his lips against hers; and then, when she made no protest, he tasted the sweetness of her kiss again, allowing his lips to linger until he felt the intense pleasure of her own mouth pressing against his in a response that he had barely dared to dream of.

Elizabeth did not know what was the greatest surprise to her - that Mr. Darcy was kissing her, that she was allowing him to, or that the mere touch of his lips could give her such happiness. She wanted him never to stop, yet she knew they must stop, and that she should have stopped him long ago.
Just once more, and then I will stop,
she thought, and felt the pleasing rush of sensation as their lips met again. She knew if she kept looking at him she would be unable to resist the temptation he offered, so she laid her head on his shoulder once more. Her pulses fluttered as she thought of what had happened, and that she was finding happiness from being in his arms. She wished she could ask him whether he had meant the words he had said while she was crying, but she was afraid to speak. It was as if words might break the spell, or worse yet, lead to a resumption of the quarrelling, and that was a possibility she could not bear.

It seemed that he felt similarly since he was also silent, employing his time more gainfully by pressing slow, gentle kisses on her hair and forehead. It seemed far too short a time before he ceased his attentions for a few minutes and, with a formality that seemed foreign to the circumstances, said, “We have been away from the party far too long; people will be remarking on it, and it is not long before I must leave for London.”