Elizabeth was forced to wait until they had been brought back together by the dance before she could reply. “Sir, you know well enough my family’s circumstances. What is more damning in the eyes of society? That I have an uncle whom I adore who makes his living in trade, or that my own family of gentleman’s daughters are presently shunned for the disgrace of a sister? If you have not been told more, I shall spare you the asking—my youngest sister was unaccountably foolish. Her fondness for spending money and bonnets and favour among the gentlemen led her on to do something abominably stupid, something which has injured us all. She has now been sent away to a boarding school for fallen girls. My middle sister, who is righteous as the day is long, bears the taint of association in the affair, and her prospects are similarly ruined. I do not pretend that my own appeal is such that a man of your station could possibly—”
They parted again, and Elizabeth was prepared to speak once more when they came together, but he pre-empted her. “Miss Elizabeth, I believe I understand you. When last we spoke in the Gardens, and I so inelegantly made you an offer, it was not the sort of offer you must have supposed.”
She turned sharply, as the dance required, and looked him full in the face. “It was not?”
He lifted his hands to take hers and turn her about. “Indeed, I could never disgrace you so. Unfortunately, you had quite overcome my senses, and I was without rational thought and words. I am afraid I expressed myself rather poorly.”
He turned around, and she did as well, then a moment later the scripted steps brought them back together. “I have not the talent of expressing myself easily,” he confessed, taking the liberty granted by the dance and leaning low to her ear. “You may have noticed that I became practised in your company throughout the day, and I hope I became perfectly amiable to you. However, there was a moment there, when a new prospect opened before me, and Iunderstood something I had not done before. I had not the words to express it then, but I have now.”
Elizabeth did not trust her voice and managed only a whisper. “And that is?” How he heard her in the crowded ballroom, she could not know, but he answered.
“You had informed me eloquently enough that your expectations had been somehow damaged. I wished to find some way to materially aid your family’s respectability. It must be something more than mere domestic felicity—a public recognition of sorts, so that you would not feel the sting of the world’s scorn. I would never wish for the woman I love to bear such pain.”
She blinked. “Love?” She heard her voice break, but he could not attend her this time, for he had turned to another partner. A different gentleman faced her and led her to another part of the line. It was two frustrating minutes before they came together once more, and for the whole of it, she was forced to look on as he drew the admiration of others, all while leaving her with the agitation of heart which such a confession must inspire.
When they were brought together again, he clasped her hands and seemed undesirous of letting them go. “Miss Elizabeth, you look a bit breathless. Shall we sit out the remainder of this set? Allow me to find you some refreshment.”
She followed as he withdrew her from the line and could not miss the rabid elation writ across her mother’s face when they passed. Mrs Bennet was winking and clapping her hands together at Elizabeth’s great conquest, for if nothing else, the notice of such a man as Mr Darcy for even a single set could not permit her to sit out another dance the whole evening. Elizabeth looked away.
Mr Darcy procured glasses for them both and invited her to stand with him in a corner which was little occupied. “Pray, Miss Elizabeth, permit me to speak first, for I fear the words shall fail me if I do not express them at once.”
She nodded her acquiescence, her eyes on her glass, and he continued.
“I have been a selfish being all my life. I was given good principles but left to follow them in conceit. The price for this ignorance and disdain for the feelings of others, you well know—I lost the loyalty of even those whose own prospects were dependent upon myself. So thoroughly had I rested in my assumptions that when all came to light, I discovered how dismally I had failed in my duties. I would not have you think me an indolent master, Miss Elizabeth, nor that the Darcy family are habitually negligent.
“Without attempting to flatter myself, I shall relate to you one episode two years ago when I received word that the spring flooding in Derbyshire was threatening many of my tenants’ houses. My sister and I both rode the distance from London on horseback and worked in the fields beside our tenants for many long days until the danger was over. She was but thirteen, but her care and devotion to the task were the same as I inherited from our parents. Such are the expectations for one who would bear the Darcy name.
“I tell you this, Miss Elizabeth, because while I have been rightly accused of pride, occasionally of too much reserve, and quite frequently of ignorance of another’s sentiments, I could not generally be called careless. Indeed, the loss of my household’s loyalty pained me far more than the inconvenience of broken trust and violated privacy. I ought to have done better, and I shall make reparations for my vanity all the rest of my days. If you should choose to hear what I have next to say, I would have you understand my flaws as well as my virtues.”
Elizabeth had stared at her glass all this long while, but she raised her eyes when he ceased. “Sir, before you speak another word, I would beg you to cast your eyes to the far side of the room.”
His brow puckered in curiosity, but he obliged her.
“You cannot fail to see the lady who is pointing at us and speaking loudly to all her acquaintance. I daresay she has already appraised your fortune and enquired after your family, given that you have spent more than two minutes in my company.”
His eyes narrowed in faint distress. “I am to understand that lady is your mother?”
She winced. “She is not known for her discretion, sir. Nor would she find your consequence sufficiently imposing that her behaviour might be curtailed at the risk of displeasing so august an acquaintance. Now, would you and your friend Mr Bingley not be better suited by dancing with the Miss Lucases, or Miss King?”
He turned back to her. “I am not a man to be easily diverted, nor have I grounds to cast aspersions on the peculiarities of anyone’s relations. My own are vexing enough to keep me humble in that regard.”
“And what of Mr Bingley? Are you quite secure on his account?”
“My friend, Miss Elizabeth, tends to follow the most natural path, and that is to seek amiable young ladies with handsome faces. He is not a rake, nor is he inconstant, but on occasion, he has unwittingly caused himself disappointment. I knew from your account that Miss Bennet must be a rare creature, and I was pleased to introduce my friend to a beautiful young woman of good character. As for myself,” he drew half a step closer, and his voice lowered, “I am bewitched.”
She drew a shaken breath, her lashes fluttering. “It was unconsciously done, sir. You must not assume any debt owed to me—”
“Do you know, Miss Elizabeth, we spoke far more freely when I was attired as a servant. Perhaps it was fitting, for your servant I have become. A wiser man might perhaps reprimand me and think me a fool for rushing in where circumspection would be more prudent, but I cannot help it. My feelings will not be repressed, and I must tell you at once before the dance ends, and another comes to take you from me, how ardently I admire and love you. Perhaps for you, one day was insufficient proof of how perfectly suited we are for one another, or how devotedly I would serve only your happiness, but my own resolve is formed. From this moment, I would surrender my heart into your keeping and beg you, most urgently, to agree to become my wife.”
Elizabeth coloured, breathless and silent. He took her glass, as her hand was shaking, and set it on the tray of a passing waiter, then seemed to catch his own breath in earnest attendance. His look, so tender and patient, so full of pleading and hope, gave her all the encouragement she could have wished for.
“I… I know not what to say, sir,” she stammered as he leaned a little lower. “I am… I am pleased, but… oh, one who felt less might find it possible to speak more!”
His expression upon hearing her was all that could be expected of a sensible man, violently in love and constrained to make that confession in a public venue. His voice, the tone and pitch of it, carried all the warmth that his body could not express. “Then I shall call youmyElizabeth and note with immense satisfaction that for perhaps the only time in our long lives together, I have the advantage of fluency. Say nothing more, Elizabeth, until I have been introduced to your father, but if you will have me, take my hand, and with it, my life.”
She blinked the flood of joyous tears from her eyes and laughed, a full and abundant exultation such as she had never known. His hand closed round her fingers, and she clasped it as her security, her strong comfort. “Come, William,” she coaxed, “there is still another set to dance.”
Chapter thirty-eight
