“I hope you are doing well,” said Mr. Darcy.
“You said that earlier,” Elizabeth replied. “My condition has not changed in the last minute or two.”
Mr. Darcy’s eyes twinkled with humor, though his expression did not change in any other visible way. Even that much expression surprised Elizabeth. She did not think the man had any sense of humor.
“Then may I ask what you are working on?” he asked, looking pointedly at the half-complete reticule that lay in the seat beside her.
“It is a reticule,” she said. Then she lowered her voice and whispered, “It is for Jane’s Christmas present.”
“Aren’t you worried she will see it?” he asked in an equally quiet voice. He leaned toward her to ensure she heard him.
The intimacy of the closeness and the low rumble of his softened voice gave Elizabeth a shiver of pleasure, but she quickly brushed it away. This was Mr. Darcy, she reminded herself. He disliked her, and she returned the sentiment.
“She has seen it,” said Elizabeth as she gazed down at it. She couldn’t meet Mr. Darcy’s gaze when he was so close to her. “She thinks I am making it for Lydia.”
Mr. Darcy chuckled. The sound startled Elizabeth into looking back at him. Mirth and happiness were in his eyes, and there was a slight smile on his face. He was more handsome than Elizabeth had ever seen him, and the sight made her breath catch in her throat.
“I see,” he said. “That is a clever trick. Perhaps I shall try something similar the next time Georgiana finds one of her gifts at an inconvenient time. I shall simply tell her it is for my aunt, Lady Matlock. Or perhaps I shall tell her it is for my cousin, Anne.”
“Since Miss de Bourgh is your betrothed, I think it would be easier to pass it off as hers than your aunt’s,” said Elizabeth.
The happiness that had suffused Mr. Darcy’s face disappeared. “Who told you she was my betrothed?”
“I heard it from both Mr. Collins and Mr. Wickham,” she said. “I assumed that, since it had come from two very different sources it must be true.”
Anger passed over his face briefly, and Elizabeth feared that their conversation was about to turn into an argument like the one they had when dancing at Netherfield.
Instead, he quickly mastered his anger enough that it barely colored his speech when he said, “Anne is not my betrothed. She never has been, and she never will be. Because of her indifferent health, she is terrified of childbirth and swears she will never marry. Her mother refuses to listen or even acknowledge her fears and instead continues to spread the rumors of our engagement.”
“That must be a disappointment to you,” said Elizabeth. She was trying to gauge how he felt about it.
“Not in the least,” he said. “I have never had any intention of marrying Anne. I had hoped to one day find a lady I could love, but even if that never happened, Anne is not someone I could marry.” His gaze shifted to the window behind her, and his expression softened a bit.
“It seems as though you have already found someone like that,” said Elizabeth. His softened expression led her to believe he must be thinking of a lady whose company he missed.
“I have,” he said. His gaze shifted back to Elizabeth’s face, but it kept its soft, warm expression. If anything, the warmth intensified. “Though by the time I realized it, I had ruined my chances with her.”
Elizabeth could well believe that Mr. Darcy’s manners were bad enough that he would scare away a lady he secretly loved. “I am sorry to hear that,” she said, and she truly was. Much as she disliked the man, she did not wish to see anyone truly miserable. “You must miss her greatly.”
A twinkle of humor lit his eyes, though Elizabeth couldn’t imagine what could be funny about his situation. “Not particularly, no,” he said. This shocked Elizabeth. She had known him to be unfeeling, but to laugh and say he did not miss the lady he loved bordered on inhuman. She was so incensed at the thought that she almost missed it when he said, “She is right in front of me.”
Through the haze of anger at the man, it took several seconds for her to fully comprehend what he had just said. When she did, she felt her eyes widen. Then her anger rose. “You can’t mean that, Mr. Darcy,” she said firmly. “It is very wrong of you to declare something like that when you feel no such thing.”
Elizabeth didn’t know how he would take her admonishment, but even if she had thought about it, sadness and disappointment would be the last thing she would have guessed, but that is what appeared on his face.
“It is exactly as I said,” said Mr. Darcy in a subdued voice. “By the time I realized how I felt, I had already ruined my chances with the best lady I have ever known.”
The sadness in his eyes, the sincerity in his voice, the very real feeling of regret that she detected in his expression, all told Elizabeth that this man, Mr. Darcy, believed what he was saying.
Such a declaration turned her perception of him and everything she had assumed about him on its head. She did not know what to make of the man sitting next to her.
Suddenly needing space and solitude, Elizabeth stood up. “Please excuse me,” she said. Then she dashed from the room.
Once she was in the hall and out of sight, she paused. In doing so, she heard her mother say, “Mr. Darcy, you have insulted my daughter once again. How could you do that under my roof and in my presence?”
“I promise you, Madam, I did not insult Miss Elizabeth. I believe she simply felt a need to refresh herself,” replied Mr. Darcy.
Though it was embarrassing, Elizabeth was relieved that he had framed his explanation in such a way that her family would assume she suddenly needed to use the necessary. She would rather they not know anything about what Mr. Darcy had said.
