“How old were you then?”
“Twelve—not long after Georgiana was born.”
“How distressing. You were so young.”
“I appreciate your kindness. It is strange to think I have lived more years without her than with her.”
“Were you very close?”
“I was their only child for a long time, and my mother doted on me. Every morning, I sat beside her at the pianoforte as she sang. I confess I resisted her attempts to encourage me to sing along with her. Regardless of her social obligations, she read to me every night before I went to sleep.” He paused, appearing wistful. “I have many wonderful memories of our time together.”
“You are fortunate to have had someone in your life who loved you so deeply.”
“Does that not apply to you as well? Surely many cherish you.”I am at the top of that list.
“I suppose my parents and sisters care for me in their own ways, but no one has ever been as dedicated to my happiness as your mother was to yours. I find myself envious of the care and attention you received.”
She is so kind and understanding. Elizabeth would be a wonderful older sister to Georgiana, bringing happiness and laughter into our lives. I was not being honest when I said my feelings have changed since I have come to know her better—I loved her in Hertfordshire but now I am determined to do anything to make her my wife.
“Thank you. You have a compassionate way of reflection. Instead of dwelling on the sorrow of losing my parents, I must appreciate how fortunate I was to have been loved by two excellent people.”
After they had made a short circuit of the park, Darcy returned her to the parsonage. Bowing over her hand, he thought,My heart is hers, yet there seems to be little change in her regard for me. I will never know her feelings unless I propose.
A heavy downpour prevented anyone from walking out the next morning. By the afternoon, the skies had cleared for Mrand MrsCollins to walk to Rosings for tea. But Elizabeth was not with them. Darcy had missed her delightful company that morning and was eager to see her. He wondered why she had not come but dared not ask.
“And where is Miss Bennet?” Lady Catherine demanded imperiously.
“She suffers a megrim and sends her apologies,” MrsCollins explained.
“She exhibits one of the many inherent defects found in those of her low-born gentry. I have never suffered from a headache in my life,” said Lady Catherine. Darcy rolled his eyes at his aunt’s absurdity.
“Your Ladyship, your noble blood precludes you from suffering the maladies of ordinary people,” the parson said with his usual obsequious zeal.
She turned her attention to his wife. “MrsCollins, you should treat your guest with a tisane of willow bark and mint. Anne wastoo unwell to join us, and I demanded that it be given to her earlier this afternoon.”
“I shall see to it as soon as we return. Thank you, your Ladyship.”
“You should have asked for my guidance immediately.” Lady Catherine sniffed.
“You must forgive her, my lady. MrsCollins is still learning the many advantages of having your Ladyship as our patroness.”
As the banal conversation continued, Darcy grew increasingly concerned about Elizabeth’s health. He caught Richard Fitzwilliam’s eye and tilted his head towards the door. The colonel nodded once, and Darcy knew his cousin would keep his aunt distracted in his absence. “Excuse me, Lady Catherine. I shall return in a moment.”
He slipped out of the room and, within minutes, was admitted to the Hunsford parsonage. Elizabeth sat at the writing desk—a quill in her hand. How enchanting she looked with the candlelight reflecting off the beautiful curls that surrounded her face.
“I heard you were unwell. I immediately set out to see if I might do something to relieve your discomfort.”
“I thank you, sir. I am better now.”
He paced the room for several minutes before turning towards her. “In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you and beseech you to become my wife.”
Darcy could not help but observe the stunned expression on her face. He had no choice but to wait until she found her voice.
“Sir, you honour me, but I cannot marry you.”
He had not anticipated that response. “Why? Are you already betrothed to someone else?”
“Indeed not. MrDarcy, please, you misunderstand me. Your relatives are members of the nobility. My uncle is in trade,and my mother is the daughter of a country solicitor. When I visit London, I stay on Gracechurch Street. You live in Mayfair. Indeed, you are a gentleman and I am a gentleman’s daughter, and thus we may be considered equals–yet we are from two different worlds. You may believe you care for me now, but how long will it be before you tire of the novelty of having a provincial wife?”
