Page 22 of Love Drunk for Mr Darcy

Charlotte turned towards the colonel and Anne. "And all was well at Rosings?"

Fitzwilliam leaned against the kitchen table and helped himself to an apple from the bowl, looking as though the night had been no more than a mildly diverting adventure. "My aunt was apoplectic over Darcy’s behaviour in leaving the ballroom, and I may have encouraged her to believe that I had advised him to retire to his chambers and reflect upon his conduct. She is now in expectation of a sincere apology."

Darcy frowned. "And my absence was not remarked upon?"

"Darcy, you have spent years cultivating a reputation for withdrawing from society without explanation. For once it has proved useful."

Anne added in a carefully neutral tone, "My mother accepted it immediately."

"She said," Fitzwilliam continued, taking a bite of the apple, "'Darcy has always been inclined to sulk when crossed.'"

Darcy looked offended. "I do not sulk."

Elizabeth laughed before she could stop herself. For one dreadful instant she was back in the cellar again, watching him laugh with his collar open and his hair disordered, looking nothing like the cold, arrogant gentleman who had proposed to her in the next room. Then his expression changed and the distance returned. Elizabeth looked away first.

Charlotte’s gaze moved slowly between them. "Perhaps," she said, "someone ought to tell me what happened."

Darcy cleared his throat. For all the certainty with which he had announced their marriage in the cellar, he now seemed to struggle to find the words. "Miss Elizabeth and I became inadvertently locked in the wine cellar while attempting to escape my aunt’s..." He paused, plainly searching for some term that would not be overtly insulting. "...advice."

Fitzwilliam lowered the apple from his mouth, grinning. Anne’s expression remained commendably composed.

Darcy glanced at Elizabeth, then back to Charlotte. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I appreciate that these are most unusual circumstances, and I can assure you that I mean to do the honourable thing. I have made Elizabeth..." He stopped abruptly, colour rising into his face. "Rather, Miss Elizabeth, an offer of marriage."

The room fell silent, and every eye turned towards Elizabeth. She looked at Darcy and felt her temper rise all over again. "Yes," she said tartly. "Mr Darcy has been very thorough in explaining what honour requires of him. Apparently I have no say in the matter."

Darcy looked as though he intended to answer, but a heavy tread sounded suddenly from the floor above, followed by the creak of a door opening. Charlotte’s head snapped towards the ceiling. "Mr Collins," she hissed.

That was enough to scatter every other concern. Charlotte caught Elizabeth by the arm and began steering her towards the stairs. "Quickly. You are supposed to have been suffering from a megrim for half the night, and I should prefer my husband not to discover you in complete disarray in the kitchen wearing Mr Darcy’s coat."

Heat rushed into Elizabeth’s face. "Charlotte, I am…"

"Upstairs," Charlotte said in a tone that brooked no argument, already steering her towards the door. "You may explain yourself when you are safely in your room."

Elizabeth allowed herself to be hurried towards the door, though she turned back before leaving the room. Darcy was still watching her, his expression grave and unreadable.

"We will discuss this later," she said.

His gaze held hers. "Yes. We will."

Chapter Eight

Darcy managed to enter Rosings quietly, attracting the attention of only a single footman, who did an excellent job of feigning interest in the opposite end of the hall. He could hear the sharp tones of his aunt’s voice from somewhere deeper in the house but was not close enough to discern the words. This was probably for the best. He felt no desire to encounter her before he had washed the cellar dust from his person.

Burke attended him and said nothing as Darcy bathed and changed, though the occasional quirk of an eyebrow was enough to let his master know that the valet likely had a full understanding of the night’s proceedings and had definite opinions concerning them.

Once returned to something approaching his usual appearance, Darcy sat at the desk and began to write. The first letter was to his man of business, with instructions concerning the marriage settlement. The second was to Georgiana. He spent longer over that one, uncertain how much he could safely commit to paper and signed it off by saying he could not wait to introduce her to Elizabeth Bennet as his wife. He read the final sentence twice before folding the letter, unable to prevent the warmth that rose in his chest at the thought.

The final letter was to Mr Bennet. That one gave him more pause. Darcy consigned the first two versions to the fire. After much staring at the third blank page, he began again and forced himself to keep the missive direct and factual.

He wrote of his affection for Elizabeth and his intention, should Mr Bennet grant his consent, to make her his wife without delay. He set out the settlement he proposed clearly, the figure larger than might have been customary, but, to Darcy’s mind, entirely appropriate. Elizabeth would come to him with little fortune of her own, and he was determined that no one, least of all Elizabeth herself, should ever imagine that she was worth less than any other lady. Her face rose in his mind and he placed down his quill and rubbed the bridge of his nose. She was worth so much more to him than he could ever provide in material terms.

He dipped his pen again. There would be no question of Elizabeth being left dependent upon his goodwill. Her jointure would be substantial, her personal allowance generous and provisions would be made for any children of the marriage, girl or boy. He added that he intended to extend his protection to the Bennet family where it might ever be required, particularly in the event of Mr Bennet’s death, when the entail would leave Mrs Bennet and her unmarried daughters without a home. Darcy frowned at the page and added another sentence:

I hope, sir, that you will believe me when I say that your daughter’s happiness will always be my first consideration.

Darcy sat back and read the letter from beginning to end. He knew its very existence would infuriate Elizabeth, not least because she had yet to give him anything resembling a favourable answer. But what else was he supposed to do? What had passed between them could only be answered by marriage, and he prayed, fervently, that he could bring her round to his way of thinking before she discovered just how far he had already proceeded.

He sanded and sealed the letter and placed it neatly on top of the other two missives. A knock sounded at the door immediately and it opened before Darcy could answer.