Page 8 of Love Drunk for Mr Darcy

Anne studied him for a moment. "Is that truly what you want?"

No, no, no. The answer rose in him at once, though he could not bring himself to speak it. He wanted Elizabeth to read his letter and understand him. He wanted another opportunity to stand before her and say everything differently. Most of all, he wanted to see her smile at him, to hold his eyes with her dark teasing ones. Even if it was the last time he ever saw her.

Fitzwilliam broke the silence. "The answer is writ large in that dreamy expression, Darcy. You do not wish to leave. And what does the Bard say? ‘Great lords, wise men ne’er sit and wail their loss, but cheerly seek how to redress their harms.’"

Darcy glared at him. "Since when do you read Shakespeare?"

"I have hidden depths."

Anne and Darcy exchanged a look.

"He may have one or two," Anne allowed.

Fitzwilliam appeared wounded, though only briefly. "In any event, you need not decide tonight. Write your letter and remain until the ball. If Miss Bennet still cannot bear the sight of you after an evening of your best behaviour, Pemberley will still be there for you to lick your wounds."

Darcy was far from convinced. With Lady Catherine determined to parade him beside Anne while Elizabeth looked on, the ball seemed less an opportunity than another humiliation waiting to happen.

"There is one thing upon which I must insist," he said. "Neither of you is to speak of this to Lady Catherine. If she learns that I proposed to Miss Bennet, she will descend upon the parsonage and make matters infinitely worse."

"There is much my mother does not know," Anne said mildly. Her eyes moved towards Richard and held his for a beat. Something passed between them, a silent understanding which seemed both familiar and distinctly suspicious.

Fitzwilliam shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. "And that is undoubtedly for the best."

Darcy looked from one cousin to the other. Anne had lowered her gaze, though a faint colour had risen in her cheeks, while Fitzwilliam had developed an intense interest in the pattern of the carpet. There was clearly something he did not know. Considering the number of humiliating revelations he had already endured that afternoon, Darcy decided he could survive without another.

"I have your word?"

"Of course," Anne said. "I would never expose Miss Elizabeth to Mama’s interference."

Fitzwilliam placed a hand over his heart and grinned. "You may depend upon my absolute discretion."

Darcy regarded him doubtfully. "That would be more reassuring if you did not look so pleased with yourself."

Anne rose from the bed before Fitzwilliam could answer and shook out her skirts. "We should allow Darcy to write his letter. And try to get some rest, cousin," she added, looking at him with almost maternal concern. "Matters always seem brighter in the morning."

Darcy doubted that one night’s sleep could make Elizabeth despise him any less, but neither could he face another argument. He inclined his head, and Anne moved towards the door with Fitzwilliam behind her.

His cousin paused upon the threshold. "Remember, Darcy, apology first. Proposal much, much, much later."

This time the pillow struck the door just as Fitzwilliam managed to close it.

Chapter Three

Elizabeth focused on breathing, very slowly, in through her nose and out from her mouth. She had survived Mr Darcy’s proposal and a torturous night of replaying it over and over in her mind. She could survive one tea. As the carriage bumped over the short road to Rosings, she tried to quiet the part of her mind that urged her to wrench open the door and throw herself out. They were travelling at a sedate pace and any injury would surely be minor. She had always been a fast runner and she thought it likely she could have her most important things gathered and be on her way to the nearest coaching post before Mr Collins overcame his shock and horror at her behaviour and thought to try and retrieve her.

Her cousin, Mr Collins, was currently sitting opposite her, his thick greasy lips moving rapidly as he explained the virtues of Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s tea service. It seemed it had once belonged to a duchess and was much to be admired. Elizabeth suppressed a sigh and turned to look out the window at the grand house that was rapidly coming into view. She felt a soft hand cover her own on the bench and looked over to see Charlotte smiling at her gently. She mouthed "courage" and gave a reassuring nod.

Elizabeth was thankful to have her friend beside her, but it was difficult to forget that Charlotte was also largely responsible for her present predicament. Had she been permitted to follow her own excellent instincts, she would already be halfway to Hertfordshire, with every mile placing a comforting distance between herself and Mr Darcy. Instead, she was being conveyed directly towards him while Mr Collins described the painted violets upon Lady Catherine’s sugar bowl.

"And the delicacy of the workmanship must be seen to be properly appreciated," he said, leaning forwards with great earnestness. "Her ladyship once informed me that there is not another service to rival it in all of Kent. Although I should not be surprised if there were few to equal it in Derbyshire or even London. Lady Catherine has always possessed a most superior understanding of domestic arrangements."

Charlotte’s fingers tightened briefly around Elizabeth’s hand as she turned back towards the window. Rosings filled more of it now, the pale stone front rising above the lawns like a grand mausoleum. Somewhere inside that house was Mr Darcy. Perhaps he would remain in his room or he was out riding with his fair-haired, jovial cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Better yet, he might have left for Pemberley or have been confined to a sanitorium, after flinging himself into the ornamental lake in despair. Although Elizabeth thought the latter unlikely. Mr Darcy was too proud to give in to such overwhelming emotions. He had probably spent the time since they had parted writing a list of her deficiencies and congratulating himself on having escaped such an imprudent match.

A flash of his handsome, pained face entered her mind. She recalled the moment she had refused him in such sharp terms to leave no room for doubt. The vision was accompanied by a stab of guilt so sharp that it made her breath catch. No. She would not feel guilty for speaking the truth. His pain did not undo the harm he had caused Jane, and it did not make his treatment of Elizabeth any less insulting. If he had been wounded, it was because his own pride and disregard for her feelings had caused him to behave so insultingly that she could give him no other answer.

The carriage rolled to a halt before the broad stone steps. Mr Collins was already rising, although the carriage door had not yet been opened. "We must not keep her ladyship waiting. She has frequently observed that lateness is the worst form of disrespect, and I should be most distressed if she believed any member of my household capable of it."

Charlotte released Elizabeth’s hand and adjusted her gloves. "One tea at a time," she said softly.