Page 19 of The Work of a Moment

Grateful for the quiet at the parsonage, she went to the small front room to seek some tea and re-read Jane’s last letter. It lightened her mood, and when Sarah, the parsonage’s maid of all work, asked to walk out to visit her mother, Elizabeth was happy to agree. A few moments of solitude were all she was granted, however, for a knock at the door soon stirred her from her contemplations.

Upon opening it, she was surprised to find Mr Darcy, looking sombre. Alarmed, she stepped back. He entered and studied her closely.

“You are ill, Miss Bennet?”

If she were, of course, such a call would have been even more improper. “No, merely fatigued.”

He looked at her sceptically. “You are not easily tired.”

“I am wearied by a headache which overtook me during my walk yesterday.”

Her words softened his expression. He stepped forwards and took her arm, leading her to a chair and enquiring as to any relief he could summon for her.

“I am well. The storm last evening was unpleasant, but the quiet of the house has eased my discomfort.”

Mr Darcy nodded, but he showed less understanding than she had expected, for he made no move to depart or even smile at her quiet jibe. She sighed as he began speaking.

“The dining room at Rosings is no place for you, then,” he said. “I am sorry if my cousin’s escort yesterday is to blame. He is known to find his own conversation rather more interesting than others do. I was loath to abandon you. Pray he did not plague you with a loquacious display.”

Despite her anger at his intrusion, she could not miss the sincerity in his voice and the striking brightness of his eyes. She wondered whether Mr Darcy was aware of what she and his cousin had discussed on their walk. Such knowledge might explain his abrupt appearance at the parsonage.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam’s conversation intrigued me greatly.”

Her reply seemed to alarm him. He stalked to the hearth, where he turned to face her. She could not but notice the consternation in his expression. She shifted in Charlotte’s green chair, the room’s second-most comfortable piece, and anticipated his apology for his cousin’s misunderstanding of the events in Meryton.

“You understand that I would not importune you if it were not important to me that you are in health.” He tugged at his cuff and stepped nearer. His eyes held a disarming degree of emotion.

“You are concerned for my health?” Elizabeth recalled he had been attentive to Jane’s as well. “I thank you but assure you I am well.”

“I am glad to hear it. I could not rest until I knew,” he murmured, gazing at her earnestly with eyes darker than she remembered. “You see, I must… I have come to speak to you, to declare myself. I should not tell you, not like this, but I can no longer repress my feelings. I love you.”

Elizabeth was astonished. Every thought and word vanished. Mr Darcy must have considered her silence sufficient encouragement, for he began assuring her of all that he had long felt for her.

He loved her? How was it possible? Then, as his paeans to her character continued, she realised the reasons behind such a display. He must desire to best the colonel in distressing me with flippant flirtations and professions.

Her sense returning, Elizabeth raised a hand in hopes of ending his outpouring of feeling.

“Sir, please,” she said, perhaps more sharply than intended. “I cannot speak to your imprudent affections.”

“Imprudent?” Mr Darcy stepped back, looking at her hand as if she had slapped him with it. “Imprudent?”

“You and Colonel Fitzwilliam should compete elsewhere, not in a farcical game over who can win a lady’s affection.”

“What has my cousin to do with it? This is no game.”

“Disingenuous professions of affection seem to come as easily to some men as avowals of their conquests or victories in debate.” Elizabeth’s voice wavered, and she was as shocked by her bold words as Mr Darcy appeared to be in hearing them. Lest he take the deepest insult to heart, she quickly continued. “You have paid me a pretty compliment, but I must know—did you boast of separating your friend from my sister?”

After a long moment, his face ashen and marked by confusion, he said, “Your sister? I did not separate Bingley from Miss Bennet. On the contrary, if her feelings were sincere, albeit completely incomprehensible, in contrast to those of your mother, I thought her exceptionally well-suited for him.”

Elizabeth swallowed a bitter laugh. “Did you? Should not your friend and his sisters feel the joy of their escape from ‘a connexion to the daughter of a minor squire with connexions in trade’?” From his expression, Elizabeth knew he recognised Miss Bingley’s words and understood what she had overheard at Netherfield.

He exhaled, then swallowed heavily. “Your father is a gentleman. His house is on an estate run by generations before him. Their portraits hang in Longbourn’s drawing room. Bingley’s father found his fortune in trade.”

“And yet Mr Bingley’s sisters believe Jane beneath him. Do you as well?”

“Miss Bennet is a sweet, patient, genteel lady who I felt would ground my friend and provide him some sense and wisdom.”

Elizabeth was overcome by disgust hearing of the role he had envisioned for Jane. “You would assign my sister the task of maturing your friend.” And possibly tolerating a mistress!