Page 18 of Yearning

She sighed heavily. “Oh, perhaps that is all I can see as well.” What she could not have, not what she could.

BEING WEANED OFF laudanum put Mr. Darcy in a bad mood. He was uncomfortable all the time, and he was in a great deal of pain. He could, however, feel that it was better without the laudanum, clearer and realer and righter, and he could see that if he could just get there, he would rather be there. But this part, this part was a kind of purgatory that seemed to stretch out too long in the interim.

One day, one of the servants had jostled the bed in such a way that had hurt him badly, and he had shrieked and knocked the broth out of the woman’s hand and then yelled at her for spilling it when it was his own fault.

The woman left in tears, and that was when he saw that Elizabeth was in the doorway, staring at him, that she had witnessed the entire debacle.

He was ashamed of himself. What she must think of him. She had long ago determined he was arrogant and full of himself. She must see this as confirmation.

He wanted to beg for her forgiveness. He wanted to make excuses for himself. I am in pain, and I am craving laudanum, and I am bedridden, and I have been through rather a lot in these past few months. It would cause any man to lose his temper. Certainly, I am due this one outburst, am I not?

But he did not say these things, because he knew it would be better if he was unappealing to her.

So, instead, he sneered at her. “Have you come to increase the amount of incompetence I must deal with?”

She stopped short, raising her eyebrows. “Am I incompetent, sir? In what way would you have me improve?”

He looked her up and down, his expression cold. “How much time do you have, Miss Bennet? I could quite give you a list of faults.”

Her expression registered hurt. And then she swallowed and composed herself. “Very well. Give it to me and I shall endeavor to mend them.”

Of course he didn’t have any complaints. He flinched, looking away from her.

“Perhaps it has to do with my lack of connections?” she said pointedly. “Or the way that my relations conduct themselves in public? Or perhaps it is because I am not handsome.”

He jerked his gaze over to look at her. “Elizabeth, you are very handsome—”

“Tolerable,” she said, lifting her chin.

He let out a breath. Oh, truly? She had heard him? No wonder she had hated him so thoroughly. No wonder she had turned down his first marriage proposal.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Darcy, you have proposed marriage to me, and as I pointed out, there is a binding legal agreement, so you are rather stuck with me, I’m afraid.” She sat down next to his bed. “Shall we continue with The Scottish Chiefs?”

He did not say anything. He should apologize now. If she was intent on staying here, even while he was behaving so badly, he should express his regret. But he did not.

“Very well,” she said, opening the book.

“You cannot force me to marry you,” he cut in. “I do not care if I am bedridden, my mouth works, and I have to say, ‘I do,’ and if I do not say that, the marriage cannot go forward.”

She shut the book. “Why are you being this way?”

“It is as you say.” His voice came out rough. “You are not handsome enough.”

She set the book in her lap. “So, what happened? First, you did not find me attractive, and then, somehow, you ardently admired me, and then—”

“Yes.”

She licked her lips. “Was it…?”

He waited.

“Was it perhaps not beauty, or handsomeness as the case may be, but only, erm, lust?”

His eyes widened.

“You saw me in the breakfast parlor at Netherfield after I had walked three miles, mud on my skirts, my hair askew, color in my cheeks, and you wanted me,” she said. “You wanted me, but you had good sense, and then you somehow overrode your good sense, but now…”

His stomach roiled.