Page 28 of Time Stands Still

“I believe it must have been when I saw your grand house in London. A woman would have to be quite without sense to continue to dislike a man in possession of such a fine staircase.”

He loved her beyond measure, especially when she was laughing at him. This woman did not know how much power she held over him. And he could only imagine what she would do if she found out. “Then I am glad it met with your approval. For I hope it will one day be your home.”

The words, so easily spoken, brought them back to the strange and bewildering reality of their situation. Her smile softened, her expression becoming more serious. “And how are we to plan for such a thing, Fitzwilliam? How does one plan a life, a marriage, when we are trapped in the amber of a single day?”

The question was a necessary dose of sobriety. He was a man of action, of plans and schedules, yet all his considerable resources were useless here. “I do not know,” he confessed. “But I know we must begin to act as if tomorrow will come. We must live this day, each time, with the faith that it will one day lead to the next.”

His mind, now focused, seized upon the most immediate and pressing concern. “After this day's exchange… I cannot, in good conscience, remain another night under my aunt’s roof. Her memory of our quarrel may be erased by the morning, but mine will not. I will not break bread with her again.”

His jaw tightened. His first, furious instinct was indeed to quit Rosings that very moment and to take Elizabeth with him. But a more pragmatic thought intervened. Lady Catherine would surely turn her venom upon Anne. He could not leave his cousin to face that alone, not after Anne’s quiet defiance. He would stay, for Anne. But only for Anne. And only for this day.

“I do mean to leave, Elizabeth. London is but half a day’s ride, and I will go there. But I find I have no wish to be separated from you. Not now.” He paused, his gaze hardening with resolve. “However, I cannot leave Anne to face Lady Catherine’s displeasure alone today. I will remain this final night, to ensure her peace. But tomorrow, I will leave. And you will come with me.”

“To London?” she breathed, startled.

“Yes. I will arrange for one of my aunt’s maids to accompany us again, to ensure all propriety is observed. As for my own party, they will have no memory of today’s… events. I need only inform them that urgent business calls me to town. I will collect you from the parsonage in the morning.” He knew, with a weary certainty, that he would have to re-explain his departure to London every single day until the spell was broken. But it did not matter. He would not stay at Rosings, and he would not leave Elizabeth behind.

A sudden thought struck him, and he frowned. “The dinner invitation. My aunt will have rescinded it, of that I have no doubt. Mr. Collins will have received word, and his humour, I imagine, will not be pleasant.” He took her hand. “I will not have you face him alone. Let us return to the parsonage together.”

He walked with her back to the familiar house, his heart a strange mixture of incandescent joy and grim resolve. As they approached, the door opened, and they were met with the sight of a flustered and agitated Mr. Collins, who appeared to be pacing the entryway.

“Cousin Elizabeth!” he cried, his voice pitched high with distress. “There you are! I have just received a most alarming note from Rosings! The dinner invitation has been withdrawn! Her ladyship is most grievously displeased! I cannot imagine what you have done to cause such a rupture! The affront, the sheer indignity of it! He then seemed to notice Darcy, standing tall and implacable beside her, and his tirade faltered into a confused sputtering.

“The fault is entirely mine, Mr. Collins,” Darcy said, his voice cold and even. “I have had a disagreement with my aunt. Miss Bennet is in no way to blame.”

“Mr. Darcy!” Collins stammered. “Sir! But… her ladyship…”

It was Charlotte who intervened, appearing at her husband’s elbow with her usual, unassailable calm. “My dear,” she said, placing a hand on his arm, “perhaps you might allow Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth to come inside. The gravel is no place for such a conversation.”

Once in the parlour, with Mr. Collins still attempting to articulate his profound horror at this breach with his esteemed patroness, Darcy laid out his plan.

“I will be leaving for London in the morning, Mrs. Collins,” he stated. “My carriage will convey Miss Bennet to London, and a maid will accompany her to ensure all propriety. My intention is to see her safely to her relatives, the Gardiners.” He met Elizabeth’s gaze, a brief, steadying moment of shared understanding, before turning back to the Collinses. “As Elizabeth is now my betrothed, I shall countenance no further disrespect towards her from any quarter, be it from my aunt or any other. This is not a matter for debate.”

Charlotte looked from Darcy’s resolute face to Elizabeth’s quiet acquiescence, her intelligent eyes missing nothing. A small, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips. “That seems a most sensible plan, Mr. Darcy,” she said, with a calm that Darcy found he greatly admired. “I am sure Elizabeth will be safer in your care than she is here, at the centre of such… upheaval.”

She then turned her formidable composure upon her husband. “My dear Mr. Collins,” she began, her voice calm and reasonable, “I understand your distress. Lady Catherine’s displeasure is, of course, a matter of great consequence to your preferment.”

Mr. Collins wrung his hands. “Indeed, Charlotte! Indeed! My patroness, my livelihood! She may cast us out! We shall be destitute!”

“But consider, my dear,” Charlotte continued, gently, “lady Catherine, in time, will surely see the advantage of such an alliance for her own family, for it binds her nephew to a respectable connection. And as for our own position, what could be more advantageous than to be closely allied, through marriage, to the master of Pemberley?”

Mr. Collins’s eyes widened, a new thought dawning in his perpetually bewildered mind. “The master of Pemberley… closely allied… Indeed, Charlotte, that is a point. A most excellent point! Perhaps her ladyship, in her infinite wisdom, will come to view this… this unforeseen attachment… as a further testament to my own excellent management of my household, and my unerring eye for advantageous connections for my relations!” His agitation began to give way to a dawning, self-important satisfaction.

“Precisely,” Charlotte said, allowing herself a small, knowing smile. “And for Elizabeth to travel to London under Mr. Darcy’s protection, to reside with her aunt and uncle, who are perfectly respectable, before a formal announcement is made… why, it is the height of propriety. A sudden departure, yes, but a necessary one to manage such a delicate affair with the utmost discretion.” She patted his arm. “There is no need for panic, my dear. Only a change of perspective.”

Darcy watched the exchange with a quiet sense of awe. He could not deny a flicker of distaste at hearing his name and connections used as a tool to placate the man, but he recognized the profound skill with which Mrs. Collins managed her husband. She had not argued or admonished, but had skilfully redirected his fear towards a new, more palatable source of pride, appealing to his vanity and ambition. And, he had to admit, he was the cause of this disturbance. His actions had threatened Mr. Collins’s precarious sense of security, and it was only right that some remedy, however artfully applied, be found. He discovered he did not mind at all.

The plan was settled. Darcy took his leave, his gaze meeting Elizabeth’s in a silent promise: he would return for her. He would face his aunt’s wrath and Mr. Collins’s panic as many times as it took. It was a price he would gladly pay.

Chapter Twenty-One

Elizabeth awoke to a world transformed. Her first conscious thought was of him, and the memory of the previous day brought not a trace of her former anxieties, but a flush of heat to her cheeks and a smile to her lips. She could still feel the strength in Darcy’s arms, the astonishing passion of his kiss, the raw vulnerability in his voice as he had defended her. Her heart ached for him, for the pain his aunt had inflicted, for the cruel way his mother’s memory had been sullied. In the crucible of his anger and his love, all her remaining reservations had been burned away. She understood him completely now, and she loved him with an intensity that both thrilled and terrified her.

How strange it was, she mused, that a man she had once despised with such conviction could now be the sole occupant of her thoughts and affections. Her opinion had not merely been revised; it had been entirely overthrown, the foundations of her prejudice demolished. It was his fury on her behalf that had been the final catalyst. In that moment, as he stood before his aunt, a cold and magnificent fury in his eyes, defending her, defending his mother’s memory, she had seen the true measure of the man. All artifice, all pride, all misunderstanding, had been stripped away, leaving only the raw, undeniable truth of his character. It was then that the truth of her own heart had been revealed to her. She loved him. She loved him ardently.

The word brought a small, private smile to her lips. It was the very word he had used in his first, disastrous proposal, a word she had once scorned. Now, it was the only word that seemed to fit the overwhelming force of her own feelings. The memory of their kiss, that searing, desperate kiss in the park, sent another wave of heat through her. He had kissed her with a hunger that spoke of months of restraint, but it was her own response that had truly astonished her. She had met his passion with an equal and unrestrained ardour, her hands tangling in his hair, a desperate need to be closer to him, to anchor herself to him, overriding all sense of propriety. It was a kiss that defied all dictates of decorum, a profound declaration of her own heart that left no room for missish sensibilities.

She rose and began to dress, her mind turning to the practicalities of the day ahead. He would come for her. She would have to explain her sudden departure to Charlotte, who would have no memory of the previous day’s turmoil. It was a performance she would have to repeat, perhaps for days, perhaps for months. But now, the prospect was not a torment. It was merely a task to be undertaken, a step on the path that would, eventually, lead to a life with him.