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William’s dressing room

Nervously straightening his cravat, William addressed himself in the mirror. It is past time. Just do it.

Today, he would offer an olive branch and pray Elizabeth would take it. He was not willing to live the rest of his life trying to avoid the only other occupant of his home. She could spend her time alone, if she wished, but at least they could be cordial to one another when they met. Perhaps, if she became comfortable, she might even leave the confines of her room. It would especially please him if she availed herself of the library as he knew her to be an avid reader. Thus, cautiously he made his way down the hall to the door to the sitting area, adjacent to her bedroom.

Taking a deep breath, he lifted one hand, prayed for success, then knocked. Immediately the summons was issued. “Come in.”

The voice was Elizabeth’s, not that of her companion, and for a brief second, he considered the impropriety of entering her room. Thinking on all that had happened before, he dismissed it and opened the door. His gaze was immediately drawn to the window seat where she sat, knees drawn up to her chest, the tips of her blue slippers visible under the edge of her gown. A book was propped upon her knees. Immediately, she moved to sit properly, placing her feet on the floor and smoothing her skirts. Her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink.

“Please excuse me, Mr. Darcy. I thought you were Mrs. Drury,” she murmured softly, laying the book in her lap, and then studying him curiously. Instantly, all thoughts of his planned address deserted him.

“I ... Miss Elizabeth.” He swallowed hard, trying to think of what he wanted to say as all he could think of was how lovely she looked at that moment. “I apologise if my presence disturbs you.”

“No.”

“No?” he repeated.

“Your presence does not disturb me, sir. I have wished to speak to you since your return.” At his look of astonishment, she smiled slightly as she explained, “To apologise for my behaviour ... my refusal to see you, but frankly, I have had no luck locating you.”

The corners of his mouth started to lift, and a great sadness welled up inside of Elizabeth. For the first time since gaining control of her faculties, she saw him as he truly was—no longer the young man of Kent. The grey in his hair and lines on his face spoke to her of heavy burdens and, perhaps, sorrow. Even as he tried to smile, his mien uncertain, she could barely hold back the tears that filled her eyes at the tenderness she beheld in his.

“Please.” He stepped closer. “Do not trouble yourself for my sake as you owe me no apology. If anything, I should apologise to you. I swore to keep you safe, but you were subject to even more distress while a guest in my home.”

She did not trust herself to speak without crying, so she remained silent as he continued. “I would never wish to cause you further discomfort. I know you requested to be left alone, but ...” He tilted his head, and he looked so childlike that her heart ached for him. “I had hoped you might change your mind and join me for dinner.” After a moment, he added tentatively, “Tonight.”

“Yes,” she whispered, wondering if she could swallow anything with the huge lump in her throat.

Now, he smiled widely, and to his delight, she returned it. “Mrs. Reynolds has sent word that dinner has been prepared. If you should desire to change—”

Elizabeth stood. “There is no need. I am ready.”

As she placed the book she was holding on the nearby table and slowly walked towards him, her eyes locked with his and William’s heart began to pound. He held out his arm, and he barely felt her place a delicate hand upon it. Then, without words, they quitted the room side-by-side and wordlessly headed towards the grand staircase.

As the handsome couple descended the stairs, Mrs. Reynolds and Mr. Walker stood talking in the foyer and both immediately hushed and moved to their posts—she at the end of the steps and he just a little further away..

The housekeeper nodded to Mr. Darcy and smiled at Elizabeth as they reached the bottom. “I took the liberty of having the staff set the table for two.”

William tried to sound unaffected as he led his heart’s desire forward, but he could not suppress a smile as he replied, “Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds. You are most efficient.”

Entering the exquisitely decorated dining room, resplendent with mahogany furniture, fine linens, mirrored walls and a king’s ransom in crystal and silverware, William watched Elizabeth surreptitiously, delighting in the look of wonder on her face. Her eyes widened at the opulence, and she turned completely around in a circle, before coming to a stop facing him and colouring. As though her inspection were the most natural thing in the world, he proceeded to seat her on his right, taking his place at the head of the table as the first course was being brought in. Shyly, he glanced at her and smiled slightly, and Elizabeth reassured him by returning it with one of her own.

Even so, her mind rebelled against the pull of her heart. This lovely, magical place could never be her home and even as she gloried in the fact that he had smiled just for her, it screamed out a warning. Leave now before you are in too deeply.

Netherfield

The parlour

Caroline was near to screaming. She pulled her head back so that she could look down her nose at the other occupants of the room, taking aim at Jane’s mother. If she says one more thing about her nerves!

Mrs. Bennet had indeed come again to see her daughter and grandchild, dragging her other offspring with her, just as she promised. Unfortunately for Mrs. Bennet, Jane was still not feeling well and hardly attempted to entertain her family, thus leaving most of the hostessing duties to Charles’ visibly irritated sister.

Caroline asked through gritted teeth, “May I offer you another piece of cake?” Anything to silence the harridan!

Mrs. Bennet took the proffered treat, stuffing it into her mouth, and began to speak before fully chewing and swallowing. This made Caroline more nauseated than was her usual wont when faced with the Bennets’ company, and she turned away.

“I came specifically to see Peter!” the older woman declared, putting a finger into her mouth to lick the frosting off. “Oh, where is the dear boy?”

Jane wanted to say that she was keeping the boy hidden. Peter was scared to death of her mother’s raucous exclamations of affection and would invariably issue a piercing scream whenever she tried to hold him. Instead, Jane held her tongue. On her mother’s last visit, she had claimed that Peter suffered with an earache. Now she was faced with choosing a different malady.