Page 13 of A Cleverly (Un)contrived Compromise (Love’s Little Helpers #3)

CHAPTER 13

O f all the high-handed, arrogant, presumptuous, imperial… Elizabeth’s head filled with unfavorable adjectives. She had thought they were partners!

Well, Mr. Darcy might think he could determine her future without so much as a grain of consideration for her opinion, but she would let him know that he was the last man in the world she could ever marry!

She maintained her composure remarkably well, given her duress, and her awareness of it made her align her shoulders ramrod straight. Her jaw did not gape open, she did not tug her hands away, and she did not cry out.

Her eyes, however, blazed. The bewilderment on Mr. Darcy’s face added fuel to the fire of Elizabeth’s fury. As if he expected her to simper and submit mindlessly to his hasty solution! He did not know her at all if he expected meek compliance! Elizabeth refused to marry a man with so little regard for her own sentiments.

Miss Bingley swooned; Mrs. Hurst suggested that some mistake had been made. Elizabeth would have agreed with her, but rational thought kept her silent.

“Lizzy can have the disagreeable boor!” Lydia’s merriment had quickly turned to jealousy.

“Hush, Lydia! Think of the pin money Lizzy will have! A house in London! The carriages!” Mama’s voice echoed through the study.

Papa stepped forward. “I shall have a word with you, sir, and you, too, Lizzy, while the others return to the ball.” Turning to Mama, Kitty, and Lydia, he added, “Not a word from you about this until I say so, or I swear on my life that you will never grace another ballroom.” Before they could produce pouts, he turned to their hostess. “Miss Bingley, if you would be so kind as to have a candle lit.”

Elizabeth knew she had done nothing wrong, but she wilted under the severity of her father’s tone. How many years she had wished he would reprimand Lydia and Kitty in such a way! It pained her to be the receiver of his correction—all the more so when she was blameless.

Frozen in her stupor, Miss Bingley did not react until Mr. Hurst moved her along with his wife tugging her sister’s other arm. “Bingley keeps his best brandy in the bottom drawer of his desk.” Whether to drink in celebration or drown their sorrows, Mr. Hurst’s words could be understood either way. Together with his wife, they pulled Miss Bingley down the hall. The others followed behind. Elizabeth prayed her mother and sisters would heed Father’s threat.

Lydia whined. “If only John Lucas were here, I could use him to make the officers jealous, and I could have my pick from proposals.”

“You do not mean that, Lydia. John is a nice boy, and it would be cruel to use him to make others jealous.” Kitty’s voice faded as they moved away.

A maid scurried inside, her eyes down, working quickly to light the sconces and adding burning coals to stir the fire to life.

Mr. Darcy did not fetch the brandy.

Papa motioned for them to sit. “I cannot speak for you, sir, but I know my Lizzy, and she is too clever to allow herself to be ill-used by a gentleman, engaged or not.”

Elizabeth’s shoulders relaxed with her exhale. Her father was not disappointed in her . He would not make her marry a man she did not love.

Mr. Darcy bit his lips together. Was he blushing? It was difficult to see in the candlelight. “I assure you, Mr. Bennet, that nothing untoward has happened, though all appearances suggest otherwise. My offer stands. I am prepared to spare Miss Elizabeth’s reputation, but first, I believe you deserve a full explanation.”

Papa nodded his head and settled deeper into his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin as he listened to Mr. Darcy’s detailed narration of the events leading to their discovery. Not one emotion or opinion shadowed his stoic telling, though Elizabeth noticed how he edited certain details in her favor. Every time Elizabeth wished to interject a point, Mr. Darcy addressed it without any need for her to interrupt.

Why should a man she disliked so much be so in tune with her own thoughts? It was disconcerting.

Finally, he finished, and Papa leaned forward. “You did not think to prevent Lizzy from pulling out so many pins in the first place?”

Elizabeth cringed. “He did, Papa. Only I was too intent on escaping. I did not heed his warning.”

Papa’s eyebrows raised, and then he shook his head with a sigh. “And his coat? How do you explain that, Lizzy?”

Elizabeth had forgotten she was wearing it. Taking it off, she shoved it at Mr. Darcy. “Mr. Darcy noticed I was cold, and he lent it to me.” Turning to the gentleman, who had yet to accept his coat, she said, “Thank you, but I am quite warm now.”

“You are certain?”

Take the blasted coat! “Yes, sir, I am quite sure, I thank you.”

His fingertips brushed hers, sending a contradictory shiver down her back.

He pulled away, leaving her holding his coat.

“Please, take it.” The bull-headed Mr. Darcy crossed his arms, lowering his chin to glare at her.

“Not until the fire warms the room or we return to the ballroom.”

Papa snapped, “For heaven’s sake, take the coat!” With his usual sarcasm, he added, “You have already secured a proposal and therefore have no need to suffer from a chill.”

Elizabeth did not appreciate his humor when it was directed at her.

He nodded at the offensive garment. “Is that tear from your efforts to break down the door?”

Mr. Darcy nodded.

“You did notice that the hinges face the wrong way for such an exhibition of brute force to succeed?” Papa seemed intent on picking at every weakness of their actions when none of that mattered anymore.

“Nonetheless, I had to try.” Mr. Darcy’s tone carried no disdain. “I beg your pardon for pressing the matter, Mr. Bennet, but time is precious. Will you accept my offer and clear your daughter’s name of all reproach?”

No! Elizabeth wished to scream. She crossed her ankles and tightened her arms around her, her eyes intent on her father, who seemed to be in no hurry.

Finally, he addressed Mr. Darcy. “Am I to trust the gentleman before me or the man who insulted my daughter and the greater portion of Meryton and Longbourn with his taciturn manners and insults?”

Mr. Darcy took in a sharp breath.

Hope rose in Elizabeth’s chest, and she loosened her hold around herself. Surely Papa would not make her marry the very man who had affronted her vanity.

Her father continued, “If the latter is making the request, I shall have to reply with a resounding no. Lizzy is the light of my life and the joy of my heart. I could not give her away to a man who has made plain his disdain of her, her family, her friends, and her neighbors.”

Elizabeth could hardly breathe. Pride for her father’s outspokenness dueled with shock at his plain speech and Mr. Darcy’s reaction. She had expected an outburst.

On second thought, this was stoic Mr. Darcy. He was not one to lose his composure. However, observing him now, she saw a man who appeared thoroughly chastened.

What would it take to make him show some emotion? Elizabeth wondered. Not that she would ever have to find out, given the direction her father had taken their conversation. Thank goodness.

Mr. Darcy slowly raised his head to meet her father’s stare, his shoulders straightening but not to their usual stiffness.

Before he could speak, Papa pressed on. “However, if it is the former making this request”—he glanced at Elizabeth, who now sat frozen in place—”the same man who is willing to attach himself to a family beneath him to spare my girl’s reputation in a situation not of his or her own making, who saw to her comfort and did not lose his patience when her exertions undermined his better plan, who did not once cast the blame on her during his explanation, and who placed himself at my mercy when he implied a secret engagement…”

Elizabeth held her breath. Mr. Darcy had done all that, but could she give up her freedom to him? Papa looked at her then, tenderness in his eyes. Her throat tightened and her eyes burned.

“... then I give my consent along with my wholehearted desire that you seek each other’s happiness.”

Mr. Darcy’s exhale was audible. “Thank you, sir. I shall prove myself worthy of your trust.”

What?! What was this?!

Papa rose from his chair. “I believe you will, and for that reason alone, I grant my blessing.”

Elizabeth leaped to her feet. “Papa!!” Her heart threatened to burst out of her chest. “We could break off the engagement!”

The askance look her father gave her was one he usually bestowed on Lydia. “After you were seen alone in a dark room with his hands in your hair and you wearing his ripped coat?”

She could not give up yet. “We could allow everyone to believe this farce, then call it off. Something about not agreeing on the settlements. It happens all the time.”

Now, his eyebrows rose to his hairline. “When your mother has ensured everyone knows he has a fortune of 10,000 pounds a year?” He turned to Mr. Darcy. “I apologize for my wife’s outspokenness. It cannot be pleasant for a gentleman to have his affairs pronounced so publicly.”

Mr. Darcy nodded, but he said nothing.

Elizabeth was quick to fill the silence. She had more arguments, and she would voice them. Turning to Mr. Darcy, she asked, “I do not suppose you would agree to jilt me and marry another lady post haste?”

His eyes darkened. “How would that repair your reputation? People would assume you were in the wrong.”

Elizabeth felt the ground crumbling under her feet. She was running out of options. “Because people always side with the gentleman—especially if he has 10,000 a year,” she grumbled. Society was unfair. Why did it allow gentlemen to do as they pleased but considered the lady ruined?

Mr. Darcy straightened to his full height. “I am no happier at the injustice females must endure at the hand of a hypocritical society than I am to have my fortune so grossly underestimated.”

There was the proud Mr. Darcy she knew.

Papa chuckled. Elizabeth wanted to hit something. “Your wealth means nothing to me.”

He stepped closer to her, his tone softer. “I realize that you find a union with me repulsive.”

That drew her eyes to him. The look she saw in his expression was humble, pleading, concerned.

Perhaps she was being too harsh. When he spoke again, she listened with a more open mind. “The damage has been done, and I shall spend my remaining days making what reparation I can. However, it is in your hand to save the reputations of your sisters.”

The truth hit Elizabeth with the force of a battering ram. She would do anything to spare her sisters from ruin. If she did not act quickly, her sisters’ prospects would be vanquished before they even departed from Netherfield. Given the scandal he would have to endure, it was not likely that Mr. Bingley would propose to Jane—especially with his sisters, who would do nothing to strain their friendship with Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth’s refusal would mean the end for Jane, for her sisters, for herself. Not even Mr. Collins would have them. The fact that she would even think of him right then was proof of the desperation of her position.

There was no other option. Elizabeth would have to marry Mr. Darcy.

He extended his hand, and she numbly accepted it.

Dropping to one knee, he asked, “Miss Elizabeth, will you do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage?”

He was sincere. Had the circumstances been any different, she would have found his gesture charming. At least, he offered the pretense of a choice. It made what could have been a heartless transaction—his name for her respectability—more palatable. More hopeful.

Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth swallowed hard and said, “I will.”