Page 37 of An Offer of Marriage (Engaged to Mr Darcy #7)

NOT HANDSOME ENOUGH TO TEMPT HIM

D arcy was relieved when at last Elizabeth emerged from her most recent bout of illness. The illness had been more severe than ever, leading Darcy to consult with a second physician who assured him it was just as to be expected for a young bride.

He thought it all trumpery, but when she was at last feeling improved, he resolved that he would do nothing to tax her, no matter what, until her vigour was recovered.

He had spent the days while she was ill planning, carefully, the conversation they must have; it would not do to again say things in such a brusque or careless manner.

He wished to tell her that for whatever had come before, she was forgiven. They would begin anew, or so he hoped.

White’s was almost empty when he entered one afternoon; June was drawing to a close, the weather was growing warmer, and the gentry and nobles were re-discovering the pleasures of rustication.

Much to his surprise, he found his friend, and almost- brother, Bingley seated at a large round table with a spread of legal documents in front of him.

“Ah, Darcy!” Bingley leant back in his chair, seeming relieved to put them aside.

“I very nearly called on you but then decided, no, I must sort through all of this myself.”

“What is it?” Darcy peered down at the pages as he sat, noticing immediately they appeared to be in random order. “Are you making a purchase offer for Netherfield?”

“I just might be,” Bingley replied. “Jane would likely enjoy remaining near her family.”

Save that Elizabeth will be in Derbyshire. It would make Elizabeth very, very happy if her sister were to settle near to her, not three days travel away.

“And you? Shall you enjoy living in Hertfordshire?”

“It is a fair county.” Bingley half-shrugged. “Do you think it sound?”

“I think Netherfield would do very well for you, but my steward has lately written to me about?—”

Bingley was immediately upright. “Do you know of a better situation? Is it in Derbyshire? I do not think I need to tell you what pleasure it would give Jane?—”

Darcy laughed and held up both hands. “Slow down. I do not wish to excite your anticipation, not until I know for sure.”

It was too late. Bingley was already excited; Darcy could plainly see that.

He beamed broadly as he gathered up the pages haphazardly, shoving them into a folio.

A servant arrived bearing tankards of ale for both men, and once he had set them down, Bingley immediately held his up as if to make a toast.

“To us!” he exclaimed enthusiastically. “Who could imagine from last autumn to now how it might be? ”

Darcy made no remark but smiled and lifted his drink for a moment before sipping.

“You particularly,” Bingley said, setting his drink down with a firm thud. “I have said it too often before, but never could I have imagined you and Elizabeth to end from where you had begun!” He chuckled. “Not handsome enough to tempt you, indeed. Ha!”

“Not handsome enough to tempt me?” Darcy echoed. “What do you mean?”

“That first assembly we attended… You must remember it?” Bingley laughed. “Ah well, love rushed in, did it not? I am sure Elizabeth has long forgotten it herself.”

“She might have. I surely have, but perhaps you will acquaint me with it.”

“You do not remember it?”

“I do not.”

“Well, it was nothing at all.” Bingley grew more serious, and said, “Nothing to signify now.”

He could not have said why this brief reference had made his heart sink, but it had. He had a feeling something of great importance had been forgotten, something he needed to remember. “Indulge me.”

Suddenly Bingley could not seem to look at him, his cheeks reddening. “I blame myself, of course. I had tried to introduce you earlier in the night, and you did not?—”

“I do not care what happened earlier in the night.”

“I tried to make you ask her to dance, and you said she was tolerable but not handsome enough to tempt you. Then you made some remark about her having been slighted by other men and told me to go enjoy Jane’s smiles.”

All the air seemed to leave him in a rush, leaving a hollow ache. His mouth suddenly dry, he again reached for the tankard. Good lord. This was it, was it not? The wrong turn.

He remembered with sudden, painful clarity seeing her, making sure she saw him, wishing to discourage her.

He had disliked her mother earlier for wanting to force an introduction to him.

He had presumed the daughter would be the same, impudent, presumptuous, vulgar, and he wanted above all to discourage any such notions.

Bingley reached over and gave him a light punch on the arm. “Hardly matters now, eh? An amusing story to tell your children!”

Darcy lowered his head into his hands, disordered thoughts racing through his mind.

Spite is just love that took a wrong turn.

It had plagued his mind these last days, trying to understand where that wrong turn had been; he had spent so much time wondering what it was that made her dislike him so.

He had laid the fault of it at her door—she was cruel, she was spiteful, she had a biting wit.

None of that was true. It was he who had done this; he who had set them on the wrong path.

He remembered that night how she had gone to her friends, and they had laughed, laughed at him .

He had been offended by their audacity but, it was her way.

Elizabeth preferred to laugh at what was ridiculous rather than cry, or stamp on his foot, or do any of the other things a lady of the ton would have done had he dared humiliate her in such a way.

He rose so suddenly from his chair that Bingley jumped a little in his seat. “Darcy? All is well?” Bingley looked worried. “Forgive me, I ought not to have mentioned it.”

“I need to be home. Excuse me.”

“Very good.” But Bingley looked concerned more than happy, and Darcy cursed himself for that. He had intruded upon Bingley’s happy afternoon and turned it sour. How often had he done the same to his wife?

“I will let you know as soon as I have information on the other situation.”

Bingley said something else behind him, but it was too late; his mind was on his own stupidity, wondering what damage he had already done and whether he would ever be able to undo it.

The ride home was torturous. How pleased he had been with himself, feeling himself soften towards her, feeling the model of generosity; he had not before been made to understand how much of his behaviour she would be required to forgive. He had imagined himself the injured party, but now?

He had been—he could see now—absolutely ridiculous in Hertfordshire.

Not in his own feelings, which were reasonable and just…

He had been at that time angry, very angry with George Wickham, betrayed, deeply distressed by his own sister and wishing above all that he might somehow lash out at everyone and everything about him.

He had made himself agreeable nowhere; though he had not thought it consciously, he had certainly acted as if the populace of Meryton was not worthy of the effort.

He would never have said he was quick to anger, but once his ire had been raised, he knew he had little success in moderating the influence of it upon his actions.

With all due respect to his parents, he had never been taught to correct his temper, never told that frustrations must be channelled in appropriate directions.

He had been permitted to be overbearing and indulged in his selfishness.

He had been so long the centre of their world, he had come to imagine himself as the centre of the world at large.

He had arrived by now at his own front door and paused a moment, the strength of those shaming memories making him weak. What a figure he had presented to her! Lady Catherine on her most arrogant day could not have been worse!

And then, as his attraction to her grew daily—and as he had fought that attraction, debated within himself about whether he could have her—his behaviour had grown more haughty, more cold.

Most of the time. He had allowed himself the occasional flirtation, but was it any wonder she did not respond in kind?

She might have believed he was mocking her in some way.

Was it any wonder she had wished to set him down a little?

Another man would have challenged him for such behaviour; indeed, were Mr Bennet less lackadaisical, he surely would have come to him demanding some redress for the slights against his family.

Mr Bennet was one of the prominent landowners of the area and deserved far more respect than he had been given.

The idea that Elizabeth had been awaiting his proposal seemed almost comical now, thinking of his behaviour from her perspective.

If nothing else, his presumption further underscored how proud he had been, how selfishly he had treated her.

He imagined her as his for the taking. Was it any wonder she had revolted?

And then the proposal itself…he had humiliated her while telling her he loved her!

Her words came back to him: ‘…telling me I was a degradation and then insulting my family! And this, hard on the heels of learning that you had acted to sepa rate Bingley and Jane! So yes, I was very much prepared to reject you, but I had not the opportunity to do so’.

He arrived home, going through the motions of seeing his horse cared for and then walking into the house.

He found Georgiana and Elizabeth sitting in the drawing room, drinking tea, and for a moment the entire scene was eerily reminiscent of the time he had come in after learning of Mrs Collins’s letter.

Elizabeth, too, looked like she was remembering it, and he forced a calm smile to his face as he greeted them.

Elizabeth offered him tea, and he accepted it, noticing as he did that her hand shook as she poured. Have I been so beastly , he wondered, that my wife is anxious to serve me tea?

“Brother, does not Elizabeth look well? I was just telling her how good it is to see her up and about,” said Georgiana with a pointed look at him.

“Wonderful indeed,” he agreed. “And yes, Elizabeth, you are looking very well.”

She thanked him as she handed him the tea, still looking anxious, and he resolved to be amiable and try to put her at ease. “Any news from the day, ladies?”

Elizabeth offered, her voice slightly higher than usual, “I had a letter from Jane today. Bingley brought it.”

“Are the preparations for the wedding proceeding apace?” he asked.

“Yes…and no,” she said, shooting Georgiana a little look.

Georgiana set down her own cup and added, “At times like these, a lady must want desperately for her sister.”

It took him a moment to comprehend her and then he said, “Jane needs you there?”

“Jane does not often say, outright, what it is she needs.” Elizabeth gave a nervous little laugh.

“She never wishes to inconvenience anyone. But I daresay my mother is driving her to distraction, and Jane has gone so far as to mention that she wished she had my talent for managing her. That is as close to asking me to come to her as she would ever come.”

“Of course you should go to her,” he said gently.

A brief, true smile flashed across her face. “Thank you,” she said.

“Shall I arrange the travel?”

“Bingley will return to Netherfield tomorrow,” she said quickly. “With Miss Bingley as well, she has come to London with him. He is more than glad to take me.”

“So soon?”

“If you do not wish me to?—”

“No, of course you should go.” And then he tried, badly, to say what a usual sort of husband would. “I shall miss you when you are gone.”

Both Georgiana and Elizabeth appeared startled by him. Georgiana turned her head away first, a little smile on her lips. No doubt Georgiana felt it an auspicious sign; Elizabeth only looked uncomfortable before turning her gaze to her lap.

Well, what did you think? Darcy chastised himself. After how you have behaved towards her these last weeks, a show of affection could not be seen as genuine.

He forced himself to sound more businesslike. “But I shall follow you in mere days of course, and just in time to see what all these plans have wrought.”