Page 18

“D arcy!”

Darcy was already at the entrance by the time Bingley managed to catch up to him. He had changed into his riding clothes, and Alfred was loading his trunks. The Bingley sibling’s argument had been aggressive and loud enough to even wake up the Hursts and soon, the entire family had sequestered into the guest room, with Bingley yelling at his sisters for the first time in his life, Louisa trying and failing to pacify him, and Caroline sobbing her eyes out.

Darcy wanted nothing to do with the family drama. As much as he appreciated Bingley and his amiability, he did not think he would ever be meeting the man in a more personal setting. Perhaps they could salvage their friendship by limiting their interactions to occasionally meeting at the gentlemen’s club or a mutual friend’s hunting trip.

“Darcy! Wait!”

Darcy paused, realising amidst all the yelling that someone was calling for him. He turned to see Bingley running down the staircase, almost tripping over his own feet in an attempt to catch up to him,

“You do not have to leave. I shall send Caroline to London, nay, to Yorkshire at first light. Please.”

Darcy shifted on his feet. It did not feel right, hearing his friend plead so desperately. Darcy was a generous man towards the people he liked, and never before in the span of their acquaintance had he refused any of Charles’ requests. This, however, was different.

“You will have to forgive me for saying I no longer feel comfortable in this house. Miss Bingley’s presence or lack thereof would make little difference.”

Bingley’s agitation was pronounced. He looked like he wanted to pace, but was trying to contain himself, “You have no idea how sorry I am for what my sister tried to do. Never in a million years would I have imagined that she would stoop so low.”

“...I did tell you to inform her that her aspirations were hopeless. I have never had any intention of marrying her.”

Bingley groaned, and pulled at his ear. He looked a little guilty even as he nodded, “You are right, of course. I suppose, I had just hoped- not hope. I had just- I liked the idea of having you as a brother. And considering how sophisticated Caroline is, well, the idea of the two of you someday making a match did not seem so very far-fetched.”

Darcy raised a brow. Sophisticated? Miss Bingley? The upper crust of the ton was rife with rumours of her being an ill-tempered shrew. A person could not treat loyal servants and shopkeepers of reputable businesses ill and then expect them to stay silent about their mistreatment. People tended to talk, especially when they thought a person was overstepping their status. The Bingleys might be rich, but they were not even gentry, let alone nobility. Whatever Darcy himself might think of the system, it was true that status held more power than money. An impoverished earl garnered more respect in the eyes of the common people than a wealthy merchant. Miss Bingley had offended too many important people in Town, and was mocked behind her back nearly everywhere she went.

Even had Darcy found her desirable, her own tarnished reputation would have made it impossible for him to propose to her.

Darcy did not have the heart to explain any of this to his friend. Unlike his sisters, Charles was generally liked by the people he met. He was funny, easy-going, and respectful. It was his family that was holding him back from slowly integrating himself into a higher class. Sighing, he placed a heavy hand on his friend’s shoulder,

“Do not fret. I had planned to leave for London in a day or two as it were. I have some business in Town that I do not wish to delay. Perhaps, you can join me at White’s for drinks when you have the time. I may have some happy news to share by then.”

“Oh.” Bingley, on occasion, could be quite sharp, “ Oh. ” His eyes widened, “You mean- with Miss Braxton?”

Darcy nodded, “I have proposed. She accepted. Now, I just need to acquire her grandfather’s blessing.”

Bingley grinned, happy for his friend, though Darcy could tell it did not quite reach his eyes. Nonetheless, he clapped his friend on the back fondly, and congratulated him, “Then, the deal is as good as done. I do not think there exists a man on the planet who would not want you as a son-in-law. Or, a grandson-in-law as the case may be. I wish you all the happiness in the world, my friend. May you and Mrs. Darcy be always in love.”

Darcy wanted to roll his eyes at the trite felicitations, but restrained himself. The words themselves might have been common, and a little mawkish, but they were heartfelt, which was all that really mattered.

“Thank you, Bingley.”

The atmosphere around them had turned a little too cloying, and both men could feel the awkwardness of the situation. Darcy cleared his throat, even as Bingley tried to laugh off the heavy air that had enveloped them. Scratching the back of his head, he took a step back with a goofy grin on his face,

“I suppose I cannot, in good conscience, stop Romeo on his quest to win Juliette’s hand.” He joked,

Darcy did roll his eyes this time, “Sod off.” He muttered, but turned to leave anyway. Alfred would see that his trunks are packed and Matthew, his coachman, will carry it all to London before him. Darcy had one more stop he needed to make before he could leave Hertfordshire.

It was almost four in the morning, but Elizabeth could not for the life of her fall asleep.

The night of the ball played in her mind every time she tried to lay in bed and close her eyes. The way Darcy had looked the previous evening (How had he managed to find out what colour dress she was planning to wear? How had they matched their attires so perfectly?), how he had looked at her that evening (With all the fondness in the world and then some more, Elizabeth presumed). They might have only danced two dances together —neither of which was the first or the supper— but they had still spent the majority of the evening in each other's company.

It had surprised her how easily he made her laugh. She would not have thought him capable of making jokes. His humour was dry, a little satirical, and had a tendency of appearing at the most surprising of moments. He was still as proud amongst the people of Meryton as he had been during the local assembly. Mr. Collins, especially, seemed to grate on his nerves more than anyone else, but Elizabeth did not think she minded his high-handedness much. There were worse flaws a man could have than just possessing an elevated intolerance for crass manners and banal conversations.

For the most part, the evening had been everything she could ask for. She had come back to Longbourn with her feet aching and her head feeling giddy from too much sherry and the scent of Fitzwilliam’s cologne-

Fitzwilliam.

He had written his Christian name on her dance card as soon as she had entered the manor, and Elizabeth had decided that she would refer to him by it in her head until the day came when she could call him by it out loud. It was a long, dignified, name- perfectly suiting its tall, stately bearer.

Elizabeth blushed at the remembrance of the feel of his hand covering hers as they danced, she giggled like a little girl as she recalled how he had bent down to whisper against her ear a quip about something she could not even remember now. She thought back on the slight rumble in his voice, the warmth of his breath. She might have smiled inappropriately wide in response to it, covering her mouth with her fan even as she managed to reply with something equally witty.

The entire evening had been a test of patience. It had been ridiculous the number of times she had almost touched him too familiarly. Fitzwilliam was the first man she had ever had romantic feelings for. Consequently, he was also the first man with whom she had behaved romantically. Even then, the furthest they had gone with each other was the kiss they had shared at Netherfield after she had accepted his proposal.

Where then, was this constant maniacal urge to constantly touch him coming from, Elizabeth could not even begin to guess.

The evening was over, she was back at Longbourn, back in her chamber, and dressed in her night rail. Still, the urge had yet to go away. Elizabeth had given up on going to sleep and had instead taken up a book, which she had decided to read by the windowsill, her head leaning against the glass, hoping the coldness of the plane would help her clear her mind.

She was thus, in the midst of trying to concentrate when she felt it-

plink!

plink!

Elizabeth startled, lifting and turning her head just in time to see another small pebble plink against the glass of the window.

Her heart raced.

Hurriedly, she stood; then opened the window, leaning out to see Fitzwilliam Darcy right underneath her bedroom window, standing next to his beast of a horse and all-dressed in his riding costume.

She smiled uncontrollably,

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.” He spoke in a soft, grave, and completely deadpan tone of voice. Elizabeth laughed. She ran over to grab her cloak and donned it hastily, making her way downstairs as quietly as possible.

She had no idea what had been going through the usually strait-laced Fitzwilliam's head, but Elizabeth knew he was too sensible to endanger either of their reputations like this without a good cause, and well, she was at a point beyond caring. They were as good as engaged anyway.

It had not been Darcy's intention to contrive a clandestine rendezvous with Elizabeth just as he was leaving Hertfordshire. He had only planned to circle Longbourn once, a sort of conceptual farewell, but then he had seen her through one of the windows-

Elizabeth Braxton, with her hair barely braided, her eyes half-mast, and the tops of her shoulders exposed by her shift, was a sight too tempting for him to pass over. Before he even knew what he was doing, Darcy had dismounted to gather a few pebbles to toss at her window.

The brilliant smile he received in response to his little bout of silliness dissolved the tiny nugget of anxiety that had bubbled up inside his chest at his uncharacteristic actions. Elizabeth ran to him as soon as she came out of the house, and Darcy opened his arms just in time for her to jump into them.

Her warm, sweet giggles right against his ears were better than Mozart.

“What in the world are you doing here?” Elizabeth exclaimed, pulling away from him. She looked him up and down, an inquisitive brow raising in question when she noticed he was dressed for a long trip.

“I came to take your leave.” He said, tucking a stray flyaway behind her ear, “I am on my way to town, you see.”

Elizabeth's eyes widened, “At this hour? I know we had decided to leave after the Netherfield ball, but I did not think you had meant right after the event.”

Darcy cleared his throat, unable to meet her gaze. Elizabeth frowned,

“Did something happen?” She asked, in that tone that let him know that she knew that something had happened.

Still, how does one explain the events that had led him to practically flee Netherfield to an innocent maiden?

Darcy decided his best option was to pretend he had heard nothing. Clearing his throat again, he once again climbed his horse and took hold of the reins,

“I ought to leave. Your family will be waking any minute now.”

“Fitzwilliam!” Elizabeth protested, and the sound of his Christian name coming from her lips had rendered him immobile. Darcy looked at her, surprised but immensely pleased,

“Yes, my dear?”

Elizabeth pressed her lips together in an effort to curb her smile. She only really needed to look at him in a certain way to get him to give in. A lady always ought to know the power of her own face,

“Elizabeth-”

“Fitzwilliam.” She cut him off, gazing at him and tilting her head just so before asking sweetly, “Tell me what occurred at Netherfield Park.”

Darcy sighed, then bent at his side to lean down. Elizabeth instinctively reached up on her tip toes to meet him in the middle for a kiss. Titan tried to fidget underneath him, but Darcy just held the reins tighter,

“I shall tell you when we are married.” He said against her mouth before straightening. Elizabeth rolled her eyes. She knew she would get no more out of him.

“You sir, have managed to make me anticipate the day even more than I already was.”

“It is only fair considering I can think of little else myself.”

Elizabeth laughed. From inside the house, there was a dull thud and sounds of people moving. Elizabeth looked up at the sky. It was time for the servants to wake. Any minute now, Hala would be coming into her room to check on her mistress,

“You need to go.” Darcy reminded her,

“Yes.” Elizabeth said, “I will leave for London in the next two days.”

“I shall see you then.” He nodded, then paused, “Where will you be staying?”

“My grandpapa’s townhouse. 4 Park Lane.”

Darcy nodded again, his face perfectly blank. Elizabeth smirked,

“You're impressed.” She said as if she were stating a fact. Darcy balked,

“I did not say a word!”

“You did not have to! I could tell from how much you were trying to not make a face that you wanted to.”

It was terrifying how well she could read him already, but it was also relieving that none of what she knew about him had turned her away from him yet. She saw him, and she liked what she saw.

It was more than he could have ever dreamed of in a spouse.

“Then, I shall see you in Town two days hence.”