Page 25 of Look on the Heart (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #10)

“Turn him in my direction, Eliza. You know I am not so hopelessly romantic as you. I cannot afford to be. All I want is a home of my own, and he can provide it. When his proposal is refused, I shall be there to console him.”

“You are wonderful, Charlotte. Though I do not agree with your views on marriage, I shall not stand in your way. I have endured him long enough and can do it no longer. My family agrees—even my mother, fixated as she is on securing husbands for her daughters. Still, she will be displeased when he is rejected. ’Tis an eminently suitable match, and many will see it as foolish to refuse. ”

“You need not fear for your future, dear friend. Once I have secured his proposal, I shall ensure you and your family always have a comfortable home.” Miss Lucas nudged Elizabeth with her elbow, and the pair chuckled.

Darcy stood still, stunned by the turn of a single moment.

I knew it, he thought. She is just like the rest. Crueler.

Every hope he had dared to entertain fell away, leaving only the sting of humiliation.

He had loved her—and she had mocked him.

He withdrew with measured steps, unwilling to betray the depth of his wound, and once he was beyond their notice, he fled the ballroom.

In his chambers, Darcy summoned his valet. I cannot stay here another minute. If she does not want me, then I will not remain to be ensnared by another. His man appeared within moments, his ordinarily composed demeanor unsettled by the urgency of the call.

“Pack my trunks,” he ordered. “We are leaving before the ball concludes.”

“Yes, sir.” The man did not question him and set to his task at once.

Darcy yanked the cravat pin from his neckcloth and flung it onto the dressing table in disgust. He tore off his tailcoat with such force that he winced at the sound of straining seams. No matter—it could be mended.

The waistcoat came next, and he hesitated only a moment before pulling it off.

He hated the very sight of it, for it reminded him not only of her, but of the jest she made.

What had seemed playful now felt cruel, as though she laughed behind her fan at his expense.

How could she? he railed inwardly. I loved her!

I love her still. How could she prove no better than the rest—than those who have mocked me all my life?

He would not weep. No, he would not shed a tear for a heartless deceiver. She is worse than ten Miss Bingleys. Oh, how his heart ached. Already he missed her…or the woman he had believed her to be.

He and his carriage were ready in remarkably little time.

In haste, Darcy scrawled a brief note to Bingley, claiming an urgent matter had drawn him back to town.

I shall never return to Netherfield, he vowed.

Bingley would likely marry Miss Bennet, which meant Elizabeth would often be in her sister’s company.

Was he now to lose one of his few true friends as well? Intolerable.

Too anguished to rest, Darcy sat rigidly in his carriage, the road to London unfolding beneath the wheels he scarcely heard. He stared out into the blackness beyond the window, praying he might one day recover from his worst heartbreak.

Elizabeth

After supper, Elizabeth looked about for Mr. Darcy. Failing to find him, she thought little of it. No doubt he had sought solitude; he did not enjoy society as she did. Her thoughts wandered to recent events, particularly her conversation with Mary the morning following her promise to Mr. Darcy.

“Mary?” She knocked on her sister’s bedchamber door and entered. “May I speak with you?”

Mary glanced up from her book, her eyes wide with surprise. She slowly set it aside. “Yes, of course. What is it, Lizzy?”

Elizabeth shut the door behind her and seated herself beside Mary on the window seat. “I wished to discuss something with you. It concerns Mr. Collins.”

Mary’s lips drew into a tight line, frowning. “If you refer to his poor attempts at courtship, then I already know. It does not surprise me that Mama has directed him to me. I am her ugliest daughter and therefore the most acceptable for our toady of a cousin.”

Elizabeth blinked, startled. “That is the harshest thing I have ever heard you utter,” she said, impressed. “And yet I must admit—you are not wrong. I overheard our mother telling Mr. Collins that you would make the most suitable wife. Her remarks were…not flattering.”

A dry chuckle escaped Mary. “I know what she thinks of me.” Her bitter words pricked Elizabeth’s heart. “Because I lack beauty, I cannot possibly have feelings. She will be furious when I refuse his proposals.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened in shock. “You will? Brava, dear sister! No lady deserves to be burdened with such a man, especially a dear sister.”

“The problem remains that in doing so, I will incur Mama’s wrath and Mr. Collins’s disdain. What am I to do?”

Elizabeth considered, then leaned forward, her gaze steady.

“For now, do your best to discourage him. I do not know whether you will succeed—he seems remarkably obtuse. Already our father has tired of him, amusing as he seemed when first he arrived. I shall think of something to mitigate any damage that may arise from your refusal. Never fear; I shall stand by you, and our father will not force his daughters to marry against their will.”

A flicker of doubt crossed Mary’s features. “He might do so for you. But for me? I cannot see it.” She looked so small and defeated. Elizabeth wrapped her sister into a warm embrace. “I shall speak with him, if you wish it.”

Mary nodded, leaning into her. Elizabeth felt a rush of affection for the oft-forgotten Bennet sister and kissed her head.

That had been nearly a week ago. Their father had agreed to support Mary, though his assurances had done little to calm her, for Mr. Collins lurked about every corner like a specter.

And this evening, after dancing the first with her, he had asked for the supper set, too.

When Mary refused, it left her to sit out the remainder of the ball.

Elizabeth had consoled her sister as best she could, then vented her frustration to Charlotte.

She ought not to have maligned Mr. Collins so thoroughly, especially with regard to his appearance, but his character ran counter to everything her father had instilled in her.

Unfortunately, it appeared the gentleman was very much the same on the inside as he was on the outside.

Charlotte, ever practical, had offered a solution.

When Mary rejected Mr. Collins’s proposal, she would be there to distract him and lead him away.

Her willingness to marry such a man spoke volumes.

Charlotte would settle for an obtuse and obsequious fool rather than remain a spinster and face the future alone.

Elizabeth did not approve, but she would not interfere.

If her friend believed she could find contentment in a marriage of convenience, who was she to protest?

Mr. Darcy did not appear when the carriages were called.

The excuses Elizabeth had made earlier for his absence now rang hollow.

Perhaps something had happened to call him away from the ball.

Surely, he would not do so without bidding me farewell, she thought.

But he owed her nothing. They were neither engaged, nor even courting.

Still, she could not shake the sense that his behavior was unlike him.

I shall await his call tomorrow, she decided, holding to the conviction. She felt certain he would come.

During the carriage ride home, Jane revealed that Mr. Bingley had asked to court her, and she had accepted.

Elizabeth felt a rush of pleasure at her sister’s good fortune.

As she lay abed that night, she reflected on how very much she admired Mr. Darcy.

Once she did not think him handsome, but now she had to admit she had been entirely mistaken.

Even with the wine mark on his face, his scar, and his broken nose, Mr. Darcy was one of the handsomest men of her acquaintance.

As she drifted off to sleep, she whispered a prayer that she would soon have the same felicity as Jane.