Page 23 of Moments Frozen in Time (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

The truth was, I hesitated not from lack of feeling but from uncertainty.

I had never been taught how to court a woman properly.

My father had never spoken of such things, and Richard, while loyal, was far more irreverent than sincere when it came to matters of the heart.

Bingley, for all his charm, changed his affections as often as his waistcoats, and even if I were inclined to confide in him, I had no doubt Miss Bingley would know of it within the hour.

The last thing I wanted was for her to catch wind of my intentions before I had spoken to Miss Elizabeth herself.

Miss Elizabeth appreciated honesty and plain dealing, so perhaps I could simply ask.

I had shown her consistent attention over the past month; surely, she would not be entirely surprised by such a request. Granted, most of our conversations had been in private, even though I regularly sought her out at the various social events we had attended.

At least one of her sisters or Miss Lucas always joined us at these, and I wondered how my actions had been interpreted by those around us.

Would they be surprised at my request? Would Miss Elizabeth?

Still, I would wait until she returned to Longbourn. If I were to make my intentions known, I must first ask her father’s permission—and no man would welcome his daughter being courted under another man’s roof.

Having reached this decision, I stood abruptly, cutting off Miss Bingley mid-sentence as she launched into yet another complaint about the Bennets’ lack of refinement.

“If you will excuse me,” I said, inclining my head briefly before quitting the room.

I was surprised to find Miss Elizabeth in the passageway outside her sister’s room.

“Are you well, Miss Elizabeth? Might I be of some assistance?”

‘I am well, Mr. Darcy,” she replied. “I merely stepped outside for a moment whilst Jane was sleeping, thinking that I might search in the library for a book to read.”

“There is not much available there, but perhaps I could lend you a book instead,” I offered. I had brought several books with me, anticipating that Bingley would not have many available for me to read. “I have several volumes of poetry with me, along with a few histories and even a novel or two.”

“You read novels?” she asked, her one brow quirked up at me.

“I do,” I admitted, surprised the topic had not arisen in one of our earlier conversations.

“I try to read at least a few of the books Georgiana is reading so we can discuss them together—much like what you do with your sisters. Lately, she has taken a liking to novels with strong heroines. I believe she is trying to learn from them, just as your younger sisters are doing.”

I hesitated, then added, “Perhaps you might write to her. It would give her another lady with whom to share her thoughts. It may not be as pleasant as speaking in person, but I think she would truly value your insights.”

To my astonishment, my words brought a delicate flush to Miss Elizabeth’s cheeks.

I watched, captivated, as the colour bloomed slowly from her throat to her face.

Her lips parted as if to reply, then closed again, leaving her uncharacteristically silent.

I could not help but wonder what had caused her sudden uncertainty—Miss Elizabeth was seldom at a loss for words.

“It is only that…” I began, pausing before the rest escaped in a rush. “You are acquainted with Georgiana’s struggles, and I thought you might prove a good friend to her—someone with whom she could speak more freely than to a much older brother. ”

I hesitated again, then added, a bit awkwardly, “I… I may have mentioned you in a letter or two.”

The truth, of course, was that I had mentioned her in nearly every letter since arriving in Hertfordshire. Georgiana had begun to ask questions—mere hints, always just shy of asking outright—about this Miss Elizabeth Bennet I seemed unable to avoid writing about.

“I think she would truly enjoy corresponding with you,” I finished more quietly. “It would mean a great deal to her… and to me.”

“I would enjoy that,” she said at last, her voice quiet and slightly uncertain.

The feeling that swept through me at her acceptance was unlike anything I had known before; it was quiet, yet profound. As I had so many times before since meeting Miss Elizabeth, I felt a sense of rightness when in her company.

“Then, when I gather the books for you, I shall also bring my writing desk,” I said.

“I received a letter from Georgiana just today, and I intend to reply this evening or tomorrow. If you would care to write a short note, I would be pleased to include it with mine if you think you have time to write it.”

She did not respond verbally, merely nodding an agreement. Before either of us could say more, a sound from further down the hall had both of us turning towards it. To my relief, I noticed it was Morris.

“Morris, would you fetch my travel desk from the drawing room?” I asked him. “I realised I left it there when I departed a moment ago. If you will ensure it is delivered to Miss Elizabeth, I would appreciate it.”

“Mr. Darcy…” Elizabeth began, and I sensed that she intended to protest.

“There is nothing in my desk that is private,” I began, considering that may be the cause of her protest. “I would not leave it anywhere Miss Bingley could find it if that were the case. ”

Her soft laugh surprised me. “Are you a mind reader, Mr. Darcy?” she asked with a smile.

“I will return your desk as soon as I am finished and will leave the letter for your sister in the drawer. Jane is sleeping, so I will attempt to write to her before dinner. What are some of the books she has read recently?”

I murmured the name of a couple of books from memory before allowing Miss Elizabeth to enter her sister’s room again. Hurrying to my own, I gathered a few books from my own collection and went back into the passageway, waiting for Morris.

It took only a few minutes for Morris to return from his errand, carrying my writing desk in his arms.

“The others had left the room,” he said quietly, “but Miss Bingley remained behind and seemed put out by my entry. I believe she was examining the desk—perhaps searching for hidden compartments since it was on the settee beside her when I entered, not where you said it would be. I suggest you inspect it thoroughly before giving it to Miss Elizabeth.”

So attuned was I to Morris’s layered meanings that I needed no further prompting.

With the desk still in his arms and with us standing in the middle of the passageway, I opened the one obvious compartment and, atop the neatly stacked blank paper within, found a loosely folded note.

I unfolded it and, unsurprisingly, discovered a love letter from Miss Bingley.

The contents were as I expected—cloying in tone, filled with romantic nonsense, and disturbingly familiar in their implication. It referenced previous letters I had never sent and even alluded to a secret engagement between us. My jaw tightened as I scanned the page.

“How long has this been sitting here, readily visible?” I asked aloud, more to myself than to him.

Morris, as ever, said nothing. He only shrugged.

I handed him the letter. “Burn this. ”

He took it without question as I accepted the desk from him.

“I will take this to my room and examine it more carefully,” I said, already moving towards my door. “I need to ensure Miss Bingley has not left any other surprises for anyone to find, on the off chance she discovered the hidden compartments.”

The thought that Elizabeth might have already somehow noticed the one letter crossed my mind and left me feeling slightly unsettled.

Of course, she would never dream of reading my private correspondence, but she could hardly have failed to notice the distinctly feminine handwriting, deliberately displayed.

The letter had even been folded to expose both the sender’s name and a few carefully chosen lines—nothing overtly scandalous, but enough: an endearment here, a reference to an embrace there.

Miss Elizabeth also knew how little I liked Miss Bingley.

The topic had been mentioned more than once, usually in subtle ways, but one morning atop Oakham Mount I had felt compelled to describe how she, and other ladies in the ton , had chased me incessantly.

Still, I wanted to be certain that nothing else might cast doubt on my words.

A quick check revealed nothing more to be found.

This desk was a simple one, and for the most part, I never stored any important papers in something that could so easily be left behind.

I had a leather folio for my business correspondence, another for Pemberley’s business, and a third used to store personal letters when I travelled.

Morris, who sometimes acted almost as much as a secretary as a valet, at least during house parties and the like, ensured that none of my correspondence was ever lost or inadvertently discovered by prying eyes.

Confident that everything was now in order, I retrieved the desk and the selected books, then made my way down the passageway to Miss Bennet’s room.

A maid answered the door, and I handed the items to her without ceremony. She accepted them in silence, but as the door opened slightly, I caught a brief glimpse of Miss Elizabeth’s smile. That alone made the errand more than worthwhile .

With that task complete, I considered how to occupy myself next. I had no desire to endure more of Miss Bingley’s company, and as Morris had informed me that the others had dispersed, I set off in search of Bingley. I found him in his study, seated at the desk but clearly in no mood for paperwork.

We spent the next few hours in discussion about the estate.

Although Bingley’s father had left him a considerable inheritance intended for the purchase of a property, my friend remained uncertain.

He was still weighing whether he wished to tie himself to a single place—or to that particular responsibility.

“You have taken on the lease during what is typically a quiet season for an estate,” I remarked at one point.

“The harvest is complete, and the tenants are occupied with preparations for winter. I have noticed a few winter crops planted, and I understand the winters here are milder than those at Pemberley.”

I continued speaking of what he might expect come spring and summer if he remained at Netherfield—fieldwork, tenant concerns, seasonal repairs—but it soon became clear Bingley’s attention was drifting. He nodded absently, offering vague responses, so I shifted the conversation.

“Tell me, Bingley,” I asked, leaning back in my chair, “can you truly see yourself here for more than a few months? We have been in residence for six weeks, and in that time, we have hunted and fished, dined with the local gentry, and I believe your sisters have done their part in frequenting the shops in the village. But could you be content living here for the greater part of the year? London will always draw you back, of course, but I cannot imagine you would wish to reside there year-round.”

Bingley sighed heavily, his cheer dimming.

“My sisters do not care for the people here,” he admitted.

“We accept a fair number of invitations, but Caroline refuses twice as many, often without even opening them. She has rejected every overture from Longbourn, despite how kind Miss Bennet has been to her and how much she pretends friendship with that lady. As long as she continues to live with me, I fear I shall never be happy here. Caroline has a way of making any place miserable if she is displeased.”

“It is your decision,” I said firmly, hoping to strengthen his resolve. “Miss Bingley need not remain in your household. You could establish her in London or Bath, hire a companion for her, and allow her to live comfortably on the interest from her dowry.”

“But my father left her in my care,” Bingley protested.

“And you would still be fulfilling that responsibility by ensuring she is well provided for,” I replied.

“But I do understand your hesitation. I would never suggest forsaking one’s sister.

That said—frankly, Bingley—your sister has set her sights on what she cannot have.

I have made it clear, time and again, that I will not marry her.

There are few gentlemen of rank who would overlook her connexions to trade, unless her dowry was twice what it is, and those that would overlook them only do so because they are close to ruin.

She would do far better to consider a gentleman with a modest estate who would appreciate her accomplishments. ”

Bingley gave a rueful chuckle. “As long as you remain unmarried, she will continue to pursue you. Right now, she is utterly convinced you are enamoured with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

“At least in that,” I muttered, “she is not mistaken.”

“What was that, Darcy?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, shifting the conversation again.

“Your sister, regardless of her preferences, has a duty to repay the hospitality you have been shown since you entered the area. A dinner party, at the very least, would be expected. But I daresay the ladies in the neighbourhood would prefer a ball.”

“A ball,” Bingley repeated, his interest clearly piqued. “Yes—perhaps something could be arranged. I recall that being mentioned by some of the ladies at another event. Caroline would delight in the chance to show off her superior hostessing skills, and I would enjoy dancing with Miss Bennet.”

I only hoped my expression did not betray my opinion. Miss Bingley might be competent at organising events, but a true hostess should put her guests at ease. By contrast, Miss Bingley often seemed to take pleasure in making others feel inferior—regardless of their actual rank or merit.

Still, the seed had been planted. An entertainment at Netherfield was all but inevitable now.

With any luck, by the time it came to pass, I would have already secured Miss Elizabeth’s acceptance of my hand—or, at the very least, her agreement to allow me to court her. All that remained was to find the right moment—and the right words—to ask.