Page 26 of Moments Frozen in Time (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

ELIZABETH

I returned to my room in a haze, scarcely able to believe that Mr. Darcy had truly asked to court me.

He had been in the area for over a month, and though we had not seen one another every day, our paths had aligned with remarkable frequency—we met three or four times a week, at least, in the mornings, either on Oakham Mount or near it.

After the first week, he had begun pausing to speak with me whenever we encountered each other on those walks.

Those conversations often stretched from a brief quarter hour to more than an hour, depending on how engaged we became in our discussions.

We always seemed to be able to find something to talk about, and oftentimes we were unaware of how quickly time had passed once we began talking.

Beyond our regular meetings at church each Sunday, we typically crossed paths once or twice more during the week at various social gatherings. There were also unexpected moments—chance meetings in the village, usually when I was out with one or more of my sisters.

Although I had sometimes allowed myself to dream that a man like him might take notice of me, I had always believed it improbable.

Yet through it all, my grandmother’s voice echoed in my heart, reminding me to be patient.

And now, it seemed, that patience had been well rewarded: Mr. Darcy had asked to court me.

As I replayed the entire conversation in my head, I recalled that he had told me that he cared deeply for me.

I wondered, had I given him encouragement, if he would have proposed instead of merely asking for a courtship.

He had kissed my hand, something no man had ever done before.

Mr. Darcy had done so once before, but this time, since I had not bothered to put on my gloves, his lips had touched my skin.

What would it feel like if he were to kiss my lips instead?

Acting more like Lydia than myself, I fell back onto the bed out of sheer joy. My face felt hot, and I was certain that, should anyone see me, they would wonder if I were taking ill. However, it was the mere thought of Mr. Darcy one day kissing me that made my cheeks heat.

It took several minutes, but eventually I gathered myself enough to step into the passageway and check on Jane.

To my relief, she was still sleeping soundly.

Given how poorly she had rested the past several nights, it was a welcome sight.

Still, her continued rest left me momentarily at a loss—I had grown so accustomed to tending to her needs that I hardly knew what to do with myself now.

With nothing pressing to occupy me, I wandered back downstairs, my steps unhurried, and found myself drawn towards the library.

To my surprise, the room was empty. I had only glanced around earlier when Mr. Darcy had invited me for our walk, but now, with no one present, I took the opportunity to truly observe the room.

The library, whilst not grand, possessed a quiet charm, which would have been far greater if its shelves were full.

Instead, the shelves were sparsely filled, suggesting the collection was more for appearance than for use and that Mr. Bingley had added little to it, if at all.

There were a few books scattered on a small side table near the chair that Mr. Darcy had been in earlier.

One of the books was left open as if someone had only just been reading it, and I wondered if Mr. Darcy had been in there recently .

The scent of leather and faint wood smoke lingered in the air, and the pale afternoon light filtering through the tall windows gave the room a soft, golden hue.

One desk stood apart from the rest of the furnishings—modest but clearly in regular use. What I assumed was a stack of blank paper was neatly placed on one side, a pen and inkwell placed precisely at its centre. I determined at once that it was the one Mr. Darcy had claimed during his stay.

I stood in the centre of the room for a long moment, simply taking in the quiet atmosphere—the faint scent of old paper and leather bindings, the golden slant of afternoon light through the windows.

A sudden sound startled me. I turned just as the door closed behind a swiftly approaching Caroline Bingley, her expression tight with unmistakable displeasure.

“What precisely are you about, Miss Eliza?” Miss Bingley demanded, her voice sharp and accusatory.

“I was merely looking around the library,” I replied, keeping my tone calm, though a touch of wariness crept in despite my best efforts.

“You were looking for Mr. Darcy,” she snapped. “You may have managed to enchant him for the moment, but it will not last. You are nothing more than a passing amusement for a man like him. He will marry someone of his own rank.”

“Someone like you?” I asked lightly, the edge of a smile tugging at my lips. My tone was wry, more amused than intimidated by her thinly veiled insult.

Her nose rose in the air another inch. “Of course,” she replied haughtily.

“That is why he came to stay at Netherfield, after all. We will use the ball to announce our engagement to the local populace, and then we will return to London so his aunt, the Countess of Matlock, can announce it to the ton . His attention to you is nothing. He may have enjoyed talking to you, but he will marry me. ”

“Well then, when the engagement is announced, Miss Bingley, I shall be one of the first to wish you joy,” I said, doing my best to keep the amusement from my voice.

She responded with a sharp humph and fixed me with a lingering glare before turning on her heel and sweeping from the room.

The moment the door closed behind her, I allowed the smile I had been holding back to spread freely across my face.

However, another thought chased it away almost as quickly as it had come.

“She would not go so far as to compromise him… would she?” I murmured to myself, considering what further schemes she might contrive.

Her little contrivance with the tea, though ill-judged, had been of no consequence and produced no lasting effect.

This, however, was a more deliberate attempt to alarm me into retreat; yet, now that I knew Mr. Darcy’s intentions, it would not succeed.

Still, would she go further in her efforts?

With no book at hand to distract me, I began to pace slowly through the room, running my fingers lightly along the spines of the books on the nearest shelf.

The more I dwelled on her words, the more uneasy I became.

There had been something in her tone that hinted at more than mere jealousy.

She had been so certain of the engagement, but I knew that Mr. Darcy would not enter it willingly.

Even if he had not told me how little he liked her, he was far too honourable to have asked me for courtship only a few hours ago if he were planning to become engaged to another.

I had no sense of how long I had been lost in thought when I heard the door open and close again—this time much more softly.

“Are you well, Elizabeth?” Mr. Darcy asked as he approached quietly, his voice low with concern.

It was not strictly proper for us to be alone together in the library, but I found I did not care. His presence brought more comfort than impropriety could outweigh, and so I spoke the cause of my unease without hesitation .

“Miss Bingley just informed me,” I said carefully, “that your engagement—to her—is to be announced at the ball.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. He simply stared at me, his brow furrowed slightly, his eyes blinking in slow confusion as if trying to determine whether he had heard me correctly.

“What did you say?” he asked me finally.

I laughed lightly. “She came to warn me that you would never marry me, that I was merely a passing amusement for you, and that you would marry someone ‘of your rank,’ which, naturally, meant her. Apparently, after you announce the engagement here, you will go to London where your aunt, the countess, will make the announcement to the ton .”

“If either of my aunts believed I was about to marry Caroline Bingley, the fuss they would raise would be heard all the way in Meryton from London,” Darcy said bitterly. He looked thoughtful for a moment, and then he added, “I have told you of my aunt’s delusions, have I not?”

His words caught me off guard. We had spoken of his aunt, the countess, but I could not recall any mention of a second aunt.

“No, I do not believe you have,” I said.

He gave a slight nod, his expression tightening. “My Aunt Catherine—my mother’s sister—waited until after my father’s death to inform me of a supposed ‘cradle betrothal’ she and my mother had arranged between me and her daughter, my cousin.”

For a moment, I could only stare at him, stunned. “You believe she imagined it?”

His chuckle was dry, tinged with bitterness. “More likely, it was a calculated fabrication,” he said. “I denied it outright the first time she mentioned it, but she refused to be dissuaded. Even now, she brings it up from time to time, but I have learnt to simply ignore her.”

He paused, his expression darkening slightly.

“I have also spoken with my cousin about it, and Anne agrees—neither of us has any wish to marry the other. We have chosen, for now, to endure my aunt’s insistence in silence.

But make no mistake—if, or rather when, I become engaged, my Aunt Catherine will do everything in her power to intimidate the woman I choose to convince her to give me up. ”

“I would never,” I said before I could stop myself, the words slipping out in a rush.

I froze, startled by my own boldness—and, perhaps, by how much I meant the words I had blurted out.

A broad grin spread across his face as he turned to me, his expression noticeably brighter—genuine and far more pleasant than it had been a moment before. “You would not, would you?” he asked, his voice laced with both hope and a trace of amusement.

I straightened my shoulders, willing myself to meet his gaze.

“What I meant,” I said carefully, “is that I would never allow someone so wholly unconnected to me to dictate my choices. If a man I loved were to propose marriage, I would not let anything—or anyone—stand between us. Certainly not a fictitious cradle betrothal.”

“Nor would you allow the claim of a presumptuous woman to discompose you, would you, my dear Miss Elizabeth?” he replied, his voice far more teasing than I had ever heard it.

I laughed, but my amusement quickly faded.

“What concerns me,” I said, my tone more serious, “is whether Miss Bingley might be planning something besides her implications to me. Would she go so far as to deliberately create a scandal? To falsely announce an engagement or put you in a position that calls your honour into question?”

He paused, choosing his next words with care.

“Anything Miss Bingley claims would be met with scepticism—Bingley certainly knows precisely how unwilling I am to marry his sister since we have spoken of it several times since I arrived in the area. I cannot imagine he would lend credence to anything she might attempt.”

A faint smile tugged at his mouth as he continued.

“If she were bold enough to assert some connexion between us, I would deny it without hesitation both here and in town. I have something of a reputation in town—not just for truthfulness, but for barely tolerating Miss Bingley’s company, despite my friendship with her brother. ”

His tone grew wryer still. “My aunt, the countess, is formidable and would be the first to quash any such rumour should it reach London. And besides”—he glanced at me, his eyes warm— “my honour is already engaged elsewhere. I trust, Miss Elizabeth, that you would do everything in your power to rescue me should I ever be at risk of being claimed by Miss Bingley.”

I felt my cheeks grow warm and murmured a quiet, “Of course,” before lowering my gaze.

The gesture felt uncharacteristic—more like something Kitty or Lydia might have done rather than myself—but in moments like these, I found it difficult to behave as I knew I ought.

No matter how I tried, his presence unsettled me in a way I could not quite control.

Mr. Darcy drew his watch from his pocket and glanced at it. “I fear we have lingered here longer than is strictly proper,” he said reluctantly. “It is nearly time to dress for dinner.”

He returned the watch to his waistcoat and added, “I left my footman outside to ensure we would not be disturbed, but even so, I will step out first to make certain the hall is clear before you leave. And—if you will allow it—I would be honoured to wait outside your door and escort you to dinner.”

“Nothing about the last half hour has been proper, sir, but yes, I will gladly accept your escort to dinner,” I replied, in what I hoped was a teasing manner.

As he had done during our walk in the garden, he reached for my hand with his—his touch warm against my bare skin.

He lifted it slowly, his gaze never leaving mine, and pressed a brief, reverent kiss to my knuckles.

Although the contact was fleeting, it sent a shiver through me as if the warmth of it lingered, sinking deeply into my skin .

I watched as he stepped away, offering me a final glance before he slipped out the door with his usual quiet confidence. But I still did not move from the spot.

For several minutes, I remained exactly where I was, my feet rooted to the ground, as the quiet of the empty room settled around me.

I let the sensation of his kiss and the memory of the look in his eyes—so steady, so full of something unspoken—wash over me.

It felt as though the world had narrowed to that single moment, and I stood in the silence, trying to steady the flurry in my chest and the thoughts that refused to settle.