Page 15 of More Than You Know (The Love Conquers Pride #3)

Chapter Fourteen

W hen they had completed their stroll, Darcy led Elizabeth to one of the polished wooden benches. It was his favourite corner of the room, secluded behind a cluster of orange trees, their leaves forming a canopy that diffused the sunlight into shifting patterns upon the floor.

They sat, and for several moments, the gentle burbling of water from the nearby fountain was the only sound in the still space.

Darcy stole a glance at her, noting the slight furrow in her brow and the way her fingers rested, motionless, upon the folds of her gown.

He shifted his attention to a lemon tree, ripe with fruit, mentally rehearsing a dozen different lines of conversation, dismissing each as inadequate before the words could form. The silence deepened until he could endure it no longer, and he turned to look at her, clearing his throat.

“I have been meaning to thank you, Miss Bennet—you and your sister—for your kindness to Georgiana. She seems to have blossomed these last few days, under your care. Indeed, I confess that I have not seen her so at ease in a very long time.”

At his words, Elizabeth lifted her gaze, offering him a genuine smile. “You need not express any thanks for that. Miss Darcy is a delightful young lady. Jane and I feel very fortunate to have made her acquaintance.”

“Still, you have gone out of your way to make her feel comfortable. I wanted you to know that it has not gone unnoticed, nor unappreciated.”

Elizabeth inclined her head, saying simply, “It is not difficult to be attentive to someone you genuinely like. From what I have observed, your sister is only exceedingly shy, and that is something that will likely improve the more she is out in society.”

Darcy nodded slowly. “My sister has always had a gentle, unassuming nature. Like me, she has never performed well to strangers, but her reticence has increased significantly since the summer. I have recently found a new companion for her—an older gentlewoman with a mild manner—whom I anticipate engaging after the new year. I only hope that Mrs Annesley can help to coax Georgiana out of her shell, else she will never be ready for her presentation in the spring.”

Elizabeth frowned slightly. “Forgive my impertinence, but must she be brought out so soon? At sixteen, she is still quite young. Might she not benefit from more time to prepare for all a first Season will throw her way?”

“I do not see the need to wait,” Darcy replied curtly. “ Your youngest sisters are out. And in Georgiana’s case, it would not be prudent to delay. As things stand, she is too easy a mark for every scapegrace and wastrel in London society. She must be settled before— Well, let us just say that the sooner she is settled, the better.”

Elizabeth looked up at him, a question in her gaze.

“Before you go away, you mean?” she asked guilelessly, and Darcy startled.

Elizabeth shrugged lightly. “Your housekeeper mentioned that you had plans to leave Pemberley.”

“Ah, I see.”

When he failed to explain further, Elizabeth continued, “You indicated that Miss Darcy had become more reserved since last summer. Did something occur to bring about this change in her behaviour?”

Darcy looked away. He had not meant to disclose anything about his sister’s near ruin, but the gentleness of Elizabeth’s tone, and the warm expression in her eyes, suddenly made him want to unburden himself, at least of the one thing he was at liberty to share.

With a deep sigh, he began, “About a year ago, Georgiana was removed from school, and an establishment was formed for her in London. Last summer, she travelled to Ramsgate with her companion, at her own request, where she encountered a man by the name of George Wickham.” Darcy paused, the sharp heat of anger flaring within him before he pressed on. “Wickham was my father’s godson and the son of a respectable man who managed the Pemberley estates for many years. Unfortunately, the son has proved to be nothing like his late father, and I have long since ceased to think well of him.

“In any case, my sister knew nothing of Mr Wickham’s perfidy, and due to this ignorance, along with her affectionate heart, she was persuaded to believe herself in love, and to consent to an elopement. She was then but fifteen years old.”

Elizabeth gasped, and Darcy’s jaw tightened. “Wickham cared nothing for my sister. His aim was her fortune of thirty thousand pounds and control of Pemberley once I was out of the way. Thankfully, the elopement was thwarted when I arrived unexpectedly. Georgiana confessed everything, and Wickham left the place immediately. Her companion was removed from her post, and Wickham has since been dealt with.

“So now, perhaps you will understand both Georgiana’s timorous comportment, as well as my motives for wanting to see her married to a respectable, upstanding gentleman as soon as may be.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened as he concluded his tale, and for a moment she merely stared back at him in silence.

“Mr Darcy,” she said at last, her voice low but trembling with feeling, “I can scarcely comprehend the anguish this must have caused you—and your poor sister!” She paused, her lips pressed together in a taut line. “For Miss Darcy to have endured such deceit from one she trusted—how her tender heart must have suffered under the weight of such betrayal.”

Her gaze lingered on his, steady and searching before she continued, “And you, sir—how it must have grieved you, to see her so cruelly used and to feel all the burden of protecting her from further harm.”

Elizabeth’s eyes shone with unspoken emotion, and before he could register her intent, her hand rose, her fingers grazing his jaw before they brushed against his cheek. The warmth of her touch sent a shiver down Darcy’s spine, and he sucked in a ragged breath, scarcely daring to move. When he had finished his confession—the weight of his family’s near disgrace laid bare before her—he had expected her pity, perhaps even polite discomfort, but not this—never this.

He closed his eyes, leaning into the tender caress. Despite his best intentions, his resolve crumbled, and he slowly turned into her touch, pressing his lips to the centre of her palm.

Inhaling the intoxicating sweetness of her skin, he lifted his gaze, staring into the unfathomable depths of her eyes.

“Elizabeth,” he choked out, and something in her expression ignited a fire within his very soul. In that moment, all rational thought flew from his mind, and despite every vow he had made, every restraint he had promised to uphold, he leaned forwards, his lips finding hers.

The first brush was hesitant, no more than a question, but the answering pressure of her mouth undid him. A wave of longing surged through his body, and his hand rose to cradle the back of her neck.

She tasted of sincerity and hope, and Darcy felt as if the very earth had shifted beneath his feet. Every sensation was heightened—the warmth of her breath, the sweetness of her scent, the softness of her skin as his thumb traced the curve of her jaw.

And yet, even as passion flared, there was reverence in his touch, as though he feared she might vanish if he held on too tightly. She was his undoing—she had been from the very first—and at this moment, he could not bring himself to care.

With great reluctance, Darcy drew back, his breathing ragged, and Elizabeth’s eyelids fluttered open.

He studied her face with quiet intensity, and what he saw there—wonder, longing, and something that looked a good deal like disbelief—made his heart tighten painfully within his chest.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “That should not have happened.”

Dropping his hands from where they had come to rest upon her shoulders, Darcy stood, pacing several steps away, his boots echoing against the tile floor. Shame burned through him, but even as it did, he could not entirely banish the memory of her lips against his, nor the way she had leaned into his touch…

He forced himself to face her again, though his composure was brittle at best. “Miss Bennet, I must beg your forgiveness. I have overstepped every boundary of propriety, and for that, I can offer no excuse. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I have never been the sort of gentleman to take such liberties with a lady—certainly not with you. I find such behaviour utterly abhorrent.”

Her eyes lifted to his, and at length, she answered quietly, “I do believe you. Though, in truth, you have no cause for recrimination. If I am being entirely honest, your gesture was not…unwanted. I was merely surprised. I did not think…that is, I was under the impression that you did not have those sorts of…feelings for…”

Elizabeth broke off, shifting her gaze uncomfortably to the floor, but Darcy reached out, gently lifting her chin with the tips of his fingers.

“For you?” he asked quietly, and Elizabeth lowered her lashes. “If that is indeed your meaning, then you would be mistaken. And if by ‘those sorts of feelings’ you refer to desire, I have felt nothing but desire from the moment I first laid eyes on you, on that Yorkshire moor. God help me, Elizabeth, I want you with every fibre of my being.”

At this declaration, Elizabeth visibly startled, blinking up at him with unconcealed astonishment.

“But then…I do not understand. In Hertfordshire, you made it abundantly clear that we could have no future together. You told me in no uncertain terms that you would never marry! Do you deny it?”

“No. I have no wish to deny it. But what I said was that I would not marry. I never told you that I did not wish to marry.”

To Darcy’s surprise, Elizabeth’s blush deepened. “Yes, I remember. I believe if we are to be exact, you said that you were not free to marry. Is that not so?”

A small frown tugged at his brow. “I may have said something to that effect. I do not recall my precise manner of expression. Why? What difference does it make?”

Elizabeth looked away. “The way you said it… You seemed to imply that your feelings were engaged…elsewhere. And then later, when I…” She tilted her head, her expression pensive, before continuing, almost to herself, “I suppose it is possible to feel desire for more than one person. I simply did not…” Turning briefly away, she worried at her lip before once again boldly meeting his gaze. “What of Mr Walsh?”

Darcy stared back at her. “Walsh? What has he to do with this?”

“A great deal, I should say,” Elizabeth replied, lifting her chin. “Are you not…attached to him, sir?”

“Attached?” Darcy blinked back at her before understanding struck, sharp and sudden. “Surely you do not mean…?”

Elizabeth flushed an even deeper shade of scarlet, and Darcy cursed beneath his breath. Good God! Had Elizabeth been under the misapprehension that Walsh was the reason he was disinclined to marry?

He turned slightly away, raking his fingers through his hair before coming to sit beside her on the bench.

“Elizabeth,” he began gently, “Walsh has been an exceedingly good friend to me, and I owe him a debt of gratitude that I can likely never repay. But that is all. There are no…deeper feelings between us. I am sorry if anything I said led you to believe that I was presently attached to anyone at all. I certainly would never have kissed you as I did if that had been the case.”

Elizabeth turned away, but Darcy could see the elegant column of her neck was stained a brilliant shade of pink.

“Well, now I feel exceedingly foolish,” she murmured, still unable to meet his gaze. “I hardly know what to say. Can you ever forgive me for jumping to such an erroneous conclusion?”

Darcy chuckled. “There is nothing to forgive. In truth, I am certain you are not the first person to have made that assumption, though you are the first to have voiced it to me directly. That did surprise me.”

“Why?” she asked, finally looking up at him with a wilful expression. “Because I am a lady, and therefore should know nothing about such things, or because I am not as worldly as the ladies of the ton ?”

Shocked, Darcy sputtered, “Because it is not something that is generally spoken of! Certainly not in polite society.”

At his words, Elizabeth’s courage seemed to falter, and there was remorse in her expression even though her chin still tipped up a little when she spoke.

“I hope you know that I never would have broached the subject with anyone else. I am not one to spread gossip, which is more than I can say for others of your acquaintance.”

At this, Darcy merely stared back at her with a quirked brow before she eventually sighed.

“If you must know, I did not come to that conclusion entirely on my own. It was Miss Bingley who first put the notion into my head, and she apparently received the intelligence from Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

Darcy stiffened, his breath catching in his throat.

“What? Fitzwilliam would not…” His voice faded as he turned away, his jaw tightening. No, Richard would never fabricate such nonsense, but he might share Darcy’s aversion to marriage if he thought it would help divert Miss Bingley’s attentions. From there, it would have been all too easy for her to twist his words into a tale that suited her schemes—and plant it in Elizabeth’s mind.

Damn Miss Bingley and her incessant meddling!

A low groan escaped him. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” he muttered under his breath before meeting Elizabeth’s curious gaze. “I should have realized she was up to something when she took such an interest in speaking to you after that dinner at Netherfield.”

But Elizabeth quickly shook her head. “No, the fault is mine. I should have judged better than to have believed anything Miss Bingley said, especially when she did not scruple to sink your character after assuring me that she did not suffer gossip, as you were her brother’s particular friend .”

Darcy made to answer, but at that moment, the faint creak of a door opening on the opposite side of the room arrested their attention. He and Elizabeth froze, the sound of footsteps echoing faintly against the floor. Their eyes locked, tension threading between them as moments stretched into what felt like an eternity. The door opened again, and they heard one of the gardeners call out to someone before it banged softly shut.

Darcy exhaled slowly, relief washing over him as Elizabeth stood. “I should go. My aunt will be returning shortly, and she will worry if I am not in my chambers.”

She turned, moving towards the corridor, but just as her fingers brushed the edge of the doorway, he found his voice.

“Elizabeth.”

She halted mid-step, slowly turning back to face him.

“You should know that when I said I never should have kissed you, I meant it. But not because I regretted my actions. My feelings for you are not the work of a moment. You have stirred a longing in me unlike any I have ever known, and I shall savour the memory of that kiss for the remainder of my days. But there is no hope for any future between us, so it cannot happen again. Nor will it.”

Elizabeth said nothing. Then, with a faint nod, she turned and slipped out of the room, leaving Darcy alone with the fading echo of her footsteps and the ache of words he wished he could take back.

Elizabeth sat before the fire in her chambers, her hands resting in her lap, though her fingers absently twisted at the folds of her gown. The flickering flames cast shadows against the walls, but she scarcely noticed them. Her thoughts were far away—trapped in the orangery, in the lingering warmth of Mr Darcy’s unexpected embrace.

What had she been thinking to have reached for him in such an intimate manner—she who had never touched any gentleman in such a way, not even Mr Bingley to whom she was practically betrothed!

The truth was, she had not been thinking at all. Or at least, she had not taken the time to meditate on her actions. All rational thought seemed to have flown from her head the moment she had placed her hand on Mr Darcy’s coat sleeve, standing so close to him that she could smell the heady aroma of freshly pressed linen and shaving soap upon his skin.

And then he had looked at her with such a mixture of desolation and desire that it had seemed like the most natural thing in the world to press her fingers to his cheek, to offer him comfort in some small way. When he had kissed her palm, a searing fire had seemed to burn through her entire body. And then he had wrapped his arms around her, and his lips had touched hers with such tenderness and passion all rolled together, and she had been lost.

Standing from her chair, she paced to the nearby window, staring out into the gathering darkness.

Mr Darcy had begged for her forgiveness, but he could not bear all the blame for what had happened between them. She could not claim ignorance of her actions nor deny the yearning that had driven them. And yet, neither could she see a path forwards that did not end in sorrow. She had allowed herself to feel too much, too quickly, and now she could never go back.

Elizabeth closed her eyes, but the memory remained—the warmth of his hand, the strength of his embrace, the reverence in his voice when he spoke her name. She pressed her palm to the cool glass, and in the quiet of her bedroom, her heart whispered the one truth she had been unwilling to admit.

She was in love with Mr Darcy. And unless she was very much mistaken, Mr Darcy was in love with her.

For Elizabeth, the rest of the day passed in a haze of distraction. Dinner was a lively affair, with the travellers regaling those who had remained behind with tales of their adventures, but Elizabeth was hardly able to attend to the conversation. She could scarcely look Mr Bingley in the eye, and when her gaze connected with Mr Darcy’s across the table, she could feel her entire body heat at the memory of his lips upon hers.

Her hands trembled slightly as she lifted her wine glass, forcing herself to focus on Jane’s laughter as she responded to something Mr Bingley had said. But no matter how she tried, her thoughts betrayed her, wandering again and again to the orangery and the way her heart had quickened under Mr Darcy’s touch.

What madness had possessed her to allow such liberties? What of Mr Bingley, whose attentions had been nothing short of honourable and whose devotion to her had never wavered? She thought of his easy smiles, his generous spirit, and the steadiness of his regard. How could she face him now, knowing that her thoughts—her very heart—had been so utterly disloyal?

Elizabeth’s gaze fell to her plate, her appetite long since abandoned. Mr Bingley deserved more than her divided affections; he deserved a woman whose heart was wholly his, but could she truly forget what had passed between her and Mr Darcy? The way he had looked at her, as though she were the very air he breathed; the reverence in his voice, the unguarded passion of his touch—haunted her still.

And yet, his words continued to echo in her mind: they had no future together. He had said it so plainly, leaving no room for doubt.

Elizabeth inhaled an unsteady breath, pressing her hands together in her lap as if the motion might steady her wavering resolve. She had to make a choice.

Mr Bingley deserved better. He deserved honesty.

Which meant that an unhappy alternative lay before her—either to bring an end to their courtship or to accept that what had occurred between herself and Mr Darcy was nothing but a fleeting moment, and could not—would not—be more.

If only she was certain that she had the strength to let Mr Darcy go.