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

Chapter Two

F or one agonizing moment, silence stretched between them. Darcy remained rooted in place as the echo of his voice seemed to hang in the air.

Jane.

He had spoken the name aloud—blurted it, in fact—without a shred of decorum or thought. The word had burst from him with all the restraint of a startled schoolboy, and now it lingered in the space between them.

The young lady blinked, her expression flickering—first with surprise then something unreadable—before her gaze dropped demurely to the floor.

Beside him, Bingley’s bright countenance creased in visible confusion, his eyes darting between his companion and Darcy. The silence grew heavier, threatening to become oppressive, before Bingley gave a low chuckle, breaking the tension.

“Forgive me, I have quite forgotten my manners!”

He turned eagerly to the young woman at his side, offering her a broad smile.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet, may I present my good friend Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire to your acquaintance?”

Attempting to regulate his emotions, Darcy offered the lady a shallow bow, but he did not miss the light flush that infused her countenance, nor had he failed to note the flash of recognition in her eyes when their gazes met.

So, he had not been mistaken. It was her.

“Miss Bennet,” he murmured, his voice hoarse despite his effort to steady it.

The lady—Elizabeth—curtsied, though her movements were a shade more hesitant than they ought to have been.

“The pleasure is mine, Mr Darcy,” she replied politely, but her eyes looked everywhere but at his.

He gave a low murmur of acknowledgement before adding, “Miss Bennet, pray forgive my informal—and erroneous—manner of address just now. You remind me a good deal of someone I met in Yorkshire some years ago.”

At his words, her colour deepened, yet there was a slight quirk to her lips as she replied lightly, “Someone you thought well of, I hope?”

“Indeed.”

Their gazes held for a long moment before Richard joined them, and Darcy was forced to look away as Bingley once again performed the necessary introductions.

“Well,” Bingley continued, “I had best be returning Miss Bennet to her relations.”

Once again, the young lady dropped a curtsey, but before they could step away, Darcy heard his own voice call out, “Miss Bennet, if you are not engaged for the next, might I request the honour of your hand?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his cousin’s eyebrows jump, but his attention remained fixed on the object of his interest.

To Darcy’s relief, she flushed prettily before answering in the affirmative, taking the arm he offered and allowing him to lead her to where the next set was forming.

Quickly taking their places at the end of the line just as the music began, they moved through the figures of the dance. Around him, Darcy could hear startled murmurs as the other guests took note of his presence, but his focus never strayed from his partner.

“So, Miss Bennet , is it? Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he finally intoned as the steps brought them face-to-face.

Once again, the lady flushed slightly, but her gaze was steady as she answered, “Yes,” in a calm, clear voice.

“Not Jane, then,” Darcy persisted.

“No.”

The pattern forced them to turn away from each other, leaving Darcy several moments to seethe in silence at the unaffected manner of her reply.

“And might I be so bold as to ask why you gave your name as Jane, when in fact it is Elizabeth?” he enquired when they were again in close proximity.

The lady arched one delicate brow. “I should imagine you know why,” she answered, and once again Darcy was left to stew as the steps drew them apart.

“I am afraid I do not,” he responded stiffly, as soon as he was able, and Elizabeth seemed to take pity on him, saying mildly, “We were scarcely more than strangers to one another, sir. It would have been imprudent of me to have shared my Christian name.”

They changed partners then, and Darcy was forced to focus his attention on the pattern of the dance.

“Then why give me any name at all?” he hissed back at her as soon as opportunity allowed. “I should have preferred to go on thinking of you as Miss Rivers than to have been taken for a fool.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened slightly at the vehemence in his tone, and she briefly looked away.

“I assure you it was not maliciously done.” She paused for a moment before adding, “Jane is my sister’s name. It was she who was travelling with me that summer.”

“Ah. Of course,” Darcy replied, making no effort to disguise the bitterness in his voice. “You gave me her name instead of your own so that if any negative repercussions were to have arisen from our meetings, your sister would have been the one who bore the blame.”

To Darcy’s chagrin, the young lady looked genuinely offended.

“Certainly not! Besides, my aunt and uncle would never have believed that Jane was out walking before breakfast, let alone conversing with an unknown gentleman.”

Darcy opened his mouth to answer, yet was forced to hold his tongue as she spun away from him. But when the dance again brought them together, it was Elizabeth who spoke.

“I apologize for deceiving you, sir. However, I do not see what difference it can make now.”

“It does make a difference! I wish to know why you felt the need to lie to me,” he pressed. Attempting to steady his breathing, he continued in a gentler tone, “I know we were not well acquainted, but I always believed you to have been truthful.”

“Oh?” she replied with an arch expression. “The way you were truthful with me, William? ”

“That is entirely different!” Darcy sputtered, but he could not help but note the heat of a flush he felt climbing up his neck. “William is an abbreviation of my given name. It is not a bald-faced fabrication.”

Elizabeth frowned up at him, but he could see the heightened colour in her cheeks. Once more, the couple was forced to endure another separation. However, when the pattern reunited them, he could see that her expression had softened.

“Mr Darcy, pray let us not quarrel. It was long ago. I am certain neither of us had any expectation of seeing the other after we parted ways. But now that we have met again, I hope we can put the past behind us and continue as…friends?”

Darcy stared into her upturned face, her dark eyes flashing with a mixture of humility and hope, and a vice clamped tightly around his heart. Friends? Dear God, he did not want to be her friend. He wanted to gather her in his arms and crush her to his chest and never let her go!

He realized too late that the music had stopped, and Elizabeth was now looking at him, a light furrow creasing her forehead.

Immediately, Darcy stepped back, releasing her gloved hands and bowing stiffly. He needed to gather his wits; he was already wading into dangerous waters in more ways than one.

“Forgive me, Miss Bennet, my mind was elsewhere. Yes, of course. You are right. It was long ago.”

At his words, Elizabeth seemed to relax, and a delicate smile curved her lips.

“Come,” she urged gently, tilting her chin towards the edge of the ballroom. “I shall introduce you to my aunt and uncle—they are just over there.”

Following the subtle motion, Darcy’s eyes settled on a fashionably dressed couple of middle years. The lady was deep in conversation with a woman Darcy did not recognize, but the gentleman’s gaze was another matter—firm, unwavering, and fixed directly upon him.

Darcy’s pulse quickened.

Turning back to Elizabeth, he replied crisply, “I thank you, Miss Bennet, but I am afraid I must decline.”

Her smile faltered, the faintest shadow crossing her features. Before she could enquire further, Richard reappeared, accompanied by Bingley, who eagerly offered Elizabeth his arm, which she accepted with grace.

Darcy watched her go, an inexplicable hollowness opening within him as though something precious was slipping beyond his grasp.

It was only when Richard’s hand came to rest lightly on his shoulder that Darcy stirred.

“Darcy?” Richard’s voice was low but edged with concern. “Are you certain you are well? You look as if?—”

“No, it is only a headache,” he replied, dismissing his cousin’s dubious expression, “but I have had enough. Stay if you wish, but I am going home.”

Without waiting for a reply, Darcy turned sharply on his heel, striding towards the door, leaving behind the stifling heat, the press of bodies, and the haunting memory of Elizabeth Bennet’s eyes.

Mercifully, aside from one brief enquiry regarding Darcy’s health, Richard remained silent during the carriage ride back to Grosvenor Square. The steady percussion of the horses’ hoofs and the muted hum of London’s streets did little to soothe the turmoil in Darcy’s mind. He sat stiffly, his eyes trained on the shadowed lanes beyond the window, though their shapes wavered and passed unnoticed.

Once inside the marbled entrance hall, Darcy bade his cousin a good night with the curt assurance that his headache required only rest. Without further word, he stalked towards the sanctuary of his chambers, eager to escape Richard’s silent scrutiny. But even as he settled into the vast solitude of his bed, he knew sleep would elude him.

For every time he closed his eyes, he saw her.

Elizabeth.

Her eyes—dark, bright, and impossibly expressive—seemed to be seared upon his consciousness, and her voice, light and teasing, echoed faintly in his mind.

For four long years, the woman he had known only as Jane had haunted his thoughts. Not a day had passed when she had not, in some form, occupied his mind. Yet seeing her again, standing poised and radiant in the ballroom, had shaken him to his very core.

Striking his pillow, Darcy rolled onto his back, staring at the embroidered canopy above. Richard had been right, of course. He had been a fool to search for her; he knew that now. What had he hoped to gain? Had he truly believed that finding her after all this time would bring him peace? That he might simply satisfy some lingering curiosity and walk away unscathed?

Darcy sighed. Perhaps, he thought bitterly, some part of him had hoped to find her happily settled. That she would appear on another gentleman’s arm, a ring upon her finger, smiling with the ease of a woman content in her life. Perhaps that sight would have extinguished the stubborn flame he still carried for her, leaving him free to walk away without regret.

Or perhaps he had foolishly believed that time had dulled her brilliance. That her beauty and spirit were embellishments of his memory, mere imaginings of a heart too long starved of affection.

But he had been wrong.

Painfully wrong.

If anything, Elizabeth Bennet was even more captivating than he remembered. The girlish delicacy of her features had given way to refined elegance; her cheekbones more defined, her complexion radiant. Her figure, once slight, now bore the graceful curves of a woman grown. Yet the essence of her remained unchanged. Her eyes still danced with intelligence and mischief, her smile still stole the breath from his lungs, and the brief touch of her gloved hand had only made him long for more.

Darcy groaned quietly, dragging a hand down his face. And now, of all things, she was being courted by Bingley!

He wondered briefly whether his friend would offer for her. He had to think not. Bingley’s affections were notoriously fleeting, his heart easily swayed by a pretty face.

Yet Elizabeth was no ordinary young lady. Her wit, her poise, her undeniable spirit—of course Bingley was drawn in, as any man would be. And the mere thought of it made Darcy’s stomach twist.

He sighed, knowing that, in the end, it did not matter. Whether it was Bingley or another, Elizabeth would marry. Somewhere out there was a gentleman who would one day have the right to claim her as his own. To know the softness of her skin beneath his hands. To lose himself in the warmth of her breath. To wake beside her each morning, and to fall asleep each night tangled in her arms.

A sharp, unrelenting pain tightened in his chest.

For Darcy knew one thing with absolute certainty: that man would never be him.

“Well, Darcy, we have done it! Our scheme was a success!”

Darcy glanced up from his coffee as Richard strode into the breakfast room, his smile triumphant. A folded newspaper was held aloft, brandished like a battle standard.

Darcy merely lifted his cup to his lips, silently willing the strong brew to dull the pounding in his temples.

Undeterred by his cousin’s silence, Richard helped himself to a generous serving of kippers, settling into the opposite chair. With a flourish, he tapped the paper he had laid upon the table.

“According to this, your appearance at Lady Copley’s ball is the talk of the town. Every drawing room in London is rife with chatter, speculating on the identity of the mystery woman you deigned to honour with a dance. I have to give you credit, Cousin, you certainly know how to play your cards.”

Darcy forbore to answer, but Richard just grinned broadly, shovelling a heaping helping of kippers onto his fork. “I must confess, I doubted the wisdom of our early departure, but it seems to have worked in your favour. Your abrupt withdrawal only stoked curiosity. And your decision to dance—when all of society knows how you detest the activity! Of course, I cannot think it would be prudent to?—”

“It was her.”

Richard paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. “I beg your pardon?”

Pressing his lips into a tight line, Darcy set his cup down with a muted clatter. “The woman I danced with. It was her. Jane.”

Richard blinked back at him, confusion briefly clouding his features. “Bingley’s young lady? Surely not! Did Bingley not introduce her as?—”

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Darcy finished grimly. “Yes. It seems the name she gave me was false. I have spent the better part of four years searching for a woman who did not even exist.”

Richard leaned back in his chair, stunned into momentary silence. Then, recovering, he let out a low whistle. “Well, I’ll be…” He paused, but in a matter of moments, his customary smirk returned. “Though the woman I saw was certainly no figment of the imagination,” he added with a suggestive expression.

Darcy scowled as his cousin leaned back in his chair.

“So, that was Jane.”

When Darcy did not answer, he continued, “What will you do, now that you have finally found her?”

Darcy looked down, assiduously adjusting his cuffs.

“Do? Nothing. I have seen her, and that is the end of it.”

“The end of it?” Richard echoed, regarding him incredulously. “You cannot be serious! You have spent four years searching for this girl, and now that you have found her, you will do…nothing?”

Darcy’s gaze shifted away. “I should think you would be pleased. After all, you were the one who told me it was pointless to look for her. Besides, she lied to me,” he muttered, his voice heavy with resentment.

“Lied?” Richard blinked. “Oh, you cannot possibly mean the matter of her name?”

“Of course I do,” Darcy snapped, irritation creeping into his tone. “Our entire acquaintance was built upon a lie.”

Richard chuckled dryly. “Ha! That is rich, coming from you.”

Darcy’s scowl deepened as he abruptly pushed back his chair, stalking to the sideboard.

“Oh, come now, Darcy,” Richard pressed. “Did it never occur to you that she might have been protecting herself? A young lady, alone on the moors—she would have been a fool to reveal her identity to a virtual stranger. And as I recall, she only gave you her name when you parted. That hardly seems the work of a deceitful woman.”

Darcy returned to his seat, a fresh cup of coffee in hand, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “I suppose,” he grudgingly agreed. “But nevertheless, you were right. It was foolish of me to search for her. I can offer her nothing.”

Richard opened his mouth but soon closed it again, staring back at his cousin with a weary sigh.

“Very well. I know better than to argue when your mind is fixed like iron. But you cannot brood in this house all day. You will go mad. Come—what say we do something to distract you from your troubles? A ride in the park? Or mayhap a match at Gentleman Jackson’s?”

Darcy’s jaw tightened. If by “troubles” his cousin referred to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Heaven only knew that was a hopeless task.

“You are well aware that I do not ride in public,” he curtly replied. “And Gentleman Jackson’s is out of the question.”

Richard winced. “Ah. Yes, of course. Forgive me, I was not thinking… Well then, one of your clubs? That should be safe enough. You cannot remain hidden until Walsh returns. You have made a start. Now you must continue to be seen.”

Darcy grimaced. Every fibre of his being recoiled at the thought, yet he could not deny the truth in Richard’s words. He had endured the ball, despite his misgivings, and if not for the encounter with Jane—damn it all, Elizabeth —he might have managed without incident.

“Very well,” he relented abruptly. “We shall go to White’s. But do not expect this to become a regular occurrence.”

Richard’s grin was all satisfaction. “Splendid. I shall order the carriage.”

Darcy merely sighed, already regretting his concession.

“Darcy! I say, this is becoming a regular occurrence!”

Darcy turned at the sound of his name to see Bingley striding across the Axminster carpet, looking for all the world like the cat that got the cream.

Darcy rose from the corner table where he and Richard had ensconced themselves, offering a brief nod in greeting. Richard, ever amiable, clasped Bingley’s hand with a hearty grin.

A liveried waiter appeared as if by instinct, swiftly producing another chair for their guest.

Once they were comfortably seated and pleasantries exchanged, Bingley leaned in with a conspiratorial air, lowering his voice only slightly.

“Tell me, Darcy, how are you feeling today? Miss Bennet was quite concerned. She remarked that you did not look well at all by the end of your dance.”

Darcy stiffened, his grip on his glass tightening before he forced himself to relax.

“It was nothing of consequence,” he replied evenly, his tone clipped. “Only a trifling headache. As you see, I am in perfect health.”

A flicker of concern crossed Bingley’s features, but it was gone almost as soon as it appeared.

“Well, I am glad to hear it, though I was sorry you could not stay longer last evening. I had hoped you would have had the opportunity to become better acquainted with Miss Bennet. You know how much I have always relied upon your guidance in such matters.”

Darcy blanched before saying slowly, “So, your intentions towards her are serious, then?”

Bingley blinked at him, seemingly surprised by the bluntness of the question.

“Well… I—I cannot say for certain,” he admitted, his tone turning thoughtful. “But I find her quite charming. And she is certainly one of the most agreeable young ladies of my acquaintance.” His brows knitted together briefly. “Of course, Caroline is against the match. She feels I should align myself with someone who might elevate my standing in society, but I have little patience for her schemes. Miss Bennet’s father is a gentleman with an estate that has been in his family for generations—which is certainly more than my own family can profess.”

Bingley leaned in eagerly, his entire countenance aglow. “Oh! That reminds me—I have not even told you the best part! Last night, when I mentioned my desire to find a suitable property to let, Miss Bennet told me there is a manor not three miles from her family’s home in Hertfordshire! Is that not the most marvellous stroke of luck? It is almost as if fate itself has conspired to bring us together.”

Bingley stared back at him, his eyes bright, and Darcy was forced to look away.

It had not occurred to him— not truly —that Bingley might entertain serious intentions towards Elizabeth.

It would be difficult enough to let her go after encountering her again; but to witness her being romanced by his friend, to see her marry him and to know that it would be Bingley who would grow old with her, Bingley who would take her to his bed and father her children… An involuntary shudder raced up Darcy’s spine as he attempted to gather his wits.

Across from him, Richard coughed into his hand, and Darcy lifted his gaze to take in Bingley’s crestfallen expression.

“Do not tell me you disapprove of her also?” Bingley murmured dejectedly.

“No, not at all,” Darcy replied with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. “She seems a very pleasant young woman.”

From the corner of his eye, Darcy could see Richard suppressing his laughter, but Bingley brightened at once, clearly relieved.

“That means a great deal to me, coming from you,” his friend replied earnestly. “And I must say, I am especially glad of it, for I have a favour to ask.” At Darcy’s quizzical expression, he continued, “Would you come to look at Netherfield with me? That is the name of the estate in Hertfordshire. I cannot think of anyone I trust more to advise me on its suitability, and it is no more than a half day’s journey from town.”

Darcy’s breath stilled as Bingley gazed at him expectantly.

Certainly, he could not go to Hertfordshire, to the very spot Elizabeth called home.

Although, had that not been his intention all along? To see the place and the people that had shaped her into the remarkable young woman she was?

Perhaps once he had satisfied his curiosity, it would be easier to let her go—as he knew he must.

His eyes darted briefly in his cousin’s direction, and when he spoke, the words sounded distant to his own ears.

“Very well, I shall accompany you—but only to advise you on the property. Walsh will return to London shortly, then we must leave for Pemberley without delay.”

Bingley’s face lit up with gratitude, his good humour restored. “Excellent! I am most obliged, Darcy. You will not regret it, I am sure!”

But it was not Bingley’s effusive appreciation that unsettled him; it was the knowing smile on his cousin’s face that caused Darcy to flush with quiet shame.