Page 4

CHAPTER 4

I could hardly be expected to enjoy my narrow escape from an unwanted union after Mrs. Bennet’s assault on my character.

Despite the absence of Miss Lydia, I still needed to find Mr. Bennet and describe what I had prevented on the balcony. Unfortunately, the gentleman had seen an opportunity to depart early with his youngest daughters and had seized it, promising to return at dawn for the rest of his family. Mrs. Bennet was not pleased with his abandonment.

To add insult to injury, I felt it necessary to prove to Mrs. Bennet and Miss Elizabeth they were wrong about me; I danced and conversed with my partners the rest of the evening.

Several times, I caught myself thinking irrationally. I felt more resentful over their poor opinion of me than grateful for my escape from a mortifying blunder that would have forever attached me to such an insignificant family. I owned I must strive to be fair. Mrs. Bennet had proved to possess much more sense than I had previously credited her with. Perhaps I had misjudged the others.

When Bingley asked my opinion of Miss Bennet, I took care to say nothing against the lady and instead encouraged him to make certain of his own affection before giving her more reason to expect his address.

Once the last guest had departed, I retired to my bedchamber, where I tried to count my blessings in light of what had transpired. However, contrary to my hope for a few hours of uninterrupted blissful slumber, I tossed and turned, Mrs. Bennet’s accusation repeating in my mind. Disagreeable , she had called me. Ungentlemanly!

I brooded and considered my actions during the past weeks. Perhaps I had given her cause to think thusly. Since my arrival in Hertfordshire, I had made my desire not to mix with society evident by avoiding conversation and refusing to dance with anyone outside of my immediate party. To Bingley’s neighbors, I had displayed no interest. Even this night, when he had invited all of Longbourn, Meryton, and the surrounding villages to Netherfield Park for a ball, I had been withdrawn when I ought to have been welcoming.

Furthermore, I had insulted Miss Elizabeth within her hearing at the assembly. To me, she was then just another huntress baiting a trap. I knew better now. What I had said then to discourage unwanted proximity now sounded unnecessary and cruel.

In short, I had acted like a pompous, arrogant dolt. That Mrs. Bennet had only called me disagreeable was generous. As content as I ought to have been from being spared from an unwanted accidental attachment, I could not rejoice when I considered my conduct through the eyes of Mrs. Bennet and Miss Elizabeth. My conscience was too singed.

After a few fitful hours of rest, I knew what must be done. I still needed to warn Mr. Bennet about the danger to which Wickham exposed his daughters, but my own honor moved me to right the wrong I had done to Miss Elizabeth. She had not deserved my harsh appraisal when she was nothing like the ladies I avoided in London.

The ride to Longbourn that morning was both too long and too short. I was eager to make amends, but I had learned how faulty my assumptions had been regarding the Bennets, which fueled my uncertainty. I did not expect a warm reception, nor did I assume my warning would be appreciated. And yet, it was the right course to take, and take it I must.

I rode along the hedgerow, a thorny bush lining the property leading to the main house. At this time of year, red berries adorned the branches, cheerful bursts of color disguising long, sharp thorns that protected birds, rabbits, and dormice. The house would be over the next rise, and I figuratively girded my loins for the ensuing encounter.

When I saw a young lady running up the path in my direction without a coat or bonnet, I recognized Miss Elizabeth. Equally apparent was her distress.

Eager to be of assistance and change her perception of me by way of apology, I dismounted from my horse, cautious to keep my boots out of the slippery mud.

She continued forward, her half boots squishing through the muck, her curls blowing loose in the stiff autumn breeze. With naught but a bobbed curtsy and a hasty “Mr. Darcy,” she looked as though she would speed by me without another word.

Her foot slid as she passed, and I reached out to hold her. “Careful!” I cautioned.

She jerked her arm away from me and spun around. There was fire in her eyes.

Wishing to reassure her of my goodwill, I explained my warning. “It is slippery. You might fall.”

It was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. Her fingers tightened into a fist, and she looked heavenward as though she were begging God for patience… or to strike me with lightning.

The sooner I apologized the better. Then she would have no reason to disapprove of me.

“Might I walk with you?” I asked, pulling my hand down the reins to hold my horse at a greater distance.

“Do I have a choice?” she snapped.

“I would never force my company on you if you did not wish it.”

She looked at me, her eyebrows arched in disbelief.

My hackles rose, but I reminded myself I had no right to expect anything else. I had acted abominably. Of course she would wish to avoid my company.

“If my company is tolerable enough, you may accompany me a little way, Mr. Darcy.”

I took a deep breath and began. “About that…I wish to apologize for my unfortunate speech the night of the Meryton Assembly.”

She stopped again, turning to face me. “Unfortunate speech? Whatever do you mean, sir?” Every angle of her tense body uttered a challenge, an unsettling contrast to the innocence of her tone.

I swallowed hard, not wishing to repeat what I had said. I suspected she asked me to repeat it to increase my discomfort. It was impertinent, but I had been a brute to speak as I had. I wished I could claim to have forgotten the exact words I had uttered, but I remembered every one. At the time, I had meant them. I had looked directly at her, knowing she would hear me, and I had not cared how she would feel about it so long as she left me alone.

I cared very much now.

Clearing my throat, I met her eyes as boldly as I had that night. “I told Bingley you were not handsome enough to tempt me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You cannot apologize for my face, Mr. Darcy. That is my burden to bear.”

“I would not call your face a burden.”

“Oh, so you were lying?”

My tongue quit functioning.

She resumed walking, and I had to follow. While words failed me, they flowed rapidly for Miss Elizabeth. “It is not a difficult question, sir. I only inquire because it is one thing to accept an apology from an honest man, but it is quite another to consider accepting one from a liar.”

Never in my lifetime had I met someone so determined to think the worst of me. Summoning my fractured dignity, I said firmly, “I pride myself in my reputation as an honest gentleman.”

This she received with another arch of her eyebrows. Her disbelief scorched my esteem. Much as I would have loved to blame Wickham, I knew better. I must accept the consequences of my own rudeness.

Nevertheless, I would prove to her that her first impression of me, while understandable at the moment, was faulty. “No lady, no matter how handsome, could have tempted me to dance that night.”

“Do you only dance with handsome ladies, Mr. Darcy? How pleasant it must be to only be surrounded by beautiful people in the first circles.”

It seemed there was nothing I could say to which she would not take offense. Still, I kept trying. “I wished to convince Bingley of the futility of convincing me to dance when I was determined not to.”

She scoffed. “And yet you came to an assembly? Why bother to attend if you had no intention of dancing and meeting people?”

She had a point.

“Tell me, sir, do you intend to apologize to all the ladies with whom you refused to dance, or am I to feel the honor of your singular apology?”

The thought had not occurred to me. Had I insulted more than Miss Elizabeth that night? Or since?

Her foot slipped, and I reached for her arm, anxious when I observed how close her bare arms and muslin were to the prickly Hawthorn hedge on her other side. “Take care!”

I saw the warning spark in her eyes, could almost see the blazing retort coming as she dodged out of my grasp, stepping away from me and directly into the open arms of the thorn bush.