Page 13 of Only Mr Darcy (Obstinate, Headstrong Girl #1)

CHAPTER TWELVE

D arcy gaped at Elizabeth, who stared at him with her chin held high, appearing so very lovely and desirable in the waning afternoon light shining through the library windows.

Bingley? She wants Bingley?

He had come here to think after receiving another despairing letter from Georgiana. When Elizabeth had seated herself in the library, instead of taking her book and disappearing upstairs, he had very nearly walked out without a word.

Darcy knew he must not encourage his feelings for her. She was all wrong for Pemberley, for Georgiana, and for his dignity. She had not acknowledged his presence, so neither would he acknowledge hers. They were really nothing to each other, and it was the way they must remain. It irritated him—that he should forever be so piercingly aware of her. He had taken for granted that she, too, must have a deep awareness of him, that she was likewise ignoring. I should go back to London! he had been counselling himself.

Her expression had remained so troubled, however.

Why does she look so bleak, so distressed? Is her sister’s fever returned? Should I send for my physician in town? The country apothecary’s draughts were unlikely to be very helpful.

At last, he had been unable to maintain a pretence of interpreting the black hieroglyphs upon the whiteness of the pages before him. Her desolation made no sense at all, or none that he could deduce. He had been desperate to know.

Now he did.

I am fortunate , he told himself. She is all wrong for me . In fact, she infuriated him. She had not been ignoring him; in fact, he was invisible to her. He did not, could not love her. He hated her, instead.

It was with effort that he attended to her words.

“I am not laughing,” he said—truer words had never been spoken. “I have seen Bingley fall in and out of love several times. He is very young. I have not noticed him paying you any particular attention, however.”

Elizabeth’s face fell.

He had not meant it cruelly; it was simply truth. In fact, had he to guess who might have opportunity to capture Bingley’s heart, he would have said it was her elder sister, whose blonde good looks were of just the type Bingley most admired. Not that he had seen Miss Bennet fluttering after the lad in any way. In fact, now that he thought of it—until she had fallen ill upon his doorstep, she had usually gone out of her way to avoid him, had she not?

Well, that was explained.

“The future is always a mystery, no matter how clear the direction,” she said quietly. “It seems likely that I have not yet used the correct approach. I have wondered about it since…” she trailed off, not finishing her sentence, although he wished she would.

He could not resist asking the question at the forefront of his mind.

“How do you know he is the one? What did your grandmother tell you?”

“She told me his name.”

Darcy blinked. “Truly?”

“Yes. With her dying breath. Jane heard her tell me as well, else I think I would have doubted his existence or my hearing long ago.”

This was something.

He wanted to argue with her, but the caustic words leaping to his lips had little to do with devilish strange predictions of devilish strange grandmothers foretelling devilish strange marriages. He certainly did not believe in them, or in the old woman’s predictions, for that matter.

It was merely more evidence that Elizabeth Bennet was not the wife for him. He had known that already, but he had not realised she knew it too. She had never even considered him. She wants Bingley. His fury choked off his tongue.

It was some moments before he spoke, before his outrage would allow for reasoned speech. Nonetheless, he was accustomed to stifling most of his feelings, to stuffing them down deep, where they could be seen by no one and hence, do no damage. Had he not allowed his first betrothal to be broken without a murmur? Had he not resisted the urge to murder Wickham for attempting to take Georgiana? The new emotions he had somehow manufactured for this country lass were nothing more than lustful imaginations, such as he had been bridling since he was a green lad.

The cold, hard truth of the matter stared him in the face. Elizabeth was not for him. If she had a ‘fate’, he did too, and his was with the good sister. The pretty one. The best sister.

“Without my assistance, I daresay your chances with Bingley are slim,” he said, and if his voice was cold and hard, he could not prevent it. “You are not the sort of female he is commonly attracted to. I repeat, in my opinion he is too young to marry. Nevertheless, I am willing to bring you into his notice. In so important a case as a marital prospect, he would, naturally, rely upon my judgment. I believe I can open his eyes to your finer attributes, although whether he could be brought to the point of proposing is anyone’s guess.”

“You would do that?” Her large, dark eyes were wide with amazement.

“I would. For a price.”

She opened her mouth, gawping at him for a few moments before closing it again. “A price?”

“Yes. I have already confessed to you my trouble in discerning whether I could be happy with any particular female. I believe I have mentioned before that I find your elder sister to be an admirable person and, possibly, the perfect mistress for Pemberley. However, she is also most unaffectedly modest, and coming to know her without calling undue attention to my suit presents a difficulty. You have the ability, I believe, to help me in this effort.”

“Me?” she squeaked. “You wish me to help you assess my sister’s worthiness to be your wife?”

She said it as if he had asked her to dance naked before the king. He rolled his eyes. “And, of course, encourage her towards me—without raising her hopes, in case I determine the match impractical.”

“Oh, of course, that.”

“Do not be sarcastic. Miss Bennet’s opportunities for a good marriage are not so great that she ought to overlook even the smallest possibility that I might select her. I suggest nothing that is not clearly in her best interests.”

“Her ‘best’ interests. You say nothing of love, I notice.”

“A foundation of mutual respect, loyalty, and even admiration is more than enough for a successful marriage. In time, and most especially with the advent of children, one could suppose that a deep fondness would be joined to those other worthy attributes. Do you expect a man ought to fill his lady’s drawing room with posies, and that doing so is proof his affections will last any longer than the purchased blooms? Doubtless you read too many novels.”

Elizabeth stood and stared down her nose at him, as if she were not benefiting from his generous suggestion. “Jane is the best person I know, and if you could earn her regard, you would be the most fortunate man in the world.” She sounded doubtful of his ability to ‘earn’ any such thing.

“I will count upon you to help her realise that my regard is well worth earning,” he replied, more angry than ever. “I will expect you to respect my interests over every other consideration—including the discard of any foolish ideas you possess regarding how I might choose to frame a declaration, should I decide to make one. If you can do that, as well as behave as a proper young lady for any small length of time—which proposition I can only mistrust—I will do my best to help Bingley see your potential. Such as it is.”

The look she gave him was incinerating; if she could have breathed fire, he would now be a smoking crisp in Bingley’s library. He felt strangely satisfied when she stalked from the room.