Page 37 of Some Natural Importance (Pride, Prejudice and Romance #3)

He knew she meant brandy—she would join him in a drink—but he felt a quick pang of hope that it meant more. His hand shook as he poured a glass and handed it to her.

“I thank you for coming here with such alacrity today,” she said, sitting down in the window seat. “I had not meant to alarm you, or bid you come here as a summons.”

“You must have known I would come.”

She blushed and took a sip of her brandy. The manner in which her nose wrinkled as she tasted the liquor was charming. He followed her example and raised his glass to his lips.

“Is there truly a horse Mr Bingley pursues?”

Darcy sighed heavily. He was not past his anger at Miss Bingley or exasperation with his friend, and would have preferred to remain conversing on a more personal topic. “There is. After Bingley dealt with his aunt’s banking difficulties, he travelled to Chelmsford to claim his winnings—his horse.”

“Is Mr Bingley a man who gambles as a matter of course?”

“No, not at all,” he reassured her quickly. “Which is why the fact that he was victorious on such a rare endeavour filled him with such delight.”

“His ‘endeavour’, as you call it, has taken him no little time.”

“I agree, but have recently learned the reasons for it. Mr Bingley was injured. His new horse is high spirited and he took a tumble, rendering him unable to ride until he healed.”

She gasped, her hand flying to her chest. “He is well?”

“Yes, his head was uninjured. His shoulder and seat were bruised, and he felt he was not up to the ride here, by carriage or saddle. I learnt this news soon before receiving your note, in a letter from Bingley that detailed the reasons for his delay...”

He paused, losing this train of thought, as she again sipped from the glass before looking up at him, eyes bright from the warmth of the brandy. “Er, an earlier communication, alerting me to the incident, did not find its way to me.”

“With his injuries, the direction was poorly written?”

“That is the charitable explanation, albeit not the truth.” He smirked at her raised eyebrows. “His sister, Miss Bingley, learnt of his injuries but neglected to disclose the information.”

“Monstrous!”

“I have written to him,” he assured her. “He should arrive in the next few days.”

“Jane has been so worried—and to learn that Miss Bingley knew why her brother was delayed! My concern has been for Jane.” She looked at him earnestly. “She and Mr Bingley have only a short acquaintance, but she has anticipated his return here.”

“As has he. Bingley is…he has a sense of responsibility to his family and his inheritance. His father wished his son to be a gentleman, to own an estate, and Bingley came here, to Hertfordshire, to do just that. Not all of it comes easily to him. He is good with sums and figures but has to be persuaded of the long-term prospects or disadvantages of investments worth his time and study.”

“This is why you came to Hertfordshire. Mr Bingley’s lack of proficiency mirrors my father’s. Together, they kept you much occupied.”

Fearing the response his agreement would provoke, Darcy ran a hand through his hair and looked up at her face. Her lovely features were shadowed, but the sadness in her eyes had shifted and he could read the questions in them.

“Bingley, who has small grasp of such concepts, works to understand them and their implementation. Many are ideas and theories your father easily grasped and should have implemented years ago to better his financial position. Your father had the acuity and intellectual quickness, however he did not care to work at improving Longbourn.” Darcy let out a breath.

“Bingley is better at application than study. Your father was his opposite.”

“Oh.”

He looked up sharply and saw a hurt expression on her face. “I am sorry. I do not mean to speak unkindly of your father.”

Elizabeth met his eyes and took a deep breath. “No, it was not meant meanly. There is truth in what you say.”

“Your father’s lack of interest was not singular.

I have seen it with sad regularity with men who will put effort into horses or art or women…

into things I cannot speak of to you. Their attention is not directed at their estates or their families but into their own short-lived pleasures.

Your father found pleasure in his books. ”

“Refuge,” Elizabeth said softly. “Pleasure and refuge, an escape from us.” An expression of unbearable sadness fell across her face.

“He cared for your family, Elizabeth,” he said, his eyes gentle on hers. Neither appeared to notice his familiar address.

“But not enough to care for us beyond bare necessities until he was faced with the bitter end.”

“He did, however.”

“Yes, he turned to you.” She took a deep breath.

“Thank you for coming as you did, and for disclosing the reasons for Mr Bingley’s delay.

May I tell Jane? I have feared she would resign herself to marrying Mr Collins if he was encouraged by my mother.

It is only a short acquaintance between my sister and your friend, but mourning provides only a brief respite from such concerns. ”

“I cannot speak to Bingley’s intentions, Elizabeth, but if you are betrothed, your family is under my protection and Mr Collins cannot pursue your sister.”

He watched as her chin rose, as if she were meeting this oft-repeated revelation for the first time. “How soon?” Her voice was soft, wondering. “How soon would you wish to wed? How soon could we wed? I am in mourning.”

“As soon as you approve of the settlement. It has been signed by all parties,” he reminded her, “and our understanding was quietly done and blessed by your father. There is nothing prohibiting a discreet ceremony.”

After a short pause, he took the plunge. “Would a fortnight be agreeable?”

The glass in her hand slipped a bit, but she gripped it firmly enough to set it on the table. He glimpsed a letter peeking out of her sleeve and watched as Elizabeth removed it; she stared at it for a moment, her expression shifting from hesitancy to curiosity.

“Mr Darcy,” she began, “why do you wish to marry me? Are there not brides aplenty in London who bring you more?”

“In some ways, yes.”

Her eyebrows rose in that familiar way he found so unsettlingly alluring.

“But I need not marry for reasons of social connexion, family duty, or pecuniary interests.”

“Yet you were married before for at least one of those reasons.”

“I was obligated by family concerns to marry my cousin, Anne, who died before the year was gone.”

“She was ill?”

“Yes, for much of her life.”

Elizabeth turned away, leaving him to gaze upon her profile. He fought the urge to brush a wisp of hair from her cheek. Then she spoke. “You did not love her?”

“Not in the way a husband loves a wife, but I cared for her, and she needed my protection.”

“Protection?”

Darcy leaned closer to her and hoped she would grasp his meaning. “Anne was in a vulnerable state. Protecting her, and her honour , was one of the obligations of family. ”

Her brow wrinkled, whether in comprehension or curiosity he could not discern. “Your discretion and duty are admirable, sir, but marrying me will not please any obligation, nor endear you to family.”

“In this, I choose to please myself.” Realising the thoughtlessness of his avowal, he added quickly, “And to protect and please you, of course.”

“To save me, and as the only means to save my family.”

“I would call it, rather, the best means, not the only. I am not without fault, but I cannot see this as a selfish act. I am a wealthy man and my family name carries some importance. I am beholden to no one, and that includes in my choice of a wife.”

His gaze remained steady as hers roved the room, its every shelf and table, every chair and book, a reminder of the man who spent his days in it, often with her in his company.

“All this time you spent closeted with my father, planning and plotting and talking books and chess manoeuvres. I grew up in this room, and in his last weeks, my father set me aside and favoured you. Even when you were not here, he seemed less interested in my company.” Her shoulders drooped.

“It is childish of me to have resentment of you or him, but there it is.”

He had hurt her. Unknowingly done, but done nonetheless.

And then her father died and he returned, expecting a welcome and a wedding.

Of course she would think him awful. He swallowed, angry with himself and with her father.

He wished to help the man even as he was angered by him, using his intelligence not to better his estate and his daughters’ prospects and wife’s security, but to mock neighbours and improve his Greek and assess that the gentleman from London who was helping at Netherfield could provide similar service to him.

Her father had failed her until the very end. And even then...

“It was done most unknowingly. Replacing you, I did not realise... ”

Her face was lit with despair. “Do you not see? In this grand chess game, I do not wish to be a mere pawn, my life and moves determined by you, my father, my cousin, men deciding my future.”

“It is the way of the world, Elizabeth.” Her eyes widened as this time she noted the intimate use of her Christian name.

“Men hold power over women, but I am not a man who wants to wield such power. I would prefer a woman who has some power over me, a wife who shares power with me over my estates and interests. A partnership, not a sovereignty.”

It was a declaration he had never imagined making to a lady; confessing that he wanted a wife—wanted her —as his equal.

Elizabeth seemed as shocked as he felt. One small hand rose to her mouth as if to hold in a gasp; the other tightened its grip on the letter it held.

Desperate to restrain himself from reaching for her or asking about the letter she clutched, Darcy took an unwanted sip of brandy and set his glass beside hers.

A full minute ticked by. Finally, she spoke. “You truly wish to marry me?”

“I do, very much.”

“It is a conundrum. I cannot know my mind if I do not know my heart.”

“I understand. I had only a few days to consider what your father proposed, and to accept that it was what I wished for as well. You have had mere hours, and while grieving, this is most unfair. However?—”

“No, it is not fair, perhaps not to either of us, but my father did not raise a stupid daughter.” She lifted her head and in a voice even softer than her expression, said, “If you are truly willing, I agree with the scheme my father concocted. I will marry you, Mr Darcy.”