Page 23 of Such Persuasions as These (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

T he next morning saw Elizabeth awaken early, unable to sleep as the inevitable visit with Frederick and her confession to Mr Darcy loomed over her.

How am I to tell him what needs to be said? What will be the consequences?

She did not wish to bother Jane with her pacing, so she slipped her dress on as well as she could without help and quietly made her way down to the library.

Martha was stoking the fire and stroking Italics as he snaked between her legs.

Requesting a pot of coffee be delivered to her there, Elizabeth set to pacing the length of the beautiful rug after Martha shuffled out, too agitated to be still.

She could only think of one reason Frederick would seek her out so quickly and insist on a private audience—he had made something of himself as her father had required, and now he was ready to secure her hand in marriage.

Had he ridden all the way from Somersetshire to propose?

Four days on the road, several changes of horses, wind and rain, and unpalatable inn food, just to propose to her?

How could she say no? Had she not practically encouraged his suit all those years by continuing to run wild with him every summer until he left for the Navy?

Was she not grown enough then to realise what his intentions were?

Here he was, ready to declare himself.

Her stomach plummeted at the thought of losing the respect of both the men she most regarded.

Frederick, her beloved friend of old, would never speak to her again after going to such trouble only to be refused—for refuse him she must, as her heart belonged to another.

And Mr Darcy would never see her again after learning of the subterfuge she undertook to gain his trust.

Elizabeth did not believe she could survive such a fate. But what could she do?

She began contemplating what she knew of the two men, determined to approach each situation in such a way as to cause as little pain to each of them—and to herself—as possible.

Frederick was her friend. Her true friend.

He knew her. He knew she would never lead him on intentionally.

His affection for her was born of a true and deep regard for who she was, and he would never wish her to change who she was just to bend to his will, not if it pained her.

He would not be able to help seeing that her heart was leaning in another direction; he knew her too well.

He would recognise the connexion she felt with Mr Darcy within an hour of being in their company, and he had too much self-respect to accept a woman whose affection belonged to another.

She knew Mr Darcy to be reserved and somewhat proud, but Elizabeth was sure he was genuinely good.

Should she not have the same faith in him that Jane did?

Jane always thought the best of everyone; of course she would assign Mr Darcy such Christian generosity of spirit.

She had witnessed his restraint towards Miss Bingley, whose attentions thoroughly irked him, and she had also seen how he truly disdained the woman, often holding back sneers and groans in response to her observations.

Would Elizabeth be relegated to such a position in his eyes when he learnt the truth?

At least he could not accuse Miss Bingley of deceiving him to gain his favour; she was always her genuine, vitriolic self, for better or for worse.

Could he really be so implacable? Could he really reject such a friend as Elizabeth had become to him because of a…

misdirection, the consequences of which she could never have foreseen?

How was she to know they would become so close?

Surely after all these weeks, she had earned some place in his esteem.

Surely it would be as painful for him to extract her from his heart as doing so would be for her.

Surely .

She threw her head back with a sharp inhale just in time for Martha to return with the coffee. And Mr Darcy.

“I asked her to bring in an extra cup; I hope you do not mind,” he said to Elizabeth as the maid set the hot kettle down with two cups and several scones on a platter. “Thank you, Martha, that will be all.”

“Mr Darcy, good morning,” Elizabeth said, her thoughts scattered. “Yes, yes, of course. I did not know you would be up so early. I hate to commandeer your refuge.”

“Not at all, Miss Elizabeth,” he said softly after the maid departed. “May I?”

He crossed the rug towards her.

This was the first she had seen of him since her revelation the morning before.

He had been absent when she had gone down for tea with Jane, and she and Jane had chosen to take supper in their room in order to begin packing.

He was also absent when Mr Bingley came to the door to bid the ladies good night and tell Jane once again how elated he was to see her doing so well.

Darcy’s tall frame and handsome face struck her anew, and she found herself unable to move. She was rooted to the floor, and he was coming nearer and nearer.

Soon, he was standing mere inches from her with his feet planted among the ornate flowers of the hand-knotted rug. He looked from the fireplace down to her face, which had tilted up to meet his as he had drawn close. Her heart thrummed in her ears, and her stomach became a torturous knot.

What is he doing?

“Miss Elizabeth,” he whispered.

“Mr Darcy.” She swallowed hard at hearing her name on his lips. His lips . She could not keep her gaze from them; they were so close.

“May I?” he repeated, his eyes moving from hers to her parted mouth.

She could not answer. Her throat was too dry. Her chin began to tremble as the emotion she had been labouring to quell came crashing over her.

Can he really be here with me, alone, about to ? —

“Black?”

She blinked, confused. “Black?”

“Or do you prefer cream and sugar?”

Coffee .

Of course.

She was standing directly in front of the coffee tray.