Page 24 of Such Persuasions as These (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

D arcy met Martha on his way down to the library, and when he asked her to bring him coffee, he was taken aback to hear that she had already ordered some for Miss Elizabeth and would he like some scones as well?

Unwilling to be a source of gossip for the household, he could not change his mind now, so he accepted.

He stood on the stair for some time, trying to decide whether to avoid Elizabeth for the rest of her stay as he had planned, or to gratify himself with the sweet torture of her company one last time before letting her go completely.

When Martha entered his vision with the tray in hand, two cups catching his eye, he chose the latter.

Still, when he walked in behind the maid to see Elizabeth standing between the two chairs, arms crossed about herself in a hug, he was arrested for a moment by the sight of her as she threw her head back with some emotion.

What was she thinking about? Could she be thinking of him?

He wished he could watch her forever, but his hopes were dashed by Martha’s clanking the tray onto the table near the fireplace. She looked up startled.

“I hate to commandeer your refuge,” Elizabeth said. If only she knew how much he needed a refuge from her .

“Not at all, Miss Elizabeth,” he lied. He watched as Martha exited the room, and a sense of excitement began to grow in his chest. He was alone with her in a dark library, only lighted by the fire roaring behind her.

Nobody else in the house was even awake, and the servant had left them.

Was this the moment? Was fate giving him an opportunity to admit to her all he thought—all he felt?

No.

No .

Coffee.

“May I?”

She did not answer, but he knew he had to do something before he allowed his heart and mouth to take the helm.

He strode towards the table, which sat just steps beyond the place she was standing.

To his surprise, she did not let him pass, but stood still as he approached, her arms falling to her sides.

Soon, he was directly in front of her, looking down into her sweet face, tilted up to his.

He took another step, this time wholly into her space, and said, “Miss Elizabeth.”

Still she did not move, only replied with a guttural, “Mr Darcy.”

God she was beautiful. And her supple mouth was right there .

“May I?” What was I asking permission for? His thoughts had fled completely. Where was I going before this moment? Did anything exist before this moment?

Darcy swallowed .

Coffee. Yes, coffee.

“Black?” he finally choked out.

“Black?” she blinked.

“Or do you prefer cream and sugar?”

There. He had done it. He was a man. He had self-control, and he had done it.

She broke his gaze and looked about her to see the coffee pot and pastries on the table behind her. At that she stepped back, clearly embarrassed.

“Ah, ahem, just cream if you please,” she answered. He complied, his heart racing at the thought that she might have desired his kiss as much as he had hers.

With his back to her, he was able to compose himself and school his features while he poured their respective cups.

He turned about to deliver hers, only to find her in her chair, her hands occupied performing her duties to Italics.

His composure fled, and he watched in delight as the two affectionately greeted one another.

“I imagine you are overjoyed to have your captain home, even if it is only for a short visit,” he put forth, knowing that the subject of her betrothed was the surest way to keep their conversation in safe waters.

“ My captain,” she said on a sigh. “Yes, of course, I am happy to see Captain Wentworth again. It has been several years since he left to join the Navy, and his visits have been infrequent since.”

She was quiet for some time, as if searching for the correct words. He waited silently.

“I find myself conflicted. You see, we were quite young when we made our…understanding. The first time he proposed, I rejected him firmly. My father set him across the room from me and told him that he was not to even think about marriage until he had made something of himself. Well, Fr eddie was ten and I was six, so he simply said, ‘That’ll do, sir. I figured it would be a long engagement’. ”

Darcy joined in her light laughter, charmed by her little Freddie Wentworth voice as she reenacted the scene. The merriment soon faded, though, and her posture stiffened.

“Brazen little lad, eh?” Darcy forced a smile, hoping it would urge her on to the rest of the story.

“You have no idea. We ran wild through the fields every summer, always the very best of friends. He was like the son my mother never had. It was so natural to just see my life going on so with him in it forever.”

“And when he proposed again…” he prompted. Why do I feel the need to know every circumstance of their attachment? What am I hoping to learn? Am I looking for some circumvention, some way to nullify the whole thing while leaving Elizabeth free, honourably?

Yes. Yes, he was.

“He was refused again. It was after church one Sunday, just before he was to leave Meryton to report to his first post as midshipman. I told him I still felt I was too young, and I was not ready to marry.”

“How did he change your mind?”

“He did not. As the vicar came out to see the parishioners off, he pulled me to him and kissed me square on the mouth in front of the whole congregation, declaring, ‘There, now you have to marry me!’ You can imagine how my father reacted to that scene.”

Darcy’s eyes flashed with anger at hearing this confession. She was forced to attach herself to this man? Surely, she could not be expected to marry such a scoundrel.

“I see that you can,” Elizabeth offered, no doubt noting the fury in his brow.

“We can laugh about it now; it was so long ago. Suffice it to say, Freddie spent the better part of the afternoon behind my father’s library door being told exactly how he was to treat me from that day forwards.

As is to be expected, it has since been understood throughout Meryton that we are destined for one another. ”

“You never actually accepted him? Yet you can think on him with affection?” Darcy asked in disbelief.

He had leant forwards in his chair again, so eager was he to understand the situation.

How could a woman like Elizabeth Bennet acquiesce to such a farce of a proposal?

She who mesmerised all whom she met. She who could have her choice of men among the highest set of society with her glittering presence and sparkling countenance.

She who had unlocked the vault in which lay his guarded heart and gently come to possess it so completely.

Elizabeth was silent. Her mouth kept opening as if she would speak, but soon it would close again without saying anything. In her face was the same worry he had seen there the day before, after she had bid Captain Wentworth farewell.

Is she trying to reveal the secret to which she has been alluding? What can it be? How can it concern me? Will she ever say?