Page 31 of Such Persuasions as These (Pride and Prejudice Variation)
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
E lizabeth spent that evening walking alone.
She had originally been invited along with her sisters and her cousin to walk to Aunt Philips’s home in Meryton, but in her rage, she had soon outstripped them all, once again leaving Mary to care for the needs of Mr Collins.
This was only half intentional, as she could scarce give full notice to anything happening about her.
She was too occupied with the cascades of shame, regret, embarrassment, and fury that continually washed over her as she picked apart every word of the conversation she had had that morning with Mr Darcy.
“That stubborn, pig-headed, odious man,” Elizabeth cried to herself as she squeezed her hands into fists and stamped a foot on the grass.
Throwing her head back to keep the tears from falling, she growled to the air, to the trees, to everything about her.
“How could he? How dare he!” She bent down and snatched up a fallen leaf, only to tear it apart bit by bit whilst biting out vituperations against the man she thought she loved.
There were no thoughts of her overwhelming disbelief that such a lovely man—one who had sat cooing to a tomcat in a candlelit library, who had so gently tried to tease the truth out of her only days before with a light hand upon hers, and whose eyes had shone as he spoke of his sister as a baby—could commit such devilry as to attempt to take another man’s life.
She did not give a moment’s consideration to Mr Wickham’s assertions, nor to Mr Darcy’s explanations in his defence.
She thought only of his allegations against her .
‘Fitzwilliam Darcy. I thought we had established that,’ she remembered him saying with a barely-there grin.
She felt again the charge that had run through her at that moment, so unfamiliar and so thrilling.
He had engaged in flirtation, not she. He had been the one to show her particular attention, seek her out, ask for her assistance, insist on her presence.
She had only ever responded to him; she had followed the age-old rule for females of her society to let his behaviour be the rule of hers.
When had she forced herself upon his notice?
‘The light of the fire…showing your shape to me.’
Her whole being became hot with shame at the memory, just as it had when he had said it.
She had had no idea her appearance had been immodest, but of course, in a dark room, standing before the glowing fire, how much might he have seen?
Having slipped herself into her gown without chemise or petticoat, she wore just enough for decency’s sake to hurry out of the room and have her time alone.
The thought of being less than fully dressed had never entered her mind when she had heard Mr Darcy’s voice at the library door .
He thought she had engineered this? That it was all part of a vicious scheme to seduce him and trap him into matrimony?
‘Simpering and flattering, making yourself indispensable.’
Elizabeth gritted her teeth at that insult— what was he thinking? When did I ever? To be accused of the type of pandering she so despised in Caroline Bingley was too degrading. She had far too much self-respect to indulge any man with such fawning and adulation.
“You must have seen how close I was,” he had said. The battle waging inside her had begun again in earnest as she heard him admit that she had really touched his heart, that he was, perhaps, on the verge of declaring himself. Hope soon lost ground, however, as his final allegation dawned on her.
He had somehow twisted their meeting in the library into some avaricious scheme on her part to claim compromise. As if that had been the culmination of all her designs since the night of their first acquaintance.
‘And even now…’
She could see his eyes, full of yearning and fire as they flicked down to her lips.
Her stomach had plummeted, and she had become weak in the knees as his voice, so throaty and sultry, had spoken those words.
Her hand had begun to float up, as if disconnected from her powers of control, to lay upon his chest. They were both breathing hard from their passionate speeches, and their breaths were mingling as he drew nearer, ever nearer.
Her chin had begun to tremble as he leant forwards, just fractions of an inch from the kiss she so longed for.
The tear she had been holding in slid down the side of her face as she leant her head back to accept him, anger and pride dissolving as her heart took the reins and insisted that she melt into the arms of the man she loved .
Then thunder cracked and lightning struck, tearing them apart, perhaps forever.
‘For ten thousand a year…’
How dare he test her rapacity in such a humiliating manner, as though she were a common wanton who would embrace a man in wide open view merely to secure his fortune!
What did he take her for?
Looking down at her hand, she relished the sting she had suffered upon so deservedly slapping him. She only hoped her handprint made a lasting impression, literally and figuratively. She hoped he was suffering; she hoped he was bruised.
Elizabeth certainly was.
What must he think of me?
No. She refused to dwell on such questions.
He had refused to listen to her explanation and had proved how meanly he viewed her.
She must not allow his wrongful accusations to influence her behaviour or her self-control.
She sniffed and sighed and straightened her shoulders in a physical display of her emotional resolve.
She was not made for melancholy, and she certainly would not let this fleeting sojourner tear her spirits down completely.
‘Sparkling and vulnerable and selfless, so charming and handsome.’
Yes. She would regain her dignity and focus on caring for others the way she always had, without worry that he might assign her selfish motive.
She would eventually be herself again. For her own sake.
And he…would eventually leave.