Page 34 of The Power of Refusal

E lizabeth contemplated the few gowns hanging within her cupboard. Mr Gardiner often pressed lengths of new silk on Elizabeth, insisting she ought to experience wearing the fabrics she sketched. The luxurious silks were delicious; a testament to the quality of the materials he acquired. As her meagre funds dwindled, she had parted with many of the precious bolts, trading them with an understanding modiste for the practicality of a few professionally made gowns.

Her eyes settled upon the pale green silk. Its colour shone soft and inviting in the afternoon light. The gown would certainly be appropriate for the occasion. The thought of having but one gown to wear for all occasions caused a slight unease. The limitations of her wardrobe, once a mere inconvenience, now seemed to take on a greater significance in light of Mr Darcy’s presence. The gown, though two seasons past its prime, remained in beautiful condition. Would the subtle colour and simple style please a man of Mr Darcy’s discernment?

Elizabeth shook her head, attempting to dispel the troublesome thoughts. “No matter,” she murmured. In a few days’ time, she would be ensconced in the Bingley carriage, bound for Alton, where her serviceable gowns would be more than adequate for the tasks at hand.

With a determined nod, Elizabeth reached for the pale green silk. She would look well enough. Her relative poverty would be no shock to Mr Darcy. Her “want of fortune” was well known to him. If he still cared for such matters, he was not the man she thought she loved.

Elizabeth regarded her face in the pier glass. Had her bloom faded? Her cheeks retained some roses, and her eyes sparkled in candlelight. Her hair, done up by Jane’s maid for the occasion, sat unseen under her protective cap. It had been many years since she had presented herself as a maiden. To deflect attention, to blend into the background, she wore the cap of a married woman. Tonight, she did not wish to disappear. With a final, steadying exhale, she reached up and tore off the matron’s cap and tossed it onto the side table. She rose, determined to face whatever awaited her below.

Candlelight cast a warm ambiance, illuminating the elegant space. Mr Bingley, his guests, and Mr Darcy rose to greet her. Introductions were made to the dinner guests, but none registered with Elizabeth. Her eyes riveted on the tall, imposing figure of Mr Darcy standing near the fireplace. Despite his recent convalescence, he was strikingly handsome in his formal attire. The tailored lines of his dark coat accentuated his broad shoulders and lean frame. His crisp white shirt and cravat were a stark contrast to his dark hair.

Bingley handed her a glass of sherry. She sipped it as she sat across the room from Mr Darcy. The firelight emphasised the angular planes of his cheekbones and the firm line of his jaw. His dark hair, usually meticulously styled, held a hint of disarray, as though he had run his fingers through it in a moment of contemplation.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. A fluttering rose in her chest, a mixture of nerves and anticipation. His eyes, deep and piercing, held a depth of emotion. She wondered, hoped, he was as taken by her appearance as she was by his.

Elizabeth summoned her courage and offered him a warm smile. “Mr Darcy,” she said, her voice soft, “it is a pleasure to see you looking so well.”

Darcy bowed and thanked her. His eyes remained fixed on her as Bingley greeted Jane’s arrival. Elizabeth broke the eye contact. Her cheeks burnt. The butler announced dinner. Bingley extended his arm to Jane. Mr Darcy stepped closer. His black clad arm entered her sight line.

“May I take you in to dinner, Miss Bennet?”

Elizabeth shook herself. She was being missish. Why was she permitting his presence to so unsettle her?

“Of course, thank you,” she responded and lifted her eyes almost to his face. The faint indentations of a dimple arrested her gaze above the angle of his jaw. She dared to raise her eyes further and was rewarded with a warm smile. Some strange acrobatics occurred in her stomach. This man affected her as no other had ever done.

Elizabeth was seated across from Mr Darcy, Jane’s work, no doubt. Their eyes met briefly. The conversation flowed easily among the guests, punctuated by the gentle clink of silverware against fine china.

Lady Davis, a woman of advanced years and even more advanced opinions, held court at one end of the table. Her voice, reedy yet forceful, cut through the general chatter as she expounded on various topics with great authority.

As the main course was being cleared away, the subject turned to music. Lady Davis straightened in her chair, her eyes gleaming with self-importance.

“Ah, music!” she exclaimed, causing several heads to turn. “A subject worthy of discussion. I daresay there are few people in all of England who appreciate music as thoroughly as I do. My natural ear for melody is quite extraordinary, you know.”

Elizabeth felt the oddest sensation of having lived this very moment before wash over her. She was reminded of another dinner, long ago, where similar sentiments had been expressed by a certain Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

“Indeed,” Lady Davis continued, oblivious to the effect her words were having, “had I been given the opportunity to study properly in my youth, I’ve no doubt I would have become a virtuoso of the highest calibre. My innate understanding of harmony and rhythm is simply unparalleled.”

Unable to resist, Elizabeth glanced across the table at Mr Darcy. To her surprise and delight, she found him already looking at her, a spark of amused recognition in his dark eyes.

For a moment, it was as if they were the only two people in the room. A shared memory passed between them, unspoken but perfectly understood. The corner of Darcy’s mouth twitched, fighting a smile, and Elizabeth felt her own lips curving in response.

Darcy’s eyes crinkled at the corners, his usually stern expression softening into one of shared mirth. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, conveying both exasperation at Lady Davis’s pronouncements and amusement at the situation.

Their silent exchange lasted only seconds, but it felt to Elizabeth like a private conversation.

As Lady Davis droned on about her theoretical musical prowess, Elizabeth and Darcy continued to trade glances, their eyes dancing with suppressed laughter. It was a small thing, this shared joke, but it felt significant. For the first time in years, Elizabeth felt an easy camaraderie with Mr Darcy. She allowed herself to hope it might be the beginning of something more.

∞∞∞

Charles Bingley had not much changed. He had charged his wife with hosting a dinner party to welcome Darcy, and naturally, he could not resist including a little dancing. Darcy shook his head ruefully. Bingley had never quite grasped that what he found delightful, Darcy saw as a chore. With the presence of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, however, the prospect held its charm.

Darcy stood at the edge of the cleared drawing room, his eyes irresistibly drawn to Elizabeth’s graceful form as she twirled and laughed with Charles Bingley. The chatter of the other guests faded to a dull hum in his ears, overwhelmed by the sound of his own quickening heartbeat.

As Elizabeth danced, the soft glow of the chandeliers shone in her hair. It had been years since he had seen her so. Her eyes sparkling with mirth, the entrancing curve of her smile, all were achingly familiar yet slightly changed by the years.

Darcy’s fingers twitched at his side, remembering the feel of her hand in his from that dance long past. He took a sip of his neglected wine, the rich flavour barely registering as he watched Elizabeth execute a particularly graceful turn.

“She looks well,” he thought to himself, immediately chastising his own understatement.

She looked radiant, vibrant, even more captivating than she had in his memories.

The lively tune came to an end, and Darcy watched as Elizabeth curtsied to Charles, her cheeks flushed from the exertion. Without conscious thought, his feet carried him towards her. His heart pounded as he approached, and he had to clear his throat before speaking.

“Miss Bennet,” he said, his voice low and slightly husky. Elizabeth turned, her eyes widening slightly as they met his. “May I have this dance?”

A small smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Mr Darcy,” she replied, her voice sending a familiar thrill through him, “I would be delighted.”

As the first strains of a waltz filled the air, Darcy placed his hand on Elizabeth’s waist, excessively sensible of the warmth of her body through the fabric of her gown. Her hand came to rest on his shoulder, and as they began to move, the years seemed to melt away.

“I trust you are enjoying your stay at Lockwood, Miss Bennet?” Darcy asked, struggling to keep his voice even.

Elizabeth nodded. “Very much so. Jane and Charles are excellent hosts. And you, Mr Darcy? How do you find it?”

“It is... unexpectedly pleasant,” he replied, his eyes never leaving hers.

A hint of mischief glinted in Elizabeth’s gaze. “Unexpectedly? Surely you did not anticipate a dull visit with the Bingleys?”

“Not at all. I simply... am delighted to find so much here that I have missed.”

Elizabeth’s breath caught audibly, and Darcy felt her hand tighten almost imperceptibly on his shoulder. For a moment, the rest of the ballroom seemed to fade away. The music became distant, the other dancers mere blurs of colour in his peripheral vision. All he could see was Elizabeth—the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes, the slight part of her lips, the loose curl that had escaped to brush against her cheek.

Suddenly, Darcy recalled a long-ago waltz with Lady Harriet. Her tentative steps, her frail body made a sharp contrast with the vibrant, curvaceous woman in his arms now. Elizabeth moved with confidence and grace, her body strong and warm against his. The memory increased his consciousness of Elizabeth’s presence, of how perfectly they fit together. How different a marriage to Elizabeth would be…

“You dance as beautifully as ever, Miss Bennet,” Darcy murmured, his voice low enough for only her to hear.

Elizabeth’s eyes met his, a mix of emotions flitting across her face. “You flatter me, Mr Darcy. Surely my skills have grown rusty over the years.”

“Not at all,” he assured her, guiding her through a turn. “If anything, you have only improved. Like a fine wine, perhaps?”

A soft laugh escaped her lips, sending a wave of warmth through Darcy’s chest. “Are you comparing me to a bottle of port, sir?”

“I would never be so bold,” he replied, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “Though I must say, your company is far more intoxicating than any wine I have encountered.”

Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed deeper at his words, and Darcy felt a surge of satisfaction. They continued to dance, their bodies moving in perfect harmony as if the years apart had never happened. As the music began to fade, Darcy found himself reluctant to let go.

“Thank you for the dance, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth said softly as they came to a stop. “It was... most enjoyable.”

“The pleasure was entirely mine, Miss Bennet,” Darcy replied, his hand lingering on her waist for a moment longer than strictly necessary.

Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled with something that looked remarkably like hope.

As they parted, Darcy felt lighter than he had in years, the warmth of Elizabeth’s touch and the memory of her smile lingered as he moved through the crowded ballroom. The evening, he decided, was indeed unexpectedly pleasant, and full of promise.

Elizabeth retired to her room that evening, her mind awhirl with conflicting emotions. As she sat brushing out her hair, her thoughts revisited the dance with Mr Darcy. The memory of his hand on her back, warm and strong even through the fabric of her gown, sent an unexpected shiver down her spine.

She paused, brush midair, as she recalled the intensity in his dark eyes as they moved across the ballroom floor. There had been something there, something more than mere politeness or old acquaintance. The way he had looked at her...

Elizabeth shook her head, trying to dispel the thoughts, but they persisted. She remembered the breadth of his shoulders beneath her hand, the grace with which he had led her through the steps of the dance. Her face grew warm with shame as she found her thoughts straying to the particular satisfaction of being drawn closer in his embrace, to feel the strength of his arms around her not just in a formal dance, but in a more intimate embrace.

“This is madness,” she murmured to herself, setting down her brush with more force than necessary. She was a respectable woman of nine-and-twenty, not some green girl to be so affected by a mere dance. And yet...

Rising from her seat, Elizabeth paced the length of her room, trying to calm her racing heart. The sensations coursing through her were novel and somewhat alarming. She had always appreciated Mr Darcy’s appearance, even in the days when she had professed to despise him, but this was different. This was a yearning of a sort she had never experienced before.

She paused by the window, pressing her forehead against the cool glass. Outside, the grounds of Lockwood were bathed in moonlight, peaceful and still. Elizabeth wished she could find such tranquillity within herself.

But every time she closed her eyes, she saw Mr Darcy’s face, felt the phantom touch of his hand on her waist. Her body thrummed with sensations she scarce comprehended, a longing for something she could not—should not—pursue.

“Impossible,” she whispered to her reflection in the window. Too much time had passed, too many misunderstandings lay between them. And even if that were not the case, she was a lady. To act on such feelings would be unthinkable.

With a sigh, Elizabeth turned away from the window and prepared for bed. The simple lace matron’s cap lay on the table, reminding her of her status as a spinster, a poor relation, a woman without a place in the world. As she lay in the darkness, she tried to push away thoughts of Mr Darcy, of dances and shared smiles and hands that seemed to burn through fabric. But even as sleep finally claimed her, his image lingered in her mind, a bittersweet reminder of what might have been and what could never be.

∞∞∞

Jane and Charles dined informally most evenings. Elizabeth was surprised when the housekeeper informed her Mrs Bingley had again prepared the formal dining room for the next evening, and suggested Elizabeth dress accordingly. Elizabeth had no objection. The reminder of the paucity of her wardrobe was unwelcome, however.

Dinner was at once the longest and the briefest meal Elizabeth ever remembered consuming. As the foursome settled around the linen clothed dining table, Elizabeth was aware of Darcy’s every breath. He appeared as handsome and composed as ever. As he engaged in the pleasant conversation that flowed among the group, Elizabeth reminded herself to breathe. The entire experience was like something from a fancy. She gripped the shimmering crystal wine glass in her hand to steady herself.

Jane and Bingley, ever the gracious hosts, kept the atmosphere light and convivial. They shared amusing anecdotes and inquired about Darcy’s recovery and estate. Elizabeth participated in the conversation as best she could whilst her thoughts returned constantly to Mr Darcy.

As the first course was served, Elizabeth studied Darcy’s hands as he gracefully held the silver fork and knife. His long, elegant fingers had admirable strength and dexterity. She longed to touch them. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, and she quickly averted her gaze. Next, she would compliment his handwriting if she did not master herself.

Elizabeth barely touched her dinner, so absorbed was she in observing Mr Darcy. The rich timbre of his voice as he spoke, the way his lips curved into a small smile at an amusing remark, the subtle flex of his jaw as he savoured each bite, her awareness rendered each detail more distinct.

Yet, despite the undeniable attraction that hummed between them, Darcy remained reserved. Earlier, she thought he intended to reveal feelings for her. Perhaps she merely dreamt it. Had she imagined the intensity of their encounters? In the past, he carefully concealed his true feelings behind his mask of polite indifference. Did he conceal something more, or did she merely wish he did?

As the conversation flowed from topic to topic, Elizabeth recalled the lively debates and good-natured banter of the past. So uncertain was she this evening, she dared not engage with such a worthy opponent. The air between them seemed fraught with meaning. Or perhaps she was just a lonely spinster, lusting after an indifferent man.

As the final course was cleared, Jane rose from her seat and turned to address the gentlemen. “Would you gentlemen like to join us, or will you remain over your drinks?” she asked.

Elizabeth noted the alacrity with which Bingley stood, his movements almost too eager.

The swiftness of his response gave her the distinct impression this moment had been designed with particular care, no doubt through Jane's artful planning.

Bingley turned to his friend with his usual good-natured cajolery. “Come, Darcy. Shall we not accompany the ladies?”

Darcy’s expression was inscrutable. He rose from his chair with a fluid motion. In the drawing room, an awkward silence descended upon the group. Jane, ever the consummate hostess, dispelled the unease with offerings of tea, coffee, and cordials. Even as she spoke, Elizabeth noticed her sister’s attention drawn to the doorway, as though expecting an interruption.

Moments later, the door opened with a soft click, revealing Mrs Cobb. “Master Peter is prepared to retire,” she announced.

Jane and Bingley exchanged glances. With a murmur of apologies, they rose from their seats. “If you will excuse us for a moment,” Jane said, “we will see Peter before he goes to sleep.”

Elizabeth fought back a wry smile. The pretence of their sudden departure was all too apparent. She appreciated the sentiment behind their efforts to orchestrate a moment of privacy. But the awkwardness did little to settle the butterflies taking flight in her stomach. She sipped the cordial to settle her nerves.

The door closed. Silence stretched. The crackling of the fire in the hearth was the only sound disturbing the stillness. Elizabeth’s heart raced, keenly conscious of Darcy’s presence. His tall frame and imposing demeanour seemed to fill the space. She set her glass down, her hand oddly unsteady. The fraught emotion of this long-wished-for moment alone with Darcy shook her senses.

She glanced up at Mr Darcy. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, Elizabeth thought he could see straight into her soul. She longed for the ability to read his mind.

Desperate to break the tension, Elizabeth spoke, her voice sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet room. “It seems we have been abandoned, Mr Darcy. I do hope you will not find my company too tiresome in the absence of our hosts.”

A flicker of amusement crossed Darcy’s face, his lips curving into a small smile. “On the contrary, Miss Bennet, I find your company most stimulating. I have always enjoyed our conversations, even when we have found ourselves at odds.”

Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed. The intimacy of the moment and her own discomposure made her both exhilarated and unsettled. Darcy began to pace back and forth, towering above her. The memory arose of that day in Hunsford. The two of them alone in a room, Darcy’s agitated manner and pacing sent a shiver down her spine. She clasped her hands together to stop their trembling.

Darcy, too, seemed lost in thought. His brow furrowed as he paced and stared into the dancing flames of the fire. He fidgeted with his cuff links, a break from his usual calm demeanour.

After a silence, Darcy cleared his throat and looked down at Elizabeth with a hint of warmth. His tall frame took up all the space above her. Her imaginings of the night before discomforted her further. She forced herself to breathe.

“Miss Bennet, I must confess, I have been thinking a great deal about your situation.”

Well, this was a far cry from “I ardently admire and love you.” Elizabeth’s brow furrowed, a sense of unease rising. “My situation, Mr Darcy? I am afraid I do not understand your meaning.”

Darcy stood closer, his voice low. Elizabeth craned her neck to see his face. He was serious, almost grave. “You are a woman of great intelligence and resourcefulness, Miss Bennet. I admire the way you have navigated the challenges of your position, refusing charity and yet finding a way to support yourself.”

The pounding of Elizabeth’s heart seemed so loud it must be audible to him. Pride and defensiveness surged within her. This sort of admiration was at some variance from that he had once expressed. “I have done what I must, Mr Darcy. I will not be a burden to my family.” Her voice shook.

Darcy nodded. “Of course, Miss Bennet. Bingley has told me you were, that there have been offers of marriage. That you have declined several offers, as you intimated.” He paused. “If your heart were not engaged, I would expect nothing less from you. And yet, I cannot help but wonder if there might be a way for you to find the security and comfort you deserve without sacrificing your independence. A situation that could benefit us both.” His expression remained inscrutable.

Elizabeth’s eyes widened, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Surely, he could not be suggesting what it sounded like he was. Her stomach lurched at the implication. Her mind jumped to horrifying thoughts—the summons to his chamber, the lingering touches when they danced. He had clearly signalled his attraction to her person. But no, she would not leap to an unfounded conclusion as she once had. She would force herself to determine the truth.

“Mr Darcy, I do not understand your meaning. I am not aware I require a ‘situation.’” The recollection of Mr Baxter’s use of the same word rose in her senses like bile in her throat. It was as if they spoke in the same code.

Darcy moved yet closer. From her seat, his imposing form stretched above her. She averted her eyes. His voice rumbled deeply. “Please, hear me out, Elizabeth,” he said.

“Of course,” she said. This was far removed from the romantic interlude she had dreamt of. She had longed to hear him address her with words of admiration and love. This was not the way. He had not asked her consent to speak to her so intimately. No affection, no passion coloured his words. His use of her name felt intrusive, as though she possessed no liberty to refuse such familiarity. Was it possible that her Mr Darcy, the man she had longed for these many years, could make her a dishonourable offer?

Elizabeth tried to apply logic to the matter. He must know she had feelings for him. She was but an impoverished spinster at the mercy of her family’s charity. He confessed to finding her company “intoxicating.” He was a high-ranking, wealthy man who could not rejoice at the inferiority of her connections. What other use might he have for a woman of her status?

She turned her gaze away, her thoughts racing. The very air had been sucked from the room.

Darcy reached down toward her face and placed a finger under her chin. He pressed up ward, compelling her to meet his gaze.

“Elizabeth, look at me,” he said.

Fury took over. She jerked her chin away from his touch, her eyes flashing with indignation. “You will not command me like your horse, Mr Darcy.”

Elizabeth rose and rushed several steps away from this spectre who was not the Mr Darcy she had long loved.

“You have taken my want of protection, my struggle to find my place in this world, and twisted it into something pitiful. I do not wish to be your charity case, a poor spinster you take pity on.” She dashed the angry tears from her eyes.

Darcy shook his head. “Elizabeth, please. I only wish to offer you a way out of your difficulties. Your situation troubles me greatly. I wish to offer you a solution, one that would see you well provided for. All your needs would be met. You would have the freedom to pursue your interests without concern for your livelihood. You must know I have the means to ensure your comfort and security.”

The room seemed to tilt around her. She gripped the settee for stability. Nothing he was saying sounded right. She never wished to hear the words she feared would follow.

Elizabeth had an alarming sense of unpleasant familiarity. Again, she was alone in a parlour with Mr Darcy, and everything was going wrong. She could not remain in that room for another moment.

“You do not comprehend how the expectations of others limit and constrain a woman, how our wishes are dismissed and ignored. I fear, sir, that despite everything, and all these years, you yet see me as nothing more than an object to possess. I will not be an inferior creature upon whom you might bestow your beneficence. I have little enough in this world, but I retain the power of refusal,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. The warmth of the room was suffocating. The once comforting presence of Darcy oppressed her. She gathered her skirts and strode from the room.

As the door closed behind her, Elizabeth let out a shaky breath, her heart racing with a mix of anger and despair. She ran unsteadily up to her room.

Elizabeth’s fingers trembled as she fastened the latch on her trunk, the metallic click echoing in the stillness of her chamber. Dawn’s pale light filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the floor. She had not slept a wink, the events of the previous evening replaying in her mind like a fevered dream.

With a sigh, she moved to her travelling desk, reorganising items that were already in perfect order. The familiar scent of paper and ink usually brought her comfort, but now she was too lost in the past.

“My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

His words from Hunsford posed a stark contrast to last night’s cryptic discourse. Elizabeth’s heart clenched as she recalled his talk of “solutions” and “benefits.”

A soft tapping at the door startled her from her reverie. Elizabeth hastily wiped her eyes, composing herself as best she could before calling out, “Come in.”

Jane entered, bearing a tray of tea and toast. She forced a smile as her sister set the tray down.

“Charles has had the carriage brought around, Lizzy,” Jane said, her voice gentle. “Are you certain you wish to leave so early?”

Elizabeth busied herself with pouring tea, hoping the tremor in her hands was not noticeable. “Yes, it is best to see whether we can travel far today. I would not want to risk being on the road on Sunday.” The teacup clinked against the saucer, betraying her agitation.

Jane’s eyes swept the room, taking in the packed trunk and empty wardrobe. “Lizzy, you have taken everything. Do you not intend to return to us?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken concern. Elizabeth stared into her teacup, watching the leaves swirl in the amber liquid. “I cannot say, Jane. I imagine Mary will have need of me for some months.” She spoke of plans to help with little Frances and the household, her words tumbling out in a rush that could not quite mask the catch in her voice.

“Lizzy, I will not press you, but it is quite clear that something happened between you and Mr Darcy that has you upset. I have had to hold Charles back from calling Mr Darcy out. Icannot imagine what the problem is.”

Elizabeth sighed. Jane always saw the best in people. She would have never suspected her husband’s dear friend of making an insulting offer to her sister. It would not be on Elizabeth’s account that their friendship was broken again.

“It is nothing. We do not see eye to eye, Jane. We never did. I was foolish to think of him as this ideal of manhood. He is just a man.” The word tasted of bitterness and disappointed hopes.

Jane’s silence spoke volumes. Elizabeth could feel her sister’s gaze, searching and concerned. When Jane finally spoke, her words were measured. “This is not like you, Lizzy.”

The gentle observation struck Elizabeth like a physical blow. She set down her cup and moved to the window. Outside, the grounds of Lockwood were shrouded in morning mist, the familiar landscape rendered strange and unknowable.

“I cannot explain how horribly it all went,” Elizabeth said, her voice barely above a whisper. “When we spoke, it was as if one of us was speaking Greek and the other Sanskrit. I can hardly account for what Mr Darcy said. It was… unthinkable.”

She turned to face Jane, her cheeks burning with shame and confusion. “He offered me a situation,” she finally admitted, the words hanging in the air between them.

Jane’s brow furrowed, her expression a mix of disbelief and concern. “Lizzy,” she said softly, “are you certain you understood him correctly?”

Elizabeth’s gaze dropped to the floor, tracing the pattern of the rug beneath her feet. “He spoke of my security and comfort, of securing my independence. He said he wished to offer a solution that could benefit us both.” The words felt like ashes in her mouth.

A long silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant sound of horses in the courtyard below. When Jane spoke again, her voice was gentle but firm. “Are you certain that is what he meant?”

The question cut through Elizabeth’s defences. She sunk onto the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling every hour of her sleepless night. “I am so confused,” she admitted, her voice small. “I was so hurt, so shocked. All I could think about were the years alone, the proposals from men who saw me as nothing more than a potential drudge or worse.”

Hot tears spilt down her cheeks, and Elizabeth felt Jane’s arms encircle her. She leant into her sister’s embrace, allowing herself a moment of vulnerability.

“Lizzy,” Jane murmured, stroking her hair, “if you did not give credence to that thought—if you believed Mr Darcy respects you—how would you see what he said?”

The question hung in the air, unanswered. Outside, a bird began to sing, its clear notes cutting through the morning stillness. Elizabeth closed her eyes and allowed herself, for the first time since the previous evening, to truly consider that she might have been mistaken.

“Lizzy, do you truly believe that he did not mean to offer marriage?” Elizabeth sat, staring at her lap, silent.

“Can you absolutely know that it is true?” Jane asked.

Elizabeth had to shake her head. “I may have overreacted.” Hot tears began to course down her cheeks.

"Lizzy, if you believed Mr Darcy did respect you, how would you see what he said?” Elizabeth reached out to her sister who enfolded her in her arms.

When Elizabeth’s weeping subsided, Jane poured cool water into the wash basin and wrung out a cloth. She bathed Elizabeth’s face gently, murmuring to her.

“Please just think about it, Lizzy. Mr Darcy is many things, but I never saw any sign that he was a man who would make a dishonourable offer. You may be wrong about him. The anticipation, combined with your long separation, may have rendered discourse particularly difficult.. Please consider that your apprehension of his meaning might not be correct."

When at last Elizabeth stepped out the front door, she was overcome with dismay when she saw Mr Darcy standing beside Charles, waiting to see her off.

Charles embraced her, his expression soft and worried. He pressed a purse into her hands. “Insurance, Lizzy. Consider it as a loan, so Jane will worry less whilst you are travelling,” he said. He knew the only way she would take his money was to give Jane comfort. Reluctantly, she dropped it into her reticule with thanks.

Charles stepped away then, leaving Elizabeth face to face with the last man in the world she wished to encounter.

“Miss Bennet,” he murmured as he bowed to her. She curtsied hurriedly, turning towards the carriage.

Darcy extended his arm, and only the utmost rudeness would have allowed her to not take it.

As he walked her the few steps to the carriage, he spoke, only for her ears.

“I wish to apologise for last evening. We seemed to be speaking at cross purposes. With all my heart, I promise you, I meant no offence. I respect you deeply and wish only for your happiness,” he said.

His rumbling voice reverberated down to her toes. Where had these sentiments been the evening before? Was this the same man who offered her a “situation”? She had never been so confused in her life.

“Please forgive me for my rash reactions,” she said, trying not to weep. “We do have a history of speaking at cross purposes,” she added.

“I hope you will allow me to call upon you, in that case, so we might clear matters up,” he said. His eyes bore into her with such intensity, it took her breath away.

“If you wish,” she said doubtfully. Did he intend to hie off to Alton to call on her at yet another parsonage? It seemed unlikely.

Darcy extended his hand to assist her up the steps into the carriage, where Maggie awaited her.

She allowed herself one steady look at his face. His jaw was set with determination. His eyes took her in with that profound tenderness she had marked before on his face.

As Elizabeth sat, Mr Darcy kept hold of her hand. She looked up as he lifted her hand to his lips. Even through the fine kid travelling gloves, she could sense the warmth of his lips as he kissed her knuckles reverently.

Mr Darcy closed the door, and the carriage lurched forward. Elizabeth stared out the window. Jane waved. Bingley and Darcy exchanged a long look.

“I could be wrong,” Elizabeth said to herself. “I could be very, very wrong.”