Darcy's Quest Page 2

  Elizabeth's heart lodged in the toes of her slippers. All her excuses were being swept away and tidily disposed of. It would never work. They were so pleased, so delighted, and their financial worries would be over. Could she be so selfish as to turn away their hopes and dreams? She was caught, trapped, as sure as a moth in a sticky spider's web.

  Mr. Bennet cleared his throat. "I have invited Mr. Darcy to dine with us on the morrow. I need an answer as to whether he can approach you without fear of rejection."

  Elizabeth's eyes lifted from the study of her toes. Her gaze tangled with her father's, reading his hopefully expectant inquiry. Her mother's face registered the same eagerness. Her gaze returned to her folded hands, now clasped in a death grip. Should she agree, all her dreams of being held in a loving embrace could be consigned to the devil. The utter silence of the library was dispelled by the muted sound of running feet in the hallway beyond. The muffled laughter of her sisters penetrated the heavy atmosphere.

  Elizabeth blinked back her tears, and drawing a breath, forced the words past the lump in her throat. "Yes, Papa. You may tell him I will accept his addresses."

  Chapter Two

  Another crumpled wad of paper hit the fireplace grate with force. Small flames licked at its outer edges, then devoured it. With a grim stare, Elizabeth watched the scented sheet disintegrate into ashes. Flicking away anger, she resolutely set her quill to a fresh page.

  "My dearest Wickham," she began again, dismayed to note her tears weren't inclined to abandon her. Rummaging for a handkerchief, she dabbed her eyes. It wouldn't do for her tears to spoil the ink of what she hoped would be her final attempt to inform George Wickham of her imminent betrothal.

  Dipping the quill in the inkwell, she glanced about the sparsely furnished sitting-room adjoining her bedchamber, hoping to find inspiration in the yellow patterned wallpaper.

  What else could she have possibly done? She really hadn't a choice, not from the time she refused to marry Mr. Collins. This was followed by her parents requesting an audience in the sitting room. That meeting had exuded an air of solemnity, tinged with desperation, yet laced with a faint trace of hope. Their financial straits, as well as their plans for her future and theirs, had been made fully clear. None of them had suspected she might fall in love with a man deemed so ineligible.

  No stranger to duty, from the time she could remember, Elizabeth had been versed in those accomplishments expected of her, in the proper conduct and aspirations of a young miss. She was expected to marry well, for wealth and not for love. She never suspected she'd follow another path, especially after speaking that evening with her parents. Indeed, she had dreamed of making that excellent match...except always, lining these puffy clouds of imagination, was romance and love. She'd found them all, she realized with a twist of bitter amusement, though not in the same man. She could have wealth with one, or she could have romance and love with the other.

  Had she a choice, it would be her lieutenant. But she had none. Therefore, Mr. Darcy would be her lifelong mate. She could scarce bear the thought, but was resigned to the sacrifice she must make. Her family depended solely upon her actions, and if her own future looked bleak, then so it must be.

  Still, she owed it to Wickham, and indeed, to her own heart, to make this announcement as painless as possible. She reached for the quill, longing to vow her eternal love and devotion. However, respect for the commitment she was about to make stilled her hand. Instead she wrote, "I wish you only the best." Signing her name, she folded the missive, sealed it and went in search of the footman Simon, who was discreet enough to see it delivered at once with none the wiser.

  Her mission successfully completed, Elizabeth returned to her room by way of the back stairs, avoiding everyone save an upstairs maid. Sprawling atop her bed, she stared with unseeing eyes at the ceiling. She longed to put every memory she had of Wickham in a locket and wear it close to her heart forever. She recalled their meeting at the Phillips' musicale. A tiny smile crossed her lips. Her sister, Mary, had been persuaded to sing—only to acquit herself most awfully—and later, Wickham, after being introduced, said for Elizabeth's ears alone, "I make no doubt you can sing like an angel, though it's questionable whether you'd be heard, so captivated would everyone be by your beauty."

  She closed her eyes, remembering his smile, the caress in his throaty voice and the softness of his chuckle when she blushed. After that, he'd been at almost every function she attended, always the first to sign her dance card, and always ready with a pretty compliment and an engaging grin. How easy he was to laugh with, and how charming were his ways. His presence had made it easier to ignore Mr. Darcy's silent study of her person, and to also avoid his company.

  However, she still hadn't been saved from the ultimate course she must take. Darcy was determined, if nothing else. It angered her that Wickham should put forth his best to win her heart, and yet Darcy, with only a modicum of effort, would claim her hand. With a muffled oath, Elizabeth rolled off the bed, kicking a stray slipper across the room. It just was not fair!

  Crossing to the wardrobe silently, she yanked back the door, belligerently scowling at her limited number of suitable gowns. Out of spite, she reached for a drab gray one. Imagining Mr. Darcy's reaction, she smiled. Her hair pulled back in a severe knot? Did she dare?

  Her lips twitched, and she gave an infinitesimal nod of her head. She would, and hang that dratted man's stamp of approval. She donned the gown and sat at the vanity. Scraping heavy lengths of hair away from her face, she pulled it into a tight knot and pinned it in a haphazard fashion. The minutes ticked past in rapid succession, each bringing her ever nearer to the time when Darcy would go on bended knee and ask the big question.

  At least, it was proper that he go down on bended knee; however, Elizabeth fervently hoped he would not. She couldn't bear it if he spewed lies of how she had captured his heart. She wanted no pretty speeches, no vows of undying devotion. Picturing him doing just so, she reached for the powder pot and sniffed. No, she needn't worry that he would behave any way other than exactly as he felt. She suspected he wasn't a man who did what others expected of him, but rather followed a path of being true to himself.

  A discreet tap at her door broke through her musings. The powder pot clattered onto the vanity, and Elizabeth scrambled away, scanning the room for a place to hide. She prayed it wasn't her mother. All her bold schemes of shocking Darcy evaporated in an instant. She slipped behind the curtains at the window just as the door opened.

  Jane called her name. Though she didn't reveal her hiding place, Elizabeth relaxed, blowing out her pent breath in a silent sigh. The door closed, and Jane's voice came again. "Lizzy, I know you're in here. Do come out from behind those curtains."

  "Jane," Elizabeth responded testily. She stepped from behind the curtains and regarded her sister with a mighty frown.

  Jane fell back against the door with a hand to her heart. "Lizzy! Never shall I allow you to present yourself in the drawing room in such shocking style! Why, Mama would have a fit of the vapors, and Papa would be mortified. And Mr. Darcy—whatever would he think?"

  "Oh, help me, Jane, and find something suitable for me to wear!" snapped Elizabeth, already pouring water into the wash basin to scrub her face. "I was only experimenting." And when Jane cast her a dour glance, she snipped, “For my wedding night!"

  Jane giggled. "Oh, Lizzy, never say so! Why, you look prepared for a death march to the guillotine. You're about to accept the proposal of one of the finest men in England, and I own I cannot understand your reluctance to marry him. I vow he's the most handsome of men—I daresay you haven't even noticed how dark his hair is, and how it curls so nicely at his nape. Have you taken note, dear sister, of Mr. Bingley's opinion of him? I make no doubt he has many fine qualities."

  "Jane!" Elizabeth admonished. "I'm shocked that you'd inspect my intended so thoroughly!"

  "Wasn't it but a week ago you were extolling the virtues of one Mr. Wickham to me? ‘Oh, wha
t a fine figure he cuts in his regimentals. Did you see, Jane, how his eyes positively dance?’”Jane quoted. “Why, he flirted with you in the most outrageous fashion the entire time we were at Lucas Lodge! I can only be thankful Lydia and Kitty weren't present to witness such behavior. Now, I believe this cream satin will be perfect, don't you? It does show your coloring to advantage."

  Elizabeth's mouth turned down in a mulish frown. "I don't want to be shown to advantage," she groaned.

  "Yes, I know, dearest, but you are expected to do the pretty. Poor Mama is in such a state, but your moping is quite near to spoiling her fun. Mind your manners, Lizzy, for her sake. She and Papa are so delighted, thinking this the greatest of good fortune. They would be upset should they feel they've consigned you to a life of unhappiness."

  Sighing, she knelt before Elizabeth, taking up both her hands. "I've been a featherbrain, Lizzy. I thought you were merely whiling away the time with Wickham, but I saw your face turn so sad when I mentioned him just now. You love him, don't you?"

  Elizabeth nodded. "He's fun and alive, and unassuming. However, Papa thinks him immature and reckless. He's obviously poor, while Darcy is rich...and we need his money."

  Jane's face was eloquent with empathy, her eyes reflecting her helplessness. "I'd marry him for you if I could, dear Lizzy, truly I would."

  Elizabeth's lips lifted in a brief smile. "I know you would. You've always been generous to a fault. The best of good sisters. But, I suppose I must face my fate with a smile. Now do help me dress. Mama will expect my presence in the drawing room before dinner is announced."

  Jane nodded, coming to her feet, and smoothing down her skirts. "Indeed. And Lizzy, dear, I do pray you'll find happiness Mr. Darcy."

  Elizabeth shrugged, holding in check a rampage of emotion. "Oh, I daresay I shall find him tolerable enough.”

  Her sister cast her a skeptical glance, but said nothing.

  Minutes later the cream satin swirled about Elizabeth's ankles. Jane urged her to sit so she might make her hair presentable. She laughed as she removed the haphazard array of pins. "I do hope Mr. Darcy appoints you a lady's maid post haste. I, however, insist you comb these tangles out yourself, and in the meantime, I'll see to whoever is doing all that confounded scratching at your door."

  Elizabeth applied the brush to her hair, wincing at the mess she'd made. From behind her, she heard Jane say, "Oh, it's you, Simon. What is it?" After a pause in which the footman mumbled softly, Jane said, "Simon, I'm perfectly capable of carrying your missive to her myself. She's right here, but she's busy. Now do hand it over."

  Elizabeth swiveled her chair round and stood, curious as to what the footman's seemingly all-important mission was. Moving to the door, she snatched the sealed envelope from Jane's hand just as quickly as that miss had snatched it from Simon's.

  "Thank you, Simon," she said, turning on her heel, leaving Jane to close the door. Her heart pounded and her fingers trembled. Sitting down at the vanity, she pulled a tallow candle closer, and spread the single sheet before her.

  My Elizabeth,

  Your recent communication has left me distraught and desolate. If we must say our goodbyes, I wish they weren't said through cold, formal notes. I beseech you to meet me at Oakham Mount at midnight tonight. I'll follow you there, seeing you come to no harm, but don't acknowledge my presence until we're safely away. I beg you to meet me.

  Wickham.

  Elizabeth's gaze fixed on his scrawled signature, the enormity of his request penetrating her consciousness. Midnight? She wasn't sure he knew what he was asking.

  "Midnight?" murmured Jane from behind her, a suggestion of laughter in her voice.

  Elizabeth snatched up the note, clasping it to her bosom. "Jane! Pray, don't poke fun! Haven't you learned not to eavesdrop? You did read it, didn't you?"

  "You can't go, you know," said Jane matter-of-factly. She retrieved the brush. "Turn round so I can finish your hair."

  "And just why can I not?" demanded Elizabeth, directing a fierce frown through the mirror at her sister.

  "There are any number of reasons why not," Jane replied, gathering the tresses to create a topknot. "Midnight? Surely you see the impropriety of it? You can't go alone, and you dare not take a maid into your confidence. You will be affianced to Mr. Darcy, and a lovers' tryst with Mr. Wickham is not at all the thing. I wonder why he should even ask such a thing of you. Papa is correct in thinking him reckless and immature. It's obvious he's careless of your reputation." She sniffed her disapproval, and added another pin to Elizabeth's coiffure.

  "Oh, Jane!" Elizabeth snapped, deciding against asking for her support. "A person in love takes chances, moving mountains if need be. I see nothing wrong with Wickham wanting our leave-taking to be more personal, and I'm flattered he cares enough to flout the rules."

  "No!" was Jane's sour rejoinder. "You would be forever ruined should you be caught. I think it horrid of him to ask you to place your reputation in such peril, and should I ever see him again, be assured I shall tell him so."

  "You would condemn a man for following his heart?"

  Jane's lower lip was set in a determined line. She caught and held Elizabeth's gaze reflected in the glass. "He's asked you to walk through the woods in the dead of night, alone but for him. It's not done, and well you know it."

  "Of course I know it," Elizabeth said, emitting a sniff of her own. "But you can't blame him for trying, and he never said he expected to see me. I daresay he'll understand if I don't appear."

  "If?" Jane added the finishing touches to her handiwork by coaxing some wispy tendrils to curl about Elizabeth's face.

  "When," corrected Elizabeth. She turned her head this way and that, studying her reflection in the mirror. "Very pretty, Jane. You've surpassed yourself."

  "Thank you. Now may I borrow one of your gowns?"

  "Certainly." Elizabeth realized Wickham's note was still crushed in her fist, and she opened her hand, smoothing the sheet out atop the vanity. Scanning the words once more, she marveled at how easily she and Wickham had fallen in love, and how heart-breakingly short was the time they had enjoyed together. Would those few, now bittersweet, memories be enough to last her through a lifetime? Or did she dare to steal just one more?

  "I'd throw that in the fire if I were you," Jane advised from the wardrobe. "I vow it wouldn't be pleasant should someone find it."

  "You're always so practical, Jane," Elizabeth returned. "I shall do just that."

  Jane returned her attention to the gowns, and Elizabeth folded the note into a small square, tucking it into the bodice of her satin, next to her heart.

  * * *

  Taking port with a prospective father-in-law, Darcy decided, wasn't proving the daunting experience he'd feared. Chief among his earlier worries—causing him to discharge his carriage at the gate with the certain knowledge he'd prefer to walk this night's business off. Mr. Bennet indulged in acceptable topics of hunting. Darcy relaxed, much to his surprise.

  “It was scarce a quarter of an hour, however, before Mr. Bennet rose. "Well, sir, I don't suppose you'll want to be here til the cock crows. Shall we rejoin the ladies?"

  Darcy nodded, a brief smile playing across his mouth. This was it. His first—and it was to be hoped, last proposal of marriage was but minutes away. He wondered at the sudden tightening of his stomach muscles, and the sharp little tingle accompanying it. He wasn't nervous. His breath sang a quiet whistle through his teeth as he followed his host to the drawing room. Seeking a dark-haired, fine-eyed beauty, he found her perched on the edge of a sofa, poised as if for flight. He sat beside her, ignoring her nervous little jump.

  Elizabeth's gaze was locked on her tightly clenched hands. She didn't look at him, didn't smile. Surely not the most encouraging of signals, Darcy mused. Dashed uncomfortable, this business. Settling against the back of the sofa, he crossed his booted feet before him. Might as well let her become accustomed to his presence before causing her further upset. He accepted a cup of t
ea from Mrs. Bennet with gracious thanks, and inclined his ear towards the pianoforte and Jane, who rendered a rather pretty performance.

  Darcy sipped his tea, deciding dinner had passed tolerably well, if one could accept with equanimity Elizabeth’s refusal to cast him a glance. Indeed, she'd spared him no more than two, and brief ones at that. She'd been noticeably quiet throughout. However, this fact had doubtless been remarked by no one but him. The other chattering youngsters had more than made up for any lapses in conversation.

  The last notes of the music rippled away. Jane moved from the pianoforte, accepting a cup of tea from her mama. Darcy grasped his chance.

  "Miss Bennet," he said without preamble, "would you care to accompany me on a stroll about the garden?"

  She turned deathly pale, but graciously accepted. Every member of the family came to attention, he noted with some discomfort. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet smiled benignly. Lydia and Kitty's smirks were positively impish.

  "I daresay I should walk with you," said Mary importantly, oblivious to the circumstances unfolding.

  "I daresay you should not," returned Mrs. Bennet without hesitation.

  Lydia made a light, teasing comment, sending Elizabeth into blushing confusion.

  All of them obviously knew just what would transpire in the garden. A damned beastly business, this. Indeed, he had been quite mistaken when he'd reckoned the task would be easy. It certainly hadn't been thus far.

  He held open the garden doors. Elizabeth slipped through under the attentive eyes of her family. Darcy closed the doors quietly behind him, thankful for the dim light and the cool night air. He placed a solicitous hand at the small of Elizabeth's back, guiding her down the two shallow stairs and into the moonlight beyond.

  For days, he had rehearsed the words, repeating them over and again in his mind. He thought this mental practice would stand him in good stead, and the proposal would roll off his tongue smoothly. But the thing of it was, every time he opened his mouth to speak, the question seemed caught there, refusing utterance.