Page 6 of United By Happenstance
“Generous, am I? I do not think I merit the term. But then, I feel I hardly know myself. To own the truth, I have not properly known myself since I have known you,” she admitted.
At his look of incredulity, she went on, “My own powers of understanding, which I once trusted, have been tested since our first meeting and have proved wholly deficient. It has been a painful lesson to acknowledge that I possess every weakness of vanity and mistaken judgment that can breed folly. Can you forgive me for exposing you to the worst of my nature, for thinking the very worst of you, almost from the beginning of our acquaintance?”
He regarded her intently for a moment, then he sat up a little taller. He did not remove his hand from over hers. Instead, he swept his thumb under her palm and took hold of her grasp properly. Elizabeth, caught suspended in her own surprise, did not recoil. He looked aside at their connexion for a moment and seemed to be steadying, gradually steadying in her grasp, gentled by it out of the intensity of his own discomposure. She squeezed his hand in silent understanding.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, going very still at the sound of her name in his mouth. “You trulyaretoo generous. Too generous to trifle with me, I think. You have taught me so much in just thespan of a few weeks, a few moments. Dare I think that within all these lessons, you have taught me tohope?”
“To hope, sir?” Elizabeth repeated, even as she found the answer in the warm weight of his hand, still holding hers.
“To hope that your opinion of me is not as fixed as it once was—and to imagine that you are extending me such kindness from an impulse more liberal than charity. My own affections and wishes are unchanged, but I cannot fathom yours. If your feelings are still what they were in Kent, pray, tell me so at once.”
Elizabeth tried to speak, swept back her breath, and tried again. His apology had been in keeping with his sense of honour, but she would never have presumed to expect from him this constancy of affection—not after the pain and bitterness his letter had revealed he carried from her rejection of his suit.
“I hardly know what to tell you,” she said at last. “I find myself in the midst of more confusion than would allow for any confidence in my own feelings. In this moment, we have more to say to each other and more affinity to share than we could claim thus far in the whole of our acquaintance. And there is trust—there is certainly more trust between us, now, than ever before. We have both made great effort to deal with one another honestly, at the price of our pride. That represents something significant to me, although I cannot saywhatit signifies.”
He nodded. It was clear by his cautiously approving gaze that this reflection did not answer all his hopes, although it did perhaps represent some improvements in the nature of their acquaintance. He released her hand.
Elizabeth withdrew enough to clasp her still-warm hand in the grasp of her other and regain her breath. Once she had gathered enough of her own composure, she was able to observe that his own hands now mirrored hers, and his face was a picture of contemplative gravity.
“I ought to find that answer enough to satisfy,” he said at last. “I shall never forget how it was only weeks ago, when I witnessed that turn of your countenance as you spoke with such decided revulsion against my offer and my character. At least now, it seems you can bear my company tolerably.”
Elizabeth nodded with enough vigour to concede the truth of what he said. Yes, her feelings had changed, although the depth of that change was still unknown. But the longer she stood in this quiet room with him as he spoke to her openly in this soft way, the more she felt she could like him. The thought cheered her enough to bring back her voice.
“Yes. You are tolerable, I suppose,” she confirmed with a gentle smile, tilting her head as she waited for him to recognise this ironic recollection of his words from the Assembly Room where they had first met.
Clever as he was, he was quick to catch her meaning and her look, and he evinced his own understanding with a short, disbelieving chuckle. His laughter grew into something more as he covered his face again in an attempt to suppress the emotions that seemed to suddenly assail him.
As his shoulders shook, Elizabeth suddenly feared she had hurt him with her teasing. She had merely meant to make light of his slight by turning it into a compliment. She was just on the point of apologising for her thoughtlessness when he raised his head to look at her.
“No,” he said haltingly. “Pray, do not apologise for using my own unjustifiable words most justly in my presence. It was well done, I assure you. You possess quite the talent for carrying your point.”
He shook off his weighty mirth, took a bracing breath, and stood.
The effect was pronounced. No longer crowded into his chair and dishevelled by distress, he restored the length and breadthand grace of his usual form. Elizabeth was more familiar with this tall, elegant Mr Darcy that stood before her, certainly. Yet, she missed the Darcy she felt she had just started to come to know, the man who had been in the chair, sitting and thinking, talking and feeling with her. She had begun to fear she had lost that man until he approached her with an uncertain expression in his eyes that she now felt she understood and recognised, for she had seen Miss Darcy wear it: shyness.
He offered her his arm as if to lead her to a dance. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said, “I ought to take you home.”
Elizabeth agreed, although she felt no urgency either in herself or in him as she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. He looked down on her with such a sweet expression of relief that she could not resist giving a little squeeze of reassurance.
He led her on amicably, parting only to overtake the stairs on their way towards the music room, where they met a shocking sight: poor Maria Lucas, crying into a handkerchief, and Miss Darcy settled beside her on the sofa in miserable commiseration.
Miss Darcy rose and approached them. “Miss Lucas had the misfortune of being a target for Lady Catherine’s most terrible anger. She shouted at her and then she left. Oh, Brother, I do not know what to say to make this right! What are we to do?”
Elizabeth understood well enough that poor Maria had been scolded for the shame of her association. She went to sit beside the girl and put her arm around her as a sister might, and Maria responded as any child would by turning her face to sob wretchedly onto Elizabeth’s shoulder.
Mr Darcy pulled out his own, dry handkerchief in offering to the girl. Elizabeth accepted it on her behalf.
“I can only offer my apologies to Miss Lucas, as I have to Miss Elizabeth, that such a thing has happened here at Darcy House. Lady Catherine has been the victim of herown misunderstanding, and yet she will persist in adhering to her folly,” said Mr Darcy, before turning aside to his sister. “Obstinate, headstrong woman,” he sighed. “I am ashamed of her, too, Georgiana. Do not let it distress you. Let us rectify matters with Miss Lucas and Miss Elizabeth by ensuring they are taken safely home.”
Miss Darcy nodded, her expression a little shocked from hearing her brother so summarily denounce their aunt. Mr Darcy patted her hand and then moved to address the other young ladies.
“Are you bound for Hertfordshire, Eli—Miss Elizabeth?” he asked awkwardly, over the sound of Maria’s hiccoughs and sobs.
“Not directly. I am for my aunt and uncle Gardiners’ house in Gracechurch Street. They are expecting us.”
He nodded. “I will be happy to convey you to any destination. You have only to say when you wish to go.”
Elizabeth had just turned to Maria to assess her readiness to leave when the girl suddenly sat up in alarm.
