The Last Waltz: . . . another pride and prejudice journey of love (13 page)

CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN

Darcy descended his carriage in front of his townhouse at Grosvenor Street. He told his driver to return within the hour. He had not informed anyone in town of his sudden change in plans, and Mrs. Bates, his housekeeper, would not be expecting him. He gave a brief explanation for his unannounced arrival as he hurried up the stairs to his bedchamber. He would quickly bathe and change so that he might call upon Miss Marston as soon as possible.

Less than two hours later he was at her door.

He entered her townhouse, and so eager was he to have Elizabeth Bennet’s memory replaced in his thoughts, that he followed Stivers down the hallway rather than wait for the butler to announce him. As he entered the small parlour, Miss Marston looked up at him in surprise.

“Mr. Darcy! I thought you were still in Hertfordshire, sir.”

As the door closed behind him, he went to her and slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her close. He looked into her eyes briefly before bringing his mouth down upon hers. It was by no means their first kiss, but this one was different from all the others they had shared. This kiss most definitely had a purpose; its intent to prove something.

And it most assuredly did.

But what it proved only unsettled him. For as he kissed her and held her in his arms, he found himself waiting for something—waiting for the same reaction he had felt when he had kissed Elizabeth Bennet.

But it did not feel the same.

What had gotten into him? His impassive responses to all of their previous intimate moments had always provided a strange form of comfort to him. Indeed, his only requirements before Hertfordshire for a suitable match had been to choose a young woman with proper breeding and the right connections. Never before had he consulted his heart regarding such matters.

Of course,
some
physical attraction to the young lady was essential—after all, an heir would be required of him—and if she were also to possess intelligence, he would consider that an added benefit. Miss Marston had once seemed perfectly suitable; surely she would be able to convince him of that again.

As he released her, she appeared just as disconcerted as he.

“I would have sent my card, but I was most anxious to see you.”

“I . . . I am flattered, Mr. Darcy.”

So distracted was he by his own thoughts, he had not noticed her initial discomfort. “Are you unwell, Miss Marston?”

“I am quite well, sir. I am just stunned by your unexpected arrival,” she answered as she discreetly directed a glance towards the table and loveseat.

Darcy observed the shift of her eyes and followed their path, noting the two half-empty glasses of brandy. “I am sorry to have intruded unannounced like this.”

“My aunt was entertaining a visitor, an old friend, who left a short while ago. I’m afraid my dear aunt grew rather fatigued and has retired for the evening. We are now quite alone, Mr. Darcy.”

She took his hand and led him towards the loveseat, giving him a look that was meant to encourage. He dutifully followed, confident that Alyssa Marston would find ways to force Elizabeth Bennet from his thoughts.

********

The banns of matrimony were read for three consecutive Sundays following the ball at Netherfield, and on the fourth Sunday, the wedding of Mr. William Collins to Miss Charlotte Lucas took place at Meryton Church. Despite the many hasty and hurried preparations, the wedding proceeded without much fanfare.

Though one would have liked to believe that the tears shed by Mrs. Bennet during the ceremony were tears of joy, the disapproving look she bestowed upon the bride and groom made that prospect highly unlikely.

Elizabeth, however, was not in the least bit disappointed that she was not the one now standing at the altar next to Mr. Collins, reciting her vows. Deep down in her heart she knew what her answer would have been had he proposed to her that night on the balcony. Despite her imperfections, she could never allow herself to marry a man she did not love.

As she recalled the kiss that she and Mr. Darcy had shared, her complexion deepened. Even her vast imagination had not prepared her for such an experience. She had no idea a kiss could be like that; so intimate, so intense, so powerful. When he had murmured for her to open to him and his tongue had met hers in a dance all their own, she could barely contain her emotions. The passion his kiss incited made her quite convinced she would never be truly happy with anyone else.

As she sat quietly in the pew watching the ceremony, she thought about the events of that night and shook her head in disbelief. Had her father entered the balcony five minutes sooner, most likely she and Mr. Darcy would now be standing before the vicar instead of Charlotte and Mr. Collins. She let that thought briefly linger in her mind as she recalled their moments alone on the deserted, darkened balcony. The intensity of their passionate embrace and fervent kiss would be etched in her memory forever. A small secretive smile formed on her lips.

No, she would not have wanted him that way, forced into a marriage he did not want. Such a situation would only banish whatever affection he might feel for her and would render them both most unhappy. Eventually he would grow to resent her and her imperfections. But she could not help but wonder: Would she be willing to indulge again the passion she had felt for him?

Perhaps it was best to let that question go unanswered. Indeed, it seemed she had no will power at all when it came to Fitzwilliam Darcy. Oh, how she missed him! She missed not having the possibility of him unexpectedly showing up at Longbourn or discovering him upon a morning walk. She missed his smile and his conversation, his uncharacteristic boldness and his tenderness, and yes, most definitely, she missed his passionate kisses.

She felt some disappointment that they had not shared the enjoyment of riding together. The idea of again taking up that activity had captured her interest, and when she had informed her father, he could not have been more pleased. Mr. Bennet immediately sought Mr. Bingley’s assistance in finding her a suitable mount; for other than their carriage horses, only Nellie, a horse of many years and great girth was stabled in Longbourn’s barn.

Her biggest regret, however, was that she had not been brave enough to dance with him. That pleasurable event only took place in her dreams. When she had heard the rumours spread throughout the ball that the last dance was to be a waltz, all she could think about was being in Mr. Darcy’s arms with their bodies almost touching and how his musky scent would fill her senses as they moved together in time with the music.

Yes, to dance a waltz with Mr. Darcy would be her most exquisite dream come true.

His short stay in Hertfordshire had affected her just as greatly as their brief meeting had over five years before in London. She would like to believe that she had left some lasting impression on him also, but that was something she most likely would never know. Soon he would be wed to another.

The thought of that made Elizabeth refocus her attention on the altar. As she looked upon her friend, she could not help but be amazed at her calm and accepting demeanour. Observing the couple who were about to be joined in holy matrimony, one would have never suspected that this wedding was not of their own choosing. Astonishingly, they both looked quite content with their situation.

When the ceremony ended, a breakfast wedding feast was held at Lucas Lodge. At its conclusion, Elizabeth approached Charlotte and gave her an affectionate hug, wishing her joy.

“When do you go to Kent?” she asked her friend.

“We will spend the wedding night here at Lucas Lodge and then travel to Hunsford on the morrow. I would have preferred to wait another few days until after Christmas, but Mr. . . . my husband . . . oh, Lizzy, do you forgive me?”

“Whatever do you mean, Charlotte; forgive you for what?”

“Your mother seems most displeased with me. I know Mr. Collins was intended for you; I fear I have ruined everyone’s plans. But I assure you, Lizzy, it was not by design.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Charlotte. If you are not displeased with the outcome of your situation, perhaps it was fate’s design.”

“I imagine my chances for happiness with Mr. Collins are as fair as most people can boast upon entering the marriage state. I am not romantic, Lizzy; I never was. I ask only a comfortable home with a respectable man of good character. I believe Mr. Collins and I shall suit well.”

“Then I am happy for you, Charlotte.”

“And I am happy for you as well, Elizabeth. Whatever the reason for your renewed spirit, I am grateful to have my friend back. Please say you will write me, as I shall not leave Kent for some time.”

“Of course, I shall, and I shall pray that Mr. Collins proves worthy of your good opinion, for you deserve nothing less.”

The two friends hugged again, and Charlotte made Lizzy promise to accompany her father and Maria when they visited in March.

“You will be as welcome as either of them.”

“Yes, I promise I will come.”

********

George Wickham flung his red cape over his shoulder as he looked with admiring approval into the pier glass. He needed to find some new amusements to occupy his time. Since Darcy’s sudden return from Hertfordshire, the fair Miss Marston had refused his company, leaving him with no other option than to pursue alternate sources of entertainment. He had once again refocused his efforts on the local young ladies.

He still had not gotten over his disappointment that he had not been able to exact his revenge on Darcy by flaunting the compromising of Miss Marston in the man’s face, but he would not abandon that scheme entirely. He still held out some hope that she would send for him once again. She had, after all, agreed to his company, and her zealous responses to his sexual advances had only confirmed his belief that Darcy was incapable of passion. Miss Marston seemed eager to prove that she was desirable, and he was sure all he had needed was one or two more intimate encounters to have convinced her to surrender to him completely. He would wait it out. But, in the meantime, he would be content to fish in the smaller pond of Hertfordshire.

CHAPTER
NINETEEN

It was now January, and the inhabitants of both Longbourn and Netherfield were ensconced in a bitterly cold winter. Now that all the excitement and activity of Miss Lucas’s wedding and the holidays were over, Charles Bingley was now contemplating his own future.

He would have liked to have discussed his intentions with Darcy, as he was used to seeking his friend’s counsel before making any major decisions, but he had not seen nor heard from Darcy since the ball at Netherfield.

In December, when he had sought him out at his townhouse, he was informed by Mrs. Bates that he had left London quite suddenly. And his attempt to contact Miss Marston to see if
she
knew of his whereabouts had proved fruitless as well, When he inquired at
her
townhouse, he was informed she was not in residence. His rational conclusion upon discovering that they had both disappeared at the same time was that, in all likelihood, they were together.

Was it possible Darcy had married? Bingley knew it was his plan to spend Christmas with Georgiana, so perhaps his friend had been so eager to wed Miss Marston that they travelled to Derbyshire before the harsh weather set in. The letter he sent to Pemberley to inquire received no reply.

With his sister Caroline constantly plaguing him to abandon his attentions towards Miss Bennet and return to London, he would have welcomed Darcy’s forthright opinion. But perhaps it was time he learned to trust his own judgment and take responsibility for his own actions. For in truth, he had come to rely on Darcy far too much.

He had gained much knowledge from their friendship, but now it was time to put into practice all he had learned and have confidence in his own decisions, without Darcy’s influence.

Knowing Darcy’s harsh opinion of love, perhaps it was providence that Bingley had not heard from his friend and that he now must act according to his own convictions. Certainly he knew his own heart better than anyone else, and his heart told him that Miss Jane Bennet was the one.

He arrived at Longbourn with self-assurance and purpose. The family was in the parlour, and as evening was just settling in and the sun’s warmth no longer a factor, they had gathered in various seating arrangements near the fire.

Although his presence at Longbourn was now a commonplace event, lately there had been a certain amount of tension in the air. Mrs. Bennet was growing impatient waiting for Mr. Bingley to make an offer, and even
Mr
. Bennet was beginning to wish they had a balcony on which the young couple might be caught initiating some intimacy. He was now convinced such tactics had merit and certainly saved a lot of bother. What in heaven’s name was the young man waiting for?

The couple sat side by side on the settee, while the rest of the family suddenly found excuses to be elsewhere—all except Elizabeth, who was not embroidering, as she now thankfully had abandoned that activity, but was instead knitting a saddle blanket for Florio, the beautiful horse her father had presented to her at Christmas.

There was no other way to describe it: she was crazy about that horse. Though not overly large for a stallion, it was the most magnificent animal she had ever seen. He was a deep chocolate brown and barely two years old. He had obviously been well trained and responded to her every spoken and unspoken command. The first few nights, she had actually bundled herself up and slept in the barn, until her father had discovered her mischief and had put a stop to it. She rode him whenever she could and was most unhappy at the inclement weather which now prohibited their outings.

As strange as it sounded, Florio reminded her of Mr. Darcy, as she mused that they had many of the same attributes. Florio’s coat was the same colour as Mr. Darcy’s hair, and they both were quite impressive in form, each presenting a regal appearance. But then again, even if that had not been the case, she admitted to herself that lately almost
everything
reminded her of Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth looked over to Mr. Bingley. As many times as she had wished over the last several weeks to inquire of him regarding his friend, she had managed to hold her tongue. It seemed she could no longer.

“Have you written to Mr. Darcy lately?” Elizabeth asked, as she tried to maintain a casual tone. “I would love for him to hear of Florio, as he was so instrumental in my renewed interest in riding.”

Bingley almost revealed that Darcy already knew of the young stallion, for it was one of several horses his friend had purchased and left at Netherfield. But the note Darcy had left the morning of his departure asked that he not divulge that information and left specific instructions with regard to Florio should Miss Elizabeth take up riding once again. When Mr. Bennet requested his assistance in finding his daughter a suitable mount, Bingley had inadvertently disclosed Darcy’s instructions to Mr. Bennet, but to Bingley’s great relief, the man had agreed to keep such information confidential.

“I have written him twice since the ball but have received no reply. He seems to be neglecting his correspondence of late. I imagine it is married life that is keeping him so busy.”

Had she been embroidering, no doubt her fingers would have been well bloodied upon hearing this declaration. Her heart literally skipped a beat. “Mr. Darcy has married?” she asked, unable to keep the shock from her voice.

“I can think of no other reason for his and Miss Marston’s disappearance.” He then proceeded to relate to her his inquiries at their respective townhouses. “I can only deduce that they travelled to Pemberley to wed during the holidays and are now enjoying some time with Georgiana.”

Elizabeth knew she must surely be as pale as a ghost. She took a few deep breaths and hoped neither of them noticed her unease.

A moment later Hill came into the parlour. “Pardon, Miss Elizabeth, your mother wishes your help in the kitchen.”

Elizabeth knew there was nothing in the kitchen that required her attention; her mother was only scheming for Mr. Bingley and Jane’s privacy, as she did each and every time the gentleman called. But tonight she would indulge her mother’s machinations, for she was quite relieved for an excuse to leave their company before she betrayed her feelings regarding the news of Mr. Darcy.

As if in a daze, her movements were precise as she carefully rose, placing her knitting on the table. “If you will excuse me, I will go see what Mama requires.”

Jane smiled at her as Bingley stood and gave her a slight bow as she and Hill left the parlour. When he turned back towards Jane, the look he gave suggested that her mother would be well pleased tonight.

Elizabeth retreated to the kitchen but only to get an apple, which she cut into quarters. She donned her heaviest cloak and headed for the barn.

She went directly to Florio’s stall and fed him a piece of the apple while she mindlessly stroked his nose. She was not even aware of the tears that were streaming down her face.

Though she knew that Miss Marston had been waiting for his return to London and that there was no hope of gaining Mr. Darcy’s affections, she still could not help the feeling of loss that had come over her upon hearing Mr. Bingley’s words.

“Oh Florio,” she wept as she reached up and hugged the stallion’s neck, “he has married.”

********

By the time Elizabeth returned to the house, there was a celebration in progress. Congratulations were being offered by her sisters to Jane and Mr. Bingley, and Mr. Bennet was opening a bottle of his best wine. The evident look of pure delight on Mrs. Bennet’s face left no doubt as to the reason for such jubilation.

Elizabeth rushed to her sister and gave her a warm, embracing hug. When she released her hold, newly formed tears replaced the ones she had previously shed; however, these tears were not of sadness. “I am so happy for you Jane,” she whispered. “You will make a most beautiful bride and a most excellent wife.”

In her emotional state, she hugged Mr. Bingley too, who seemed surprised by her demonstrative display. While the rest of her family gathered around the happy couple, Elizabeth valiantly produced a smile to hide her heartbreak. She would not let her own disappointment mar her sister’s moment of happiness. She joined her family in a toast, wishing the newly engaged couple much joy.

After Mr. Bingley had departed for Netherfield and the rest of the family had retired for the night, Elizabeth went to Jane’s room.

“Am I disturbing you? Do you wish to sleep?” she asked her sister.

“I do not think I will be able to; I was hoping you would come.”

Elizabeth entered her sister’s bedchamber and hastily crawled under the covers with her to escape the coldness of the room.

“Well? Are you going to tell me the details of how he proposed or not?” she teased her sister.

Jane sat up and gave her sister a feigned look of warning. “He was
very romantic
, Lizzy,” she responded with conviction. “I know you do not see him that way, but I assure you he was most tender and sincere. He even got down on one knee.”

“I am sure it was the most romantic proposal England has ever witnessed,” she said with a teasing smile on her face. Seeing her sister’s look of offense she could not help but laugh. “Oh, Jane, would you really want me to see Mr. Bingley the same as you do? After all, you look upon him with such love in your eyes. Surely you would not want me to do the same.”

“I suppose you are right,” admitted Jane with a slight frown. “But I assure you, he
was
romantic!”

“I do not doubt it for a moment,” said Elizabeth as the two sisters hugged and laughed at their own silliness.

“I am so happy, Lizzy. It is too much happiness to bear.”

“And I am so happy
for
you Jane.”

“Oh, if only I could see you as happy.”

Elizabeth took on a mischievous grin. “Should I dare to hope there is another Mr. Collins somewhere in my future?”

“Do be
serious
, Lizzy. My joy would be that much greater if you were to find someone to love also. Now that your spirits seem so much improved, surely you do not still believe the accident has truly hampered your chances of finding happiness.”

Elizabeth took Jane’s hand.

“I held on to that hope for many years, Jane, but the truth is: It has. It is remarkable to me how the events of one night changed
everything
; not only how other see me, but also how I see myself. Yet, I know deep down in my heart that I am the same person that I was before the accident, the same young woman who at fifteen had dreamed of one day being carried away by passion.”

Jane was never shocked by her sister’s frankness, for it was just another one of Lizzy’s many loveable traits.

Elizabeth coloured slightly as she thought of Mr. Darcy and the passionate kiss they had shared. Since the day of Dr. Graham’s final prognosis, she had never thought anyone would kiss her with such feeling—so much feeling that he had convinced her it was done, not out of pity, but desire, and she had responded with a self-assurance she had not felt in such a very long time.

His desire for her had awakened her own as she acknowledged that despite knowing that he could never return her love, she would gladly welcome another opportunity to relive that passion with him once again.

But now even
that
prospect was lost to her; for if Mr. Bingley’s words were true, Mr. Darcy was now a married man. The memory of that passionate kiss on the balcony at Netherfield was all she would ever have.

“Even if I learn to completely overcome my unease with my situation, that still will not change how others see me. I am afraid I shall always be judged by my . . . my . . . my
limp
.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath and sighed. “I do not know why it is so difficult for me to say the word; perhaps it is because it sounds so harsh. There should be a softer, less severe word to describe such an affliction.”

Jane watched her sister’s expression as she spoke. This was the most that Lizzy had ever revealed to her of her feelings regarding her injury.

“Well, we shall just have to invent one, ourselves,” said Jane as she pressed lightly on her sister’s hand. “It is only a word after all. Certainly we are clever enough to come up with a more agreeable one.”

Elizabeth looked down, her face reflecting a somber demeanour, and Jane feared she had somehow offended her sister by making light of such a serious matter.

After several moments had passed in silence, Elizabeth raised her eyes and met Jane’s.

“How about
zypher
or perhaps
soussal
?” replied Elizabeth with a grin. “They sound far less severe.”

Jane breathed a sigh of relief.

“I don’t know about zypher, but soussal sounds quite intriguing. I would think any gentleman would be delighted to court a young woman with a soussal,” replied Jane as she tried to mask her amusement.

Elizabeth could not help but laugh. “Oh, Jane, I’m so very glad I have you for a sister.”

“I am sure, Lizzy, you will find a man to love who will look beyond such inconsequential concerns and see you for all the wonderful things you are. I will not give up the hope that you will find happiness one day.”