The Last Waltz: . . . another pride and prejudice journey of love (19 page)

BOOK: The Last Waltz: . . . another pride and prejudice journey of love
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“Of course, we shall do so immediately.”

They rode back in silence. As they approached the parsonage, Elizabeth made an excuse to the colonel, stating her desire to stay and speak with her friend, and insisted that he continue on to Rosing’s stables without her.

He was reluctant to leave her, but she finally managed to convince him. Once he saw her walk, he would be apprised of the fact that she was the young lady whom Mr. Darcy had referred to in his letter, and she could not bear to endure yet another gentleman’s pity.

As soon as the colonel left her company, her tears began to fall. Though she wanted to ask more of him, she knew there was really little point, for the colonel had already revealed the most pertinent information. Mr. Darcy’s attentions had been bestowed upon her for one reason only: her father had asked him to call on her. He had simply felt sorry for her.

With all the young ladies of the ton at his beck and call, how could she have let herself believe that Fitzwilliam Darcy, the Master of Pemberley, would want
her
?

He had only pitied me. He never really wanted me.

All of her past insecurities instantly returned to her in that one sobering moment of realization, and the ache in her heart was unbearable. Their entire relationship had been a lie, a result of her father’s request. She tried to think back to the first time he had called upon Longbourn and realized it was right after her father had retrieved Jane from Netherfield. Was that when he had engaged Mr. Darcy’s co-operation? She must be even more wretched than she thought, if her father’s intervention was required in order for a gentleman to pay her some interest. How would she ever be able to face Mr. Darcy again?

Now she was truly left with nothing, not even her pride.

At the sound of Charlotte’s voice, Elizabeth startled and looked down, surprised to see her friend standing there.

“You have been sitting up there for almost twenty minutes. Are you planning on ever coming down? I know how much you love this horse of yours, but is it your intent to eat your dinner while perched atop him? I doubt Lady Catherine would approve,” said her friend with some amusement.

When Elizabeth’s eyes met hers, Charlotte’s amusing banter quickly died, as she saw the tears that welled there.

“Oh, Lizzy, what is wrong? Let me help you down.”

Charlotte called to her husband. “Take Lizzy’s horse back to the stables, William. She is feeling unwell!”

 

CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE

Mr. Collins bustled about the room, impatiently waiting for his wife to make ready for their departure to Rosings Park, where his patroness was awaiting their company for dinner.

“My dear, the time!” he groused.

“Are you sure, Lizzy?” asked Charlotte. “Because I would willingly stay at home with you and risk Lady Catherine’s displeasure.”

“It is only a headache, Charlotte. I shall be fine.”

Charlotte gave one last concerned look to her friend, then gathered up her bonnet and pelisse as Mr. Collins hurried her and Maria out to Lady Catherine’s carriage.

Elizabeth was grateful for the sudden and complete solitude that followed the closing of the door. She had not been able to think since her return to the parsonage with Charlotte hovering over her like a mother hen.

Her complaint of a headache was not feigned, but if not for the fact that Mr. Darcy would also be in attendance at dinner tonight, she might have braved the situation. After all that had taken place between them, how could she now face him knowing it had all been a lie?

His interest in her, his friendship, his kisses—all of it lies; a role her father had asked him to play for her benefit. A role he played only out of pity for her. And he had played his role so well, too well.

Now it all made sense. Now she understood why the rich, handsome and very eligible Mr. Darcy had paid her such attention. How could she have been such a fool?

She had resigned herself years ago to the fact that no man could ever love her as she was. But genuine caring and affection, those emotions Mr. Darcy had made her believe were not beyond her attainment. At times, she was almost certain that she had even seen desire in his eyes when he looked upon her. And though she would be reluctant to admit it, perhaps somewhere buried deep in her foolish heart had been the hope that those feelings might blossom into something more.

Over the course of their acquaintance, he had convinced her that it did not matter how the rest of the world might view her, but only how she viewed herself when in his company. And while there, in his blissful presence, he had made her feel as desirable as any perfect young lady might. But she had not really tempted him at all. It had merely been an act.

To his credit, from the onset of their acquaintance, he had been honest with her as to his opinions regarding love. It was she who had chosen not to heed his warnings.

If it was not for the sadness that currently consumed her heart, she might have found humour at the irony of their situations; he unwilling to offer love and she convinced of her unworthiness to receive it.

Just what could her father have been thinking? How could he have asked Mr. Darcy to call on her? How could he have made her appear so pitiful in the eyes of the one man she had wanted so desperately to look upon her favourably? And why did Mr. Darcy agree to go along with it? Did he find her such a pathetic case? Or did he think it might serve as an amusement?

Of all her fears, this one had been the most grievous, to be pitied by Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth’s one small consolation was that she only had one more day to endure such humiliation. She and Maria were to leave for Hertfordshire on the morrow.

********

As she sat reading Jane’s latest letter, she heard the bell indicating the arrival of a visitor. She stood and waited to greet whoever had come to call upon the parsonage.

Darcy entered the room before his arrival had even been fully announced and went directly to her, a look of concern on his face.

He waited several heartbeats, and upon hearing the closing of the door behind him, he took her hand. “My aunt informed me that you are feeling unwell. Has your headache improved?”

“Yes, I am feeling much better . . . thank you.”

He enfolded her in his arms as he slowly lowered his head towards hers. She allowed their lips to softly meet as she felt her eyes dampen with tears.

Elizabeth tried not to respond, but the warmth of his arms around her waist and his familiar musky scent had her reaching up and drawing him closer.

When he pulled back, he looked into her eyes and saw her unshed tears.

“You
are
still unwell. Why did you not say so?”

“No, it is not that.”

“Then what is it Elizabeth? What has you so upset? Tell me.”

She stepped back, out of his embrace, away from his strong arms. The sooner she became accustomed to the absence of his touch, the easier it would be to forget him.

As if I could ever forget him.

“I assure you, Mr. Darcy, I am quite well, just a bit overtired perhaps. Maria and I completed our packing earlier this evening as we are to depart for Hertfordshire tomorrow morning. I shall be glad to be back home.”

He reached for her again, but she eluded his arms.

“You seem much overwrought, Elizabeth. Come . . . sit down,” he encouraged as he moved towards the loveseat.

She hesitated, but then acquiesced as she followed him and seated herself. But as he remained standing, she looked up at him in confusion.

Her eyes followed his movements as he started to pace. When he finally stopped in front of her, his look was one of nervous apprehension. She found it impossible to avert her eyes from his piercing gaze.

Darcy inhaled a calming breath, but it did not seem to help as he stared now into the questioning anticipation in her eyes.

“I . . . that is, it certainly cannot have escaped your notice that I have developed feelings for you, Elizabeth; such feelings that I have never before experienced with any other woman. Over the course of our acquaintance, I have come to believe that your feelings and mine are of a similar nature. Our relationship has blossomed beyond mere friendship and you cannot deny the . . . the strong attraction that exists between us.”

He stopped, afraid the beating of his heart might drown out his next words. He tried to take another calming breath, but it had the same inadequate effect as the first.

Elizabeth remained completely still. It was only when she saw him draw a breath that she allowed herself to do the same.

“This passionate affection, admiration and regard which I feel for you can no longer be denied, and I beg you, most vehemently, to consent to be my wife.”

Elizabeth’s lips slightly parted as her jaw seemed to drop of its own accord.
Has he just proposed marriage?
Of all the things she might have expected him to say, this was the furthest from her mind.

An uncomfortable silence followed as Elizabeth struggled to gather her wits. Taking in a deep, shaky breath, she finally spoke.

“I am very sensible of the honour of your proposal, Mr. Darcy, but I’m afraid I must decline. It is my belief that I am doing us both a great service by refusing your offer of marriage. In time you will see that I am right, and you will be grateful for my prudence.”

Darcy stared at her for a long moment, a feeling of deflation consuming his lungs and his soul. He tried to make sense of her words, but could not. He walked to the fireplace and momentarily glanced at his confused and distraught reflection in the pier glass above the mantle before he turned to address her again.

“And that is the extent of your reply? Have I misinterpreted your feelings, your passionate kisses? Would you have me believe that they meant nothing to you, that you casually bestowed them?”

“You know that is not true,” she said softly. “Your kisses . . . your kisses have meant more to me than you can ever know, but it is only sympathy and some misguided sense of obligation that prompts you to such drastic measures. I am releasing you, Mr. Darcy, from whatever petition my father has imposed upon you. Consider your good deed accomplished, sir.”

He was momentarily speechless, startled by her admission, but quickly regained his faculties.

“And when did you learn of your father’s entreaty?”

“Then you do not deny it?”

“I admit only that my purpose in travelling to Hertfordshire was to assist my friend, not to form a romantic attachment.”

“Well, you have succeeded in that, sir,” she replied with a trace of regret in her voice.

I’m afraid it was Colonel Fitzwilliam who inadvertently informed me. I am sure he will be most repentant when he learns that I am the young lady you referred to in your letter to him. I beg that you do not reproach him for his misstep, for he has saved us both a great deal of heartache.”

“Would you have accepted me, had you not known of your father’s behest?”

“I would rather not answer that question, for it is of little matter now. You must trust that it has all turned out for the best.”

Anger was now beginning to rise in him. Did she think him a child who did not know his own mind?

“And just why are you so opposed to a marriage between us?”

“I should think the reason quite obvious, Mr. Darcy.”

“Pray, enlighten me, Miss Bennet.”

She stood as her anger was now starting to rival his own. “As the entirety of our acquaintance has been a charade, I would not presume to expect a marriage between us any different. And you yourself have admitted that love is something you are unwilling to offer.”

Darcy’s eyes fixed firmly on hers. “And a marriage to someone like Mr. Collins would have been preferable?”

“No! Yes!”

“Well, which is it, Miss Bennet?” he asked as he took a step closer.

“Yes,” she answered again, though with much less conviction.

“I know the limitations that rule my life. It is
pity
you feel, sir, nothing more. It will pass, and when it does, I do not to witness the look of regret in your eyes when you gaze upon me.”

He was now standing so close that she thought he meant to kiss her again. He grasped her shoulders and pulled her towards him as he forced their eyes to meet.

“Look at me, Miss Bennet. Do you see regret in my eyes?”

His lips were now so close that his breath comingled with hers. She trembled as a tear slowly rolled down her cheek. He took her into his embrace, holding her tightly against his heart, a feeling of panic suddenly consuming him.

As hard as she fought to maintain her indifference, her resolve vanished the moment she felt his hands upon her. Her soft curves yielded against the hard muscular angles of his body.

Lifting her chin so that her lips were now just a hair’s breadth away from his, he slowly bent his head and placed his mouth over hers. Her response was that of full surrender as her arms pulled him closer and they deepened their kiss.

Elizabeth’s tears were now flowing freely, knowing she was kissing him for the last time… kissing him goodbye.

Darcy’s body responded to her exactly as he knew it would; her ability to arouse him was never in question. And once again, he was lost in her kiss. His pulse quickened as their kiss grew hungrier and more desperate with each passing moment. When his passion had reached its breaking point, he reluctantly tore his mouth away from hers. He moved his lips towards her ear, and with ragged breath he pleaded, “Sweet Lizzy, please tell me you have changed your mind.”

It took all her strength to stop herself from telling him yes! Yes! She would marry him, that he was all she had ever wanted since she was fifteen. But she did not.

She moved back slightly, but he was unwilling to release her from his embrace. When she looked up at him, it took only the remorseful look in her eyes to give him his answer.

He stared at her in disbelief. “How can kiss me like that, yet still refuse to be my wife?” he asked of her.

“I have just explained it all to you; I will not subject us both to a marriage of pity.”

“I assure you, there was no pity in my kiss or in my body’s reaction to it. And you cannot deny your own passionate responses to my kisses, my caresses.”

“I . . . I am not immune to you, Mr. Darcy,” she softly replied as her eyes locked with his.

The heated look that passed between them could easily have ignited the room.

“Tell me the words that will persuade you, Elizabeth, and I will speak them,” he softly begged. “What must I do to convince you that these feelings I have for you are sincere?”

“It is I who must convince
you
,” she said as she pulled herself completely from his arms. “One day you will come to see the wisdom of my decision, for you deserve nothing less than perfection in your choice of wife.”

Promptly his anger returned. “And just how do you judge perfection, Miss Bennet—by one’s ability to dance a waltz unencumbered? That would be too shallow for even the most hardened cynic. What of your heart and your mind and your spirit; do they not account for anything? Do you not place a value on them?”

“I do, sir,” she whispered.

“Then I must conclude that you believe I do not.”

She turned away from him, sparing herself the look of anguish in his eyes.

Darcy’s expression suddenly turned stoic. “I will not impose upon you any further, Eliz . . . Miss Bennet. I see that your mind is made up.”

When she finally gathered enough courage to turn back and look at him, he had gone.

BOOK: The Last Waltz: . . . another pride and prejudice journey of love
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