A Sense of Obligation Page 12

  The notion compelled Elizabeth to run, to sprint. She had always hoped to have a loving marriage of equal minds, yet a moment’s whim had irrevocably bound her forever to a man she barely knew. She felt like a frightened deer, pushing herself by instinct alone. Her reason left her as her senses told her to climb the highest hill, and she did. She reached the crest utterly out of breath and forced her mind to empty. She squeezed her eyes shut and focused on breathing in and breathing out.

  She relaxed and stilled as a gentle breeze played with her bonnet ribbons, bringing with it the faint comforting scent of woodland and smoke. The chirping of the birds as they caught their morning meal placed a cheery tune in her mind. This perfect meditation did more good against the pounding in her head and nervous flutters of her heart than any of Mr. Jones’ powders ever could.

  Keeping her eyes closed, she sat on the still wet grass. Her good sense demanded she evaluate matters rationally before convincing herself she was doomed to a life of misery on the eve of her wedding.

  An undeniable fact was her obligation. She had allowed Darcy liberties and enjoyed his attentions at Netherfield. Propriety was rather strict in its expectations of a lady’s behaviour.

  When asked, she consented to his proposal. She pledged herself to him. The betrothal was announced, settlement papers signed, and the licence purchased. Breaking the engagement was impossible; she would never hurt her family in such a way. She would marry Fitzwilliam Darcy the day after tomorrow.

  Perhaps that was the source of her unease. She had expected more time to know him better, to learn his likes and dislikes, but perhaps it all meant nothing. Last night, she learnt that six young men had intended to ask for her hand, all due to a sermon intended to browbeat them into the idea of marriage. She had perceived no special regard from any of them in all the years she had known them, and if there had been regard, what kept them from displaying it openly? None of the men was known for reserve. During each man’s dance with her, they had painted the same picture of her, which did not portray her character in the slightest. They were mistaken in her character; to them she was only what they wished to see.

  Not many weeks ago, she had mocked Charlotte’s opinion that happiness in marriage was a matter of chance. Elizabeth insisted that Jane and Bingley could not know each other well enough to sufficiently declare their regard; their evenings together could only allow them to know which card game they preferred and which dishes were their favourites but not enough to reveal depth of character.

  What do I know of the man I will marry? She attempted to catalogue her dealings with him. Although he had seemed to enjoy loo the first night at Netherfield, the table did not reappear for the remainder of the week because, according to Miss Bingley, Darcy did not wish it. He sang and danced well and was fond of reading and disagreements.

  Now be fair, Lizzy! She pushed herself to re-examine her thoughts and consider more than the things she noticed that supported her first impression of him as haughty. He certainly enjoyed any library, was intelligent and well-informed. He expressed himself eloquently if he so desired. He debated fairly, listened to her views, and did not demean her opinions. He valued constancy and thoroughness before making a decision. Though not perfect, he admitted to believing in addressing his failures. He had humbled himself repeatedly when asking for her hand and in every meeting since, especially last night while apologising for slighting her at the assembly.

  Additionally, she overheard the servants at Netherfield call him the best landlord and master. Mr. Bingley’s valet attested to observing Darcy for years now, and even the local maid spoke of seeing his kindness and generosity. Elizabeth had also witnessed his devoted communication with his sister.

  Now knowing his difficulty making new acquaintances, Elizabeth was forced to concede the only disagreeable thing she knew of him was his acknowledged implacable resentment, but she presumed that was not hastily formed. She might not know his preferences about nearly anything, but she knew Darcy was a good and just man and would be reasonable during their disagreements. Surely, if he preferred to sit in his library in Town and read all day, she could find some kind of compromise that would allow her to ramble, properly escorted, in a nearby park. He could be charming and light-hearted, and he took the time to listen to her concerns. She was finally calmed and remembered all the logical reasons she had accepted his proposal. More than all of this, he seemed to have affectionate and passionate feelings for her and would wish to make her happy.

  Suddenly, Elizabeth’s memory was assaulted with the memory of his scent from his coat, the sensation of being in Darcy’s strong arms, and feeling the heat of his body and the warmth of his breath as he spoke gently and fervently to her. She recalled hearing the pounding of his heart matching time with her own, his scent overwhelming her, and his curly hair between her fingers. She perfectly remembered the look of absolute sincerity in his eyes as he declared she was the handsomest woman of his acquaintance. Finally, she allowed herself the pleasure of reliving his kisses and the intoxicating taste of his lips on hers. She remembered what happened next, the feel of him invading her mouth and his hands when they...

  She collapsed backwards, nearly undone by the memory of Darcy’s ardour the night before. She willed her body to better regulation. Lying in her state of bliss, she was alerted to the presence of another when she heard a horse neigh. Before she could fully regain her senses, she felt herself being lifted by strong arms and enveloped in a familiar scent. Upon realising she was being carried to the horse, she shrieked, trying to flee even as the arms tightened around her.

  Chapter Ten

  Darcy rode hard, relishing the freedom as the wind blew past his face and tugged on his coat. He knew he ought to spend the time reflecting on his character and all the mistakes he had made, but he simply needed activity to silence the harping recriminations.

  After nearly half an hour, he slowed his animal and followed a wooded path. Suddenly, a figure emerged from the woods from a less-worn path and dashed up the hill ahead of him. With a start, he realised it was Elizabeth, and she ran as though fleeing from something chasing her. He looked again to the woods and paused to listen, but there was no evidence of a large animal. He had lost sight of Elizabeth but continued up the path in the direction of the hill.

  “Miss Bennet!” he called out, but she did not reply

  “Elizabeth!” This is altogether too similar to last night. She runs in times of turmoil.

  Darcy crested the hill and saw her standing still with her back to him. He dismounted and tied his horse, then walked to stand in front of Elizabeth to speak to her. By then she was sitting but seemed to not hear his approach. Her chest was heaving, and her eyes were squeezed shut. Her face was marked with lines of confusion, but gradually it eased, and her breathing evened.

  Darcy had no earthly idea what to do. She seemed entirely unaware of him as she daintily sat on the grass in silence for several minutes. Then as suddenly as she calmed, she grew agitated again. Her face flushed, then she swooned.

  Attempting to quell his panic, Darcy swept up his beloved and began walking to his horse. He could see she was still breathing. She came to with a start and began shrieking and trying to jump down from his arms.

  “Elizabeth, calm yourself,” he said as he stood her on her feet.

  “Beast!!” She ran several paces away.

  Darcy stared at her. She fears me? She believes I am a beast. Did she think I was going to force myself on her while she was unaware?

  He attempted to mask the deep pain he felt. He needed to be sure she was well. Without approaching any closer, he gently called to her. “Elizabeth, are you well? You swooned and frightened me. It is still just dawn, and you cannot have had much rest to be about so early. Please, allow me to see you home.”

  She looked at him, and even at the relative distance, he could see the wild fear in her eyes.

  “No, I am well. I can return home on my own.”

  Darcy stood still for a
moment, fighting his dejection, wanting to be considerate of her feelings and still assure her safety. “Might I follow you at a distance to be certain you arrive?”

  The fear in her eyes eased, and she looked at him appraisingly. “Sir, I know these paths well and…” Her voice trailed off and she looked away. When she met his eyes again, she was crying.

  Blast it all! He took a tentative step closer.

  “This is my last day to enjoy the countryside for quite some time, I suppose, and being out of doors does me good.”

  Darcy understood; she was saying goodbye to her home. Not just the building and the people but the thousand little overlooked things, each of which constituted her sanctuary and brought comfort.

  “Can you tell me what frightened you? What caused you to run and exert yourself so much you fainted?”

  She blushed a deep red and shook her head.

  “Were you…” He exhaled, utterly defeated. “I hope you can trust me, confide in me. I hope you do not fear me. I would never harm you.”

  Elizabeth looked at him sharply. “I would never fear you; now he terrifies me.” Darcy saw she was looking over his shoulder at his horse.

  “Oh! Socrates scares you?” His lips turned up in amusement.

  “Mr. Darcy, it is not polite to laugh at a lady, and you do not want to provoke me to retaliate. I walked to Netherfield for a reason. I am terrified of horses and prefer either my own good feet or to be in an enclosed carriage, far away from them.”

  He laughed outright and was not sure if it was more from relief or that she had such an unreasonable fear. Walking back to the horse, he released him and told him, “Home.”

  Turning back to Elizabeth, he said, “Socrates will go back to Netherfield on his own, quite happily, I should say.”

  Darcy offered her his arm, and they began to walk down the hill. “How are you truly, Elizabeth? I called after you several times and watched you. You were utterly senseless of my presence. I saw you running in the woods earlier.”

  “I sometimes need exertion. You see you will have a most wild and unruly wife.” She laughed, but he knew her merriness was feigned.

  Darcy ceased walking and looked down at Elizabeth seriously. “Will you not tell me what troubles you?”

  She was silent for a long moment. “I fear for our mutual happiness, that we were brought together because of our passions, rather than our virtues.”

  “Do you still think I proposed only out of obligation?”

  She chuckled a little. “Oh, no, William. You have made it abundantly clear you desire me as much as a man ought to desire his spouse, possibly much more than is reasonable, given the only thing you gain is me.”

  “You are more than enough.”

  “Am I? Will I be enough when we are not accepted in your circle due to my want of connections and lack of accomplishments? Will it be enough when we are alone on a winter’s night? Or when you tire of my teasing? Will it be enough when bearing children and the passage of time make me lose my youth and beauty? Or will you hide in your study and at your club?

  “Will you lose all respect for me and my concerns and opinions? We argue more often than not and during our two-week betrothal have only been in company twice, which seems to not concern you at all!”

  She pulled her hand from his arm and buried her face in her handkerchief. She loathed that she was so emotional and had exposed her innermost concerns so continually.

  Her cries lessened, and she summarised it simply. “Passion is not love or respect. I have seen a marriage with no respect...” She could not continue. To say more was not needed.

  Darcy hated the powerless feeling he had as Elizabeth released her fears. There was nothing he could do to alleviate her concerns, and he was shocked to hear them. He had always considered them well-matched. Long before he admitted he loved Elizabeth, he wanted her as his wife. He knew she could bring liveliness and companionship to him. How could she not see that?

  Should I embrace her? No, touching her again is a dangerous idea. How else can I reassure her? This is my fault. He knew he should have at least expressed his regret at having to depart for Town. He should have called at Longbourn first. He should have told her how much he desired to see her when the rain separated them. Last night, he told her how beautiful he found her and very eloquently displayed his affection, but he did not tell her he admired her intelligence and wit, that he relished their debates. He should have told her how much he loved her.

  Just as he was determining to state his love, she declared that passion was not love or respect. Until that moment, it never crossed his mind that she did not reciprocate his regard in some way. Is that all she feels? Just carnal affection?

  He could scarcely think it of her. To engage in such acts merely for physical gratification would mark her wanton. She was entirely too innocent and pure for that kind of scheming. He knew wanton ladies; they boldly approached him with a hard glint in their eyes, not the soft expression Elizabeth had. Perhaps she did not know her feelings. He had to believe there was some kind of awakening of feelings for both of them in the Netherfield library, and due to the pressures of the last fortnight, she had not had time to fully explore them. He must say something, but he decided to withhold his statement of love and attempt to address her concerns the best he could.

  Her handkerchief was soaked, so he offered his. “Elizabeth, I desire you for my wife. I hold that position in very high regard. If you accept that I did not propose out of obligation, then please accept that I desire more than your allurements. I am a grown man. I have withstood temptation for many years. I desire true companionship. On the winter nights, we can read together before the fireplace in the library in our townhouse. There will be operas, plays, and regrettably, soirées to attend.”

  Elizabeth gave him a sharp look. “Regrettably?” She was trying to not judge hastily and assume he did not desire to introduce her to his friends.

  “Yes, my Aunt Sidney insists I attend several large events a year. I do not like the large gatherings, but it is important as a Darcy and a member of the Fitzwilliam family to attend, to assure my sister’s place in society,” he paused for a moment, “and our children’s.”

  Elizabeth blushed prettily, and he could not resist smiling.

  “I have not hosted many gatherings in the past, but I believe you will be an excellent hostess.” He grew silent, chasing memories. “My mother was ill much of my childhood and died when I was twelve. Father missed her terribly and seldom entertained. He died when I was two and twenty. Managing the estate and caring for Georgiana have taken up much of my time and effort. I have not been a hospitable neighbour.

  “I know you will be liked by my friends and family. I will not lie; some of the ton would find fault with any woman I marry. But there will be many more who are eager to befriend the new Mrs. Darcy. You must beware the false friendships, but I think you will get on well with several of my friends’ wives. And your sister will be there, too. I am eager for you to meet mine.”

  Elizabeth smiled more, an expression Darcy returned. He began to feel bold. He grabbed her left hand and, as had become habit, began tracing circles on it. “You will never lose my respect. I dearly love our debates. I dislike deference. I enjoy your teasing…I need it. I confess, in the past, I have been prone to spending the majority of my day in my library, but as a husband, I hope my wife might enjoy making up parties of our family and friends. I seldom visit my club. I think you would enjoy walks in the park together, and I long to show you the paths of Pemberley! You will always be the most beautiful woman in the world to me. And you will become all the more beautiful as we age and share our lives together, and as you carry our children.” The product of our love, he wanted to say but chose not to do so.

  Darcy could easily sense Elizabeth’s usual good spirits returning. “Please allow me to apologise for not being more sensitive to your opinions and concerns. I should have found some way to inform you of my plans to visit Town and begin the prep
arations. I know you must be offended that I did not consult you on the wedding date or any of the plans, but you must believe me that this was a rare occurrence, and I will not be so preoccupied or exclude you in future.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “And you cannot conceive how frequently I prayed for sunshine between my return to Netherfield and the day of the ball. But in the end, it was in the Almighty’s hands, and apparently He desired it so.”

  Elizabeth arched her brow. “You mean not even the master of Pemberley can control the weather or get his demands of the Lord?”

  Darcy grinned. Elizabeth was clearly feeling better. “Nay, my dear. For I have it on good authority that an angel in Longbourn prayed for the sun as well, and if the Lord did not listen to her, then why should He listen to me, a mere mortal?”

  She blushed again but replied, “I did not say I prayed for sunshine.”

  “And I did not say I meant you! All Bingley can ever speak of is his angel!”

  Elizabeth scoffed in disbelief at his tease. She playfully shoved him. “William!”

  Darcy captured her hand and pulled her closer. Stroking her cheek, he said, “I cannot call you an angel, my alluring temptress, my lovely wood nymph. You are very much a flesh and blood woman, to my immense pleasure.”

  He smirked, and Elizabeth could not help but notice his strange fascination with the word.

  “No, I would not have you be an angel. You are a goddess...with all the wisdom of Athena, the beauty of Aphrodite, and the love of nature of Artemis. You will be my Demeter and help Pemberley’s harvest, my Hestia and make Pemberley a home, and my Hera, the goddess of goddesses, woman above all other women.”

  Elizabeth could scarcely breathe. But soon enough she gathered her wits to reply, “Very well, sir. Now we cannot have you be Zeus, for you have admitted to not being able to control the weather. Nor could you be Poseidon, as floods and droughts are not conducive to farming. Might you be Dionysus as you have asked to give more parties? Certainly you are Apollo...god of knowledge.”