A Sense of Obligation Page 2

  Desiring to end their conversation, Elizabeth directed the subject to the only thing that concerned her. “Sir, I believe you have something of mine.” She needed her handkerchief back, or at least needed to know he destroyed it. It would not do for it to be found amongst his things.

  Darcy’s face darkened, and he said with surprising remorse, “I regret that I cannot return it to you, but I have dealt with the evidence.” I have taken what was not mine to take. I have ruined and destroyed her virtue, and nothing can ever return it.

  How could he ever live with himself? He stole her precious innocence, which ought to have been given to her husband, to a man worthy of her and who loved her, and he could not even recall the act. Once again, he felt soiled and unclean. He wondered if this was something like madness, like Lady Macbeth trying again and again to cleanse her hands. But no physical washing could erase his sins, and there was no time for that…or continued silence.

  “Miss Bennet, you must see that we need to take appropriate actions.” Her beautiful face contorted in confusion. “I know my duty, my honour demands it.”

  She bit her lower lip and was quite slow in her reply. “Mr. Darcy, I see no reason to force you into marriage as I do not believe anyone saw us. You did not...impose yourself on me. My behaviour was not irreproachable.”

  “Elizabeth!” he cried in horror at the thought that she might blame herself in any way.

  She blushed at his use of her Christian name, but he was quite beyond caring about that impropriety when he had done so much worse. Fleetingly, he wondered what endearments he used during the night. Had he unleashed his tongue and heart to her as in his fantasies?

  “I comprehend your feelings, but there is only myself to blame.” She looked down, but he gently tilted her head up and was struck by the uncertainty in her eyes. Did she fear him now? And how creamy and smooth her skin looked! To know that he had touched it with every intimacy, but could not recall it, threatened to undo him.

  She pulled her head back from his hand and squared her shoulders. “Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me. I am very sensible of the honour of your proposal, but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than to decline it.”

  His eyes were fixed on her face, and he was surprised to own more resentment than astonishment. He felt all colour in his face drain away. He struggled for the appearance of composure. Achieving it was impossible but he remained silent until he could display a modicum of control as it felt like a caged lion angrily roared in his heart.

  At length, with a voice of forced calmness, he said, “And this is all the reply that I am to have the honour of expecting? I might wish to understand why, with so little attention to decorum and honour, you refuse me?”

  “And I might wish to know why you think only your feelings of duty and honour would induce me to matrimony?”

  He stood and replied contemptuously, “Only duty and honour? I know I do not need to tell you my worth and status in life. Are these not sufficient inducements?”

  “You dare think your money would make me risk my every happiness? What of your character, sir?”

  In the month of their acquaintance, she had been building a case of extreme dislike against the gentleman. If she put aside her own feelings of delight at the unguarded side of his nature as revealed last night, of his looks of affection and caressing embrace—if she were honest—she remained unsure of his character. One month was simply not long enough to know a man.

  He took an abrupt step back as though she had struck him. He hung his head. “You are perfectly correct; you have no reason to believe anything good of my character—but Elizabeth, you are not thinking sensibly of all the consequences should you refuse me! At the very least you cannot hide this from any other man; he would know.”

  Elizabeth recoiled. He had finally said it. He was reproaching her for her conduct. “You have said quite enough, sir. I would not dream of requesting you to put aside your aspirations for a match of beauty, rank, and fortune for a woman of lower birth and questionable morals.” She hastily stood and took a sharp breath at the twinge in her ankle.

  Before she could walk away, he grabbed her right hand and pulled her close. His actions reminded her of his caring nature the night before.

  Darcy could not resist stroking her hand just a little. They both wore gloves, of course, but his action appeared to soothe her. She misunderstood him, which should not have been a surprise.

  “Elizabeth, I never had such aspirations. I would have married years ago if I had. And I find nothing wanting in your morals. What is this of your beauty? After last night, how can you doubt that you entirely enthral me? Have you not discovered me staring at you? Hoping for a peek into your fine eyes?”

  It was happening again. Elizabeth’s heart slammed against her chest, and she felt surprisingly liquid as he gazed at her and tenderly stroked her hand. She could not hold to her resolve; she could not walk away, nor could she speak.

  “It is time for me to leave for church, but tell me you will reconsider my request and find a way to answer me before you depart Netherfield this afternoon?”

  He ceased rubbing her hand, and the spell was broken. “I...thank you. I shall take the time to think about what you have said.”

  He was surprised at the relief and hope bestowed by her words. Giving her a tremulous smile, he bowed over her hand before tucking it into his arm to escort her back to the house, where they separated.

  Chapter Two

  Darcy’s mind wandered during the service. He was not accustomed to the distracting emotions coursing through his soul. Not that it should have surprised him. He had experienced more intense, and sometimes more widely different, feelings since meeting Elizabeth Bennet a month ago than at any other time in his life. How dare the infuriating woman refuse him? He was worth at least five times most of the men of her acquaintance, and he was an honourable man… His anger died. She was correct; she knew little of his character, and what of his inner nature he had exposed was enough to repulse most ladies. Indeed, it repulsed him, too.

  Was that why she rebuffed him? Did the idea of marrying her seducer disgust her? He would need to find a way to assure her he had never done such a thing before—nothing even close. How could he have sunk so low? He grimaced.

  It was exceedingly difficult to believe he was capable of such an act. Even more than the guilt he felt and worrying about Elizabeth’s reputation, he feared a child should be the consequence of their union. He hated the idea of his child not having all the entitlements a Darcy should have. It was one of the reasons he had always meant to remain chaste until marriage.

  He would do the noble thing and care for a woman who bore his child, but he had always meant for the woman who did so to be his wife. He was not like his former friend Wickham, heedless of the consequences. A Darcy never shirked his obligations. More than that, he had desired to marry Elizabeth for weeks, and now he certainly must. He offered Elizabeth the position of his wife, and she acted as though she would be content to only live in a small cottage if she was with child, the same fate as many a ruined lady. It was unfathomable.

  Again he considered Elizabeth’s reply. She was being nonsensical and refusing him when she certainly must know their behaviour was entirely prohibited. Even more unbelievable, she did not seem concerned about possible consequences at all; it would be impossible for her to be so naive. Her reputation would be damaged beyond repair if it were known. Furthermore, if they had been intimate, he knew it meant she must care for him. She was not so weak-willed as to be led astray by his handsome face or any charming words he could utter. The Elizabeth of reality was not the eager Elizabeth of his fantasies, and even in them, he always proposed marriage before she would grant a single liberty. Why would she refuse the marriage, then? Darcy decided to reconsider what he knew to have happened.

  He recalled drinking in the library after all had retired for the evening. Earlier in the day, he had spent a half hour alone in the very same roo
m with Elizabeth and had refused to acknowledge her presence. Ignoring her did not make her disappear or leave, and as time went on, he found himself wishing she would make some attempt to gain his notice. Instead, she sat occupied in her own tasks, perfectly content with the silence, and he had to admire her all the more for it.

  A wiser man would have left the library, but at the time, he had told himself he remained because he could do so without fear of becoming more bewitched by her. He now realised his actions were nothing but conceited bravado. At first he was fearless; then he had to admit he had no desire to leave. Finally, he recognised that if he moved at all, he would be in very serious danger of grabbing her to his chest and begging to kiss her tempting lips.

  By nightfall, exhausted from fighting his impulses, he was glad to hear plans for her departure on the morrow. Foolishly, he returned to the library, where he could imagine her sitting again and indulge his fantasies. She had been embroidering a handkerchief when he came upon her earlier that day. They sat in companionable silence. It was a scene of domestic tranquillity, and it affected him deeply. At one point, he looked up, and she had put her work away and held a book instead. When she left the room, she left the handkerchief behind. He carried it with him the rest of the day, treasuring his stolen token. It bore a slight trace of her fragrance and only added to his ability to fantasise. Once again, he had fought his desire to forsake his obligations and marry the only woman who had ever captivated him so completely.

  Darcy did remember the moment Elizabeth walked into the library, appearing like an enticing nymph out of his dreams. He vaguely recalled laughter and, possibly...singing? He winced. But he knew, in his heart of hearts, he did not imagine the tender look in her eye when he had his arms around her. It was the one thought keeping him from madness. Of course, he could not recall how or why she was in his arms but could only pray to have her look upon him that way again.

  He repeated an attempt to focus his mind sufficiently. He had awoken with a terrible headache and saw a brandy decanter and glass in his room. He had not thought he over- indulged so much; the decanter, which he recognised as belonging to the library, was still quite full. He rarely drank heavily and only under times of severe emotional strain, when entirely alone. Even after nearly losing his sister, Georgiana, to Wickham, he had never been entirely inebriated, nor so affected as to lose his memory. He had broken a glass in the library, where he knew he had started the evening. What happened in between?

  He had awoken with the feeling of an unbelievable night spent in passion with Elizabeth, and as well as evidence of his gratification, there was blood on his bed linens, Elizabeth’s handkerchief, and himself. The handkerchief’s presence was unusual, but he rationalised he must have used it to assist her afterwards. She obviously had not slept well, if at all, and was sore.

  There was no more denying it. Every circumstance confirmed that he had irrevocably stolen Elizabeth’s virtue.

  Darcy glanced around the church and wondered that there was not some marking on him alerting the congregation to his depravity. But did he not know first-hand how a scoundrel and seducer could coexist amongst the unsuspecting populace and earn their trust and admiration? To think that he had acted no better than a rake of the highest order, no better than George Wickham made him feel ill. How could he ever call himself a gentleman again? How was he ever to earn Elizabeth’s esteem? And what was he to do if she rejected him again?

  Mindful that he was in a church and had broken enough of the Lord’s commandments, he turned his attention to the minister. The Meryton vicar seemed a reasonable and sensible man, qualities Darcy admired in the clergy. Mr. Black did tend towards Methodism, but Darcy thought it was refreshing to hear. This gentleman was thankfully not like the sycophants his aunt employed, and he reminded Darcy of the minister of his youth, of the man originally hired by Darcy’s grandfather who resigned from the parish for his wife’s health. For some reason, Darcy could not shake the feeling he had recently had news of Mr. Clark.

  When it came time for Darcy to fill the position, he was able to resist his aunt’s pressures. Instead, he gave it to an older cleric who would suffice nicely until his youngest Darcy cousin took orders. This only occurred after— and quite thankfully— his father’s godson had resigned any claim to the living. As if Wickham should ever be in charge of a parish!

  Annoyed with his thoughts turning towards the reprobate, he resolved to pay full attention to the rector. The man did not disappoint. Instead of relying on a printed sermon by one of the popular theologians of the time, he clearly had put much study and thought into his homily.

  “Let us turn our attention now to this passage in Romans. ‘For when we were yet without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly.’ Now some puff themselves up and say, ‘I am a good man. I am a better man than he,’ and then point towards their neighbours. But you would be no better than the Pharisee praying in the temple to thank God that he is not like the tax collector.

  “My brethren, we should recall St. Paul’s words: ‘For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.’

  “Allow us to examine the nature of sin. If I asked you what sin was, you might say to me, ‘Mr. Black, I know murder and adultery are sins.’ And I could ask you if you were innocent of such sins, and you might reply in all sincerity that you are.

  “But I would direct you to the Saviour’s words in Matthew: ‘Ye have heard that it was said of them of old time, Thou shalt not kill; and whosoever shall kill shall be in danger of the judgment: But I say unto you, That whosoever is angry with his brother without a cause shall be in danger of the judgment: and whosoever shall say to his brother, Raca’—that is, to insult your brethren—’shall be in danger of the council: but whosoever shall say, Thou fool, shall be in danger of hell fire.’

  “Let me also call to your mind King David’s words in the one hundred first psalm: ‘Whoso privily slandereth his neighbour, him will I cut off; him that hath an high look and a proud heart will I not suffer’ and ‘He that worketh deceit shall not dwell within my house: he that telleth lies shall not tarry in my sight.’

  “Is not hatred of your brother as bad as murder? Did not Cain first hate his brother Abel for the Lord’s acceptance of his sacrifice? Sinful thoughts beget sinful actions. Ladies, you may never think to physically harm another, but you may kill a person’s worth and reputation with your gossip and wagging tongues out of jealousy and spite.

  “We live in a society that condemns a woman for flirtatious behaviour, and indeed it is abominable, but we ought to remind the gentlemen that the Saviour tells us, ‘Ye have heard that it was said by them of old time, Thou shalt not commit adultery: But I say unto you, that whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart.’

  “Brother, Sister, can you now claim to be sinless?”

  Darcy tried to not shift uncomfortably in his seat; he knew regardless of what happened the night before that he most certainly was not innocent of sin with Elizabeth if taken in that light. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bingley nervously adjust his cravat amongst the fidgeting of several other young men. He knew who Bingley lusted after, but what of these other men? Not after my Elizabeth!

  Mr. Black continued, “Perhaps you can. You might even pride yourself on your ability to control yourself and avoid temptation, but I would argue that your prideful spirit is your sin.

  “Might we recall the proverb: ‘Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before the fall. Better it is to be of an humble spirit with the lowly, than to divide the spoil with the proud.’

  “Who among us is worthy? Did Christ not pardon us all with the same act of redemption? Before God, we are all equals, sinners redeemed by grace.

  “As we are told in Galatians, ‘There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus.’ There is no rank or situation in life that makes one more holy or
godly than the other.

  “But there is redemption from our sin. As we are told in the Gospel of John, Jesus Christ paid our debt, ‘For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved.’

  “We must do more than merely repent. We must put aside our unclean thoughts as much as we shun sinful behaviour. ‘Having therefore this guidance and these promises from the gospel, dearly beloved, let us cleanse ourselves from all filthiness of the flesh and spirit, perfecting holiness in the fear of God.’

  “Let us pray.”

  Darcy was silent on the carriage ride back to Netherfield. Caroline and the Hursts were astonished at the near revolutionary preachings of Mr. Black: Of course, rank and birth made a difference in behaviour and conduct. Superior society could only be found amongst the gentry and not the vulgar tradesmen or those in service. Bingley said little, his eyes darting around the coach, obviously unsettled. When they reached the house, Darcy claimed a headache and returned to his rooms until the Bennet ladies were to depart.

  *****

  Inside his chambers, Darcy soberly reflected on the service. He was entirely convinced now that he was no gentleman; his father and mother would be horrified by their son’s behaviour. Not only was he a seducer, but he had intentionally fed his lustful thoughts with fantasies of Elizabeth, a lady who in all ways acted respectably. Perhaps he could not be held accountable for his dreams, but he had persistently engaged in such fantasies even in his waking hours for weeks now, while he determinedly told himself he could not marry her due to her connections and the behaviour of her family. All the while he had prided himself on his ability to not succumb to temptation. Other men would cast off their honourable intentions of duty to their families to feed their lust for the enticing woman or to offer the position of mistress. He had never touched a woman, had hardly been infatuated before, and always kept his carnal desires under good regulation —until Elizabeth.