The Art of Apology (Happiness in Marriage)

Chapter 28

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

I t had been impulsive to ask Mr Darcy to sit with her and her family during supper, but Elizabeth was glad that she had. She was having a wonderful time, and it was entirely due to him. Her feelings for him had changed so quickly that it left her dizzy and occasionally questioning whether it was real or she was caught up in a dream. At present, there was nothing about him she did not like. She was wise enough to know that it was unrealistic to view anyone as faultless. But she was not a simpleton. She acknowledged that one of her flaws was a tendency to quickly sketch a person’s character and refuse to admit she might be mistaken. In October, Mr Darcy had left more than her with a very poor view of him, and it was possible she would have clung to it forever no matter what he did or said if it had not been for two interventions: her father’s warning and Budge, and she was grateful to both. It was meeting the little dog and observing Mr Darcy with him that struck the initial blow to her resentment and dislike. Since then, each time they were together, she found more to admire in him.

I think he feels the same for me, she told herself as she moved through the steps of the supper set with Mr John Lucas. Reprimanding herself, she attempted to pay attention to the young man standing across from her, not the one farther down the line. She must not let herself believe she understood Mr Darcy’s sentiments; if she was mistaken, her disappointment would be acute. Until he said something, gave some hint that he hoped their connexion might become more than it currently was, she must guard her heart. Given her nature, doing so would be difficult, but she would try. And pray he gives either Papa or me an indication of his feelings sooner rather than later! Once he did, the tumult of her emotions would settle down, and she could allow her affection for him to fully blossom.

Supper was as agreeable as the rest of the ball had been, despite Elizabeth having to share Mr Darcy’s attention with her family. Jane was not there; Mr Bennet had given his leave for her to sit with Mr Bingley. The crowd being what it was, it took Elizabeth some time to see where they were, but once she did, it was evident that her sister was happy. His younger sister and several of his London friends were with Jane and Mr Bingley, and they appeared to be having a lively conversation.

Mrs Bennet welcomed Mr Darcy warmly and immediately told him about a recent letter she had received from Mrs Gardiner. “I wrote to her about you being from Derbyshire, and she recalls your family. Not you, exactly—she moved in rather different circles—but she knows of you and used to see your mother and father when they would go to Lambton.” She paused to take a sip of wine. “She said that knowing we have met you has made her wild to return to her childhood home again. I shall tell her to convince my brother to take her as soon as he can manage it, but he is an excellent husband and is likely already planning to do just that. Whatever can bring her pleasure, he will do.”

It was not only Mrs Bennet who wanted a portion of Mr Darcy’s attention; her sisters did as well. Kitty and Lydia wanted to talk about London, and since they had learnt that he had a younger sister, desired to know all about her, especially what her wardrobe was like. He could not answer those questions other than to say, “Her clothing is very pretty, just as yours is.” Hearing that Miss Darcy loved music interested Mary, and he was asked about her favourite composers and the like.

“Girls, you must allow Mr Darcy to eat his supper,” Mrs Bennet said several times. “Everything is delicious and so well prepared, but I would expect nothing less. When Jane and Mr Bing?—”

“Mrs Bennet,” her husband interjected, speaking softly but firmly. Elizabeth knew he had forbidden her mother from speculating on their marriage prospects.

She regarded him, her lips formed an ‘o’, and she nodded. “As I was saying, the food is delicious. Instead of asking him so many questions, why do you not talk amongst yourselves or-or tell him what music you like, Mary. Kitty and Lydia, you have been reading those books your father gave you. You can tell him about them.”

“But quietly, please. There is more than enough noise in the room as it is,” her father said.

Elizabeth met Mr Darcy’s eye, trying to silently enquire whether he minded her sisters demanding all his attention, and received a slight but decided head shake in response. Nevertheless, she did her best to make sure they did not vex him. Her mother had turned to her neighbours—several other matrons—and remained occupied with them.

“I think you can stop worrying about Mr Darcy, Lizzy,” her father whispered to her part way through the meal. “He is made of stern enough stuff to cope with the three of them, now that they have become less silly, and if he is not and he intends to continue to partake of our society, he had best find a way. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I am. Are you?”

He slowly inclined his head. “I would rather be at home, where it is quieter, and I do not believe there will ever be a time I say otherwise, but it is not so bad. I have had to correct your sisters less than I expected, which I take as a victory, and I do like seeing you, your sisters, and your mother looking so lovely and happy.”

She kissed his cheek. “That was a very kind thing to say, Papa, and I thank you on behalf of us all. As for your other remark, I would consider it a victory. I am grateful for what you are doing, and they are—or will be—too. ”

Again, he nodded. “I have noticed that you and Mr Darcy have often been together.”

She did not know what to say to that statement so chose not to address it. “He has asked me for another set. Do you object?”

This time, her father shrugged. “I do not see that it has anything to do with me. If you have not grown fatigued of his company, I suppose you ought to accept.”

Feeling heat creeping into her cheeks, she busied herself with her glass of wine. At an opportune moment, she informed Mr Darcy that they had her father’s permission, news he greeted with such a look of satisfaction that anticipation for what lay ahead swelled in her chest. She did not know what it would be, but before she returned to Longbourn that night, something between them would have altered; she was convinced of it, and that it would make her even more joyful than she currently was.

When at last they danced together again, she found Mr Darcy to be distracted, but in a subtle manner she would not have been able to describe if pressed to explain. He continued to look at her a great deal, and it would have taken a much better imagination than her own to discover any hint that he was displeased or disapproved of spending time with her. Yet, it was apparent his thoughts were heavy.

“Is something worrying you?” she asked, knowing it was unlikely the other dancers were interested in what they said to each other, even if they could hear it over the music, the footfalls on the wooden floors, and the voices filling the large ballroom .

“I-I beg your pardon. My mind was elsewhere.”

She offered him a polite smile that suggested it did not matter, but it was a blow, albeit a small one, given how great her earlier enthusiasm had been. Even if she was not the cause of his distraction, her company was not enough to make him set aside his cares for half an hour. Curiosity, seeking to assure herself she had done nothing wrong—or that he had witnessed her family behaving in a manner he found distasteful—provoked her to ask, “May I enquire what has you so lost in thought?”

There was a pause before he answered. He looked about them and waited until the pattern brought them closer together, then whispered into her ear, “You.”

She gaped at him; a shiver ran down her spine. They completed the set in silence, and as soon as she had curtseyed and he had bowed, he took her hand and drew her into a quiet corner of the room. Her heart thudded in her chest, and her mouth was too dry to permit speech. All she could do was wait with as much patience as she could for him to relieve her curiosity by explaining himself.

“I was a fool the night of the assembly. More than a fool. An idiot. How could I ever have looked at you and let such hateful words pass my lips? I might be rewriting what happened in my memories, but I believe I knew they were false even as I said them. You, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, are handsome enough to tempt me, more than beautiful enough for even the most fastidious of men, and even a quarter of an hour in your company would provide the stupidest man with a long list of attractions that would have them stumbling over their feet in their haste to earn your approbation.”

She laughed and blushed and shook her head, but he was not finished yet. Surreptitiously, he lightly clasped her fingers.

“You are intelligent and curious and charming and caring, and”—he exhaled audibly—“you tempt me as I have never been tempted before. To slight you, a man would have to be blind—in spirit if not physically—and so I was. I could see you, but I refused to see you. It was not until you insisted I apologise properly that my eyes began to open. You have made me view the world about me and the people in it with greater clarity, and I shall forever be grateful, especially because it means I have had the chance to know you.”

“Oh, Mr Darcy,” she whispered, almost too overwhelmed to say more. “I would say you have learnt to apologise properly. You have exceeded every expectation I ever had.” Her last statement encompassed more than how well he had delivered his words of contrition; she wondered whether he knew that or whether she would ever be brave enough to tell him.

He chuckled and pressed one of his hands to his chest; the other was still wrapped about her fingers, which she curled as much as possible, hoping he felt the pressure of her grasp.

“There is so much I want to say to you,” he said. “I feel the words knocking at the back of my teeth. But my rational self tells me it is too soon. There is no rush, and if I ask too much of you, I would be acting foolishly once again. I suspect you, your father, perhaps even I, would be more comfortable with a delay—a slight delay—before I…make my wishes for our future plain.”

Her free hand flew to her mouth, and tears filled her eyes. She managed to nod and say, “A part of me wishes to disagree, but I know you are right.”

He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Then we shall postpone the rest of that conversation.”

“And take the time to relish this period,” she said, silently adding, the one in which we continue to fall in love and dream of what our lives—our life together—will be.

The colour of his eyes deepened. “I intend to savour every moment. Earlier, I was trying to determine how we might see each other as often as possible in the coming weeks. I must return to town soon, to see my sister and relations.”

“Miss Darcy must be missing you. I would not ever want to keep you from her.” She would be displeased with any man who attempted to separate her from her sisters. Mr Darcy liked her family and would never limit her intercourse with them; she would extend the courtesy to him in return.

A bubble of joy made her warm and a little dizzy. He did feel as she did. She would not leave Netherfield an engaged woman that night, but in the not-too-distant future, he would propose, and she would accept. “I hope I shall be able to meet her soon.”

Her hand was still in his, and he gently pressed it. “I have had an idea or two about that. I must consider it a little more, but we shall speak of it in a day or two, if that is acceptable.”

“Of course it is. Would it be too bold of me to say that all that matters to me is that we shall have more time together?”

He grinned—she did likewise—and had just opened his mouth to speak when they were interrupted by one of his acquaintances.