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His melodic voice, so soft and tender, with that last pronouncement, took Elizabeth’s breath away. What a pity he does not speak more often, she thought, and then she immediately chastised herself upon remembering his harsh words the evening they met.
Moments later, he resumed talking. “If you will allow me to speak candidly, Miss Bennet, there is a matter I wish to discuss with you pertaining to the evening we met.”
“Oh,” Elizabeth replied, her interest piqued.
He nodded. “Indeed. What I have to say has to do with George Wickham.”
Elizabeth’s entire demeanor stiffened. She could feel her temper rising with each passing second. “I assure you, sir, I have heard quite enough already to comprehend fully how little you and your aunt think of Lieutenant Wickham.”
Darcy halted his footsteps, forcing Elizabeth to do likewise. The decided difference in their statures caused her to arch her neck to look the gentleman directly in his eyes while she braced herself for his defense.
“My aunt and I are not always of the same mind, but as regards George Wickham, you would be wise to listen to her counsel. Do not allow yourself to be deceived by that man. There are too many things about him that you do not know.”
“What is there to know other than his father was your own father’s steward and that Lieutenant Wickham and you—childhood friends by your own admission—have since suffered an irreconcilable parting of the ways?”
“I will ask you to trust me. Heed my aunt’s advice. Write to your father and tell him what Lady Catherine told you.”
“Trust you! I beg your pardon, sir, but you are little more than a stranger to me—a rather impertinent stranger at that—whereas my acquaintance with Lieutenant Wickham is of a long duration.” In truth, she had not known the gentleman very long at all when measured by the passage of time. She knew Mr. Wickham’s character, which in her estimation was worth ten times that of the haughty gentleman who now stood before her.
“I do not wish to argue with you, young lady. I only wanted to warn you. I would be terribly remiss if I did not.”
The condescension in his tone freed her from the constraints of calm civility. She took a step closer. “I, too, would be remiss if I did not speak on another matter pertaining to the evening we met.”
“I’m listening,” he said, clasping both hands behind his back, thus affording her his undivided attention.
“I heard what you said about me to your cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam, sir.”
Darcy showed no hint of remorse at having been overheard, which further confirmed Elizabeth’s decreasing opinion of him—her suspicion that he was uncaring of the feelings of others. What a shame, for they needed not be adversaries. He remained silent.
Elizabeth said, “Surely you mean to apologize. Perhaps you are merely taking the time to fashion your response when all that is necessary is to say, ‘I apologize for the offense.’”
Darcy said, “No offense was intended.”
Elizabeth’s mouth fell open. Her eyes bore into his. She waited.
“I was engaged in a private conversation with my cousin. Shall I ask for forgiveness because you were listening in on a discussion meant for his ears alone?”
“I suppose if that is the best you can do by way of an apology then I will be similarly generous in my acceptance.”
“The truth is, Miss Bennet, that I would take those hastily spoken words back if it were within my power. The truth is—” Perceiving that he was on the verge of saying far too much, Darcy ceased speaking. To tell her how intrigued he was with her from the moment he first laid eyes on her simply would not do. The fact that he had thought of little else other than her since they met puzzled him exceedingly.
What is it about this impertinent young woman that fascinates me so? Darcy silently pondered and not for the first time.
One thing was clear, especially with her standing close enough for him to appreciate the faint scents of lavender from her hair and to detect the tiny little imperfection on her right cheek, he was more determined than ever to find out.
CHAPTER 4
STUDIER OF CHARACTER
That evening, the Hunsford party found themselves seated at the lavishly laden dinner table at Rosings once again. Elizabeth could easily surmise that her ladyship took a great deal of pleasure in such gatherings and she imagined this occasion was but the second of many she might suffer during her visit.
Mr. Collins sat on Elizabeth’s right, and Miss de Bourgh sat on Elizabeth’s left. The seating arrangement was far from ideal—what with her finding herself settled between an abundance of sycophantic ramblings on the one side and a drought of meaningful discourse on the other. She could hardly complain, for it afforded a perfect opportunity for her to escape Lady Catherine’s intense scrutiny. Unlike the first dinner, Elizabeth could enjoy this meal.
If she had but one complaint, it was that Mr. Darcy sat directly opposite her. How ironic that she had actually wished for a similar circumstance the evening they first met. How astounding that Elizabeth now discerned in Mr. Darcy’s countenance and deportment a startling resemblance to Lady Catherine. This undeniable likeness was not a bad thing in and of itself.
If one were to strip away the thick layers of officiousness and haughtiness, no doubt one would find a woman who continues to enjoy her fair share of beauty.
Elizabeth’s busy mind veered to the last time she and Mr. Darcy were together. Their parting earlier that afternoon had seen a resumption of silence after they exchanged heated words as well as an awkward farewell at the parsonage gate. Cool civility marked their reunion that evening, which suited Elizabeth just fine.
