Page 4 of Mr. Darcy's Complex Courtship

My goodness, he spoke as though he believed we should wed—and managed to make the possibility sound sensible, even…astute. No, I should end this mad flight of fancy without delay. “For you to have proposed marriage, you must have believed you knew me well, but you do not.”

“I am assured of your admirable character, intelligence, and lively personality, but in other aspects you are correct. With your agreement, I hope to rectify the areas of ignorance.”

How else could I deter him? One evening last November at Netherfield Park, Miss Bingley had initiated a conversation designed to elucidate my dearth of accomplishments in comparison to herself. To my chagrin, her point seemed relevantnow. “How could you expect me to fit into your world when I have no formal education, my musical skills are mediocre, and I am unaccustomed to life in town? I should be a fish out of water.”

“I should ensure you have all the support you need, but you have no cause for concern. Few denizens of thetonare as thorny as Lady Catherine, and your facility with her demonstrates your ability to thrive in any setting.”

He appeared to have a ready answer for everything. What else should I ask him? Oh yes—his boorishness in Hertfordshire. “You are polite and courteous when it suits you. Why were you churlish so often last autumn?”

He grimaced. “I recall one evening at Netherfield when you drew attention to my pride and vanity. At the time, I did not recognise the validity of your criticism, but I do now. In my conceit, I acted as though my wealth and station exempted me from the rules of polite society. My conduct fell short of the example my parents had provided, and I am resolved to do better in the future. You deserve no less.”

The sincerity evident in his elocution prompted an odd flutter deep within my belly. He had addressed every concern I raised, and no others came to mind—well, none I could attribute to him alone.

“Do you have any further questions for me?”

“Not at present. I appreciate your indulgence with my enquiries. Marriage is an intimidating prospect for a lady—she is dependent upon her husband’s benevolence.”

“That is an unfortunate truth. Any man who mistreats his wife is contemptible.”

“I agree.”

“My cousin and I shall return to town on the morrow. I understand you are leaving in a se’nnight.”

“Yes.”

“Will you go directly to Hertfordshire?”

“No.” My gaze settled upon him. “I shall stay at my uncle Gardiner’s house in London for a week. He lives in Gracechurch Street, not far from his warehouse.”

“May I call on you there?”

My breath rushed out. “You would call at the home of a tradesman?”

“I have attended dinners and parties at the most exclusive residences in town and never experienced the gratification I have in your company. I should be pleased to make the acquaintance of your aunt and uncle at their home.”

Dear me,after having exhausted each of my arguments, I could actually welcome the prospect of meeting him again. “Well then…I expect I shall see you in town.” A winsome smile brightened his countenance—an endearing sight.

He offered his arm to walk me back to the parsonage. As my limb entwined with his, a faint electric jolt prickled the skin of my forearm.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam and I shall call at the parsonage this afternoon to take our leave of the household. My cousin is aware of Mr. Wickham’s misdeeds, so if you would like him to confirm anything I told you—”

“No, that will not be necessary.” My cheeks burned for having interrupted him, and I took a moment to regulate my cadence. “I do not doubt your version of events.”

He nodded, and his lips curved up again.

At my suggestion, we parted before I reached the gate to Mr. Collins’s garden to avoid being observed together.

Later that day, we all gathered in the parlour of the parsonage with the two gentlemen callers. The colonel took the chair next to me, while Mr. Darcy sat near the sofa occupied by Mr. Collins and his wife—Charlotte Collins née Lucas—as well as Charlotte’s sister, Maria Lucas.

Mr. Collins carried on a protracted discourse conveying his appreciation to Mr. Darcy and the colonel for honouring his home with their presence. Mr. Darcy exerted himself to respond with polite comments to my cousin and Charlotte. He even engaged Maria in conversation.

I made use of the opportunity for an unobtrusive study of Mr. Darcy—in particular his strong jaw, elegant nose, striking sable eyes, and noble deportment, which I had failed to fully appreciate before. In the past, my perception of him had often been distorted by my prejudices and false impressions—as though I had espied him through a smudged window.

“We have been enjoying exceptionally fine weather this week. Do you not agree?”

I turned to Colonel Fitzwilliam, seated to my left, whose tense position belied his trite remarks. “Indeed, yes.”

A penitent frown replaced his smile. “Please allow me to apologise for my thoughtless and indiscreet speech yesterday. I am sorry to have distressed you.”

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