Page 7 of Mr. Darcy's Complex Courtship

I took in his contrite comportment, and my residual resentment from his long-ago insult evaporated. “I accept your apology.”

“It is no wonder you did not think well of me.”

“No, I did not. In almost every conversation we had in Hertfordshire, I attempted to either annoy you or make you look foolish.”

He released a short, mirthless laugh. “You vexed me, but not in the way you had intended. And on too many occasions, I made a jester of myself without your help.”

“It speaks well for a man if he can laugh at his own foibles.”

“I appreciate the opportunity to prove I am not usually such a clod. And I am mortified anew for my insulting speech the evening I proposed to you. I once considered your relations in trade to be a considerable drawback, but after having met Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, I should be pleased to have them as relations.”

His reference to our possible marriage inspired a glow in my complexion, and his frankness encouraged me to respond in kind. “Your disparagement of my family that day angered me, and I came close to unleashing my wrath at you. It is fortunate I constrained myself. Otherwise, we should not be talking now.”

“Yes, most fortuitous.” With his smile restored, he made an alluring picture, and my breath caught.

Why had he never been this agreeable in Hertfordshire? And if he had been, might I have fallen in love with him last year?Good heavens, I am staring.I redirected my eyes forwards and sought a new subject. “What are your favourite books?”

We engaged in a spirited discussion of literature and found we had read many of the same novels and poetry collections; he had even enjoyed one of my most treasured books,The Mysteries of Udolpho. Although we found many areas of disagreement, he put forth his opinions whilst giving credence to my arguments. No other gentleman of my acquaintance—other than Papa—had ever challenged me in such a thoughtful and respectful way.

It struck me that I should not be content to wed a man who ascribed to the prevailing view that males, by virtue of their sex,had superior acumen to females. And many men believed the works of certain authors, such as Lord Byron or Shakespeare, to be inappropriate for ladies. Papa, however, had not censored my reading material.

My vision lingered upon Mr. Darcy. “Do you control the books Miss Darcy reads?”

“Yes, I do. Since my parents are deceased and Georgiana is twelve years my junior, I am a father figure for her. I restrict her to books I have read.”

I maintained a nonchalant air. “Would you also limit what your wife is allowed to read?”

“No, I shall not hinder the improvement of your mind by extensive reading.”

Fire rose up from my neck. His presumptive answer recalled our discussion of ladies’ accomplishments at Netherfield last autumn.

“If you are still amenable to the notion, I should like to introduce my sister to you. Shall I bring her the next time I call?” His lower jaw clinched.

The obvious importance he placed upon my answer impelled me to rush my response. “I should be delighted to meet her.”

A release of tension in Mr. Darcy’s attitude coincided with his grin. “Thank you. I have long believed you would be an ideal…friend for her.”

He could not have conveyed a greater compliment. An increased liveliness marked my steps.

At dinner, Aunt Gardiner revealed to Mr. Darcy that her childhood had been spent in Lambton, a town five miles from Pemberley where her father had been an attorney. The two of them reminisced about the people and places in the area, and my aunt shared her remembrances of past encounters with the late Lady Anne Darcy.

During the dessert course, Mr. Darcy proposed several possible destinations for a group excursion on Tuesday. After a short discussion, we decided upon Vauxhall Gardens.

When I climbed into bed that evening, I reflected upon the time spent with Mr. Darcy—every minute with him had been delightful. Now that I had abandoned my former prejudice against him and his manners had improved, I found much to admire in him. In fact, Tuesday would not come soon enough to suit me.

Monday, 27 April

Gracechurch Street

Elizabeth

Mr. Darcy called this afternoon with his sister. Miss Darcy proved to be a tall, pretty, blonde young lady with pale-blue eyes. While she bore a similar facial structure to her brother, she lacked his confident presence: throughout the introductions, she slouched and clutched tightly to his arm, and her soft voice often descended towards a whisper.

Last autumn, Mr. Wickham had described Miss Darcy as ‘very, very proud’, and I had believed his characterisation. At the time, after having witnessed Miss Bingley lauding the young lady, I had beeneagerto think the worst of her. How petty I had been! I straightened my shoulders; rather than allow this shameful remembrance to impair my spirits, I should use this opportunity to atone for my prior uncharitable thoughts.

I presented my best smile to Miss Darcy. “Please sit with me here.” I indicated a spot on the sofa.

“Thank you.” She took my suggestion yet adopted a rigid position. Jane chose a nearby chair, and Mr. Darcy sat near my aunt and uncle. When the tea service arrived, Aunt Gardiner poured, and Jane helped her to serve.

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