Page 12 of A Forced Marriage
"There is no need to end anyone's merry. I will leave with the coachman to rest at home. Once I arrive, I will send thecoachman back for the rest of you. I am sure I will be fine after a cup of tea and some sleep," Elizabeth replied, determined not to spoil anyone else's evening.
Mr. Darcy, standing by the door, observed the scene with an unreadable expression, while the Bingley sisters exchanged amused glances, their faces pretending concern when Elizabeth looked their way. But Elizabeth could tell it was mere pretence. A couple of the family friends familiar with the Bennets also came to check on the company, but Elizabeth insisted that she was fine and only needed to go home. Mr. Collins offered to escort Elizabeth home, making a remark on how Lady Catherine de Bourgh always said young women should not be left alone as it was unladylike. Mr. Bennet told him there was no need, as he apparently sensed Elizabeth just needed to be alone, and Elizabeth told Mr. Collins to enjoy the evening and socialize since he would not be in Meryton for very long.
"Please inform the coachman that Miss Elizabeth requires the carriage." Mr. Bennet signalled to a servant.
The servant nodded and quickly left to carry out the request. Mr. Bennet turned back to Elizabeth. "Very well, Lizzy. Be safe."
"Thank you, Papa," Elizabeth curtsied, her eyes filled with gratitude.
As Elizabeth made her way to the door, her mind was a whirl of emotions. Mr. Darcy merely shifted as she walked past him.How can he just stand there as if oblivious to the fact that he is the cause of my discomfort? What kind of man acts so cruelly?She had only one answer: Mr. Darcy.
Stepping outside into the cool night air, Elizabeth could still hear the distant murmur of the ball behind her. The coachman was soon at the ready, and she climbed into the carriage, eager to escape the painful memories of the evening. In that moment, she would have done anything to put somedistance between herself and the insufferable Mr. Darcy. As the carriage began to glide away from the scene, Elizabeth felt a sense of relief wash over her, her breath coming easier once again.
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Darcy stood by the door, his eyes following Elizabeth's retreating figure. The chatter and laughter of the assembly blurred into a distant hum. His earlier remarks echoed in his mind, each word a barb of regret.
He turned away, his hand gripping the door frame. The weight of his pride now felt like a shackle. He had seen the flash of pain in Elizabeth’s eyes, a look that haunted him even though the room around him buzzed with life.
Miss Bingley's voice cut through his thoughts, dripping with feigned concern. "Mr. Darcy, it seems Miss Elizabeth Bennet is quite delicate. Such a dramatic exit."
His grip tightened, knuckles whitening. "It appears so," he said curtly.
"One would think she could handle a bit of social discourse without fleeing."
"I believe the fault lies with me, not her." Darcy's jaw clenched.
Surprise flickered across Miss Bingley's face. "Oh? How so?"
"I spoke without thought, and it caused her distress." He turned his gaze back to the now-closed door.
Miss Bingley pursed her lips, clearly displeased with his self-reproach. "Well, it is of no consequence. These country girls are easily flustered."
Darcy barely heard her, his mind replaying the scene. He had admired Elizabeth's spirited nature and wit the night he arrived in Meryton, and now, he had driven her away from theassembly because he didn’t like the way everyone was talking about him. The assembly hall which he once considered lively although he didn’t feel like joining its activities, now felt stifling.
As he watched the carriage carrying Elizabeth away through the window, he longed to follow, to offer some form of apology. But propriety and pride held him back. Instead, he remained rooted in place, the memory of Elizabeth's hurt expression gnawing at him like a caterpillar on a dying fruit.
Chapter 7
As Elizabeth Bennet sat in the carriage, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels over the rough country road provided a dissonant accompaniment to her tumultuous thoughts. Though the skies had been clear during the ball, a sudden downpour now lashed against the windows, mirroring her inner turmoil.
"Who in God's name does he think he is?" Elizabeth sneered, her voice rising above the clatter of the wheels as they churned up thick swathes of mud along the road. Her bonnet had slipped askew, and a few raindrops that had sipped in through cracks in the carriage roof clung to the fine strands of hair that had worked free, yet the chill that gnawed at her skin was a mere shadow compared to the fire of displeasure burning within her chest.
The carriage struck a particularly deep rut, causing Elizabeth to be jostled sharply, yet she scarcely flinched. Each bounce, each shake, only served to fuel her simmering anger towards Mr. Darcy, who had so effortlessly dismissed her—her, Elizabeth Bennet! Her father might not be the wealthiest man in Meryton, but he was undeniably decent and kind, Elizabeth thought. Also, although her younger sisters could be frivolous and her mother overbearing, Elizabeth did not consider them deserving of such insult. How dare he? His arrogance, his presumption...
Her thoughts swirled with the echo of his words, which seemed to haunt her even here, amid the solitude that should have been an escape from such vexations.
I can assure you, Caroline, that aside from thanking their father, who seems to be a man of kind heart despite his incessant jest, there is nothing about the family which I find agreeable. Her sisters are silly, and her mother is overly familiar. She is surely not handsome enough to entice me.
"Even after all the kindness Papa showed him?" Elizabeth mused bitterly, her jaw tight as she repeated the question to herself. To possess such wealth and position, yet lack any semblance of humility or kindness—it was unconscionable. And to think he carried himself with such... such...
"Self-importance!" she spat out the word as if it were poison on her tongue. It was bad enough that Mr. Darcy thought so highly of himself, but to presume that others were beneath him solely based on their place in society? That was something Elizabeth could not, would not, accept.
As the carriage trundled onward, Elizabeth wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, her gaze fixed on the horizon. She was resolute in her conviction; no man, no matter how grand or esteemed, would ever sway her to compromise her principles. Mr. Darcy, with all his airs and graces, was nothing more than a man—a man who, unbeknownst to him, had just fanned the flames of Elizabeth Bennet's fierce determination.
Elizabeth's internal tirade was abruptly interrupted as a sharp crack pierced the air. The carriage lurched violently, throwing her against the unforgiving wooden bench. Her hands flew out, grasping at the rail lines that ran like veins along the side of the carriage.
Chaos erupted around her; the horses, spooked by the sudden jolt, neighed in panic, their hooves churning up clumpsof mud and gravel. Somewhere close, a voice cursed—a raw and guttural sound that matched the fear gnawing at Elizabeth's insides. She could only think of the coachman as the one cursing.
