Page 18 of Leave Her Wild
“Jane has led a sheltered life here in the country,” Elizabeth argued, though if Mr. Darcy’s tale was true, and Elizabeth believed it was, her hope that the gentleman and Jane would ever know accord was useless. Mr. Darcy would always expect a wife to support him, and Jane would always fail—moreso after the fairness of her sister’s countenance faded, and Jane had nothing of merit to offer the man.
“My sister should be wooed,” Elizabeth suggested meekly, knowing her argument was flawed. “Why must you marry so quickly? Allow my sister time to admire more than your purse.”
“I cannot,” he said through tight lips.
“My sister has never had a suitor of your prominence. Again, I shall suggest you provide her a bit more time to become accustomed to her change in circumstances. Jane worries she will fail you. Permit her time to forget her sacrifice and learn to love you.”
“What do you know of love, Miss Elizabeth?” Mr. Darcy demanded.
If he had slapped her, Elizabeth would have known less pain. “Nothing, sir. I have never had a man choose me over Jane. No real suitors, ever. I am the sister who was to be the son to save the entail. I was to be an ‘Ethan,’ not an ‘Elizabeth.’ I once thought, not too long removed, that one of the militia officers had chosen me as his favorite. Instead, he learned something of my dowry and decided his affections were better suited for a young lady who was to inherit ten thousand pounds.
“I have accepted my role in this family: While my father still lives, I am the ‘pseudo son’ who oversees the estate’s cottagers, and when Mr. Bennet has passed, I shall attend to my mother's ‘nerves.’ I shall be a well-read spinster and remain ignorant of the ways of love beyond my favorite tales, such as the prince and cinder girl.”
“You would never be in the ranks of spinsters,” he placated. “You are too well spoken to be ignored.”
“I am already ignored, sir,” she protested as she again started past him, but, like before, Mr. Darcy caught her wrist. This time the dog growled, and she thought to permit the spanielto take a bite out of Mr. Darcy’s leg. Instead, she snapped her fingers, and the dog sat beside her, though it was still on alert.
They stood together, studying each other, likely as no one had ever done previously or would do again. Elizabeth knew the exact moment when he recalled their previous encounter.
“We met in London at a ball,” he said without emotion.
Though his statement was not meant as a question, she said, “My Grandmother Gardiner, who I resemble, thought I should have a Season. My one and only dance at a ball.”
“You wore an orangish-colored gown cut too strictly to the style of the day to be . . . to be . . .”
“Flattering?” she finished for him.
The gentleman did not reply nor did he release her wrist when she attempted to pull away. Meanwhile, Elizabeth viewed the memory of her image pass before his eyes.
“I attempted to tell my grandmother I looked like a pumpkin, but she thought otherwise. You preferred the pretty blonde on the arm of the young man in the other square of our dance set. You wanted a diamond of the first water, not a bumpkinish rustic. Your desires were written all over your countenance.”
He continued to look down upon her—transferring the image of her present self upon the figure in his memory.
Elizabeth wished to be free of the heat of his hand on her skin, but she knew he would refuse to release her.
“I performed as an arse that evening . . .” he began.
“It does not matter,” Elizabeth declared. “I never expected you to recall someone as insignificant as a tradesman’s niece. However, you must acknowledge the irony of finding yourself engaged to another of the nieces of that very same tradesman. I cannot resist—based on your interest in the blonde that evening—to think that if it had been ‘Jane,’ instead of ‘Elizabeth,’ with whom you danced, you and she might well have beenmarried these many years with children of your own. There was no reason for a man of your consequence and worldliness to remember a girl from Hertfordshire, especially one of my countenance.” She pulled her wrist free and started down the hill. “Come, Pooch. We will miss the morning meal.”
>>
Darcy purposely delayed his descent: Miss Elizabeth had had her moment of triumph over him—one she well deserved.
Naturally, he did not tell her that particular evening had been his first foray into society after his year of mourning for his father. He had, truthfully, never been at ease with strangers, but, most assuredly, what did a man say when he encountered a young woman as nervous as was he? Especially one whose eyes had been the most compelling ones said gentleman had ever encountered. Every time he looked upon her, despite the godawful dress she wore, which did nothing for her complexion nor her figure, he chastised himself for having illicit thoughts when he should still be grieving his father, while also knowing he was too young to take a bride, and, most assuredly not one as green as Miss Elizabeth was at the time. She could never have handled the large Pemberley staff as its mistress. They would not have respected her.
“It is debatable whether Miss Bennet, who has already reached her majority, can perform successfully as Pemberley’s mistress. Definitely, a girl of fifteen or sixteen, as was Miss Elizabeth at the time, would have failed, Yet . . .
“I should have defended her when Lindale and the others criticized her dress and ‘countrified’ appearance, but I kept my silence to protect myself. When, by consensus, they decided to avoid her, I did not consider how their doing so would provide Miss Elizabeth harm. I chose my own status instead. My father would be greatly disappointed in me at this moment.
“As to the blonde, she had been the object of Lindale’s attention for some time. The young woman had, for several weeks, been attempting to make my elder cousin jealous. All she did was ruin her own reputation and be forced into a marriage not of her choosing.
“What do I do now to convince Miss Elizabeth she has erred in her judgment of my person, while wooing her favorite sister because of reasons that have nothing to do with love?” He sighed heavily as he started down the hill. “I have made a real bumble of this situation.”
Chapter Eight
Though she wished to be anywhere but in the same room as Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth found herself seated beside him with Jane on the gentleman’s other side and Colonel Fitzwilliam on her right. After services, she walked about the church yard on the colonel’s arm, which raised some eyebrows, but Elizabeth kept repeating that the colonel was first cousin to Jane’s betrothed.
Like it or not, it bothered her to view the gentleman, with Jane at his side and speaking to Mr. Williamson, just as he said he would. Where their disagreement had nearly stripped Elizabeth of her reason, it appeared none of her admittance had kept him from his mission. Could he not simply have called upon the vicar tomorrow when she was not about to view the man’s commitment to her sister?
