Page 13 of An Accidental Holiday

“You were not meant to hear that,” he mumbled.

“Well,” she teased, “you did look directly at me before you said it.”

He closed his eyes, and she laughed softly. “Truly, I was angry, but you are entitled to your own opinion, and my response was infinitely worse. I allowed that first impression to colour all of my dealings with Mr. Wickham. He was quick to discern that you had offended me and then, I am sorry to say, he was very adept at painting himself as your victim. He was certain he would find fertile ground to sow his lies and he was correct.”

“Wickham?” Mr. Darcy was displeased, and Elizabeth could not blame him.

“I was foolish, sir. I took his words to heart because it soothed my injured pride. I have been quite prejudiced against you ever since, but no more. I apologise, truly and sincerely, I do.”

Mr. Darcy was silent. Once or twice, he made as if to speak but stopped. “I accept of course,” he said at last. “Detection could not be in your power, and suspicion certainly not in your inclination. Yet you must also allow me to tender my own regrets, Miss Elizabeth. I did not recall that it was you at the assembly. I wanted Bingley to stop haranguing me to dance, and I had no hesitation in using the woman he had pointed out to achieve it, without any consideration for her feelings. Unfortunately, my manners are not as unfailing as yours.” He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them and speaking again. “If it is of any consolation, it was not a fortnight later that I realised that I did indeed wish to dance with you. You declined. Twice.”

Elizabeth laughed softly. “I was sure you were only holding your nose and asking because Sir William forced you to it.”

“No.”

“And then I believed you meant to make fun of my taste, for I could not imagine you performing a jig.”

“I happen to dance an excellent jig.” Mr. Darcy did not smile, but there was a sort of twinkle in his eye. Elizabeth did not know what to make of it.

“Well, if we are finished making apologies and offering forgiveness,” Elizabeth said, rising, “I shall leave you to your book and inquire about breakfast.”

He nodded, and Elizabeth left the room.

As Miss Elizabeth swept from the room, Darcy watched her with a sinking heart. There was no way for him to avoid it. He was not falling for the woman.

He had fallen.

If he had only been able to leave with Miss Bingley and the Hursts this morning, unaware of Bingley’s accident, he might have been able to resist the claim Miss Elizabeth seemed to have on him. But he had looked up yesterday to see her on the road and had followed her here, like a sailor lured in by a siren only to be dashed against the rocks.

That was before he had her to himself this morning for a quarter of an hour. Now, every moment in her company made him more certain that his heart was hers.

What was he to do? Though he had to admit that her family was not so bad as he had originally believed, her portion was not any grander, nor had she been suddenly discovered to be the kidnapped daughter of a peer. Still, Miss Elizabeth was lovely, intelligent, witty, warm, and in all ways of a sterling character. Even if she had given credence to Wickham’s folderal, she had given Darcy a fair hearing and had truly considered his words though he had done nothing to deserve it. Then she had actually admitted she had been wrong about Wickham and apologised to him for believing the man’s lies.

Even his own excellent father had been fooled by Wickham to the last.

The question now was not whether Darcy’s heart was engaged, but whether he would allow himself to follow it.

There was a quiet step in the hall, and the middle Bennet daughter stepped inside.

“Oh,” she said, startled to see him there. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Darcy, I have come for my music sheets, as I always practice after breakfast.”

Miss . . . Mary, her name was Mary. “Your sister Miss Elizabeth has gone to see when breakfast will be ready.”

“Breakfast is always at eight, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Mary said. She found her music on one of the shelves, bobbed a curtsey, and left the room.

She had run off just as Miss Elizabeth had. Darcy began to wonder whether he was particularly frightening to young women. If only he had been aware of this power, he would have put it to better use in London.

“Good morning, Mr. Darcy,” he heard soon after Miss Mary had decamped. Miss Bennet walked into the room. “Elizabeth told me you were here. How fares Mr. Bingley?”

“He is uncomfortable, as you can imagine,” Darcy said honestly. “But he was sleeping when I looked in on him this morning.”

He could see from the way her forehead smoothed at this intelligence that Miss Bennet had been anxious for Bingley. He observed that her eyes were red, as though she had slept ill. “Bingley would not want you to be concerned for him. His injuries are not debilitating, and he admitted to me that he ought not to have ridden alone. I doubt he will do so in future.”

Her smile was tremulous, but genuine. “I am grateful to hear it,” she replied. “I was very distressed when Lizzy found him yesterday.”

“Not so distressed that you could not ride for help,” he replied. “You did not devolve into useless weeping or fall into a faint.”

She laughed lightly. “What would be the point? If I swoon, Mr. Darcy, I would wish to have Mr. Bingley there to catch me.” Her blush was instant and very deep. “Oh. I should not have said that.”

---