Epiphany with Tea: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Read online

  “That is why I almost didn’t understand it myself,” Mr. Darcy replied.

  Elizabeth could say little to that, as she still wasn’t sure she understood. All she truly comprehended from his monologue was that he loved her, and he cared for her family. Mr. Darcy loved her?

  “The last reason was Mr. Bingley,” Mr. Darcy said. He shook his head. “Bingley falls in and out of love on a regular basis. I thought that when he stopped seeing your sister, he would stop caring for her, proving his feelings were as fleeting as ever. She seems too kind a person to saddle with a man of fleeting affection.” He shrugged, the muscles of his arm rippling under her hand. “I was wrong on that, too. He hasn’t been involved with anyone else since being parted from your sister. Though he hasn’t said anything, it seems increasingly as if Bingley is pining for her. Are you certain she loved him?”

  “Yes,” she said, still saddened by what he’d done, though her anger had dimmed with each of his reasons.

  “Regardless of how you answer my proposal, I will write him this evening and tell him I was wrong to think Miss Bennet didn’t love him.”

  “That is generous.” Most men wouldn’t admit they were wrong, especially in writing. Then, she was beginning to understand that Mr. Darcy was not most men.

  “It is the least I can do, though also the most, I think, for the matter is not truly in my hands, but Bingley’s and your sister’s. It is possible nothing will come of it. His feelings may have changed since last I saw him or, if he does attempt to pursue her further, it may be hers have altered by now.”

  Elizabeth did not think Jane so inconstant as that. Then, it had been some time, and it would have been foolish for Jane to keep pining. She’d no reason to think Mr. Bingley would ever return and renew their acquaintance. Without seeing Jane, Elizabeth realized she had no way to know, so she held her peace.

  “I believe I have kept my side of our bargain,” Mr. Darcy said, his tone mild.

  “Indeed, sir, you have.” Elizabeth pressed her lips together, trying to frame what she must say, for he had made an honest confession, and told her truths she hadn’t necessarily cared for, as he’d implied he would. Again, Mr. Darcy had proven a man of his word.

  “Then there is something you would care to say?” he prompted.

  Elizabeth looked up at him, finding his eyes on her face. “I did not care for your behavior at the assembly the first night you were in Hertfordshire.”

  He frowned, but she had the impression it was a thoughtful look, not censorious. Then he grimaced. “I was not behaving as I ought. I was aloof. It wasn’t until I stopped to consider how my aunt’s actions must seem to others that it occurred to me to wonder how mine are perceived. I do have an explanation, but it isn’t justification.”

  “Then explain,” she said, impressed he realized the difference between the two.

  “Several of my friends in London invited me to a gathering the night before I left. They made me the focus of it, saying I wouldn’t be in town again for some time. That rendered it impossible for me to leave early. In consequence, I was up and departing London just a few hours after going to bed. I wanted to sleep in the carriage, but Bingley’s sisters insisted on talking to me.” He grimaced, and Elizabeth couldn’t help but sympathize.

  “They also insisted on stopping at a tavern, which they claimed would take us only a few minutes,” Mr. Darcy continued. “Between having trouble finding it and the inevitable delays in getting a meal, it cost us another four or five hours. When we arrived, I wanted to rest, but Bingley wanted to show us around Netherfield Park.” Exasperation touched his tone. “I thought that at least I would get to bed at a reasonable time, but they all insisted we go to the assembly.”

  Mr. Darcy looked at her, his expression a bit sheepish. “In protest, I informed Bingley of my state and said that if he insisted I go, I would only do the bare minimum, dance with his sisters. It was rude of me, I realize, especially as no one there knew I was at the end of my tolerance. Looking back, I can see how it must have appeared to you, but please believe that is not how I meant it. It wasn’t my intention to, in one night, offend the entirety of the community.”

  “Not the entire community,” she allowed, smiling. “But of those you did offend, you managed to do so especially well with one in particular.”

  “I did?” He frowned. “It sounds like something I might do, but I can’t recall how I could have. I did my best to keep myself, miserable company as I was that evening, away from everyone, to minimize my offensiveness. Who was it I especially insulted?”

  “Me,” she said.

  His expression betrayed his shock. “You?”

  “I believe Mr. Bingley did not take your declaration that you would dance with no one but his sisters seriously and attempted to persuade you otherwise. He may even have suggested you dance with someone? Someone in particular? Someone who was standing near enough to hear your reply.”

  Mr. Darcy halted midstride, taking Elizabeth off guard. She turned back to face him, clasping her hands before her.

  “He suggested I dance with . . .” His voice trailed off. “I had forgotten.” He closed his eyes for a moment, as if in pain. “I never meant . . . No, I spoke of honesty, and I did mean that. I wanted you to hear. I intended to be unkind. I was double annoyed that Bingley wouldn’t leave me be and that he’d hit upon the one woman at the assembly who tempted me. I knew that if I danced with you, I must dance with all, or rumors would begin. I was angry, and lashed out at both the source of my temptation and my tormentor. You have my profound apology.”

  Had he just turned his insult into a compliment? As Mr. Darcy was not a skilled flatterer, she might even take his praise seriously. “It did get us off on the wrong foot,” she allowed, smiling.

  “I should have simply refused to go to the assembly. Once I went, I had an obligation to participate. I did not meet that obligation. The world doesn’t adjust to de Bourghs or Darcys. I don’t know why it has taken me so long to understand that.”

  She tried to read his expression, for his tone was strained, but he was looking away from her. Why didn’t he want to meet her eyes?

  “I fulfilled my social duties to my friends in London, to those riding in the carriage with me, at the tavern, and once we reached Netherfield Park,” Mr. Darcy said.

  “Then, when the people were beneath you, you treated them . . . rather, us . . . with contempt,” Elizabeth said, understanding his embarrassment.

  “I did. There is no excuse for it. I know it seems odd it took until today for me to realize I was wrong. It took watching you observe Lady Catherine’s behavior for me to realize how ill-behaved I was.” His expression became resolute as he finally met her gaze. “Miss Bennet, please forgive my behavior. I was boorish. When next I am in Hertfordshire, I will endeavor to make amends.”

  Everything she thought she knew about Mr. Darcy was disappearing like soap bubbles popping in the air. That didn’t mean she was ready to marry him, but her animosity had dwindled from existence. “Though I cannot speak for all of Hertfordshire, I am willing to accept your apology, Mr. Darcy. What would you say to beginning our acquaintance over?”

  “I would say, thank you.” He offered his arm again.

  Elizabeth took it. This time, they walked in a companionable way, their pace rambling. Elizabeth soon realized one thing she’d thought about Mr. Darcy was correct, he wasn’t one to initiate a conversation. As she wanted to learn more about him, she would need to draw him out. “Did the tavern live up to expectations?”

  His brow creased in confusion for a moment, smoothing as he smiled. “It did. They served a delicious meal. If I hadn’t been so tired, I would have considered the detour reasonable. However, next time I go there, I think I’ll plan to stay overnight.”

  While they walked, Elizabeth employed gentle prompting to engage Mr. Darcy in conversation. It wasn’t as difficult as she’d first feared it would be, for he seemed eager to converse with her and they talked pleasantly fo
r some time. When he talked about his home and his sister, she could tell he loved both. She’d never thought of Mr. Darcy as a man who could love a person or a place, but clearly he could, and deeply. She’d also never thought of him as a man of passion, but now understood that he was rather a person in which emotions ran deep, by far deep enough to generally keep below the surface.

  Eventually, they found themselves on the path leading to the garden they’d met Miss de Bourgh and Colonel Fitzwilliam in earlier. After a slight hesitation, Mr. Darcy steered them down it. “We should likely check on them.”

  They rounded the last turn in the path to find Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss de Bourgh now seated on the same bench. The colonel had his arm around her and their heads were close as they spoke in tones too low to hear. Mr. Darcy scuffed his foot, sending a stone clattering down the path. The couple on the bench started, Colonel Fitzwilliam standing. Elizabeth was surprised to see Miss de Bourgh blush.

  “Darcy, Miss Bennet,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, nodding in greeting. He turned back to Miss de Bourgh, offering a hand, which she took as she came to stand at his side.

  “May I assume you’ve accepted Richard’s proposal?” Mr. Darcy asked Miss de Bourgh.

  “Yes, I have,” she said, still blushing. “I’m just a little nervous about telling my moth . . . That is, about telling Lady Catherine. I thought we could all go in together and face her.” She turned to Elizabeth. “What about you, Miss Bennet? Have you decided to accept my cousin?”

  Elizabeth hesitated, surprised to be placed in the position of answering in that moment. She realized that in the course of their walk, something had come together. From the first time she set eyes on him, Mr. Darcy had captured her attention, even when she didn’t like him. In fact, though she’d been angry with him almost from the moment they met, she’d never been able to ignore him. He was forever in her thoughts. Somehow, with the reasons for her anger explained away, he still filled her mind. She realized a day without him would be an empty day indeed.

  Turning to Mr. Darcy, she grinned up at him impishly. “Mr. Darcy is planning to take me to a certain out-of-the-way tavern for a very nice meal. I suppose it wouldn’t be appropriate to accept were we not at least betrothed.” She enjoyed watching his face as he understood her reference. She saw how well the expression of heartfelt delight became him.

  A new set of footsteps on the path interrupted Miss de Bourgh’s happy exclamation. Elizabeth, Darcy at her side, turned to see Mrs. Jenkinson walking hurriedly toward them. Far from her usual decorous self, she was wringing her hands.

  “Mr. Kendall is here,” Mrs. Jenkinson said. “He knew I planned to tell Lady Catherine today and was worried she would ask me to leave immediately, the dear man. He wanted to be here for me. Now she’s asking him all sorts of questions. She claims to want to know what I’m getting into, but she’s tormenting him. I was hoping you could deflect some of her attention. Will you come?”

  “Yes, of course,” Miss de Bourgh said. She started up the path. “Come, Richard.”

  Mr. Darcy made to follow, but Elizabeth put a hand on his arm, drawing him back. He turned to her, his look inquiring.

  “There is just one more thing I need to know, before I can possibly permit you to declare our union to the world.”

  “What is it?” he asked, concern overshadowing his features. “Name it. Anything.”

  “Kiss me. I need to be sure we have passion, that--”

  Apparently, Darcy didn’t care what else she needed to be sure of, for his arms were about her. Elizabeth was sure they had passion the moment their lips touched, but he was doing too good a job proving it for her to want to interrupt.

  “And do hurry,” Mrs. Jenkinson’s voice called, drifting back to them. “Lady Catherine insists it’s going to rain.”

  Darcy either didn’t hear her, or didn’t care, for he only deepened their kiss.

  Present Day, December, Pemberley . . .

  Darcy took in his wife’s smile, wondering what she was thinking about. It couldn’t be their argument, for she wore a look of sublime happiness. Unless, of course, Elizabeth was so sure she was about to win that victory was invoking her smile.

  He sighed, pushing away his hardly touched meal. If she was sure she was going to win, she wasn’t far off the mark. At least, she was about to win the first part of the battle, for she was right. He’d learned long ago not to judge someone without knowing them. “I’ll meet the boy.”

  She blinked, coming back from wherever her mind had taken her. “You will?”

  “I will,” he affirmed. Elizabeth’s smile made the concession easy.

  She jumped up from her chair. He noticed she hadn’t eaten much either. She was halfway to the door before she stopped and turned back. “Well, come on,” she said, gesturing for him to follow.

  “To London, now?” he asked, standing even though he thought she was acting daft.

  “No, to the front parlor.”

  Darcy frowned as he crossed the room. “Our front parlor?”

  “I can’t imagine barging into someone else’s, especially at this time of day.”

  With mounting trepidation, Darcy followed her slender form from the breakfast parlor and through the house. “Why are we going to our front parlor?”

  She didn’t reply, merely increasing her stride.

  When they neared the parlor, she slowed, smoothing her dress. She looked back at him, holding a finger to her lips to indicate silence, and started forward at a slow pace. Still frowning, Darcy followed.

  They reached the open parlor door to find a fair-haired boy standing in the middle of the room. His back was to them and he was gazing up at the Christmas decorations. Elizabeth started forward, but Darcy put a staying hand on her shoulder, overwhelmed by how much the child resembled his father at that age, at least in form, height and locks.

  Young George reached toward a delicate ornament surrounded by branches of evergreens, but didn’t touch it. Instead, he dropped his hand, clasping both behind his back, and continued what appeared to be an examination of each piece. Even when his perusal brought him to a finely crafted miniature sailing ship and he leaned forward as if drawn closer by an unseen force, he didn’t touch anything, which was nothing like Wickham.

  Elizabeth reached up and placed her hand on top of Darcy’s where it rested on her shoulder. He realized they’d been observing for several long minutes. He cleared his throat. The boy turned.

  He looked like Wickham, and he didn’t. His eyes . . . they were Bennet eyes. With a start, Darcy realized they were Elizabeth’s eyes. Lydia Wickham hadn’t had them, her father’s eyes, but she’d passed on them to her son nonetheless. Those eyes were intelligent and, right now, worried.

  “Hello George,” Elizabeth said, her tone warm. “I would like you to meet your Uncle Darcy.”

  “Hello, sir,” George said. He bowed. “I’m very pleased to meet you. Thank you for inviting me here while . . .” The boy’s voice broke. He swallowed several times. “That is, Aunt Elizabeth said it may take a little while to discuss where it’s best for me to go, now my mum is gone.”

  “You’re welcome, George,” Darcy said.

  “I know it’s an impo . . . imposion . . .” He screwed up his face in thought. “I know it’s a bit of trouble, because it’s nearly Christmas and everyone has a lot of things to do at Christmas, so we can’t bother them. My mum always said so.”

  Darcy darted a surprised look at his wife, recalling that, for the first few years after Wickham died, she’d tried to get him to allow her sister and young George to visit for the holiday. He’d said no, always. He’d told her to send them money to visit other relatives, if need be, but that he wouldn’t have Wickham’s son in his home. Taking in the boys worried, respectful expression, Darcy realized that all those years ago, Anne had been right to call him a fool.

  “Well, you’re here now,” Darcy said, offering a smile. “We were going to take a walk about the grounds today. Quite possibly, th
ere will be snowballs, and a snowman. Would you like to come?”

  “Really, sir?”

  “Yes, really. A Darcy doesn’t make an offer he doesn’t intend to make good on. No man should.” Darcy watched those intelligent Bennet eyes filing that information away.

  “Then I should like that very much, sir. Thank you for inviting me.”

  “You are welcome, and you do not need to call me sir. You are my nephew. I would be pleased if you would call me Uncle Darcy.”

  “Thank you, Uncle Darcy.”

  “I’m happy you’ve come to spend Christmas with us, George,” Elizabeth said, crossing to hug the boy.

  Darcy took in his wife, a warm smile on her face and her arms about their nephew, the trimmings of the Yuletide surrounding them. He looked at the delicate sailing ship, an ornament his mother had given him as a child, and at the newly reupholstered chairs, that had seated generations of Darcys, set on either side of the fire.

  Pemberley was his home. It was filled with the trappings of the Darcy family. It was also full of memories, both happy and sorrowful. Most of all, because of Elizabeth, it was filled with life and love. Darcy was not really a fool, and only a fool would turn the boy away.

  ~ The End ~

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