Page 2 of Until My Last Breath

He should stop thinking about her.

Fortunately, he had something to distract himself — the preparations for his annual visit to his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

The best thing he could do at the moment was to concentrate on that — and forget about Elizabeth Bennet.

Yes. He was going to make a great effort and enjoy his day in the best way possible. Rain and drizzle could go hang. A walk in the muddy park would be a good start.

~ ♥~

Elizabeth jumped from her bed and ran to the window, only to growl in frustration. It was another rainy day. For how long had it been raining? Weeks? Months? If the answer depended on her mood, it surely had been raining for years!

Yesterday, she had attempted to distract herself by packing her things for the journey ahead, to see her dear friend, Charlotte. But even that had failed.

She shut her eyes and sighed, wishing for some changes. When she reopened them, nothing had happened. It was as if a storm had devastated her bedchamber. At her feet, the almost empty trunk lay beside many pieces of clothing and ladies’ accessories. Dresses and gowns, bonnets and shawls, stockings and shoes — all were spread everywhere on the bed and on the floor. On her desk, a pile of books waited to be chosen and included in her luggage.

Restless, Elizabeth walked around her room like a caged animal. “Why can I not forget it and move on? Why?” she mumbled, raising her hands in the air.

The last four months had been quite trying for the Bennet family; so many hopes and laughter, and then, so much disappointment and tears. She had been concerned about Jane — or, so she preferred to think. Her beloved sister had suffered an undeserved disappointment when that man — Mr Bingley — had left Netherfield with his party the very next day after the ball, with no intention of coming back.

At first, Mr Bingley had been very attentive to Jane, raising everybody’s hopes. But that had not lasted. Despite his initial attentions towards Jane, he had left the neighbourhood without even saying his goodbye. Just a short letter from Miss Bingley had explained his decision.

How wrong Elizabeth had been.

She lowered her eyes and fetched the golden ribbon she had used at the Netherfield ball. Guilt crushed her heart. What had she done to her sister, encouraging her in that way?

Elizabeth looked through the window again. The crystal drops of rain trickling down the panes reminded her of a solitary tear dropping fromJane’s eyes. Jane had raised her hand and dried it, saying she would be fine. Elizabeth had tried to comfort her sister, saying she would find a much better and more honourable man. Jane had just smiled.

At first, Elizabeth’s concerns for Jane had obfuscated another, much deeper, reason for sadness. As Jane’s melancholy slowly turned into resignation, Elizabeth still found herself upset and dreary. But she knew the reasons for it. Her own forlorn mood was not entirely caused by Mr Bingley’s rejection of her sister. The silk texture of that ribbon on her fingers reminded her of his soft touch on her hands while they had danced...

Mr Darcy.

She shook her head, resuming her pacing up and down the room. “Hateful man! So arrogant and self-confident, believing himself to be above other people. I would not be surprised if he was in some way involved in Mr Bingley’s decision to leave Netherfield. How could he consider himself a gentleman, meddling in people’s lives like that?”

Rubbing her forehead, she collapsed on her bed, bringing her chin to her knees. It was disconcerting to realise that, amongst all the men of her acquaintance, the enigmatic Mr Darcy was the most handsome and intelligent one. He had something that had made him stand out among the other men. He was not just handsome and intelligent — she forced herself to admit — he was also well read, and open to debates and different opinions. Moreover, she could not stop believing that he, in some way, had even provoked her into discussion for the simple pleasure of seeing her debating with him.

But what infuriated her the most was his contradictory nature. In some bizarre way, she could see goodness in him and, at times, even consider him a pleasant companion. If it were not for his selfish behaviour, arrogance and pride, not to mention his disregard and even disdain for the feelings of others, she could almost feel attracted to him.

Vexing man!

“But what does it serve me to think about all those things now? They are gone and probably I will never see him again.”

The sudden melancholy did not surprise her. Would this feeling ever go away?

“Well,” she said standing up in front of her mirror. “You are not made to dwell on unpleasant memories, young lady. Your family has endured the last months and will continue to do so. For now, you will concentrate on finishing your packing and looking forward to your visit to dear Charlotte.”

Another look through the window showed that the rain seemed to be finally ceasing. “What I would not give to be allowed to run in that mud again.”

Some cheerful memories of her childhood resurfaced. A tentative smile reached Elizabeth’s lips when she remembered the way Charlotte was always scolding her for her lack of femininity and unladylike behaviour. Had her interests in female affairs been a little greater than completely non-existent, she would not have spent her childhood years running in the rain, climbing trees, swimming in the lake — and fencing or hunting.

She surely could blame her father for her boyish behaviour. Missing the presence of a male in the house, Mr Bennet had found in Elizabeth his perfect companion. She was not like the other girls; she had enjoyed playing games with her father as if she was a boy. Yet, he never allowed her to wear breeches — at least, not without wearing her dress on top. They could spend hours discussing British Naval history, literature, French, and that would not have been so unacceptable had her father not also introduced her to fencing and hunting with real weapons. Her mother would suffer an apoplectic attack had she so much as suspected that such activities were taking place under her very nose.

Elizabeth’s musings were interrupted by a knock on the door. A maid peeked her head inside her room. “Miss, your father requests your presence in his study.”

“Thank you, Sarah,” Elizabeth replied, grateful for the reprieve.

Downstairs, she knocked at her father’s study door and entered.

Mr Bennet, who was reading the newspaper with a rather stern expression, startled by her entrance and put the paper down.

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