Page 65 of The Heroic Mr Darcy's Bad Manners
“The material point to my coming here,” Matlock interrupted, choosing not to address Lord Limerick’s nor Lord Glentworth’s set-downs, “is that the old grievance has reappeared. I suspect the return of the Campbells to London, in addition to Mr Bennet’s elevation to an earl, has spurred the tattlers. It will make Lord Glentworth and his family’s entrance into society exceedingly difficult, and I have no wish to have my family name dragged through the mud with yours. Boys, I suggest we return home forthwith and do not further the acquaintance with Glentworth or Limerick. Including any of their, admittedly beautiful, daughters.” The viscount sprang to his feet and glanced ruefully at Jane, who raised her chin in defiance, whilst Lord Matlock turned to his nephew, who was fixed in astonishment. “I suggest you distance yourself as well, Darcy. No good can come of sullying your respectable name by associating with their tarnished ones.”
“I am grieved indeed—grieved and shocked!” Mr Darcy exclaimed.
“Is it absolutely certain that Lady Campbell was guilty? Her family has good reason to believe otherwise,” Miss Eudora Darcy interjected. “I am certain that something could be done…”
“There is no doubt in my mind,” Lord Matlock confirmed with conviction.
“Have you even attempted to determine who speaks the truth? And what has been done to quash the rumours?” Miss Eudora Darcy insisted.
“My eyes were opened to Lady Campbell’s true character twenty-three years ago, and I have no wish to stir a past best forgotten. As to the gossip, you know as well as I that nothing can be done to stop it. The houses of Glentworth and Limerick will be subjected to derision or will simply be shunned—if they are fortunate.”
Mr Darcy made no answer. He seemed scarcely to have heard his uncle’s reply and paced the room in earnest meditation. Regarding his contracted brows and gloomy air, Elizabeth instantly understood. Her power over him, if such a thing had ever existed, had depleted with the assurance of their disgrace. She had thought his opinion of her had improved as they, against their inclination and by the perversity of mischance, had been thrown repeatedly into each other’s company. Their similar roles in supporting a sister and cousin on the treacherous path to romance had created a sort of bond between them, and the consequences of becoming better acquainted had culminated in a better understanding.
He would certainly wish to distance himself from her family in the foreseeable future, and she could not condemn him for it. But the chasm between them brought nothing consolatory to her bosom, nor did it palliate her distress. It only confirmed the wishes she had fought so valiantly to repress. Never had she felt so honestly that she loved him—as now when all love must be in vain. His pride would not allow the shades of Pemberley to be polluted by the family of a convicted counterfeiter…
Elizabeth staggered to a chair, sat, and closed her eyes. A tear leaked from her eye and ran unchecked down her cheek, and she bowed her head. By the shuffling feet and the opening of the door, she reckoned the Matlocks were leaving. Mr Darcy must have long desired their absence, and she prayed her father or uncle would soon end this misery.
It could not be a coincidence that dinner had not been announced. The servants were certainly listening outside the door, waiting for the bickering to end, and she was not so naïve as to think they would keep quiet. Oh no, everything that had been said—with added embellishments—would be all over town by morning. What did it matter that her great-uncle was a marquess? Nothing in this instance…
A shadow fell over her eyes, and she opened them to study an immaculate pair of Hessian boots.
“Is there anything I can bring you for your present relief?”
Mr Darcy was all politeness. In truth, he had proved himself to be the perfect gentleman during adversity, and she would reciprocate by offering him the same. She would not prolong their suffering.
“I thank you, but no.”
The awaited departure came. Lord Limerick kindly asked Mr Darcy to give Miss Georgiana Darcy his excuses and say that matters had arisen that demanded their immediate attention.
Mr Darcy rigidly complied and escorted his guests to the street when the carriages were ready. Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had remained after his brother and parents departed, offered Jane his arm and whispered fervently into her ear all the way to the carriage—occasionally soliciting a nod in response.
The gloomy night sky matched Elizabeth’s mood perfectly. Heavy clouds obscured even the slightest ray of moonlight from illuminating her path as she walked towards the dark outline of their carriage. She swallowed a sigh of relief they were leaving. Mr Darcy escorted the Glentworth ladies, and she would not insult him by making known how she wished to escape his presence.
“Do not despair,” Miss Eudora Darcy whispered in her ear.
It was a well-meant sentiment, though impossible to adhere to.
Mr Darcy waved away the footman and handed her mother into the carriage. The unwavering Colonel Fitzwilliam aided Jane. There was a small chance that he would not abandon them completely. Elizabeth procrastinated to allow Mr Darcy to make his excuses and move away. It was not to be, and she took the offered hand of the man who could not even bear to look at her. His expression was unyielding, as if he found the service particularly distasteful but his upbringing did not allow him to shirk what he believed was his duty.
Elizabeth set her foot on the first step, and the hold on her hand tightened. She may have been too hasty stepping up onto the second, though the poor light must take some of the blame for what followed. Something cold and slick hit the sole of her shoe, which slipped on the patch of ice. Her feet were swept away from beneath her, and she braced herself for the hard impact of the pavement.
It did not come—instead, she was enveloped in two strong arms and cradled to Mr Darcy’s chest in a swift motion that planted her lips on something soft. She wrenched away, but the grip tightened and would not allow her to move more than an inch.
“Elizabeth!” her mother screeched. “Thank heavens for your quick thinking, Mr Darcy. I am certain she would have been knocked senseless if her head had been allowed to hit the pavement.”
Mr Darcy did not answer, and she dared look into the dark pools of his eyes glittering in the faint lamp light. He was frozen in place; in distaste she reckoned, and she was desperate to escape the embarrassing moment as quickly as possible.
“You may put me down now, Mr Darcy.”
Elizabeth’s soft request only made him blink once. He still held her as a recalcitrant child about to be put to bed.
Then Mr Darcy drew a harsh intake of breath and lowered her slowly to the ground.
“Thank you,” she whispered and grabbed the door with both hands and hoisted herself into the carriage whilst Mr Darcy’s large, warm hand lay steadying on her lower back. She seated herself and glanced at the gentleman, who still held his left hand raised as a support for something invisible.
A footman wiped the step before he folded it and closed the door, whilst Mr Darcy’s unwavering gaze held her captive until he disappeared from sight.Could it have been his lips I crashed into? No. It must have been his cheek. Dear Lord, let it have been the latter and not his mouth. How utterly mortifying!She touched her cheek to feel the texture. It was not soft enough. Then she felt her lips to compare.Heaven forfend! I kissed Mr Darcy!Though it was an accident and the impact too hard to be deemed pleasant…
“Have you injured your face, Lizzy?” Mrs Bennet asked.
