Page 32 of Mr. Darcy's Folly
“Your family,” she said thoughtfully. “Your father. Did he truly remain close to Mr. Wickham, as he told me?”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “He did.”
Miss Elizabeth hesitated. “Did it—did it pain you?”
A bitter chuckle escaped him. “Immensely. My father treated Wickham as well as another son, indulging him, believing every lie that issued from his lips. He would not listen.”
“I see. And it is clear to me why you still argue with your aunt.”
“It is?”
“Oh, do not mind me, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Elizabeth said contritely. “I speak nonsense at least half of the time.”
“Miss Bennet,” he replied firmly, “what do you mean?”
She took a breath. “Only that you were never able to make your father see reason. It makes sense that you are still attempting to make Lady Catherine see it too.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. He had not considered it that way. “Yes, I suppose I am.”
Miss Elizabeth waited a moment to speak. “I understand.”
Darcy turned his head to regard her more closely. She had not spoken merely to soothe him.
“You understand?” he prompted, keeping his voice low.
Miss Elizabeth’s gaze remained fixed upon the flickering light. “Yes,” she said at last. “Too well.”
He waited, uncertain if she would continue and unwilling to press her. But after a moment, she let out a soft breath.
“My family does not think much of my opinions either,” she admitted. “My father loves me, in his own way. He encourages my conversation when it entertains him, but when I speak in earnest, he is more likely to turn aside my words with some humorous quip.” Her lips curved, but the expression was bitter. “He thinks me clever, I suppose, but only for a woman.”
Darcy frowned. “That must be difficult.”
“One grows accustomed.” She shifted slightly against the stone. “When I was younger, I spoke often of travelling, of seeing the world beyond Longbourn, of learning how others lived, how they thought. I read every book I could find on foreign lands, practised French and Italian when I could. But my father—” She hesitated. “He laughed. Not unkindly, but as one indulging a child in some fanciful dream. Travel was troublesome, expensive, and dangerous, you see. And my mother, well, she only saw such notions as a hindrance to marriage and so dismissed them just the same. I expect they both thought I would grow out of it.”
“It is not an unreasonable dream. I cannot understand why your parents would behave as though it was.”
Miss Elizabeth shook her head. “It is their way.” Her gaze dropped briefly to her hands. “They do not mean to wound me. I do not think they even realise they do.”
“That does not lessen the injury.”
She did not respond at once. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. “No. But it does mean that I must accept it. I have long since learned that if I wish to be heard, I must dress my words in wit.”
“You should have been listened to,” he said at last.
She smiled, but this time, it was different—softer, warmer. “Perhaps,” she said. “Butyouhave listened.”
A fierce and sudden longing caught him unprepared. He had wanted her before—had burned for her in ways he scarcely allowed himself to acknowledge—but now, after this disaster and the confessions that had followed, his desire was something deeper, more intimate. They had shared more of themselves in these hours than most couples did in a month of courtship. Surely, she saw him differently now. Perhaps this could be an opportunity to speak his mind, to ask whether he might call on her when this catastrophe was over. His gaze dropped to her lips, soft and parted, and the words came unbidden to his tongue.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he murmured. “You know now that I admire you.”
“You have said as much.”
He leaned slightly toward her. “I wish to ask you a question—”
Chapter Ten
Elizabethwasfrozenasshe awaited whatever it was Mr. Darcy was about to inquire of her.
