“William, what if he says something to my father?” Elizabeth asked.
Darcy replied to her, but gave Fenton a long, steady look. “I have a plan, my love. You go into the house. I must converse with Mr. Fenton.” Elizabeth was curious as to what the plan entailed, but she went to the house without another word. Before she entered the house, she turned back and saw Darcy sauntering over to where Fenton stood near the roses.
Elizabeth joined Jane and Bingley in the drawing room and, after a few minutes, Darcy also arrived, but volunteered nothing about his conversation with Fenton. Unable to contain her curiosity, Elizabeth ventured into the hall, ostensibly in search of her mother.
Surprisingly, Fenton had already departed, but her mother was standing the hallway, wringing her hands in agitation. She rounded on her second oldest daughter when she emerged from the drawing room. “Oh, what did you do? Mr. Fenton says he was too hasty! He says he needs to talk to your father about the engagement, but did not want to do it today. What happened?” Mrs. Bennet fluttered around the hallway. “Oh my poor nerves! Things were going so well. What did you do to put him off? Did you have a row? Perhaps there is still some hope of repairing the damage!”
Elizabeth replied truthfully that she had not spoken to Mr. Fenton at all in the garden and that his behavior was a mystery to her. Returning to the drawing room, she wondered what Darcy could possibly have said to him; however, there was no opportunity for a private conversation.
All too soon the sun was growing lower in the sky and it was time for the gentlemen to leave for Netherfield. Elizabeth and Jane walked out with them to their carriage. Bingley and Jane soon fell to murmuring to each other. As they stood on the sweep of the drive, Elizabeth turned to Darcy. “What did you say to Mr. Fenton?”
Darcy gave a small smile. “I merely reminded him that he did not have your father’s permission to marry you and that he should not be so quick to announce an engagement without it.”
“That cannot be the whole of your conversation! What did he say about the kiss?”
“We did not discuss it directly, but he realizes if he tells anyone about the kiss, your father will say I have to marry you. I do not believe he has given up hope of you, but now he knows there is competition. So he shall be more discreet in his courtship.”
“You, sir, are diabolical!” Darcy merely grinned. “Of course, what I wish is not for him to be discreet, but to leave Hertfordshire and never return, but we cannot have everything. He will soon learn he cannot compete with you.”
His eyes shone brightly as he kissed her hand and murmured, “It is my pleasure to discourage other men from proposing to my wife.” The kiss sent a thrill down Elizabeth’s spine, turning what could have been a flippant statement into an endearment.
Too soon the men had said their goodbyes and climbed reluctantly into the carriage. Elizabeth walked with Jane back into the house, their feet crunching on the gravel of the drive. She missed Darcy already.
By the time dinner had ended, Elizabeth had had enough of her mother’s harangues. She took tea to her father in his study, hoping he would offer her temporary shelter. Her exasperated expression made him smile as he put down his book. “At least your mother knew better this time than to ask me to advocate for Mr. Fenton. She knows I would never attempt to compel you against your will.”
“I know, Papa. I appreciate it – that you trust my judgment.” She sighed in frustration. “I just wish Mr. Fenton would stop his visits. Today, he told Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley that we are engaged!”
Mr. Bennet laughed despite the chagrin on Elizabeth’s face and she found herself wishing he did not see everything as a source of humor. He shook his head. “I would hope Bingley had the sense not to believe such a tale. And who cares what Mr. Darcy thinks? His opinion of you is already so low.”
Elizabeth winced at this sentiment, but recognized an opportunity to discuss her change of heart as she seated herself in a chair opposite her father’s desk. “Act
ually I believe Mr. Darcy improves upon further acquaintance.”
“Truly, Lizzy?” Her father regarded her skeptically over the top of his glasses.
“Yes. I saw him in Paris and he was quite amiable. He danced with me at a ball and invited us to see the sights with him on a number of occasions.”
“Indeed? Well, he must have found the society in Paris somewhat thin to stoop to visiting with someone who is only tolerable, eh?” His smile invited her to share the joke.
“I do not believe that to be the case,” Elizabeth attempted to display all the earnestness she could muster. Not for the first time she wished she had been less vociferous in sharing her previous opinions about Darcy.
However, she recognized a losing battle when she was faced with it. Her father’s eyes were drifting down to the book open on his desk. He never had a long attention span for this type of conversation, and clearly it had been exhausted.
“I will leave you to your book.” He nodded absently to her and she left the room, hoping she had made a little progress in changing her father’s opinion of Darcy, but recognizing how far they still had to go.
The next day, Darcy and Bingley joined the Bennets for luncheon. Elizabeth knew her mother had only invited Darcy because she could not politely exclude Bingley’s guest. Nor, clearly, did Mrs. Bennet suspect his regard for Elizabeth because her mother seated him as distantly from her as possible. As they sat to eat, Darcy gave her a hopeless look and she rolled her eyes in sympathy, but there was no recourse.
Frequently when she glanced up from her meal, she observed Darcy’s eyes on her and knew he experienced the same longing she did. His eyes held so much love and desire that Elizabeth thought surely he had betrayed their secret to the others. She did notice Bingley’s eyes traveling from Darcy to her with raised eyebrows, but no one else seemed to pay them any mind.
After luncheon her mother retired to rest her nerves and Kitty and Mary left for a visit to Maria Lucas. In the drawing room Darcy managed to secure a seat next to Elizabeth, but her father was on the other side, so they dared not attempt any form of intimacy. By now Elizabeth had an almost palpable sense of yearning for his touch and reassurance and, from the glances he bestowed on her, Elizabeth was certain Darcy was feeling the same.
She was surprised that her father was still with them in the drawing room; most days after luncheon he had already retreated to the library. Why had he had decided to stay?
Her consternation increased when her father addressed Darcy, “Mr. Darcy, I did not realize until recently that you had encountered Lizzy in Paris.” A careful glance at her father’s face suggested to Elizabeth that he had a deeper purpose behind seemingly casual questions.
Darcy inclined his head. “I did have that pleasure. We met quite by chance at a ball.”
Mr. Bennet turned his attention to his second daughter. “Well, I realized that we have heard very little of your trip to France and your daring escape,” her father said genially, but she sensed the hint of steel in his tone.