Pride and Proposals

The moment Georgiana was gone, Elizabeth turned the full force of her gaze on Mr. Darcy. “You knew Lord Kirkwood was preparing to make me an offer, but you deliberately arrived beforehand to preempt him.”

Mr. Darcy inclined his head stiffly. “I did.”

Elizabeth swallowed, pleased he admitted it. “Why? If you were only concerned with my safety, surely marriage to Lord Kirkwood would do just as well. Unless you have some objection to the man?”

Darcy looked at his hands. “No, I have no objection to him. His character and family situation are impeccable.”

“Then why?” She demanded.

Darcy launched himself from his chair and strolled to the windows, gazing at the street outside without any particular interest. “As I said, Pemberley needs a mistress. I need an heir.”

“And I would do as well as another women?” She could hear the indignation in her own voice.

He rested his arm on the window frame and ran his free hand through his hair. “I - I believe – you are well suited to the role. I admire you. We are friends. You would be an excellent mistress of Pemberley.”

“So you did not want to let this opportunity go? You did not want to let Lord Kirkwood have me?” Her hands shook, and she hastily set down her teacup.

Mr. Darcy colored, but his expression did not change. “I suppose you could say so.” The muscles clenched in his jaw, and his lips pressed tightly together. Perhaps he wished to contain his disgust at her forward behavior.

What did it matter? He had answered. She understood his feelings—or lack thereof. She was a convenience, an opportunity he did not wish to lose to another man. Slowly, her anger drained away. What did it gain her to be angry with this man? But in its place, she experienced an unfamiliar emptiness. Perhaps she had been hoping, just a little, that he had deeper feelings for her.

Now there was no need to linger—at Darcy House or even in London. Yes, it was past time to return to Hertfordshire.

Her eyes burned, and she blinked back tears of humiliation, refusing to cry in his presence. She cleared her throat, staring at the door and longing for escape. “Thank you for your explanation, Mr. Darcy.” She stood, calculating how many steps would free her of the room and this frustrating man.

“I must be going. Please give Miss Darcy my regrets.” Her voice was hoarse and thin.

In the back of her mind, she wondered how she could maintain her friendship with Georgiana while avoiding her brother for the rest of her life. But that was a question for another day.

After crossing the room without incident, Elizabeth had reached out to the door knob when Darcy’s voice stopped her hand. “Why were you so angered?”

She did not touch the knob, but she could not turn around to look at him. “I beg your pardon?” Her head lowered, she stared at the bottom edge of the door and the room’s fine woolen carpeting.

“When I proposed you were furious, but Lord Kirkwood reported to me that you refused him graciously and with humor.” Darcy’s voice was rough and low.

Elizabeth blinked; she had not noticed the difference in her reception of nearly identical proposals. Her hand rested on the brass door knob; one quick twist and she would be free of this man and his intrusive questions. Free of his vexing contradictions. If she pretended she had never heard his question, she knew instinctively that he would let her leave without a protest.

But she could not do it. If she had any hope of retaining her friendship with this man, she must address his difficult questions. Reluctantly, she removed her hand from the knob and turned to face Mr. Darcy.

His face held a desperation she had never seen before, and an almost wild fierceness lit his eyes—completely at odds with his refined clothing and the elegant furnishings.

“Why, Elizabeth?” This is the second time he has used my Christian name. What does it mean? “Is it simply that you prefer him to me?” Now his voice held a hint of pain.

The hurt in his voice made her heart throb with empathy. But had she merely wounded his pride, or had she somehow spurned his tender feelings?

“No!” The protest sprang from her lips without thought. She struggled to articulate her meaning. “If anything, it is the opposite. That is—I do not know Lord Kirkwood well. I was honored by his proposal, but my feelings were not touched.” Too late, Elizabeth realized the implications of her words and wished she could recall them.

Mr. Darcy’s attention was completely focused on her face. “And my proposal touched your feelings?” Leaving his post at the window, he swiftly closed the distance between them. Suddenly, the room seemed too small.

“N-naturally,” she stammered. “You are my friend. Richard’s cousin. I f-feel affection for you and Georgiana.”

“Affection.” Mr. Darcy bit off the word disdainfully. His eyes would not waver from hers. “That does nothing to explain why my offer angered you!”

As Mr. Darcy loomed over her, Elizabeth instinctively backed away. His face paled when he noticed her reaction, and he abruptly turned away, blindly walking back toward the window.

Elizabeth used this time to examine her own emotions. Why had she been so angry with Mr. Darcy and not with Lord Kirkwood? What was different about them? Why was the lord so easily dismissed from her thoughts, while she felt compelled to confront Mr. Darcy?

Dismissing Lord Kirkwood’s proposal had been simple; it held no appeal, despite the good intentions behind his offer, and she had felt nothing more than regret for disappointing his hopes. However, she had found it far more difficult to credit Mr. Darcy’s good intentions, and the proposal itself was … more disconcerting.