Page 64 of A Stronger Impulse
Insufficiency of income? Caroline Bingley had no lack of income.
Who then? No…he would not—could not—be referring to…herself? Lizzy very carefully set down the pen and reread all she had written. He, however, did not appear to notice whether or not she wrote a word, remaining lost in contemplation of further demeaning adjectives to describe his future bride.
“I know…I sacrifice…in this…m-marriage. Do not…think me mad. It…perhaps…m-mortify to you, to see tying…myself to such. I…own…its disgrace, I promise. But…misery…of losing her…greater…than hu-humiliation…of keeping.”
And he looked up at her with his dark eyes…smiling at last, proud of himself. He had listed out her—and her family’s—many failings with hardly a missed or vulgar word.
* * *
Darcy looked at the woman he loved, expecting to see a smile of dawning comprehension as she realised that she was to be his intended bride. Instead, her face was white, pale. Was her surprise too great? Or had she not yet comprehended the honour bestowed?
He went to her then, hands outstretched. “Liz-zy.”
Softly, she drew her fingers across his; but when he tried to clasp them, she backed away from his grasp.
“It is impossible,” she said.
“I bloody thought so…at first…as well!” he exclaimed. “But for…every det-detriment, there is…a positive! Yes…m-match…inap-inappropriate. But…when family…meet you…come to…know you…th-they will see…s-sacrifice…worthwhile.”
To his dismay, a tear tracked down her cheek. He opened his mouth to speak, but she put her finger to his lips to stop him.
“Your very belief that it is a sacrifice is the reason I cannot. You care for me, I know. But an unequal connexion such as this cannot survive our unequal feelings. My family would continue to embarrass you, I promise.”
“‘Love looks not with the eyes,” he quoted, “but with the mind; and therefore is wing’d Cupid painted blind.’”
“You, however, see only too clearly. There is nothing of blindness in this letter and only satire in your poetry,” she said—caustically, it seemed to him.
His brow furrowed. “Yes…but…no live Longbourn. Most…Pember…Derbyshire.”
“Ah. A place where you might hide your inappropriate bride. How convenient.”
Anger flared. “Liz-zy…I…dash it…cannot…h-help…” As usual, as he grew upset, he grew less able to elucidate his feelings.
“You cannot help who I am,” she replied. “Let us not quibble on particulars. Miss Bingley, whose birth is lower than mine, you do not consider a degradation, for she has the approval of your family at a time when you desperately need it. It all comes down to that—whatever attractions I possess, I have not the fortune or family to earn your approval, never mind your relations’.”
His hands went to his hips, offended. “I…choose…blasted…you!”
“Since you choose me against your will, and since you so plainly worry this choice will prove to your family an absence of reason and character, I can assume you will have little difficulty overcoming any regrets at my refusal. I meant to ask you earlier today to hire me a carriage to return me to Hertfordshire. Perhaps one of the maids could be convinced to accompany me. I am already packed, and it is past time I leave.”
Darcy gaped at the woman he had just proposed to…again. And this…this was all the reply she could give him? Surely she could see why his choices must be examined and dissected through the lens of his family’s approval! He must couch his defiance in a manner that showed he knew exactly what he was doing; he was not deluding himself, not claiming his bride to be someone whom she was plainly not. Rather, he was declaring himself!
And she had already packed! Had already decided to leave, to leave him. She had apologised for misunderstanding his first declaration, but there was no doubt she had comprehended this one. He would not humiliate himself further, trying to beg for her approval—the one person on this earth he thought believed in him already. Turning on his heel without another word, he quit the room.