Patience

by Kerry

November 2002, Firthness Challenge Entry

Rated PG-13

Author's Note: K .. I am about 30 words over in the word count .... but I realised at the last minute that announcing the engagement to Mrs. B was not one of the options….so if the last paragraph doesn’t seem to fit with the rest of the story – there’s a reason why.

Part One - The Question of Understanding

They returned to the house rather later than the others, having lost track of time in preference to other considerations. Indeed, it was nigh on the dinner hour when they entered the hall, tired but deliriously happy, the calmness of their expressions belying the disturbance of their spirits.

Their delayed entrance caused a degree of natural curiosity as to what could possibly have induced them to partake of so much exercise, and amidst the bustle of the party’s removal to the dining room, such questions were voiced.

"My dear Lizzy, where can you have been walking to?" The eldest Miss Bennet asked with genuine curiosity, a question that was echoed by many as they sat down to table.

With a slight blush did Elizabeth reply that "they had wandered about until even she was quite beyond her own knowledge."

Thankfully for both, this answer was accepted without suspicion or surprise; the arrival of the first course providing a necessary distraction from a subject which neither could explain away without embarrassment. Indeed it had been discussed and accepted between than that their understanding was too new for revelation, and too tender for interrogation. Thus it should remain a private understanding for at least a day.

Only one amongst them showed any further interest, and he did so silently. Mr Bingley looked up at his friend and seeing the expression on his face, indulged himself in a smile of private delight. Mr Darcy did not notice, for he was too pre-occupied in admiring the way his fiancé’s blush complemented her complexion.

With hearts too full for sustenance, neither ate much, despite the fact that exercise had given them appetites. With minds too distracted for words, they remained silent, the general conversation of others in the party filling the void left by their absence.

One at least knew, that had he wished to, it would have been quite impossible to describe the sense of utter contentment that rested within his breast. He occupied himself in replaying that most satisfying of conversations, which they had just shared; more than once marvelling over the ease with which an event that had been so long anticipated, and given so many hours of grief, had finally been achieved. It seemed almost incomprehensible that the contemplation and reflection in which he had indulged had finally produced such a pleasing result. She loved him. It was as simple as that.

The evening passed away pleasantly, but all too quickly for Darcy’s liking, an odd circumstance considering how many unpleasant evenings he had spent in that very same drawing room wishing for nothing more than blessed release.

They did not venture to speak for fear of their understanding being revealed, but in truth there was little that needed to be said. To be able to at last share a look of understanding was enough to sustain the spirits of both, and only once or twice did they draw near enough for conversation.

Neither was inclined to partake of the common occupations, nor engage in general discourse. Darcy wandered about, and Elizabeth sewed, more than once politely declining her mother’s hints at entertainment. He could not deny some personal disappointment at this, but excused her reticence.

As if I would not excuse her anything at the moment. Indeed, if her spirits are as unsettled as my own, then performance of any sort would be quite out of the question.

He consoled himself with the idea of how many hours of secluded entertainment she would provide on the pianoforte at Pemberley, and as it was now a certainty, he indulged himself without restraint.

At length, it came time to leave; the gentlemen’s departure was marked by nothing significant, but for the infinite pleasure for one of them, of a private moment with his beloved. The regular parting of the acknowledged lovers drew attention from that of the unknown, and finding both Jane and Mr Bingley caught up in the drawing room with the effusions of Mrs Bennet, Elizabeth stole outside on the pretext of politeness to his friend. There was naturally no suspicion as to her motives; it was understood by all that she liked him too little to excite concern over the propriety of the situation.

Seeing that she was alone, he took her hand in the darkness of the hallway, raising her fingers to his lips in one fluid motion as if he had done so a thousand times before. She blushed at his easy familiarity, as if wondering how he could be so comfortable in a situation, which despite the pleasure of his touch only caused her a more than usual disconcertion. Had she known that he had imagined such a scene in his head a thousand times before, she might not have wondered at his confidence. But a maid such as she was, could have no inkling of a gentleman’s thoughts.

"Have you nothing to say to me Elizabeth," he said quietly, as his lips grazed lightly across her knuckles.

The lady, suddenly feeling quite unequal to replying, remained perfectly still. At length as he seemed to be expecting an answer, she looked down with a blush. "I confess I do not know quite what to say when you look at me like that."

"Then say nothing. There is no crime in silence," he replied, caressing her warm fingers gently against his cheek. He looked at her for a long moment, and then lowered her hand. "Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"Unsettled, yes, certainly," she mumbled, "although I do not know why."

An unrepentant smile stole over his face. "I am very pleased to hear it."

"You are very cruel Mr Darcy to wish such an ill on me," she replied with something closer to her usual spirits.

"Would you have me suffer alone Elizabeth?"

Feeling the warmth of his hands beneath her own, she gave him a doubtful look. "You do not seem to be suffering unduly sir." Her eyes fell to his lips in consideration. "It sounds odd hearing my given name spoken by you," she whispered, "you have always called me Miss Bennet."

"And yet its is not strange for me."

He met her questioning look with a warm expression. "I have known you in my mind as such from almost the first moment of our acquaintance."

Elizabeth smiled and looked at him boldly. "You have a distinct advantage over me then sir, it was six months before I even knew your first name."

"And many months more I imagine," he replied in earnest, "before you thought of me favourably enough to consider using it."

Although he intended no injury, she blushed at his subtle reminder, and despite knowing that he caused her discomfort could find no remorse within. Indeed, he could not regret the opportunity to remind her of the constancy of his affection. If she was now generous enough to accept his love, he would take every opportunity of having her know it.

The next morning brought a return of the gentlemen, and in unusually good time. Mr Bingley’s visits had become as regular as the rising of the sun, although not quite as prompt. His friend’s attendance, now anticipated to be equally as regular by at least one of the Longbourn family, was not met with the same level of enthusiasm by her mother. Darcy could not be unaware of this fact, but he did not care. If he was welcomed by Elizabeth that was all that mattered.

The confusion attending their arrival was dealt with promptly by Mr Bingley, who by prior arrangement between them, eagerly suggested a long walk. The only reason for suspicion as to their secret, was in the warmth with which Bingley had greeted his soon-to-be sister, and the smile with which the eldest Miss Bennet greeted himself. That there were two more aware of their happiness was certain, that the rest remained unenlightened equally so. Mrs Bennet accompanied Elizabeth up the stairs, speaking close to her ear, but with no attempt at secrecy.

"You only need speak to him a little," he thought he heard her say, and imagined by this that her presumption was that she should find his company irksome. This caused no discomfort; if Mrs Bennet’s mistaken assumptions would have her force Elizabeth on him without thought of propriety, then all the better.

An evening of disturbed sleep had not diminished his happiness, rather focused it into a deep-seated feeling of satisfaction. Their conversation of the previous night had played on his mind long past the hour of retiring, and while he understood her nervousness, he would not have her fearing his touch. But patience and seclusion would see that situation remedied; he had plenty of one, but not much of the other.

They walked to Oakham Mount, the length of his stride, and the quickness of her step easily outstripping the others, and when they reached the summit, found themselves quite alone. Of this fact they were both aware, more than one look passed between them, which implied an embarrassment of opportunity and expectation.

Never one to be backward when fortune presented itself, he bestowed on her a look of unreserved affection. "Will you let me kiss you Elizabeth?"

Smiling, she looked away. "That would be highly improper, sir."

"Yes it would," he agreed, pulling off his gloves. "But that is not an answer."

Blushing she looked down and he watched her closely for any sign of encouragement. At length she looked up, seeming to observing his hands in great detail, before catching his eye. "I believe we still need to discuss the matter of my father’s consent."

Patience.

"Yes we do," he replied easily, masking his disappointment, "a task I believe as the gentleman in this picture, falls to me."

"Indeed."

He looked at her closely, for her answer was entirely too bland. "Are you anticipating trouble in this Elizabeth?"

"No, no, not at all," she replied a little too vehemently.

"You are a terrible liar Miss Bennet. If you are your father’s daughter as he professes, then I imagine that he shall be only marginally less difficult than you."

"Marginally less? Why not more?" she said with false indignation.

"Because no-one could possibly be as difficult as you," he replied smiling.

She gasped in surprise. "Are you teasing me Mr Darcy?"

"Only if you perceive it to be so."

Looking away, she hid her smile behind a pretence of admiring the view, leaving her admirer with a very strong desire to take in her in his arms.

"And what of your mother – shall I apply to her also?" he asked.

"NO," she cried turning back to him suddenly, her amusement now gone, "forgive me sir, I did not mean to speak so forcefully, but I believe it is best if I tell mama. Her nerves are quite often affected by news, and I fear something of this magnitude might render her quite …ill," she finished weakly.

"Indeed."


Part Two - The Question of Consent

Giving her a hesitant smile he rose and followed his host. He entered the gentleman’s library without hesitation, and immediately that he had done so, wished he had allowed more time for preparation. Although having been through it in his head several times since their discussion that morning, he was still no clearer on the best way to ask another man for the privilege of marrying his favourite daughter.

He noted his host’s surprised expression, but saw that he covered it well with a bemused frown.

"Ah Mr Darcy, have you come to select a book from my meagre selection or to escape the frivolous discussion of lace in the drawing room?" he said with polite good humour.

"I have come for neither reason, sir. My purpose is quite different."

"Indeed," said Mr Bennet looking up from under his brows, whilst pouring an extra glass of port. "How may I entertain you then sir?"

Taking the offered glass, Darcy sipped it thoughtfully before placing himself in the seat opposite his host. He examined the drink in his hands for a moment, before clearing his throat and standing. Placing the glass on a nearby table, he then proceeded to pace the room.

His host accommodated this rather odd whim in silence, although not without considerable curiosity. Why a man such as Mr Darcy should trouble himself to pace his library as opposed to the much larger and pleasanter drawing room was quite beyond him. After some minutes of activity, he grew tired of the curious diversion and shrugging his shoulders, returned his attention to those pleasures he had come there to indulge.

"Well as I see you have come for port, silence and exercise Mr Darcy, please feel free to satisfy yourself. I shall not disturb you if I go back to my reading," he said reaching for his book.

"NO," Darcy declared causing Mr Bennet to start and look up in surprise. Glancing down nervously at his feet he cleared his throat. "Forgive me sir, but I have a request to make."

His host was now completely mystified by both his behaviour and words. How he could be of any use to a man who obviously had resources well beyond his own meagre fortune quite escaped him.

'Certainly sir, I will try and be of service - do you have a headache that requires some powders perhaps, or do you need use of my carriage to get home?"

When the young man still did not reply, he continued on. "Well I have already offered you access to my library, my liquor cabinet, and free run of the house. Indeed the only thing I have left to offer you is one of my daughters."

"Yes," Darcy declared suddenly, halting in his tracks.

"Yes what sir? Which of these options that I have laid down would you like to take?"

"Your daughter," he stammered, "I wish to marry your daughter."

Mr Bennet almost diverted beyond expression at his companions odd behaviour, hardly paid any credence to the import of his words. It was obvious he had partaken of too much wine, although strangely enough, until then he had seemed quite sober.

"Do you have a preference sir?" he continued in his usual jovial manner, "I believe you know that Jane is already spoken for, but I have three others that are equally able bodied. Kitty is rather silly, and Mary is rather too serious but perhaps you would prefer such a young lady?"

"Miss Elizabeth," he declared, "I have come to ask your consent to marry Miss Elizabeth."

Mr Bennet could contain his amusement no longer. "Mr Darcy," he cried laughing, "you cannot be serious."

"I am. I am deadly serious," he replied in earnest. "You must forgive me. As I am not in the habit of asking such things, my manner is probably not supporting my case at all, but I assure you of my love, affection and complete devotion to your daughter. I have asked her to be my wife and she has agreed."

"What do you mean she has agreed? What can you be talking of?" he cried, "You must have been mistaken sir, and if your manner was anything like it is now it is hardly surprising. Indeed if I cannot make sense of you, I have no doubt that my daughter suffered the same dilemma."

Darcy looked away in vexation. Although never one to find delight in being an object of amusement, he found it even less pleasing in a circumstance of such import. But anger would not secure his fate, and so he assumed an air of humility that did not sit comfortably. "I understand you," he said with as much calmness of temper as he could muster, "I am hardly making a good accounting of myself, but I am not in the habit of making such requests. When all a man’s happiness depends on the consent of another, you must allow for some nervousness."

"Indeed," his host replied sobering somewhat, "you are serious then?"

"Yes I am," he declared firmly, "and if it is any consolation, I confess that my manner to your daughter yesterday, was as inarticulate as you find me now. But however disbelieving you may be," he said with a significant look, "I fancy that she did not mistake my meaning, nor speak to appease one who was making no sense. She returned the sentiments which I expressed, somewhat more articulately than what I have done, and consented to be my wife."

There was a silence of some minutes as both men collected their thoughts. Although entirely doubtful of the veracity of the young man’s claims (as well as his sanity), Mr Bennet silently conceded that he did seem to be himself fully convinced of his daughter’s affection. "Well, well, Mr Darcy, you have surprised me greatly. This is beyond even my powers of imagination," he replied scratching his head. "You will forgive my rudeness I hope, but I believe the last time I heard Elizabeth profess an opinion about you, she staunchly declared that you were the last man in the world she would ever dance with."

Noting the young man’s frown, he presumed that this idea was not a new one. "It would seem therefore," he continued, "that she has either revised her opinion of you, or decided to sacrifice herself to a marriage in which she will never again attend a ball." Shaking his head he looked at the young man gravely, "I know my Lizzy, Mr Darcy, and she is a sociable creature. I’m sure you will understand that in this matter I think I would be better served to trust in her confidence."

"Certainly sir," he replied somewhat surprised. When he imagined that this would be difficult, he had in no way envisaged his story being completely disbelieved. "And if she verifies my words, will you then give your consent?"

"If Elizabeth is determined to have you then yes you shall have it, but I will not pretend that I am anything but doubtful."

Darcy bowed and left. Mr Bennet stood and paced.

When Elizabeth returned from her interview she gave him a subdued smile and returned to her sewing. When he drew near, she looked up at him and spoke quietly.

"Sir, if you had intended on confusing my father, then I think I can safely say that you have succeeded completely."

"It was not my intention," he replied with heightened colour, "As long as I have your understanding, all else is irrelevant."

Taking in the warmth of his look, she smiled discreetly. "I believe it would be quite impossible to misunderstand you, sir. You have very few reserves of expression from me."

Darcy looked at her with an intensity that caused the ladies cheeks to colour a similar shade to his own. "Has he given his consent then?"

When she did not reply, but simply raised a brow and met his eyes with a look of humour, he reached down, squeezing her hand lightly as he whispered under his breath, "Do not tease me like this Elizabeth."

Taking pity, her countenance assumed a more serious expression. "He had some reservations about your sanity Mr Darcy, but he has magnanimously allowed me to keep you. I do believe therefore, that you are now stuck with me."

"I shall endure it as best I can," he replied dryly, the reservation in his words contrasting directly with the sudden urge that consumed him to forget propriety and take her in his arms.

With this last obstacle to their mutual happiness removed, he was quite naturally, relieved beyond expression. He wandered off, so as not to arouse suspicion about what was not commonly known, and to reflect on the fact that there was now no impediment to their future happiness.

His thoughts naturally turned towards the one who inspired such emotions, and seeing that most of the company where occupied at whist, after pacing the room for some time, he ventured nearer to where she sat occupied with some sewing. Passing behind her, he lingered, admiring the delicacy of her neck and then leaning over on the pretext of examining her work, he paused, almost paralysed by her nearness.

Recollecting himself he whispered softly in her ear, "you have made me the happiest of men Elizabeth."

She stopped in her work, her head turning slightly toward him, and he felt the warm exhalation of her breath on his cheek. She did not reply, but the look she gave him from the corner of her eye stopped his heart in its tracks. The nearness of her lips to his own became a temptation beyond anything he had yet known, so soft, so sweet, and so very, very close, and yet in a crowded room, entirely too inaccessible. A heartbeat of suspended time lingered, where reality seemed to stop and absorb itself in the tenderness of the moment. He looked at her lips with divine longing, and she met his desire with her own frustrated wishes. Her tongue unconsciously touched the edges of a suddenly dry mouth, causing a barely audible sigh to emerge from his own. "Tell me Elizabeth," he pleaded softly, "if I cannot taste your lips, please give me something."

Her eyes met his before dropping to his lips, and then settling somewhere about his neckcloth. "I have given you my heart already William, is that not enough?" was her whispered reply. And those same eyes then rising to meet his own, were matched by the most delightfully and yet hesitantly teasing smile.

A noisy interruption broke the spell of the interlude, as Mr Bingley voiced rousing objections at losing his hand at cards. Darcy, looking up caught the eye of his friend, who winked discreetly, before confessing further confusion over the progress of the game. The rest of the party thus occupied in exclaiming his stupidity and explaining his failure, failed to notice the two who remained silent at the opposite end of the room.

"It is more than I dared hope," he breathed, losing no time. And then taking full advantage of both her near proximity and the convenient distraction, his lips brushed lightly, but with a lingering touch, across the bare skin of her shoulder. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, savouring this first unexpected, yet utterly delightful caress, and as his lips feathered against her ear, he whispered, "and you taste sweeter than I ever imagined."

Later that night two very contented gentlemen sat astride their mounts, and meandered with slow reluctance up the gravel path towards the high road. A full moon of silver light guided their way, casting an unearthly glow across one fine thoroughbred, and silhouetting a larger, darker beast against the cold ground. A cloudless sky full of stars accompanied their travels, giving them both a sense of perspective, and a stunning backdrop for their silent reflections. There was no sound, save the scurry of squirrels disappearing into their dens, and the crunching of gravel beneath the horse’s hooves. It was a moment that belonged to nature, a moment of pure and sweet karmic resonance.

At length, they reached the open field. A light mist swirled about the beast’s forelegs, providing an eerie presence; a solitary cloud drifted across the moon shrouding them in darkness; and then, as if by conspiratorial design, an unearthly noise rent the cool night air. One man shivered, looking over his shoulder nervously, the other straightened and remained with eyes focused directly ahead. It was an animalistic cry, starting as a high-pitched squeal not unlike that of an excited sow, followed by a series of shorter, punctuated undulations. From where it came was unclear.

"What on earth was that," Bingley cried as an odd feeling of discomfort, not very far removed from fear, traversed his spine.

Darcy stopped, looking back in the direction from whence they had come, his impenetrably grave countenance unshaken.

"I believe Charles," he said with a grimace, "'‘that' was our soon-to-be mother learning that she is to gain another son."

Copyright held by Kerry - 2002