Belle - Part II

5.

She was standing perfectly still with her head tilted towards the sky and arms hugging herself.

Her eyes were closed. Peace on her face. Her skirt was splattered with mud and the hem heavy with it. He felt his own face settle into peace. A refreshing stillness coming over him even as he held the reins of his horse.

Her eyes opened suddenly and she startled. “Lord Darcy!”

She dipped a hasty curtsey.

“I apologize for my appearance,” she said.

“Think nothing of it, madam,” he said, dismounting from his horse in one swift move. His boots squelched on partially dry mud as they hit the ground. He steadied himself.

They stared at each other. Her cheeks were pink with embarrassment.

“Well… I hope you are having a pleasant morning,” she ventured, a little stilted.

“Yes.” Then he hastily added. “I hope you are as well.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Yes, thank you.”

Silence descended. She shifted uncertainly. His horse nickered.

And then they both spoke at once.

“I was about to–”

“Marry me.”

And once more…

“What?”

“Pardon?”

Her face grew red. His did too. The silence between them was thick enough to cut with a knife.

“I believe you were saying something,” he said at last.

Her face grew even redder.

“I was… about to go home,” she said. “Would you care to join us for breakfast?”

“Yes,” he said, hope growing in his heart. He smiled. “If that would not be an imposition.”

“Not at all,” she said, returning his smile with a small one of her own. But she still looked guarded.

Darcy glanced at his horse stamping its feet beside him. “Would you mind if I watered my horse first?”

She smiled then. A genuine smile that reached her eyes. “Not at all.”

This time the silence between them was peaceful, surrounded as they were by the sounds of the river rushing by, the rustle of the wind through the grasses and trees, his mount drinking its fill. She was hugging herself again and holding her face in the breeze.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, breaking the silence.

She looked at him.

“Will you marry me?” A spike of anxiety shot through him.

She had not attempted to bring the subject back to marriage after their previous verbal blockade. It had surprised Darcy the longer the silence had stretched between them.

And now… she was silent for a moment longer.

The wind picked up speed, ruffling the hair on his head. Darcy' grip on his hat tightened; he had taken it off a moment ago.

“We barely know each other,” she said at last. Her eyes were serious again.

“Yes,” he said, even as incredulity spread through him. “But I assure you, marriage to me would not be a hardship.”

She smiled wryly at his jest. “There is some truth to that.”

“Some,” he said.

They held each other’s gaze. The wind slowed but the breeze was still pleasant. She looked away first.

“Why do you want to marry me?” she asked.

His surprise grew. And then he frowned.

“Would you have me appeal to your vanity? Say pretty words first and quote poetry?”

Had he misjudged her?

Elizabeth gestured at his horse. It had drunk its fill. “Perhaps we can converse as we walk?”

Darcy nodded and then whistled for his mount to return to his side.

They were on their way soon enough. His horse trotting on his one side, her on the other. Elizabeth’s hand was resting lightly on his arm. He could feel the warmth of her touch spreading through his body, making his heart thud in his chest.

It was only after they had walked some distance that Darcy realized they had not uttered a single word.

“Miss Bennet, if you would be kind enough to not leave me in suspense,” he said.

He was growing frustrated at her lack of reply. But also incredulous. Did she not realize what he was offering her?

They walked a few more paces before she spoke.

“What do you expect of your wife, sir?”

Her eyes studied him for a brief moment.

It was a fair question. He would not hold it against her. But he thought about the answer for only a moment before he replied.

“I would expect my wife to uphold the respectability of my household and name,” he said as they walked. “Be an impeccable fixture in higher society, be courteous to my family, a good mistress to my servants, and a generous patroness of the causes that come with my titles.”

He had spent enough hours pondering the question on the days when he had wanted to throw caution to the wind and ride to her father’s estate and ask for her hand. Days when he had had to force himself to do the opposite and not go.

Yet, even he knew those were the easy things... even if easy was not how he would describe the station of Lady Darcy. It was, after all, to be expected of any woman who wanted to be his wife. But then his heart quickened. He glanced at Elizabeth for a moment, his face heating.

“I would also expect us to respect each other and share our lives in harmony and peace,” he said. “Fill the nursery in time.”

She grew crimson and looked at the ground. They were close to her father’s manor. It was visible now in the distance. A modest manor of sturdy appearance befitting their station.

He looked at her again, feeling her hand on his arm most acutely. Yet, she did not say anything.

Why didn’t she say anything?!

“I thank you, my lord, for taking notice of me,” Elizabeth said at last.

They were only a yard away from her father’s stables. His horse neighed. It knew there would be hay to chew on soon.

“But I believe,” she continued, “that we do not know each other well enough…at least not enough for me to be certain I can do the station of your wife any justice.”

Darcy looked at her, surprised.

“Do you doubt yourself?”

His esteem for her rose. He would have doubted any woman who would have been otherwise. He stopped walking suddenly.

She and his horse did too, though the latter outpaced them by a few steps once he let go of the reins. They faced each other.

“I would not say that,” she said carefully, her gaze fixed on the grass near their feet. And then she looked up.

Her dark gaze pierced him, making his heart thud faster. She was beautiful in an effortless way.

“But I cannot be certain if what you feel is only an infatuation that will fade. A passing fancy,” she said. And then added, “My lord.”

Disbelief filled his face.

“Miss Bennet, are you rejecting me?”

“I wouldn't dare,” she said with a wry smile. Yet, she held his gaze with a directness that belied her words.

“You do realize what I offer you, do you not?” he asked. “Any other woman would have accepted my proposal at my first words.”

“Perhaps I am a simpleton,” she said.

Realization suddenly dawned on him. He searched her eyes. She did not trust him!

“Miss Bennet, I believe I have taken up enough of your time.”

He swiftly mounted his horse and left.

6.

All he could think of that day, and the next, and the day after that, was her.

He thought back on every interaction between them, paltry few as they were. Had he been ungentlemanly? He didn't believe so.

Then he wondered if it was the gossip that had made her wary. Ire rose in him. But it would have only fanned the flames higher if he had intervened… though he did not know what he might have said to make the gossip kinder towards her and her family. It was not as if all of it was untrue.

For a moment, he wondered if her cloaked refusal was a good thing. Perhaps she was right and she wouldn't do the station of his wife any justice. All the reasons he had thought of and discarded only a week ago were coming back to him.

Perhaps it was a good thing.

But he couldn't stop thinking about her. Couldn't think of anyone else as his wife.

Each time he closed his eyes, he saw her lying next to him in his bed. Her dark eyes on his. His hands caressing the contours of her body. His palm against her face. Her words in the space between them, and his words melding softly with hers.

He began to drink. To drown it out. To not think.

But the alcohol made it worse.

Her voice echoed in his mind. Her nymph-like steps as they danced together. Her laughter. The crinkles around her eyes. The eyebrows that sometimes spoke their own language.

He rode hard the next day, all the way back home. To his stronghold. The place of familiarity. And then he immersed himself in the icy waters of Lake Bevkal the day after his arrival. Anything to clear his mind.

When he failed yet again, he went to his sister.

7.

Georgiana Darcy was twelve years his junior.

Gentle, shy, kind-hearted. A lover of music and gothic romances. He did not believe she could help him. Not truly.

He had sheltered her from much of the evils of the world and also the politics that were his sphere. Yet, he had almost failed to protect her once and blamed himself to this day for what could easily have become a nightmare if he hadn't arrived in time to save her.

Nevertheless, he knew Georgiana was observant. And that—as an almost-grown woman—perhaps she would know something that he had missed.

Of course, he couldn't make it seem like it was he who needed her advice. So he told her it was a friend who did as they sat in her favourite parlour and had tea. He had the room refurbished recently as a gift to her after he learned she preferred it to all others in his castle.

“Brother, I think your friend cares too much about himself and too little about the lady he says he loves.”

He was taken aback.

“Why do you say that?”

Georgiana sipped her tea and then looked out of the wide windows that overlooked the gardens. A slice of Lake Bevkal was just visible on one side. And further afield were the mountains of their county with their perpetual fog and snow-capped peaks. It was peaceful in the parlour.

“I wouldn't marry a man who did not care for you or our relations,” she said.

His cup froze midway to his lips.

“I do not think my friend looks down on the lady's family,” he said.

Georgiana frowned.

“But did you not say he avoided spending time with them?”

Then her eyes widened all of a sudden. “Perhaps I am wrong.” She looked down hastily at her teacup.

Darcy was alarmed.

“What is the matter, Georgiana?”

“Nothing.”

She tried to smile at him but her eyes were glistening.

He set his cup aside at once and took the seat next to her on her settee.

“It is nothing, truly,” she said. But she set aside her cup as well and hugged him when he opened his arms wide.

He didn't say anything. He knew she would speak when she was ready.

“I was thinking about Wickham,” she said eventually, her words muffled somewhat by his coat.

Darcy tightened his hold around his sister, her head tucked under his chin.

“It was not your fault, dearest,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. He clenched his jaws.

All he had wished to do was slay the blackguard for playing with his sister's heart. And he would have if Richard had not stopped him.

His cousin had reasoned that it would be far easier to have Wickham transported for his debts than have Darcy open himself to the crown's scrutiny. Darcy wished he had not taken the advice. Wickham did not deserve to live.

“Yes, I know that now,” Georgiana said, her voice trembling with tears. “But I cannot help but wonder what my life would have been if I had become his wife.”

Darcy rocked his sister in his arms like he used to when she was six and their father had died, leaving them orphans. Their mother—may she rest in peace—had left her mortal coil many years earlier, after Georgiana's birth.

Georgiana pulled away from him after a while and dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “Brother, I cannot say why the lady rejected your friend.”

“It is no matter,” he said quickly. “Let us talk about something else.”

And they discussed what they might do to cheer her up. They eventually decided to go for a ride while the weather was good and the sky still bright.

8.

He couldn't stop thinking of what Georgiana had said though, once he returned to the solitude of his apartments.

“I think your friend cares too much about himself and too little about the lady.”

Was it true?

He went to the lake to immerse in the icy waters the next day. Sharp air sliced into his lungs once he crested from underneath the waters. The golden light of dawn touched his head.

And then he went on a solitary hike to the cave he and his cousins used to play in when they were younger. Their inexperienced fire pit still lay within on one side.

All the while, he couldn't shake the feeling that Georgiana was right.

He did not even know what Elizabeth wanted in a husband. Or if she had a secret lover and wished to marry him if her father would consent. Or if she had lied to him about the bone handle she carried on her person to every social event.

Her words echoed in his mind: “We barely know each other.”

And also how she had distracted him—drawn away his attention to his horse—when he had asked if she wanted him to appeal to her vanity. He felt his body heat with embarrassment.

He had not wanted to woo her. Had hoped that she would be awed by the title he offered her as his wife and would accept him right away.

She hadn't even felt safe to speak her full mind, alluding to his title every time like an unbreachable wall between them. Calling herself a simpleton in double-speak. He knew what she had actually meant.

Was he such a brute?!

Was that what she thought of him?

It struck him. Angered him. He was nothing like that! Perhaps he should forget her. Yes, he would do that.

He began his trek back to the castle.

He would find a wife who knew what he offered. One who would be suitably awed to be his lady. He would find the right mistress for his castle. Someone of the right birth and right connections. Someone who would outshine…

He cringed.

His heart thudded loudly in his chest.

He saw Elizabeth's sharp eyes flash across his mind. The graceful eyebrows rising in perfect arcs, issuing a challenge.

continue reading: part III

The full story is also available as an E-book download for my Newsletter subscribers
Sign up here

🌷📖 Collector's edition Paperback version 📖🌷
available for purchase on Amazon

WRITTEN BY MORGAN BLAKE

© All rights reserved. Do not repost.

[ Read : PART I ]

Pride & Prejudice variation with a peerage twist.

Mr. Darcy is Lord Darcy. Elizabeth is the fair maiden who captures his heart
(unsuspectingly; and against his wishes). The setting is a mix of medieval, Irish, and Regency. ✨

Based on the prompt: Find me a man who will change the world for you!

POV of Mr. Darcy

part 2:
10 mins read