Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 3 Read Free Page B

a sinking feeling, and his disappointment had intensified during the meal. The evening without her was dull and dreary. Mr Collins’s obsequious nonsense grated on his ears. His aunt’s pronouncements irritated him. Anne’s timidity bored him, and Mrs Collins’s presence was a continual reminder of Elizabeth, whose wit and beauty should have been enlivening the evening.
    Elizabeth had a headache, so Mrs Collins said.
    A headache was nothing. Ladies always had headaches. And yet he could not help being concerned for her health.
    He had tried to fight his feelings for her. He had tried to forget her. But it had all been in vain. He felt the pressure mounting inside him as the meal drew to a close and he knew he must do something about it. When the ladies withdrew, he told Mr Collins he had some letters to write.
    ‘Stay here and enjoy my aunt’s fine port,’ he said. ‘I will rejoin you shortly.’
    Mr Collins was always willing to do what Mr Darcy told him to do, and he helped himself to a large glass of port. Mr Darcy went along to the library, but instead of settling down to write any letters he opened the French window and stepped out onto the terrace.
    A sharp blast of cold air hit him but he did not feel it. Closing the door behind him, he strode towards the parsonage. His one thought was to find Elizabeth and make sure she was not too ill; to offer his services and ask if there was anything he could do for her; and to claim her for his own.
     
    Elizabeth ate little of her supper, for she was not hungry. When she had finished, the maid took the tray and she settled herself on the sofa with a book. The fire was crackling in a friendly fashion and its warm glow would, on any other day, have cheered her. But today it could not warm her sadness.
    She tried to concentrate on her book but it was no good. She kept thinking of her dearly beloved sister, who had been made so unhappy by Mr Bingley’s departure. She thought in vexation of her missed opportunity to speak to him that very morning. And she thought of the pain and suffering that had been caused by the arrogant Mr Darcy.
    She was roused from her thoughts by the sound of the front door opening. She thought it must be Charlotte, returning for something she had forgotten. But to her astonishment, when the door of the sitting-room opened a moment later, it revealed Mr Darcy!
    He was not dressed for a cold night in February. He wore no coat over his cream breeches, black tailcoat and frilled white shirt. His hair was damp from the light rain. What could have brought him out in such a hurry and in such weather?
    Well, whatever it was, she was not going to help him. Mr Darcy was the last man in the world she was inclined to help. She had risen in surprise on his entrance, but now she sat down again and looked at him with hostility. But her hostility soon gave way to curiosity. He seemed to be in a state of some agitation and he paced the room before asking after her health.
    ‘Mrs Collins told me you had a headache,’ he explained, as he stopped pacing and turned towards her.
    That he should come to the parsonage in the middle of dinner to ask about her headache was very surprising, but nevertheless she was determined to be polite, for Charlotte’s sake, and so she answered him with cold civility and expected him then to leave.
    However, he started pacing up and down again, as if trying to make up his mind about something, before turning to face her and saying, ‘In vain have I struggled. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’
    Elizabeth’s eyes widened in astonishment. She could not believe what she was hearing! Mr Darcy admired her? Mr Darcy loved her? Oh, no, it could not be. It must be a jest. But if so, it was in very poor taste.
    But, watching him running his hand through his hair, she had to admit it did not seem likely, since he was looking anguished instead of amused.
    She could not