Without Undue Pride: A Variation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice by Heather Moll

Author:Heather Moll [Moll, Heather]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Excessively Diverted Press
Published: 2025-03-04T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

Are you ill, Eliza?” Charlotte asked her at the dinner table.

Elizabeth pushed around the food on her plate. She was forced to contend with distressing feelings by sitting near to Darcy after their fervent kiss on the hillside. Her anguish must be visible if Charlotte was commenting on it in front of Darcy. Their conversation since this afternoon had been brief and civil, but they had avoided one another’s gaze.

“I never was in better health.”

“You do not look it,” she said in a concerned tone. “You seem low.”

Yes, she was terribly low, because what she felt for Darcy was not a partiality or an admiration. She could no longer deny to herself that it was more than an attraction, and it was impossible for her to believe that he did not feel something too. She had been lying to herself for weeks, and that lengthy, passionate embrace had only brought to the fore what she already knew: Darcy was responsible, astute, generous, and she was very much in love with him.

What had possessed her to kiss Darcy? She had known he was going to do it, and rather than tell him that she was resolved against matrimony, she stood there with bated breath, desperate for him to touch his lips to hers. If he had hesitated in that heady moment of expectation, she would have kissed him herself.

Kissing Darcy was even more enchanting than she had imagined.

She snuck a quick look at him, but his gaze was fixed on his plate. He loved her too. Nothing other than that elevating emotion would have driven him to kiss her before speaking first. She would never put herself under a man’s control again, but now she knew his feelings matched hers, and she felt wretched.

Her love for him felt unconquerable, and yet it was an unattainable bond. Darcy would only love her under terms of marriage, but committing herself into another man’s power was impossible.

She rose and said, “Actually, I am a little tired.” She wished them both a good evening and went to her parlour. Perhaps she could hide in this room until she emerged in December with a six-week-old baby and go straight to Meryton and never have to speak to Darcy again.

That was an even more distressing thought. She felt a sadness settle over her. The baby turned over, as though equally protesting the idea of parting from Darcy.

Would he visit with her this evening like he typically did? Those moments with him had become the best part of her day. She and Fitzwilliam never had an evening of comfortable silence, where they were each happy just to know that the other was there. They were still coming to know one another when they got engaged, and were always amongst friends. And later they were in a war and nothing was as she had expected it would be.

She had loved her husband, and it was an entirely different sort of love than she felt for Darcy. It was not better, but it was different.

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