A Wilful Misunderstanding: Chapter 1

Click HERE for the Prologue

October 1811

The moment he saw her at the assembly in Meryton, he knew he loved her. 

Darcy had not wished to attend that night; in fact, he had been quite disgruntled to find himself at such an undistinguished gathering. His friend Bingley was delighted as usual, always apt to approve of everything and everyone he saw. Bingley had rapidly and expertly identified the most beautiful girl in the room and engaged her to dance, abandoning his two sisters, his brother, Hurst, and his friend as he immersed himself gleefully into Hertfordshire society. By the time Bingley came to him where he stood, trying to blend into the wall, and began to plague him to dance, Darcy was positively apoplectic with vexation. 

However, just as he opened his mouth to deliver Bingley a pointed set down, Bingley said, “Miss Bennet is very beautiful, and I daresay her sisters are as well. Look over there; one of her sisters sits even now. You should ask her to dance!” 

Darcy looked over at the lady, prepared to dislike her on sight, but then he met the lady’s gaze. 

At that instant, it was as though she had turned a key that opened some hitherto unknown vault in his heart, a vault that contained all his deepest thoughts, dreams, and emotions. A connexion formed instantly between them, a connexion formed of love and desire and the recognition of two souls that were counterpart, one to another. In her, and only her, lay his happiness; without her, he would be doomed to be a shell of a man, relegated to a life of misery and loneliness. Dance with her? No, he did not wish to dance with her; he wished to call her his own. 

He settled for the dance, and he was not disappointed. Miss Elizabeth Bennet, she was called, the second eldest of five sisters, daughter of a country squire, with little but her charms to recommend her. He cared not a bit. She was perfection; she was poised on his arm, and he intended it to be that way forevermore. 

When he invited her to dance a third set with him, Miss Elizabeth suggested they should instead partake of some refreshment. So they did, sipping at cups of sweet punch and talking about anything and everything that struck them. It felt as if he had spent the entirety of his prior seven-and-twenty years half asleep, just waiting to meet her so he could truly begin to live. She laughed when he told her he was usually regarded as sombre and reserved, even taciturn, protesting he was anything but those things. 

He had never been the sort to be open in his affection towards a woman, particularly not when that woman was an acquaintance of mere hours, yet it seemed the most natural thing in the world to kiss her cheek later that evening on the terrace. Her cheek…and then, somehow, in some magical way, her lips. It was brief but glorious, and when she gave him a certain impish smile, he could not help but steal another and then another. 

They had just resolved to return to the party when, from the doorway, the voice of her cousin, the young Mr Philips, came forth. “Elizabeth,” said he, in tones that belied his tender years, “your mother is looking for you.” 

“Darcy, you had a very good evening,” Bingley teased as the carriage began its journey back to Netherfield. 

Darcy wished to greet his statement with impassive hauteur or perhaps even a scowl but instead found his face split in two by a lunatic grin. He turned quickly, hoping his friend would not see it.

But it was not to be. Bingley nudged his brother-in-law, seated on the other side of him, with his elbow. “See that, Hurst? Darcy has fallen in love!” 

“In love?” Miss Caroline Bingley, across the carriage, sniffed and raised her nose yet higher. “Impossible. Not at such an unremarkable gathering as I have just been subjected to. I declare, the nothingness of these people! I saw nothing of beauty nor elegance, and there certainly was no fashion to be had! These Bennet ladies were described as the jewels of the county, and if such is the case, why then, I must say—”

“That is enough, Miss Bingley.” Darcy’s censure shocked even himself. A few moments too late, he added, “Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth are exceedingly beautiful.”

Miss Bingley paused before continuing her protests. “But the younger sisters! And the mother! They would not be received in London, I assure you.” 

“I have no intention of marrying the younger ones.” Darcy wondered what being possessed him—an angel? A demon?—and continued to toss such unguarded words from his mouth. 

Hurst, half asleep in the corner, guffawed. “That wine must have been stronger than I thought. I could swear I just heard Darcy speak of marriage.”

Darcy was saved from further comment by a jolt of the carriage, which had evidently hit a rut or something in the road. The occupants within were tossed about enough to make the ladies cry out, and some moments were spent listening to indignation about the state of roads in the country. From that, the ladies discussed the myriad other things they found to dislike in Hertfordshire, and Darcy’s statement was forgot. 

But Bingley had not put it aside so easily. Later that evening, as the two friends tired themselves out over Bingley’s billiards table, he said, “Surely, no one will insist on marriage for the sake of a kiss.”

“What did you hear?” Darcy asked sharply. 

With a rueful smile, Bingley shrugged. “I was standing with Miss Bennet and her mother when Mrs Bennet sent Philips to go find Miss Elizabeth.” 

“Who else knew of it?” 

“No one,” Bingley said in tones meant to reassure. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet is unharmed, I assure you, and if anyone attempts to persuade you that honour demands—”

“What if I persuade myself?” Darcy asked quietly. 

Bingley’s expression was nearly comical. He stood dazed and astonished until Darcy said, “Close your mouth, Bingley.” 

Bingley did, with a chuckle and a shake of one finger at his friend. “You know, you are so infrequently a jolly joker that I nearly believed you.” 

“I do not jest.” Darcy set his stick down, electrified by the words that came from his lips, words he could scarce seem to control. He slowly walked to the window, staring out at the darkened countryside. Was he staring in her direction? It felt as if he were. 

Bingley was staring at him—Darcy could see his incredulity reflected in the glass. “Darcy? What is this? You surely do not mean to make an offer of marriage to a woman you have known mere hours.” 

Darcy turned, needing a confidante, someone to speak to about the perplexing feelings that had been coursing through him since the moment he had first laid eyes upon her. “I cannot explain how I feel right now. It is as if sense and reason have abandoned me. All I know is that in my heart, she is mine.”

Bingley chuckled uncomfortably. “This is not like you.” 

“No,” Darcy agreed. “It is not, yet somehow, in some way, it seems more right than anything I have ever known.” 

Bingley studied him for a discomfiting length of time, then carefully settled his cue into the rack and walked over to his friend. From the expression on his face, Darcy knew that what was to come would surely be unbearable. 

“Bingley—”

Bingley laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Is this about Miss Harper?” 

“Certainly not!” 

Bingley continued to speak, his hand caressing Darcy’s arm as if he were consoling a lover. “Your sensibilities are no doubt in a most precarious spot, particularly as it was scarcely a month ago that your pride was wounded—”

“My pride is perfectly well, thank you.” With an impatient shake of his arm, Darcy was freed of Bingley’s consolation. “It has been six weeks complete, and I assure you, I am not the bacon-brained, green lad you seem to think me.”

“She used you ill and with an old friend—”

“She was his victim. I cannot despise her, but neither would I marry her.” 

“If you will only just bide your time—”

“If I bide my time, do not bide my time, bide half of my time, the result will be the same.” Darcy felt the heat of frustration prickle beneath his cravat. “Why should I not enjoy my felicity sooner?”

“Because if it is not true felicity—”

“Who says it is not? You? The townsfolk? Mr Philips?”

“I am saying, do not compound one difficulty by adding onto it another,” Bingley said patiently. “You kissed her, but it need not complicate—”

“There is precious little I have done since my father died to suit myself,” Darcy snapped. “I have adhered rigorously to duty and gentlemanlike conduct, and if just this once, I should like to step outside of the ranks and do as I please, then I shall. Devil take the man who tries to stop me.” 

With that, he turned on his heel and quit the room. 

Darcy presented himself at Longbourn at an early hour the morning after the ball. He found, in a decently-stocked book room, a kindly-looking, bespectacled gentleman in the attire of a country squire who did not much concern himself with London fashions. Mr Bennet offered him coffee and was in every way an amiable host. 

When they had spoken for some moments about the weather, Mr Bennet enquired, “And did you enjoy the assembly last evening?” 

Darcy put his coffee cup down immediately. “Ah…yes. About that… I wish to offer my apology, sir, if I offended your daughter in any way, and I assure you that I intend to make every possible reparation to her.” 

“Reparation?”

“Marriage.” Never before had the word tasted so delightful falling from his lips. “I shall make an offer of marriage to Miss Elizabeth.” 

If he believed his words would be greeted with joy or relief, he was mistaken. Mr Bennet looked merely pensive, even a bit troubled, as he sat in silence. Little did he know that Darcy, too, was well versed in the techniques of reticence and could happily sit without speaking all day if needed. 

At length, Mr Bennet ceded the battle. “Sir, I am not so much steeped in country manners that I would insist on an offer of marriage for the cause of a stolen kiss. That is not to say I am happy—”

“Sir, I am not a rake.” Darcy felt a strange sense of panic within him. Surely this man did not intend to deny his suit? “I am not in the habit of going about kissing young ladies, and I should never have taken such a liberty last night were my actions not accompanied by ardent love—”

Mr Bennet stopped him with a raised hand and a quizzical brow. “You do not mean to say you are in love with my daughter? On one night’s acquaintance?” 

Darcy flushed hotly. He pressed his lips together to quell his frustration before saying in careful tones, “I assure you, such a notion would have seemed preposterous to me even so recently as yesterday morning. But when I met your daughter, I felt a strength of attachment hitherto unknown to me.” 

Mr Bennet sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead. “It is called lust, Mr Darcy, and although many men have married for it, I myself cannot recommend the practice.” 

Darcy shot to his feet in an instant. “I shall not sit idly by and hear such insults when—”

Mr Bennet rose, and although he was not a large man, he did manage to make Darcy feel smaller with a quiet but authoritative, “Sit down, Mr Darcy.” 

Slowly, with his eyes trained on the man who had become something of an adversary, Darcy did. 

“I intend no disrespect to my own child, I assure you. If anything, Elizabeth is my…well, she is my treasure. I love all my daughters, but she has always been especially dear to my heart. That is why I could not bear to see her in an unequal situation or made unhappy by a husband whose burning love too soon turned to ash.” 

“That would never be the case, I assure you.”

“And with equal vigour, I assure you that you cannot assure me. Sir, I do not deny you. I understand your consequence and that you are the sort of man who should not be denied anything once you have deigned to ask for it. But I ask you only this: if you do indeed feel as you say, take some time to get to know one another. A very little will suffice.”

He found her in the drawing room with Miss Bennet at her side. 

As impossible as it seemed, she was even more beautiful than she had been the evening prior. Her hair was simple and her gown suited for a morning at home, but nothing could have enticed him more completely. 

“Will you walk out with me?” He was pleased to see a modest blush in reply. 

“Shall I join you?” Miss Bennet asked.

“Stay where you are,” Miss Elizabeth told her sister. “We shall just wander about the garden for a bit.” 

There were some moments while she called for her pelisse and her bonnet, during which she did not look at him. The housekeeper assisted her, and when she was suitably attired, they exited by a side door into a fine autumn morning, the sun warm and the sky blue. He offered his arm to her, and she raised her eyes to his, smiling as she placed her hand upon him. 

His breath caught. It was there again, that feeling, so strong, of the truth and the strength of the attachment between them. No, he did not know her, but did a lock need to know the life history of its key before the door could be flung wide?

“I hope my father was not too difficult,” she said with an impish smile. “You must presume that at least half of what he said was designed to vex you, and the other half was to give himself a laugh.” 

“He was quite unreasonable,” he said seriously, and the smile vanished from her face. 

Appearing concerned, she said, “Oh no. I did tell him that it was nothing and no one saw anything, and he should not—”

“He seemed to think I must wait to marry you. I told him I simply could not.” 

He had surprised her, and she drew back, looking alarmed. After a few moments, she said carefully, “Sir, I do not perceive myself injured in any way—”

“Good. But you must know—except of course you cannot because you do not know me, not yet—that I could not have taken any such liberties unless true feeling lay behind them. I have never before kissed a woman at a party, and I would not have done so last night were it not for the strange, wonderful attachment I feel to you.” 

He stopped and stepped in front of her, taking her hands in his. “I want to marry you, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and not because I kissed you last night, but rather, because we are meant to be together. Our happiness lies in each other. I cannot explain how I know that, but I do.” 

She was shocked into silence. She stared at him, her beautiful, intelligent eyes searching him, seeking to understand. “I…I do not know what to say.”

“Say you will, at the very least, consider it?” 

“Very well,” she said. “I shall.”

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A Wilful Misunderstanding releases October 5th and is current available for preorder!