Truth about Mr. Darcy by Susan Adriani Read Free Book Online Page A

lovely face staring back at him in horror. As penance, Darcy sequestered himself within the confines of Netherfield’s library, spending his days avoiding the unwanted company of Bingley’s two sisters and his brother-in-law, who were also staying at Netherfield, and staring at the floor. He suspected it was obvious from the dark circles beneath his eyes that his nights were spent in much the same manner.
    Bingley had a very good idea as to the deeper cause of Darcy’s sleeplessness but was at a loss as to what he should do about it, if anything. After Bingley consulted with Jane, who confided to him Elizabeth’s increasing concern for Darcy, the two of them decided the best course of action would be to invite Elizabeth to Netherfield as soon as possible, particularly since it seemed highly unlikely Darcy would be persuaded to leave the sanctuary of Netherfield to travel to Longbourn. Though Elizabeth showed initial reluctance to accept his invitation, when Bingley returned from Longbourn the following day, both sisters accompanied him.
    ***
    With a ragged breath, Darcy slumped forward in his chair by the fire, his eyes closed as he held his head in his hands. For countless weeks he had struggled against his ardent feelings for Elizabeth. His mind, so full of society’s prejudices and misguided expectations, constantly fought an ever-losing battle with his heart.
    It was on the very first night of their acquaintance, Darcy remembered, that he had so arrogantly dismissed her as entirely unsuitable; yet it had taken only one further encounter for him to find her eyes and pleasing figure had captured his full attention. The potent physical attraction he had begun to feel for her—far more powerful than any he had ever experienced toward any other woman—soon possessed him, and the demanding, insistent passion he experienced every time he so much as thought of her rendered him incapable of focusing his attention on anything other than the bewitching woman who held him completely mesmerized by her charms.
    Having been repeatedly thrown together at assemblies and private gatherings only made his delirious desire for her grow, for countless hours of attentive observation soon made it clear to Darcy that Elizabeth Bennet was not one of the insipid young women of the London ton . Her beauty, which he had very early withstood but which had fast become an object of his deepest admiration, almost paled in comparison to her quick wit and her lively intelligence. Darcy had begun to understand, far too late, that his house in Town, his grand estate of Pemberley, and his extensive fortune would not aid him in securing her affections. Indeed, he knew that, to Elizabeth, none of his worldly assets and, most particularly, his prominent position in the first circles of society would ever prove inducement enough to tempt her into accepting him.
    He was so full of love for her, yet the ache in his breast—the wretched knowledge that his love was unrequited—consumed him. Along with the painful acknowledgment of this torture came a sobering epiphany: he needed Elizabeth Bennet. He needed her laughter, her love, and her passion for life more than he suspected he needed to draw breath. No matter what society would say or how they would censure him, Darcy now knew in his mind, as he always had in his heart, that he could no longer willingly sacrifice the sheer joy and complete fulfillment he knew only she was capable of bringing him—not for duty nor honor nor family nor friends.
    He knew Elizabeth did not love him—Wickham had been right about that—and that knowledge alone was enough to leave a desolate ache of despair in his heart. He was devastated by her indifference to him, but, when he was forced to consider what she must certainly feel for him after witnessing his savage loss of control in the streets of Meryton, it made him want to weep with regret for what his shameful, rash actions had most assuredly cost him. So tortured was he