Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
T he powerful smell of muck stung Elizabeth’s nostrils as she sat on an old mounting block. Glancing about her, she said a quiet prayer that her hosts were not questioning her whereabouts. How would she explain her predicament? Tenderly, she stroked the dog’s matted fur. A little milk had been fetched, and, to her relief, the dog had started to poke its head from under the cloth and take tiny sips from the bowl. The terrier’s injuries did not appear deep, and she was optimistic of the brave mite’s recovery. Looking down at her dress, she was not surprised to see she was covered in a mixture of mud, dog-blood, and straw. She picked a strand of straw from the inside of her sleeve and laughed, imagining Miss Bingley’s expression if she were to see her now.
Giving the dog a soft stroke between the ears, Elizabeth stood and went to the doorway to watch the activity in the yard. Just beyond her line of sight, she heard a man’s voice, enquiring as to why his horse was not ready. It was Mr Darcy, his deep voice cutting through the air. A groom muttered an explanation of the mishap, soon followed by the sound of footsteps approaching the stable. Elizabeth fought the urge to groan. Why must he be the one to discover my folly? She ran a hand over her gown in a futile attempt to look respectable. When Mr Darcy appeared in front of her, she decided it was better to poke fun at herself rather than attempt to justify her actions.
“Good morning, sir. You find me at a disadvantage. You are dressed for the stables. Regrettably, I am not.”
“There was mention of an accident?” Mr Darcy looked aghast. “I trust you are not hurt?”
“No, but this little warrior did not escape the fight unscathed.” She gestured towards the small heap of rags and fur that was now sleeping peacefully at her feet. Mr Darcy took a step closer, and as he did, Elizabeth crouched down to move one of the bloodied rags to allow him to take a better look. “He came to my rescue, demonstrating enough bravery for an epic poem or —” She stopped when she glanced at the gentleman and saw that he was ashen; he looked as though he might faint. Moving quickly, she retrieved the mounting block and gestured for him to sit.
“It will pass,” he said, waving away her kindness. The pallor of his face suggested he was still afflicted by whatever ailed him, however.
“I must insist that you take a seat. I do not trust my strength to catch you if you swoon.” This was said to lift his spirit, and she was gratified to see a smile pass briefly across his face. Fortunately, he took her advice and sat himself gingerly on the block.
“Is there anything I might do to help you?” Elizabeth asked. “Has this happened before?”
His eyes closed, he nodded. “I do not like…” He gestured in the direction of the terrier.
“You do not like the sight of blood?” she enquired gently.
He inhaled deeply. “It is not the blood itself, rather the memory it evokes.”
Elizabeth stared at him, wondering what terrible circumstance might have befallen him to cause such a strong response. Until now, she had thought of Mr Darcy as unfeeling, yet there was a genuine anguish in his expression, and her generous heart was alive to his pain.
“Shall I call for assistance?”
A little colour returned to his cheeks. “No. I thank you. Please, do not speak of this to anyone.”
“Naturally, I shall not.”
Mr Darcy looked at her briefly before lowering his gaze to the floor. He appeared embarrassed, and Elizabeth decided that the kindest thing to do was make light of the situation.
“Do you know, this sometimes happens to me?” She sat upon another block beside him. “Usually when someone opens the pianoforte and asks me to perform.”
A small grin pulled at his lips. “I find that difficult to believe. I thought all women enjoyed playing a musical instrument.”
Arching her eyebrows playfully, she replied, “All women who are proficient do, the rest of us must pretend.”
Mr Darcy gave a reluctant huff of laughter at this, and, reaching out with long arms, he found the side of the stable door and pulled himself to his feet. “What do you plan to do with your new companion?” He indicated to the dog without actually looking at it.
“You mean David?” Elizabeth gave the sleeping dog a final pat before standing and joining Mr Darcy.
“David?”
“If you had seen the other dog, you would understand.”
“Am I to infer that his opponent was Goliath? Your tiny protector must have been at quite the disadvantage.”
“Only in stature. In courage, David has no equal.”
Suppressing a smile, Mr Darcy shook his head slowly. “David is not a dog’s name.”
“Oh really? Whose name is it then?”
“I could not answer.” There was a gleam of humour in his eyes when he added, “But it is certainly not the name for a dog.”
His manner of speaking was so familiar and unguarded that she was taken by surprise. It was as though a crack had formed in Mr Darcy’s proud exterior, and she was viewing a different man entirely.
It discomposed her, and she hastily said, “I should return to the house before I am missed. With luck, I shall not leave too much mud on the carpets. If I do, you can be sure we shall hear about it later.”
Mr Darcy’s mouth twitched with laughter. Then his expression seemed to harden, and he cast his eyes over her muddy dress, and she felt the scrutiny of his gaze.
To hide her embarrassment, she added lightly, “Please do not reveal me to be the culprit. One can never have too many secrets.”
She expected him to smile, but to her surprise, Mr Darcy frowned instead. He opened his mouth to say something—about her appearance, she guessed—before closing it and bowing deeply in a farewell, muttering something about retrieving his horse.
“An announcement in a newspaper?” Bingley’s forehead creased in confusion. “Like of a marriage?” His horse lost its footing and lurched skittishly on the bridle-path.
“No.” Darcy frowned. “It is more in the vein of idle gossip. Two false reports have now been published, implicating me with a woman whose surname begins with B.”
“Nonsense!” Bingley laughed. “You have scarcely spoken a word to me, let alone any eligible women—” He hesitated before adding, “Unless you think it refers to Caroline.”
Colour rose to Darcy’s cheek. “Truthfully, I suspected her manner towards me might have caused others to misinterpret our acquaintance—” Looking alarmed, Bingley opened his mouth, but Darcy continued before his friend could speak. “I do not think it to be your sister. The second notice particularly mentions a Hertfordshire maiden capturing my attention.”
Bingley’s eyebrows were raised. “I am sorry to have invited you here, Darcy, if it has brought you all this trouble.”
Darcy waved away the apology. “You are not to blame. My suspicion is that there is a nefarious agent who means to exploit the ton’s insatiable need for gossip at my expense.”
“But who?”
“I do not know.” Although I have my suspicions, he thought , recalling his earlier encounter with Miss Elizabeth, her observation about not having too many secrets still ringing in his ears
“What do you mean to do about it?”
“My natural instinct is to return to London. If I am rumoured to be attached to a local woman, then surely it would be better for me to remove myself from Hertfordshire.” Darcy detected a slump to Bingley’s shoulders. “Does this pose a problem for you?”
“Not at all,” said Bingley unconvincingly. “It is only that when Mrs Bennet and her daughters called yesterday, I promised I would hold a ball, and I had rather hoped you would stay. I shall be in need of support.”
Wishing his friend did not have such a keen interest in the Bennet family, Darcy said, “What use would I be?”
“Quite likely none at all.” Bingley gave an embarrassed laugh. “But Louisa becomes a tyrant when there are arrangements to be made, and she and Caroline conspire to spend far too much of my money. Ashamed as I am to admit it, your opinion carries more weight than mine with them. I thought you might help to temper some of their demands.”
“When do you propose holding this abomination to my sensibilities?” he asked after a long moment.
Bingley’s face brightened. “Within the next three weeks.”
“Then I shall postpone my return to London. Although I cannot promise to attend if I am called away suddenly,” Darcy added, thinking of the threatening letters.
“You have my unending gratitude.”
Over Bingley’s shoulder, a flash of colour in the field beyond caught Darcy’s notice. Miss Elizabeth! As soon as there was a pause in Bingley’s conversation, Darcy excused himself and set off to find her.
The leaves under Elizabeth’s feet made a satisfying crunch as she walked along the outskirts of the field. After her conversation with Mr Darcy in the stables, she had returned to the house unobserved, washed and changed her gown, seen that Jane was still asleep, and once again made her way into the open air, where the sun was presently shining.
She walked softly down the path and made her way into the grove, following the song of a friendly robin. Her mind continually wandered back to Mr Darcy; he had looked so unwell earlier. It is a shame he is so abrupt and disagreeable . For a moment I felt quite sorry for him.
She had not been walking long when a dart of movement caught her eye through the trees. It was a rider; he changed direction, and the sleek, black coat of a fine stallion came into view. Recognising the elegant animal, she knew it was Mr Darcy. When he pulled to a stop near her, she curtseyed , watching as he dismounted and approached her. He gave her a curt greeting and indicated that he wished to join her.
Hardly able to refuse, she said, “Good day, sir. What a fine morning it has become.”
Mr Darcy agreed, and an awkward silence fell between them. His horse stamped an impatient hoof, and she was grateful for the interruption to their encounter.
She ran her hand along its nose. “An admirable creature, even to my inexperienced eyes. What is his name?”
“Midnight.”
“For his beautiful colour, I suppose.” Elizabeth spoke in a disinterested tone, hoping he might take the hint and leave her in peace.
“It was the time he was born. The mare’s labour was hard, and it was a relief when it all ended safely.”
Annoyed by his brusque answer, she replied, “How fortunate he was not born a chestnut! It would be harder to justify his name if he had been.”
To her amazement, Mr Darcy laughed. He seems younger when he smiles . It was a startling realisation, and one that confused her.
He averted his eyes briefly and cleared his throat, eliminating all signs of humour. “Do you often walk out alone?
“It is not unusual for me. I know these parts so well—and these woods are so small that it is impossible for me to get lost.”
“It does not worry you to be out here by yourself, or what people will think if you are unaccompanied for so long?”
“Pray tell me, to what do these questions tend?” Elizabeth attempted to remain calm under his persistent questioning. Was he reprimanding her?
“I did not wish to offend you. I was merely trying to point out the imprudence of a woman walking about unescorted. I wonder that you do not consider the damage it poses to your reputation?”
“I shall endeavour to recollect your kind advice.” Elizabeth forced a smile. “In the future, I shall enlist one of our many servants to accompany me. They can have nothing better to do.”
“A wise decision.” He nodded and cast his dark eyes over her face, evidently missing the sarcasm in her statement. “One cannot be too careful with one's reputation.” She searched his features, trying to discover an explanation for his gravity, and watched as his expression eased. In a softer tone, he added, “I only say this as I do not wish you to come to harm.”
With that, he bid her a gruff farewell, remounted his horse and rode away. Bewildered, Elizabeth made her own way back to Netherfield Park, Mr Darcy’s warning echoing in her ears.
After their meeting in the woods, Mr Darcy kept to his rooms most of the day, claiming he was writing letters. Miss Bingley praised him for it, saying it spoke of his commitment to his responsibilities to his estate, Pemberley . Elizabeth was convinced that he was avoiding her. Thankfully, by late afternoon, Jane was well enough improved that they were able to return to Longbourn, where Mrs Bennet asked endless questions regarding their stay. Elizabeth said nothing about Mr Darcy’s odd behaviour to Jane. It was easier to pretend their conversation had never happened. Whatever could he have meant by lecturing me about the importance of one’s reputation? He surely cannot believe I have committed an indiscretion. Yet, the feeling that he had been warning her persisted.
“You are very quiet today, Lizzy,” her father said the next morning at breakfast. “I have just the thing to make you smile.” He showed her a letter, explaining, “It is from Mr Collins, my heir and the man who will evict you from Longbourn upon my death.”
“How can you be so heartless!” Mrs Bennet wailed. “To speak so flippantly, as though it were of no consequence to any of us!”
“Ah, but my dear, he was compelled to write by a desire to visit us,” Mr Bennet said. “He pays us many flowery compliments, but I suspect his real purpose is to size up the house.” He read the letter aloud; it was in equal parts unnecessarily deferential and self-important.
Elizabeth said, “I cannot make him out at all. I think—rather I fear—he cannot be a sensible man.”
“I sincerely hope not,” her father replied cheerfully. “His stay at Longbourn will allow us to observe him at close quarters, but I am confident that he is ridiculous.”
Mr Collins arrived as expected, and he was every bit as risible as his letter suggested. He spent countless minutes complimenting Mrs Bennet on the pattern upon her wallpaper and explaining that the leafless oak tree visible from the drawing room window was similar to one at Rosings, the residence of his patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, although hers was far superior. He spoke of Lady Catherine’s taste and wisdom incessantly, assuring them he considered himself fortunate to have won her favour. Through various hints, Mr Collins made it clear that, in his view, he was a highly eligible marriage partner for the female occupants of Longbourn. His initial interest was in Jane, but Mrs Bennet soon steered Mr Collins’ ship onto a new course: Elizabeth.
Unfortunately, the inclement weather that had caused Jane’s illness struck again, preventing Elizabeth and her sisters from escaping their cousin’s company for several days. When the skies finally cleared, Mr Collins accompanied the Bennets to Mrs Philips’s card party. Elizabeth was grateful for an excuse to be away from the confines of Longbourn, even if it meant that Mr Collins stayed close by her side.
The party was a lively affair, full of laughter and joviality. Suddenly, Mr Bull was there, slipping into the remaining seat at their card table. Elizabeth had not known he was in attendance, and she performed the introductions.
Mr Bull’s face was full of wry amusement, one eyebrow raised high. “Collins, you say? You are not one of the Lincolnshire Collinses, are you? I believe my father once did business with a member of that particular branch of the Collins family tree. ‘An admirable fellow’, he said, ‘but not one for figures’.” With an incline of his broad shoulders, he leant towards Mr Collins. “ That Mr Collins did himself out of a bargain and was none the wiser for it.”
“No indeed, I have no family in Lincolnshire.” Mr Collins looked annoyed at this slight against his imagined relation.
“Of course, he would be no relative of yours,” Mr Bull said blithely. “You give the impression of being an intelligent man.”
Elizabeth tried not to frown; she had heard the implication in Mr Bull’s words, even if the unsuspecting Mr Collins had not. Disguising her annoyance at Mr Bull’s rudeness, she was nevertheless relieved that someone else was talking to Mr Collins, who was presently discoursing on his favourite topics: his parsonage and Lady Catherine. During a break in the game, Elizabeth excused herself and went to find her younger sisters.
“Do not be too long. Your company will be missed,” said Mr Bull. Over his shoulder, in such a way that Mr Collins could not see it, he grimaced at her. Despite her reservations about his conduct, Elizabeth stifled a laugh, understanding his sentiments but not entirely at ease with his treatment of her cousin.
Lydia and Kitty were in the middle of a group of officers, regaling them with unflattering impressions of Mr Collins.
“You should not mock him,” Elizabeth reproved, after drawing the girls aside.
“You are growing soft, Lizzy,” Lydia teased. “I wish you every happiness. You make a lovely pair.”
“Who makes a lovely pair?”
Elizabeth turned to discover the source of the voice and was presented with a vision of masculine beauty. Tall and strong, the officer’s wavy black hair swept off his forehead and contrasted sharply with jasper blue eyes. His smile was disarming.
“My sister and Mr Collins,” Lydia said. “And who are you?”
An officer of their acquaintance was with him, and said, “Allow me to introduce our newest arrival, Mr George Wickham.”