Chapter 32
CHAPTER 32
L ate the following morning, Elizabeth muttered to herself as she picked her way to the castle, one of her favourite routes. Lydia had elected not to accompany her; it was raining lightly, which did not concern Elizabeth, but her youngest sister objected to such activities in inclement weather. Her preferred companion, Mr Darcy, had not appeared this morning when she came downstairs for their walk, though she waited for nearly half an hour. She was instead accompanied by Lady Catherine’s footman, and one of Darcy’s grooms.
The previous evening had ended in chaos. Elizabeth was suspicious that Miss Woodhouse had only swooned to prevent Elizabeth and Darcy from going onto the terrace alone. The young woman watched the pair of them closely, and with disapproval, all evening. Elizabeth was quite nearly ready to tell the young woman to mind her own business. For heaven’s sake, even Mr Darcy’s uncle, Lord Matlock, approved of her, and had no objection to her family or background and he worked with the prime minister and the King! If her family in trade was not a concern for Lord Matlock, what business was it of Miss Woodhouse to have an opinion?
Indeed, Darcy had lost no time becoming well acquainted with her Uncle Gardiner, and the men had all recently undertaken some important new investments together. Even Mr Bennet had contributed something to it in the hopes of setting a sum aside for Mrs Bennet. Mr Bingley was keen to improve his fortune, so that Jane and any daughters would be well provided for, should they indeed wed. Darcy had no such worries, his fortune being quite a bit larger than rumour gave him credit for, but he was always interested in new investments.
How lovely it would have been to wake an engaged woman today, with nothing to worry about but planning her wedding. Instead, last night, just after Miss Woodhouse had swooned, Mr Woodhouse had turned on the comte , and vented his spleen upon the foreign nobleman in anger.
“What kind of physician do you call yourself? That you will watch a young woman suffer, and do nothing!” shouted Mr Woodhouse angrily at the comte .
“I never called myself a physician. I am an alchemist. I have skills in medicine. There is no help that I can give her,” answered St Germain.
“You have never even examined her!” exclaimed Mr Woodhouse, outraged.
“It is not necessary that I do so. I know what ails her, and so does she. I cannot help her,” insisted the comte .
“What can you mean by such nonsense?” sneered Anne. “Why do you speak in circles? What have you to hide?”
“I hide nothing,” answered St Germain, untroubled.
“Anne, how dare you speak to the comte in such a manner?” objected Lady Catherine. “Woodhouse, it is hardly his fault if he has no remedy for your daughter. Have you reacted to every doctor in this manner?”
“ He has not even tried ,” ground out Mr Woodhouse.
“Then you ought to thank him for refusing to give you false hope. I am not in the way of knowing what ails Miss Woodhouse, but it does not appear to be fatal. Comte , is she dying?”
“She will live,” the man answered simply.
“But what is wrong with her?” begged Mr Woodhouse.
“She suffers on behalf of another. When they are cured, so will she be,” said St Germain.
“ What in the blazes does that mean? ” demanded Woodhouse.
“It is not my place to say,” answered St Germain mysteriously.
Miss Woodhouse sat quietly in a chair as the ladies fanned her and attempted to ply her with refreshment. She eyed Elizabeth and Mr Darcy unobtrusively, but Elizabeth detected it. She seemed uncomfortable by her father’s confrontation with the comte , but otherwise, Elizabeth thought she seemed secretly satisfied with herself.
“I am certain she saw that Darcy and I were slipping outside, and swooned on purpose,” Elizabeth complained to Jane a short time later.
“ Lizzy, what on earth would cause you to make such an accusation?” gasped Jane.
“She does not like that Darcy is courting me,” pointed out Elizabeth. “She believes he ought to be courting Priscilla. You know this, Jane.”
“I do, but to think she would stoop to deception! I cannot believe it of Miss Woodhouse,” said Jane.
“Jane, you barely know her,” said Elizabeth, exasperated. “You see how she avoids all of us except for Anne and Priscilla. You and I have an uncle in trade, and you are being courted by the son of a tradesman. Next time you are in company with her, attempt to make conversation with her. She will treat you as beneath contempt.”
“Listen to your sister, Jane,” said Priscilla as she and Anne joined them. “Miss Woodhouse is a veritable snob.”
“But do not be hurt when she snubs you, Jane,” interrupted Caroline, joining their party a moment after Anne and Priscilla. “She will snub you, make no mistake about that, but do not let it hurt you. You are worth six of her!”
“What do you think the comte meant about her illness?” Anne asked Elizabeth curiously.
“I am certain that I do not know, but it was all very mysterious, was it not?” Elizabeth answered her friend.
“I do not like the comte’s manner of pronouncing people ill,” said Anne firmly, as Lady Catherine beckoned to them, and they all hurried over to learn that Darcy had ordered their carriages. The magic of the evening had vanished, and most of the gentry were returning home.
Shaking herself from her recollections of the previous evening, Elizabeth turned her attention to the magnificent castle in front of her as she crested a small hill. Elizabeth loved this castle. It filled her imagination with fancies of every kind, romantic, gothic, tragic, historic. It almost made her wish to write fanciful stories about it, and wondered, if she was not to marry Darcy, if she might try her hand at novels, and live by her pen.
She skirted around the park to the edge of the trees, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. She had been assured by the locals that she was unlikely to be bothered if she walked there, for others from nearby frequently cut across the property, but strictly speaking, she was still trespassing, and she had no desire to disturb anyone.
She gasped in surprise when from behind a tree, stepped none but the comte . “ Monsieur le Comte , I beg your pardon, you quite startled me!”
“ Pardon, mademoiselle , it was not my intention to frighten you.” The comte bowed.
“Were you visiting the occupants of the castle?” Elizabeth asked curiously.
The comte laughed. “Before breakfast? Non, mademoiselle , I have been enough amongst society that even I would not so presume. Like yourself, I am only enjoying the morning. The castle, it is impressionnant , is it not?”
Elizabeth smiled in excitement. “I find it delightful. It is such an imaginative prospect. It has occurred to me that a writer with a shred of artistry could write a hundred stories about such a place. My youngest sister and I often make up stories about the woman that they say lives here when we walk, for amusement, not unlike your fancy with the jewels. Before you joined me, I was imagining that the castle is inhabited by a famous opera singer, who was reviled by society after being disfigured in a fire.”
The comte barked out a sudden and surprising laugh. “Let me try… Let us see… An elderly woman of foreign descent, the locals say… Hmmmm… Once a great beauty, perhaps the inhabitant of the castle was once the lover of a great king… She fled her home to save her life… Now she lives in hiding, guarding a precious secret.” He grinned at her. “How was that?”
“Very imaginative, Lydia would approve very much,” Elizabeth laughed. A snap behind her reminded her of the servants who were waiting for her to finish her exercise so they could go about their chores. “I must return to Bourne House, Monsieur ; good morning to you.”
The mysterious man bowed as Elizabeth dropped a curtsey and turned back the way she came.
Darcy’s countenance was thunderous as he descended the stairs for breakfast. His valet, Mr Winston, had fallen ill in the night, and had not the strength to rise on time to wake his master that morning. Darcy was not angry with his man, he knew Winston must be half dead to excuse shirking his duty. Darcy had woken on his own after Elizabeth had already left, dressed himself, and went to the servants’ quarters to see to his man’s welfare. Winston had a terrible fever, and was raving and delusional. It had taken three footmen to keep him in bed once the man had decided that he must get up and go about his work. The housekeeper was now plying the man with willow bark tea, and herbs from the stillroom. Darcy hoped the fever would be of short duration, and would not prove contagious.
He arrived in the breakfast room just in time to privately explain to Elizabeth how his morning had gone. Thankfully, she was not upset, and perhaps the lady might not have liked being proposed to on a walk in the rain anyway. The more he thought about it, the more he determined that it was selfish of him not to wait for a properly romantic moment. Elizabeth ought not have to settle for a mediocre proposal merely because he was impatient. He would think more upon the matter.
Darcy sat between Elizabeth and Georgiana, and listened to the ladies and gentlemen around the table make their plans for the day. Anne, Priscilla, and Caroline planned to stay at Bourne House with Lady Catherine to receive morning calls. Elizabeth, Jane, and Mary had plans to visit the shoemaker for new slippers to match the gowns they had commissioned. Georgiana and Lydia wished to visit Miss Fletcher, and practise the harp with that lady. Mrs Annesley would accompany them. They all planned to go to the beach later in the afternoon, if the skies cleared, and enjoy the delights of sea bathing or parading on the shore, and the company of the neighbours.
Darcy and Bingley had promised that if the light rain did indeed cease, that they would give William Bennet some further instruction in the game of cricket. A match was coming up in a few weeks, and all of the gentlemen in the area had agreed to play against the local tradesmen. Such competitions were popular at seaside resorts and in country villages. The men were always keen to play, the ladies were always keen to observe and cheer, and the entire village often turned out to watch. They had started teaching him the day after they arrived in Eastbourne, and William Bennet was an unexpected prodigy of the game, the coordination of his hands and eyes not at all clumsy once he understood the rules. He had an uncanny ability when it came to watching the ball, and could even predict what direction and how far it would go before he struck it with the bat. The gentlemen were excited to have him as their secret weapon, and had committed to practising as often as possible.
After breakfast, Darcy found a quiet moment with Elizabeth in the garden as she waited for her sisters to fetch their bonnets for their outing. “I was disappointed not to have the conversation that we intended last night, and even more disappointed this morning when I woke so late. I apologise,” said Darcy, as they picked their way along the dampened path. The rain had indeed stopped, and the sun was shining beautifully. “But then after further reflection, I decided that perhaps I was being unfair. You deserve better than a hasty conversation within earshot of the entire town, or worse, one in the rain. I should not be so selfish and impatient. I will find the right moment to ask my question.”
“I ought to be hesitant to confess how much joy I might have felt to have such a conversation, even in the rain,” admitted Elizabeth shyly. “I hope you will not wait too long to find the perfect time.”
“You are decided then? Are you certain of your feelings?” he asked, his heart swelling until he thought it might burst. If only she might love me as I do her, I should never ask for anything ever again.
“I am as certain of my feelings as one as inexperienced as myself could be, under the circumstances,” Elizabeth confessed. “I have sought the advice of my aunt, who shares a love match with my uncle. She tells me that though what we feel now seems like true love, it is rather the most simplistic form of love. The only thing that can make it develop into true love , is to unite ourselves, and set to the work of devoting ourselves to one another. My aunt says that it takes time, years of hard work and commitment to complete the abiding bond that we seek. I am keen to learn how much more I could love you, and admit to feeling rather impatient to embark upon the endeavour.”
Darcy’s heart soared. He took her hand and placed a kiss upon the inside of her wrist. “The feeling is entirely mutual, Elizabeth. I will not take too long to find the perfect moment,” he promised.