Chapter 14
E lizabeth stepped out of Longbourn’s front door, pulling her shawl tightly around her shoulders. The sun was just beginning to rise above the hills, casting a golden glow over the fields and hedgerows that bordered the estate. After the events of the day before, she needed time to think, and Oakham Mount was the perfect place for it.
Fortunately, there was no one around to stop her. Her family was still stirring in their rooms, the household not yet fully awake. Only the faint clatter of Hill preparing breakfast reached her ears. The solitude was welcome. For once, there were no cries of “Mama!” from Lydia, no dramatic exclamations from Mrs. Bennet, and no sharp remarks from Mary about the importance of rising early.
Elizabeth tied her bonnet securely under her chin, then pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders. The air was cold, but the promise of sunshine brightened the horizon as she made her way toward Oakham Mount. She followed her usual trail, winding through the fields and hedgerows that separated Longbourn from the surrounding countryside. She relished the solitude, the soft crunch of leaves beneath her boots, and the stillness of the world before most of the neighborhood had stirred.
Oakham Mount had always been her favorite retreat, a place where she could think without interruption. Reaching the summit, she paused to take in the view. The valley spread out below her, the roofs of Longbourn visible in the distance, with the chimneys of Netherfield rising just beyond. The sight always brought her a sense of peace, but today her thoughts were anything but serene.
The rocky path to the top of the large hill was overgrown beneath her boots. Few could manage the climb, but to her it was familiar and comforting. Elizabeth had walked it countless times, but today her steps felt lighter, her heart unusually buoyant. She tried to suppress the fluttering sensation that had taken up residence in her chest since the night before, but it was a losing battle. Every time she recalled Darcy’s deep voice asking for her hand for the first two dances at the Netherfield ball, her pulse quickened.
She sat on a flat rock and pulled her shawl closer, staring out over the landscape. Her mind was filled with memories of the previous evening and, most especially, the moment Darcy had asked her for the first two dances at the ball.
Why did he do it? Why did he ask me?
Elizabeth had turned the question over in her mind again and again during the restless hours of the night. On one hand, it could mean nothing—he likely noticed her mother’s unsubtle matchmaking and felt a polite sense of obligation.
On the other hand, it wasn’t as though Darcy were known for his gallantry and charm. Her initial impression of him had been that he was cold and aloof, a man more interested in his own pride than in the feelings of others. Yet, over the past weeks, she had glimpsed another side of him—a man capable of warmth, generosity, and quiet affection.
She pressed her hands to her cheeks, which had grown warm despite the chill. It was impossible not to hope. The memory of his deep, steady voice asking for her hand filled her with a fluttering sensation she could not suppress. But was she reading too much into it? Was she allowing herself to be swept up in the moment without considering the reality of their acquaintance?
He is very handsome, she admitted to herself, and kind. The way he cares for his son and sister—it is remarkable. But does that mean he feels anything for me?
It was easy to imagine Darcy at Netherfield now, seated at the breakfast table with his son and sister. The image brought a faint smile to her lips. She could almost hear his low, measured voice as he inquired about Andrew’s sleep or Georgiana’s plans for the day.
Dear, sweet Andrew.
Her thoughts drifted to the little boy who had so quickly found a place in her heart. His charming smile and earnest nature had endeared him to her from the start. She remembered the way he had clung to her skirts, seeking comfort from a frightening encounter with Caroline Bingley. The memory filled her with a surge of protectiveness, as though she could shield him from all the world’s unkindness.
She could almost feel his small hand in hers, see his bright smile when she comforted him. Darcy had seemed so grateful to her for that moment, and she could not deny how it had warmed her heart.
And then there was Georgiana, shy and reserved but with a quiet gentleness that reminded Elizabeth of Jane. She was a young girl yearning for acceptance and understanding, trying to find her place in the world.
And he does an admirable job of lifting her up.
Darcy’s attentiveness to his sister spoke volumes about his character, and she admired him for it deeply. He was a man who bore his responsibilities with grace, a man who clearly loved his family.
But is that enough?
Elizabeth sighed, brushing a strand of hair back beneath her bonnet. This was all so new to her. She had never been courted before, never had the experience of a young man declaring his admiration or love. Oh, there had been moments—glances and smiles from neighborhood boys like the Lucases or the Gouldings. But none had ever truly captured her heart, and none had pursued her seriously.
Even in London, during her visits to the Gardiners, she had met gentlemen she liked well enough, but no one who moved her as Darcy did. She danced and even flirted a bit, but she never spent time dwelling on their dispositions or imagining a future with them.
So what makes Darcy so different?
Was it simply his position, his wealth, or the undeniable presence he carried into every room? Was it that he was older, more mature? Was it because he was a father, with a depth of experience she had never encountered in others?
Or was it something deeper—something about the man himself that drew her in? She could not deny that she found him handsome. His dark eyes held a quiet intensity, and his features were strong and well-formed. Yet her attraction went beyond mere appearance.
Yet how well do I truly know him? she wondered. A month’s acquaintance, a few meaningful conversations… is that enough to build a foundation for love? Or am I simply infatuated with the idea of him?
There was something about the way he carried himself—the way he spoke to Andrew with patience and affection, the way he looked after Georgiana with gentle protectiveness. It spoke of a man who cared deeply for those he loved, a man of integrity and honor.
A man who would be a good husband.
Would he even want to marry again? she asked herself. He had loved his first wife, didn’t he? Or at least, he must have cared for her. And then there is Andrew. Would he welcome a stepmother into his son’s life, or does he prefer things as they are?
Elizabeth sighed, shaking her head at her own foolishness. She was allowing herself to hope, to dream of something that might never come to pass. It was dangerous, this growing attachment, and she knew she must guard her heart carefully.
Still, the thoughts wouldn’t stop coming. Could he feel anything for… me?
Elizabeth drew her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them as she considered the possibility that Darcy’s kindness toward her was nothing more than politeness. Could it be that he only valued her for her treatment of his family? That his attentions were born of gratitude rather than affection?
The idea stung, and she tried to push it away.
But what if he does feel something for me? Would I be ready to accept it?
The thought sent a thrill through her, but it also filled her with uncertainty. She had never been in love before, had never known what it was to give her heart to another. How could she be sure that what she felt for Darcy was true?
She could not deny her attraction to him—his dark eyes, his strong features, the quiet intensity of his presence. And yet, love was more than admiration. Love required trust, understanding, and a depth of connection that could not be forged in a matter of weeks.
Elizabeth let out a slow breath, her gaze sweeping over the full expanse of the valley stretched out before her. The view was breathtaking from this height. Longbourn looked small and distant, its familiar gables and chimneys just visible through the trees. Netherfield, too, lay below, its grandeur unmistakable even from so far away.
In the distance, she could see dark rainclouds beginning to gather and move closer. Knowing it would mostly likely begin raining in an hour, she was determined to make the most of her time alone in her favorite place.
Her gaze lingered on Netherfield, and she tried to imagine what life would be like within its walls, or the walls of a similar estate— Darcy’s estate. Could she see herself in a place like that, walking its halls, playing with Andrew in the nursery, sharing quiet evenings with Darcy in the drawing room? The thought was both thrilling and terrifying.
This is ridiculous. I do not even know if he has any true regard for me, and here I am already imagining things.
She could not— would not— allow herself to get carried away. Whatever her feelings for Darcy might be, she would tread carefully. She would observe, listen, and guard her heart until she was certain of his intentions—and her own.
Her thoughts drifted back to the previous day. His quiet compliments in the Philips' parlor had surprised her, as did those the day before when he asked her to dance. It was not his words alone but the way he spoke them—his sincerity and the warmth in his voice, the way his dark eyes bored deeply into hers.
The fluttering sensation returned. Elizabeth shook her head, fighting the faint smile that had formed on her lips at the memory. That is enough, you ! she scolded her heart.
Still, she could not ignore the way her stomach had leapt when she saw him ride up with Bingley. Nor could she forget how carefully he had looked after Georgiana during their time at Netherfield or the tenderness with which he had cradled Andrew.
Perhaps it is foolish to hope, but I cannot deny that I feel something. Something I have never felt before.
Elizabeth stood, brushing the dirt from her skirts. The walk down would be easier than the climb, but it would not feel nearly as satisfying. As she made her way back toward Longbourn, her thoughts remained firmly on the man she had come to know over the past month.
Only time would tell if her feelings were true and if Darcy might share them. But for now, Elizabeth allowed herself a small spark of hope, a feeling that perhaps, for the first time, love was not so far out of reach.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth’s pace quickened as she made her way down the path from Oakham Mount. The grey clouds that had been gathering all morning were finally making good on their threat, and she felt the first drops of rain spatter her bonnet just as Longbourn came into view. The damp chill in the air caused her to pull her shawl tighter around her shoulders, and by the time she reached the front steps, the rain had begun to fall in earnest.
She barely managed to open the door before the downpour began in full force. Her boots, caked in mud from the walk back, left damp prints on the floor as she entered the house. Shivering slightly, she reached down to untie the laces just as Mrs. Hill appeared, tsking at the state of her hem and offering to bring a fresh pair of stockings.
“Thank you, Hill,” Elizabeth said with a warm smile, pulling off her boots just as Jane appeared in the hallway.
“Oh, Lizzy,” Jane said with concern, “you must be chilled to the bone!”
“Only a little damp,” Elizabeth replied, brushing her wet skirts and shaking out her shawl. “But it seems I made it back just in time—listen to that rain.”
The two sisters stood for a moment, watching the rain pour down outside the window, the drops pelting the glass in a steady rhythm. The wind howled as the storm took hold, and Elizabeth felt grateful for the warmth of home.
“I do hope Mr. Collins made it to the posting inn before the rain began,” Jane remarked.
“Oh, was he leaving today?” Elizabeth asked in surprise.
“Yes, I believe he said something about the importance of returning to his duties at Hunsford. Apparently Mr. Darcy made a strong case for his return.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Well, that certainly was kind of him, was it not? We must hope Mr. Collins remains in Kent for quite some time.”
She left Jane and went up the stairs to her room, eager to don a warmer chemise. After changing out of her walking clothes, Elizabeth joined her family at the breakfast table. The warmth of the fire and the hearty spread of tea and toast worked quickly to banish the chill from her bones.
“What positively dreadful weather,” Mrs. Bennet declared, looking forlornly out the window. “How are we to receive visitors or make any calls with such a rain? And I had so wanted to go into Meryton today for shoe roses and ribbons for the ball!”
Elizabeth exchanged a look with Jane, trying to suppress a smile at their mother’s dramatics.
“Surely the weather will clear by Monday morning, Mama,” Jane offered gently, buttering a slice of toast. “That will give us plenty of time before the ball on Tuesday.”
“That is hardly the point,” Mrs. Bennet replied with a huff. “We have so much to prepare! I must speak to the milliner about my new lace, and there is still the matter of Kitty and Lydia’s bonnets. Oh, and your sister Mary requires a proper ribbon for her gown—it is entirely too plain without one.”
“I am certain we can make do for today,” Elizabeth said calmly. “Perhaps we might spend the afternoon in more industrious pursuits indoors.”
Mrs. Bennet let out a theatrical sigh, clearly unimpressed by Elizabeth’s suggestion, but said no more. The remainder of breakfast was completed in relative silence, the steady patter against the windows providing a soothing backdrop to the meal.
After breakfast, the Bennet women retired to the parlor, each finding a way to occupy themselves. Elizabeth curled up in her favorite chair with a book, the pages a welcome escape from the dreary weather. Jane worked on a piece of embroidery, her needle gliding deftly through the fabric. Mary sat at the pianoforte, practicing scales, while Kitty and Lydia flitted between projects, making over bonnets and discussing which officers might attend the upcoming ball.
The quiet rhythm of the afternoon was interrupted only by the occasional crackle of the fire or the soft rustle of fabric as Mrs. Bennet inspected Jane’s embroidery with a critical eye.
“Lizzy, you do not think this too plain, do you?” Jane asked, holding up her work for Elizabeth’s opinion.
Elizabeth set her book aside and leaned forward to inspect it. “Not at all. I think it is quite elegant—simple, but tasteful.”
Mrs. Bennet, overhearing the exchange, let out another sigh. “It is well enough, but I do wish we had gone to Meryton today. A bit of new lace would have improved it immeasurably.”
Elizabeth and Jane exchanged a small smile before returning to their respective tasks.
It was nearing tea time when the sound of a horse pulling up to the front of the house broke the peaceful quiet. A few minutes later, Mrs. Hill appeared in the doorway, holding an envelope.
“A note from Netherfield, miss,” she announced, handing it to Jane.
Mrs. Bennet’s eyes lit up as she snatched up the letter, her earlier gloom forgotten. “From Netherfield! I do hope it is an invitation.”
She tore open the envelope and began to read aloud, her voice growing more excited with each sentence:
Tuesday Afternoon
Dear Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth,
It is with great pleasure that I extend an invitation to you both for tea tomorrow evening. I have recently received a most delightful blend from London, the likes of which I am certain you have never tasted before. I cannot bear to keep such a treasure to myself and insist that you join us to partake in it.
I am certain you will find it as remarkable as I do. I will brook no refusals, as it would simply break my heart were you to disappoint me. In anticipation of your answer to the affirmative, I will make arrangements to send our carriage for you, as I shan’t allow anything to stand in our way.
I should also mention that my brother and Mr. Darcy will be in attendance, so it will be a delightful opportunity for further conversation.
Yours most sincerely,
Caroline Bingley
“Is it not the most wonderful thing?” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, practically dancing in her seat. “Oh, my dears, you must go! And to think—Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley will both be there!”
Elizabeth stood and took the note from her mother’s hand, her brow furrowing slightly as she read the lines. Caroline’s tone was overly familiar, her insistence bordering on condescension, and the mention of Darcy set Elizabeth’s heart fluttering uncomfortably.
“I suppose we cannot refuse,” Jane said softly, glancing at Elizabeth.
“No,” Elizabeth agreed with a faint smile, folding the note. “I suppose we cannot. Although I wonder why on earth she invited us.”
“Clearly she wishes to further a friendship with us,” Jane said, her eyes shining. “I believe she is more amiable than you give her credit for.”
Elizabeth thought back to the harsh looks and snide remarks she had received from Miss Bingley during their time spent at Netherfield while Jane was recovering her health. “Perhaps,” was all she replied. “Very well, then. We shall go to tea tomorrow evening at Netherfield.”
Mrs. Bennet beamed, her earlier woes about the rain forgotten. “It is settled, then! Oh, what a fine time you shall have. Oh, Jane, you must wear your best silk gown—it will complement your complexion perfectly.”
Elizabeth sighed, folded the note and set it aside. “Mama, the invitation is for tea, not a ball. I am sure simple evening attire will suffice.”
“Nonsense!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. “Every moment in the company of such gentlemen is an opportunity not to be wasted. And Lizzy, do not forget to fix your hair properly this time.”
Elizabeth bit back a retort, instead rising from her mother’s side to return to her book on her chair. As much as she dreaded enduring Caroline’s airs, the thought of seeing Darcy again—despite her best efforts to dismiss it—filled her with quiet anticipation.
She could not help but wonder at Miss Bingley’s sudden eagerness to host them. I do hope it is nothing too nefarious that calls us there.
Laughing at herself, she dismissed the idea with a toss of her head. The rain continued to patter against the windows, but Elizabeth’s attempts to read were frequently interrupted by thoughts of the enigmatic gentleman who had so affected her heart and mind.