Chapter 10
10
E lizabeth was not expecting company when the knock came at the parsonage door.
Charlotte looked up from her mending, curious, as the maid entered, carrying something behind her back.
"A delivery for you, Miss Bennet," the maid said with an unusual smile, stepping forward and revealing—A bouquet of flowers.
The blooms were not extravagant, but they were perfectly chosen—wildflowers mixed with fresh roses, delicate but bright, as though plucked from a garden meant only for her.
"From Rosings," the maid added, far too entertained by the moment.
Elizabeth took the flowers, fingers trembling slightly.
Attached to the stems, a note.
She opened it, her hands trembling slightly.
Elizabeth,
If you are inclined for another walk, meet me by the grove this afternoon.
—F.D.
She exhaled slowly. Her heart should not be racing. This should not mean anything. And yet—she could not stop smiling.
Charlotte cleared her throat. "You are going, I presume?"
Elizabeth hesitated—only for a moment. "Yes," she admitted.
Charlotte nodded in satisfaction and returned to her work.
A couple hours later when she arrived at the grove, she was prepared for another simple walk.
She was not prepared for the sight of a blanket, a basket of food, and Darcy himself—seated, waiting, and looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Elizabeth slowed her steps. "A picnic, Mr. Darcy?" she mused.
He stood with a small bow. "I thought you might like it," he said, with far too much ease.
She arched a brow. "And what, pray, gave you that idea?"
He shrugged, gesturing for her to sit. "Perhaps I have begun to understand you."
She hesitated.
Then, with an amused shake of her head, she sat. “I like it very much.”
Darcy’s proud smile was almost enough to make her laugh outlaid.
The air between them felt different today. Lighter. Easier.
Halfway through the meal, Darcy leaned back onto his elbows, watching her with open amusement. "Shall we play a game, Miss Bennet?"
"A game?" She didn’t know Darcy played many games outside of the normal staid types.
"Yes." He smiled just slightly. "We shall take turns. Each of us must tell the other something no one else knows."
Elizabeth tapped a finger to her chin. "You expect me to share my secrets with you, sir?"
"I do. In exchange for mine."
She exhaled dramatically. "Very well. But you must begin."
Darcy tilted his head, considering. Then, with absolute ease, he said, "I once fell from my horse when I was ten years old because I was staring at a girl."
Elizabeth laughed. "A girl?"
"A dairymaid’s daughter. I was very taken with her. Unfortunately, so was my horse."
Elizabeth covered her mouth, trying and failing to suppress her amusement. "You are not at all as serious as you pretend to be," she said, shaking her head.
"Only in the company of those who bring it out in me," he murmured.
"Very well," she said quickly. "My turn. Let me see…"
She took a slow sip of wine, thinking.
Then, with a sly glance, she said, "I have always wanted to borrow something scandalous."
Darcy choked on his drink. “Borrow? Do you mean rob?”
She nodded, eyes glinting with mischief. “And give it back, of course. Nothing of consequence. Something ridiculous. A gentleman’s hat, perhaps. Or a book from a lending library, just to see if I could get away with it. Just for the fun of returning it." She shifted her skirts. “A prank, if you will.”
Darcy stared at her, then exhaled a soft laugh. "You astound me, Miss Bennet."
"I strive for nothing less."
“I’ve often been afraid of marriage.”
She paused. His personal revelation was big, deep and surprising. “How so?”
“I don’t know. I am afraid it won’t be a happy life. I’m afraid my wife will come to know me and despise me. I’m afraid we will drift apart, we will disagree often or we won’t be able to abide each other.” He shrugged. “It’s an unknown, and my parents didn’t always seem incredibly happy.”
She nodded, slowly. “I too have feared it. And my parents also do not often seem happy.” She sighed. He was touching on things much too accurate and close to her real thoughts. “But even with all this fear in our generation, hundreds march toward matrimony anyway.” She laughed, trying to force a lighter mood.
He lifted her fingers to his mouth. “May we each create a life of happiness, defying our fears soundly.” His brow quirked and then he released her hand.
She placed a hand at her breast, taking a moment to catch her breath. Some change of subject was needed. “My turn. I love to dance the waltz, but have never done so with anyone besides a sister.”
His eyes lit with that revelation. And then he stood. “We will have to remedy that this instant.” He held out a hand.
“What? Do you mean now?”
He nodded. “I do. Now, if you please, may I have this dance?” His eyes dared her, his smile was at its most charming and she knew she wanted to.
So she did. She stood, took his hand and placed her other on his shoulder. “How shall we manage without music?”
“We shall count at first and then perhaps I shall hum?” He grinned.
“One, two, three.” She began. They counted together and then began the steps. At first, they stumbled awkwardly, moving over uneven ground, unsure of the tempo, but soon they reached a cooperative method and things smoothed. Elizabeth stepped lightly, being led by a master. She felt as though she might fly or hover above the earth forever. He found a clearing, a patch of smoother space. They moved in harmony. All the while he looked into her eyes with such an intensity she couldn’t look away. They danced for some time, neither mentioning stopping and no one really wanting to. At last, he slowed their steps and paused, his arms still cradling her. “I think if I could always dance thus, I might find it my favorite activity.”
“In the woods with no music?”
He tipped his head in admission but smiled. “With you as my partner.”
She dipped her head, his admission, his gaze so intense she wasn’t sure how to respond. She tried to lighten things. “Since this is my first Waltz and only Waltz, I will have to agree with you.” She shrugged. “With nothing to compare it to.”
He chuckled, an actual belly shaking chuckle and then stepped back. “Challenge accepted. I will have to remain your best and only when we have a real dance floor to work with.”
“Thank you.” She adjusted her skirts and then he bowed and she curtseyed.
He held out his arm and they returned to their blanket.
They settled onto the blanket, Darcy reaching for the wine.
"Tell me,” He murmured, "what was your first thought of me?"
Elizabeth paused. Then, she shook her head.
“Come now, I think I already know.”
“As you wish.” She sighed then with mock sweetness, she said, "That you were the proudest, most disagreeable man in existence."
Darcy laughed outright. "An excellent first impression," he admitted.
"Happy to be so entertaining. And your first thought of me?" she challenged.
He hesitated only a moment. "That you were the most intriguing woman I had ever met."
Elizabeth’s breath stilled.
His eyes—dark, steady, entirely sincere—told her this was no jest.
She leaned closer. “I like the sound of that.”
“It is but the truth.”
She could smell the faint scent of him, something warm, something steady, something entirely him.
Darcy lifted his wine cup to his mouth.
Elizabeth did the same, the tension still humming between them.
“We have discussed so much besides the mundane. What do you do in that grand house all day long?” Elizabeth watched him. This relaxed version of Darcy was one she could never tire of.
Darcy brushed a leaf from his pants, "Aunt has been spending all kinds of time with her steward, but I received a letter from Bingley yesterday."
The words landed like a stone in her chest and the world shifted back.
Elizabeth blinked. The warmth in her vanished.
Bingley.
Jane.
Darcy had separated them.
And here she was, allowing herself to… what? To flirt? To feel something for a man who had done such a thing?
Her fingers curled into her skirts.
Elizabeth inhaled slowly, then offered him her wine cup. "I should be returning," she said lightly.
Darcy stilled. "Already?"
She forced a smile. "Yes. I fear I have lingered too long."
His expression flickered—uncertainty, confusion, concern. “Elizabeth…I…”
She shook her head and stood, her skirts whirling about her. "Goodbye, Mr. Darcy," she murmured.
She turned. Her maid followed. She did not look back.
Every emotion raged through her, but the prevailing influence, the strongest storm was fueled by guilt. How could she, Jane’s sister, have allowed such closeness to a man that obviously could not be trusted, that felt justified in ruining other people’s happiness, that would forever be a reminder to her sister of Bingley, the man she loved but could not have? She moaned out loud. “How could you, Lizzie?”