Chapter Seven
“Miss Elizabeth!” a voice she easily recognized called. Despite the brightness of the day and the most excellent company of the family’s springer spaniel, Elizabeth groaned. She liked the early hours when others were not about, but, unfortunately, Mr. Darcy also appeared to enjoy the thrill of a new day.
“Easy, Pooch,” she warned the dog when it growled as the man approached. She had hoped to climb Oakham Mount alone. With the two gentlemen in the house and her eldest sister’s obvious unhappiness, Elizabeth required time to consider if she should attempt to stop the wedding or permit the players their game.
Most assuredly, something significant had occurred between her darling Jane and her sister’s “odious” betrothed, but neither was speaking of the incident.
Poochie growled again. “I agree,” Elizabeth responded as she bent down to settle the dog’s protectiveness. “But I doubt it would do any good if I also growled.”
Mr. Darcy held back when he bowed to her. “Well met. I see you, too, are an early riser. I like to be out early when I am at Pemberley. Are you off to the fields again today?”
“I think not, as it is the Sabbath. Pooch and I like to climb Oakham Mount regularly,” she explained. “Do we not, girl?” The dog responded with a lick of Elizabeth’s cheek.
The gentleman looked about him. “A mountain?”
Elizabeth frowned for she did not wish to have the man plague her by joining her on her walk. “Not a mountain as one would view in the northern shires or the Peak District, though it is called ‘Oakham Mount.’ It is my favorite place hereabouts for enjoying nature and clearing my thoughts.”
“There are a few such spots on my beloved Pemberley—more than a few were created by God’s hands.” He smiled in obvious remembrance, and Elizabeth would admit, if only to herself, his smile changed his countenance greatly. “And a nature walk,” he continued, “created by my father as a wedding gift for my mother. She would take me there often and explain the different plants and how the waterfall had created its own path to the lake that sits before the house.”
There was such longing in his tone that Elizabeth relented enough to offer, “Would you care to view Hertfordshire from Oakham Mount?”
“I would not wish to impose,” he said, but she recognized the one genuine emotion, beyond anger, that he had shown since arriving at Longbourn.
In that moment, his vulnerability was on display, and so, she said, “You would not be imposing, but, first, you must make friends with Poochie.”
He looked at her as if she had two heads, but he nodded his agreement.
“Come, then.” She wrapped her arm over the dog’s back. “You are to greet a new friend, my girl.” Elizabeth’s playfulness arrived. “The gentleman believes I have not warmed to his presence. Perhaps you may convince him.”
Mr. Darcy’s eyebrow rose, whether in amusement or concern, Elizabeth could not tell. He approached the dog by, first, presenting the spaniel with the back of his hand to sniff before kneeling down to look the animal in the eyes before he dared to pet her. “Good dog,” he repeated several times as the animal sniffed him thoroughly. A wag of the spaniel’s tale said she was prepared to accept him as their walking partner.
Elizabeth did not know whether she was amused by or jealous of the attention the dog was receiving from the gentleman. “Come, Pooch,” she said as she stood. “The birds are waiting.” She turned towards the path up the hill. Making a clicking sound with her tongue, Elizabeth signaled the dog to follow her and began the ascent. Within seconds, the dog swept past her legs to lead the way.
In less than a minute, Mr. Darcy was behind her on the trail. Elizabeth realized she had made a mistake, for she could hear his breath and twice his hand touched her back when a rock slid past her booted foot, and she wobbled for a second or two to maintain her footing. Naturally, the gentleman did not understand that she could climb this particular hill in her sleep.
Up ahead, Poochie was already barking and chasing the birds that nestled in the few trees on Oakham’s summit.
“The dog sounds content,” Mr. Darcy said softly. She realized he was no longer directly behind her, and so she stopped to look upon him. He was staring off in the distance. “It is easy to see why you would enjoy this view. One can see for miles.”
“That is the church’s steeple,” she said as she pointed off to the right. “I understand from Jane that you mean to speak to our Mr. Williamson today.”
Mr. Darcy did not turn his head to speak to her, but he responded, nevertheless. “Just long enough to schedule an appointment for tomorrow. I pray your sister will accompany me.”
“I imagine she will,” Elizabeth said as tears rushed to her eyes. Whether they were a result of Jane’s mistake or her own foolish heart screaming out in denial, she could not say. “We should continue our climb if we are to arrive back at Longbourn in time to break our fast.” She turned quickly so the gentleman could not view her moment of misery.
They finished their climb in silence. When he joined her on the summit, Elizabeth was in her favorite spot at the top. “My father’s lands,” she said in explanation as she gestured straight ahead.
“They appear quite productive,” he said. “Fitzwilliam has spoken of your answering so many of his questions. He has long dreaded the idea of being a gentleman farmer.” Mr. Darcy stepped up beside her. The dog was seated between them. “And the estate in the distance?” he asked.
“Netherfield Park. It is some three miles removed if one crosses Mr. Bennet’s fields. A bit longer following the roadway,” she explained. “It was the Netherfield master who organized the larger estates to share costs. Together, all four masters had hoped to do something similar with the larger farms in the area and then, later, with the cottagers. Without someone at Netherfield, the idea may not be sustainable, for it is one of the larger estates in the area.”
“I know something of Netherfield,” Mr. Darcy admitted. “Your sister suggested it for a friend of mine, but Mr. Bingley’s sisters believe Buckinghamshire would be better for him. He had asked my opinion so I instructed my man of business to make the usual inquiries of the estate’s availability. Netherfield proved to be the better choice, but Mr. Bingley’s sisters prefer to be where there are more members of the aristocracy.”
“Is Mr. Bingley also a gentleman of society?” she asked. “Jane has not mentioned him.”
“Bingley holds a gentleman’s education from Cambridge, but his fortune comes in much the same manner as does your Uncle Gardiner. They, upon occasion, outbid each other for a shipment of antiques or the like. Bingley promised his late father that he would use the family fortune to bring himself and his sisters into society.”
“I am sorry Mr. Bingley did not choose Hertfordshire, but your cousin has promised to recruit the earl in finding a suitable occupant for the estate.” She motioned the dog to her. “We should return to Longbourn.”
As she started around him, the gentleman caught her arm, turning her where she must face him. “Why is it that we can discuss the state of Netherfield Park or a hundred other topics and be civil to each other, but when either of us discusses the wedding, your objection raises its ugly head again?”
Elizabeth wished she could leave the hold of his steady gaze behind, but it held her in place. “I have already told you I wish Jane to marry for love, just as I would wish the same for Mary and Kitty.”
“But not for yourself?”
“It would not take a man of your intelligence to recognize that someone must assist my mother when Mr. Bennet passes. The idea is quite ironic, you see, for I am the least favorite of her daughters. If I must abandon my own dreams, I would wish my sisters all married for love.”
“Many marriages begin on less than love. Respect and loyalty can serve equally as well,” he argued.
“Were your parents in love?” she challenged him.
“Madly so.”
“The colonel’s parents?”
“Exceedingly happy. Even my Aunt Catherine, of whom you are acquainted, at least in name, was in love with Sir Lewis de Bourgh.”
“Then should you not love Jane?” she argued.
“Who is to say your sister and I will not come to love each other dearly? I am of the persuasion that if your sister had chosen a different man, say one more of my cousin’s disposition, you would not object to such a speedy marriage. Your objection lies with me alone. Tell me why.”
Elizabeth knew she blushed thoroughly: She assuredly could not admit to their previous encounter, for it was too embarrassing in so many ways. “Jane is marrying you to save the family!” she declared, at last.
“After negotiating with your father, I am well aware of your family’s financial woes. Who says I am not marrying her to save my family!”
“Save your family!” she exclaimed. “All Jane can offer you is a vessel for your children.” Elizabeth noted his slight flinch. “Is that it, Mr. Darcy? Do you require a mild-mannered wife who will tolerate your lust?”
“We should discontinue this conversation,” he said in even tones. “I will never earn your approval, though I had hoped to do so for Miss Bennet’s sake.”
“Of course, you wish not to hear of your faults, sir,” she hissed. “They are many, indeed.”
“Name one,” he ordered. “Other than my lack of your regard.”
“You made Jane cry,” Elizabeth charged. “What did you do to make my sister miserable?”
“Let me think upon it,” he said in equally sarcastic tones. “Now I have it. I presented her with a ring that is worth more than your father’s yearly income and dared to seal our bargain with a kiss. And, before you ask, I did not demand one. Miss Bennet said her ‘stiffness’ was because she had not expected the kiss. Would you not expect a kiss from your betrothed after he presented you with a family heirloom to seal your arrangement to spend your life together?”
“Jane has led a sheltered life here in the country,” Elizabeth argued, though if Mr. Darcy’s tale was true, and Elizabeth believed it was, her hope that the gentleman and Jane would ever know accord was useless. Mr. Darcy would always expect a wife to support him, and Jane would always fail—more so after the fairness of her sister’s countenance faded, and Jane had nothing of merit to offer the man.
“My sister should be wooed,” Elizabeth suggested meekly, knowing her argument was flawed. “Why must you marry so quickly? Allow my sister time to admire more than your purse.”
“I cannot,” he said through tight lips.
“My sister has never had a suitor of your prominence. Again, I shall suggest you provide her a bit more time to become accustomed to her change in circumstances. Jane worries she will fail you. Permit her time to forget her sacrifice and learn to love you.”
“What do you know of love, Miss Elizabeth?” Mr. Darcy demanded.
If he had slapped her, Elizabeth would have known less pain. “Nothing, sir. I have never had a man choose me over Jane. No real suitors, ever. I am the sister who was to be the son to save the entail. I was to be an ‘Ethan,’ not an ‘Elizabeth.’ I once thought, not too long removed, that one of the militia officers had chosen me as his favorite. Instead, he learned something of my dowry and decided his affections were better suited for a young lady who was to inherit ten thousand pounds.
“I have accepted my role in this family: While my father still lives, I am the ‘pseudo son’ who oversees the estate’s cottagers, and when Mr. Bennet has passed, I shall attend to my mother's ‘nerves.’ I shall be a well-read spinster and remain ignorant of the ways of love beyond my favorite tales, such as the prince and cinder girl.”
“You would never be in the ranks of spinsters,” he placated. “You are too well spoken to be ignored.”
“I am already ignored, sir,” she protested as she again started past him, but, like before, Mr. Darcy caught her wrist. This time the dog growled, and she thought to permit the spaniel to take a bite out of Mr. Darcy’s leg. Instead, she snapped her fingers, and the dog sat beside her, though it was still on alert.
They stood together, studying each other, likely as no one had ever done previously or would do again. Elizabeth knew the exact moment when he recalled their previous encounter.
“We met in London at a ball,” he said without emotion.
Though his statement was not meant as a question, she said, “My Grandmother Gardiner, who I resemble, thought I should have a Season. My one and only dance at a ball.”
“You wore an orangish-colored gown cut too strictly to the style of the day to be . . . to be . . .”
“Flattering?” she finished for him.
The gentleman did not reply nor did he release her wrist when she attempted to pull away. Meanwhile, Elizabeth viewed the memory of her image pass before his eyes.
“I attempted to tell my grandmother I looked like a pumpkin, but she thought otherwise. You preferred the pretty blonde on the arm of the young man in the other square of our dance set. You wanted a diamond of the first water, not a bumpkinish rustic. Your desires were written all over your countenance.”
He continued to look down upon her—transferring the image of her present self upon the figure in his memory.
Elizabeth wished to be free of the heat of his hand on her skin, but she knew he would refuse to release her.
“I performed as an arse that evening . . .” he began.
“It does not matter,” Elizabeth declared. “I never expected you to recall someone as insignificant as a tradesman’s niece. However, you must acknowledge the irony of finding yourself engaged to another of the nieces of that very same tradesman. I cannot resist—based on your interest in the blonde that evening—to think that if it had been ‘Jane,’ instead of ‘Elizabeth,’ with whom you danced, you and she might well have been married these many years with children of your own. There was no reason for a man of your consequence and worldliness to remember a girl from Hertfordshire, especially one of my countenance.” She pulled her wrist free and started down the hill. “Come, Pooch. We will miss the morning meal.”
Darcy purposely delayed his descent: Miss Elizabeth had had her moment of triumph over him—one she well deserved.
Naturally, he did not tell her that particular evening had been his first foray into society after his year of mourning for his father. He had, truthfully, never been at ease with strangers, but, most assuredly, what did a man say when he encountered a young woman as nervous as was he? Especially one whose eyes had been the most compelling ones said gentleman had ever encountered. Every time he looked upon her, despite the godawful dress she wore, which did nothing for her complexion nor her figure, he chastised himself for having illicit thoughts when he should still be grieving his father, while also knowing he was too young to take a bride, and, most assuredly not one as green as Miss Elizabeth was at the time. She could never have handled the large Pemberley staff as its mistress. They would not have respected her.
“It is debatable whether Miss Bennet, who has already reached her majority, can perform successfully as Pemberley’s mistress. Definitely, a girl of fifteen or sixteen, as was Miss Elizabeth at the time, would have failed, Yet . . .
“I should have defended her when Lindale and the others criticized her dress and ‘countrified’ appearance, but I kept my silence to protect myself. When, by consensus, they decided to avoid her, I did not consider how their doing so would provide Miss Elizabeth harm. I chose my own status instead. My father would be greatly disappointed in me at this moment.
“As to the blonde, she had been the object of Lindale’s attention for some time. The young woman had, for several weeks, been attempting to make my elder cousin jealous. All she did was ruin her own reputation and be forced into a marriage not of her choosing.
“What do I do now to convince Miss Elizabeth she has erred in her judgment of my person, while wooing her favorite sister because of reasons that have nothing to do with love?” He sighed heavily as he started down the hill. “I have made a real bumble of this situation.”