Chapter 33
Oakham Mount
Elizabeth was darning some clothes for Longbourn’s tenants in the east parlour when Mrs. Bennet burst in through the door. She was overwrought with excitement.
“Mr. Bingley is returning to Netherfield!” Mrs. Bennet cried. “Mr. Bingley is returning!”
Stunned silence greeted her for a moment.
Then, Kitty and Lydia shrieked.
Excited words flew through the air, even as Elizabeth and Jane sat frozen. Both for different reasons.
“Jane! Jane! Is that not wonderful news?” Mrs. Bennet asked, plopping herself on the chair next to the eldest of her five daughters. “I always knew Mr. Bingley would return. You could not have been so beautiful for nothing!”
Jane blushed. “Yes, mama.”
“Oh! I never doubted him,” Mrs. Bennet continued, contradicting every behavior and word of the last many months. “And now Mrs. Dudley tells me that they have reopened the house. He shall be here any day now! Oh, what good times we shall have!”
Mrs. Bennet fanned herself with her handkerchief.
“I shall remind him that he owes us a dinner at Longbourn. Oh yes, I shall.” She fanned herself faster.
“There will be three full courses—and better than any he might have anywhere in the King’s lands! Oh, what a marvellous day it is! Kitty!” She screeched. “Open the windows! It is awfully warm in here! And bring Mr. Bennet from the book room. We have much to discuss…”
Elizabeth stifled the sharp pain in her heart as Mrs. Bennet’s effusions continued.
She closed herself off to the almost-festive atmosphere in the parlour. After all, it was not as if Mr. Bingley’s friend would be with the Netherfield party this time. That would be too farfetched to expect!
Eight months had gone by since news reached her that Mr. Darcy was well and truly out of the clutches of death.
…a full year since what had happened in Rosings.
Yet she had not heard a word from him.
Not a line to acknowledge the strange experience they had shared.
Not even a wish to maintain a connection—of any kind—with her or her family.
Elizabeth discreetly slipped out of the parlour so as not to draw her mother’s attention. She did not wish to partake in the foolish celebrations.
She could not bear it.
The next day, Elizabeth left early for her morning walk and decided to climb to the top of Oakham Mount.
She was struggling to stifle the feelings that the news yesterday had brought out of her. She wished to stuff them back in her heart and lock them tight.
…perhaps the perspective from the top of the hill would help her regain her equanimity.
And so, there she was.
At the top of Oakham Mount.
Minding her own business. Gazing at the cotton clouds drifting over the pasture lands. Wondering when spring would finally breeze into Hertfordshire…
…when she heard the distinct sound of boots climbing up the inclination somewhere behind her.
Elizabeth turned.
And froze.
“Miss Bennet?”
It was Mr. Darcy.
He raised his top hat in a smart bow. A greeting. There was a small smile on his lips. Partly hesitant. Partly warm.
Elizabeth turned away instantly and squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart pounded.
“This cannot be real…” she whispered to herself, trying hard to compose herself.
“Miss Bennet?”
But there was that sound again!
Him calling her name. And it was closer.
Sudden fury scorched through Elizabeth’s veins. She turned around to find Mr. Darcy standing only a few feet away from her.
“Why am I seeing you?” she asked sharply.
Her heart twisted in her chest as she searched his face. He paled.
“I… had hoped…”
“No, stop this!”
Elizabeth turned away once more and fixed her gaze on the distant church steeple and the herd of sheep grazing on a field. “I cannot bear it…” The little white dots shifted and moved over the green.
“If I have done something wrong…”
She whirled around again. “The only thing you have done, Mr. Darcy, is utterly ruin my sanity!”
Then she strode straight at him, glaring her displeasure and…
…collided with a hard body!
Elizabeth screamed even as Mr. Darcy’s arms came around her, and her own hands latched onto his shoulders to stop herself from falling.
“Miss Bennet!” he said in shock.
Their eyes locked. She stared at him, frozen dumb. Still very much in his embrace. Neither looked away.
“You are not an apparition…?” she asked softly. Emotions flared inside her, alongside intense disbelief.
Mr. Darcy searched her eyes. His dark gaze spoke volumes, touched as they were with sorrow and something else. Something familiar.
“No.”
Instant mortification raced through Elizabeth. Like fire! She pushed away from him at once, looking everywhere but at him.
“I apologize, Mr. Darcy, for my lack of decorum. I–”
She glanced at him and looked at the ground again, blushing furiously. “I… shall go now.”
Elizabeth walked around him and strode away, wishing the ground would open up and swallow her whole. Of all things that might have happened!
“Wait, Miss Bennet!”
She did not stop.
Heaven’s above!
The burn of mortification was almost overwhelming.
“Please, Miss Bennet, wait!”
She heard, rather than saw, Mr. Darcy run after her. But her feet would not let her stop.
“Please… Elizabeth.”
She gasped when Mr. Darcy’s warm hand caught hers. She came to an abrupt halt. He did not let go.
Instead, he tightened his hold around her fingers.
“Will you not look at me?” he asked.
Too close.
Elizabeth stared at the tree tops and blinked her eyes furiously as they prickled with unshed tears. The memories rushed back.
The cherry trees. The copse. The letters. The awful cups of sweet tea. Standing across from each other in the quiet silence of her room. The feel of his hand in hers…
…just like right then.
“Thank you for keeping me company when I…” Mr. Darcy’s voice became strained. “When I was in between life and death.”
Elizabeth whirled around and stared at him.
“You remember?”
Mr. Darcy did not look away from her, even as their fingers interlaced.
“Yes.”
Elizabeth did not know what else to do than continue to stare at him and feel the tears roll down her face.
“I thought I would…” Her voice broke. She looked at the ground between them. At the dirt, gravel, and scattering of grass. Somehow their joined hands entwined even more. She tried to speak past the lump in her throat.
“I thought… I would be the only one to remember,” she said. “That I would be the only one… burdened with it until the end.”
More tears flowed down her cheeks. Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut.
“No, never,” Mr. Darcy said, drawing her closer. She could feel his fingers brushing away her tears. Holding her face.
…that was when Elizabeth realized just how lonely she had felt all those months.
To carry the strangeness and unbelievable reality of what they had experienced, all alone. She leaned into his hand, raising her own to press it to her cheek.
“Elizabeth…” Mr. Darcy whispered.
She opened her eyes.
Their gazes locked.
…and then Mr. Darcy pulled her into his embrace and kissed her.