Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
NOT SO TERRIBLE AFTER
M y anxieties—about becoming rich, about meeting the oh-so-elegant Miss Darcy, about being separated from my family, and even about relinquishing my independence—melted entirely upon seeing Mr Darcy once again.
He arrived at Longbourn three days in advance of Mr Bingley’s engagement ball with his sister and a large box of candied apricots for my mother.
For having entertained such hardened suspicions against the gentlemen and intermingling him in the foggy recesses of her mind with Mr Wickham and the brotherhood of all rakes, seducers, and libertines, my mother was conquered rather easily by a box of sweets. This innocence, this naive joy at being noticed, reminded me how much I truly loved her, and with a smile redolent of that sudden burst of affection for my parent, I met Miss Darcy.
The lady was certainly dressed with great elegance, but that was where Miss Bingley’s report fell short of reality. Perhaps it was Miss Darcy’s reserve, so sharply reminiscent of Mr Darcy’s manner upon his first incursion into our savage country society, that had also impressed Caroline Bingley. To her, such aloofness spoke of exclusivity. To me, however, knowing the brother as I now did, such a manner signalled more of a shield against an untrustworthy world.
Whatever the truth, Mr Darcy’s sister met me with deep, questioning eyes and a small, shy smile, and I indulged a sudden and strong determination to please her.
I bade her to sit beside me, then directed the conversation, to the degree I could, all around her. Mr Darcy aided me in my determination to let Miss Darcy fade into the upholstered cushions of our slightly worn settee. He asked after my father and Sir William, and when Mary joined us and served the tea, he asked her about her table painting. My stern-faced middle sister also promptly fell victim to his notice, blushing ever so slightly as she spoke of a little surprise she and Kitty were making for Jane’s wedding gift.
Kitty then appeared as if on command, having come down from the attic, and not two minutes later, Jane also came downstairs. They took turns meeting Miss Darcy and sat down for tea, and even my father followed his stomach out of his book-room and joined us. The arrival in drips and drabs of members of my family was fortuitous because en masse , the Bennets can be an overwhelming clan. I sensed Miss Darcy’s surprise as one sister after another made her acquaintance. This made me think of Lydia, who at one time in her life encountering a similar circumstance, might have blurted out, Lord, how many of you are there?
Miss Darcy may have wondered this, but perhaps she was also a touch intrigued to encounter so many young ladies who were not quite as elegant as a roomful of London misses. Were our unassuming country manners a pleasant counterpoint to Miss Bingley’s relentless aspirations for her attention? I hoped so.
In any case, Mr Darcy was now known to us, and we had some few commonalities around which we could gather. We spoke of the cholera epidemic, now a mere memory, and of his visit to Kent. He and Jane talked briefly of London, of her visit to Brighton, and he asked after the Gardiners. Thus, we spent a quarter of an hour dicing up simple topics requiring little effort before Miss Darcy was moved to contribute to the conversation.
“How are your ponies?” Mr Darcy had pointedly enquired of me when our last gasp at common subjects—the arrival of fair weather—had subsided.
“Do you have horses?” his sister suddenly asked.
“I do indeed. A sweet pair named June and July. Their acquisition is a tale in itself.”
“Lizzy won a curricle in a lottery,” Kitty explained.
“A curricle? I have a phaeton at home.”
“Do you? Do you enjoy driving?”
“Very much.”
“She began with a dog cart at the age of eight,” Mr Darcy said, winking at his sister as he sipped the last of his tea. “No one could dissuade her from her intention to drive, and my father, thinking that a little indulgence would cure her of her ambition, gave way.”
“You must be an accomplished whip!” I said, turning to look at her full in the face. “Might you ride out with me and lend me your wisdom? I have not been driving for long, and if I am not mistaken, your brother,” I said, flashing a look at the accused, “has often looked upon my efforts with scepticism. ”
The invitation was perhaps too forward to be polite, for she could not reasonably refuse me. However, she was soon to be my sister, and perhaps it was better to initiate her all at once to my propensity for directness.
“I would enjoy that very much,” she said.
As we made our plans, Mr Darcy observed us with an expression of pleasurable relief, then the pair stood to take their leave. Thinking to capitalise on our commonality, I took Miss Darcy’s hand in farewell and said, “Would you like to meet my ponies?”
She smiled unreservedly, and I led her and Mr Darcy out to the stable. There, Miss Darcy met June and July.
Slowly and with a studied air of respect, she allowed my horses a moment to become used to her presence before placing a hand on June’s flank. She met July just as gently, approaching her with lowered eyes from the side, and refraining from overly familiar and premature pats to the forelock. If only everyone were so considerate of horses, for whom human contact can be so unpredictable and threatening.
“They are lovely,” she said wistfully, causing me to beam at her as proudly as any parent upon hearing a compliment to her children.
We said our farewells again, and Mr Darcy helped his sister into the carriage before turning and taking my hand. Because we were constrained by our audience—for we were directly in front of the windows of Longbourn’s parlour—he only searched my eyes with his most loving look. Neither of us spoke, so full were our hearts, and in response to this upwelling from my chest, my eyes filled with moisture. Through the blurring in my vision, I watched him go before turning back to join my family .
So this , I reflected a little dazedly as I slowly walked up the steps and into the house, is a proper courtship!
It was not so bad, not nearly as mortifying as I had feared it would be once upon a time.
In my defence, Mr Collins had assumed I would marry him, and John Lucas had subjected me to an offer of marriage in the most unflattering terms possible. Neither were shining examples of how to approach a woman, to build her trust, or cultivate the affection of both the lady and her family.
No, Mr Darcy’s public notice was not so terrible at all!
The following morning, I braided my hair, secured it into an elegant knot with silver combs, and pinned on a fashionable little hat Jane had lent to me for the occasion of driving out with Miss Darcy. I then placed aside my nerves and drove to Netherfield Park, where stood the young lady on the steps. I pulled smartly around the circular drive and greeted her with sunny goodwill as she stepped up to take her place beside me.
“Where should we go today?” I asked her.
She was slightly more at ease for having met me already. She turned to me with a winsome smile. “Wherever you wish to take me.”
Thus, we were off. At first I felt conscious of my every movement, but Miss Darcy did not glance sideways at the reins or appear to be clutching onto the handrail, and by degrees, I relaxed. We spoke but little and upon only the lightest subjects, and in this I sensed that the way to befriend Mr Darcy’s sister was precisely the way she had met my ponies—respectfully and with judiciously applied patience.
Absent a better plan, I drove to Lindbury Wood, and as we entered the cool, green tunnel of leaves I felt myself thoroughly at home. This lane had come to mean a great deal to me, so much so that as we came out of the shade and took the rise up to the Lea bridge, I did not refrain from sharing my memory of that place.
“I once beat your brother in a race here.”
After a pause lasting three beats of a measure, she turned to me and said, “My brother raced you?”
“Does that surprise you?”
“Very much so. He never risks the safety of his horses.”
Oh dear! I glanced at her and spoke a touch apologetically. “Perhaps I should explain he thought I had lost hold of the reins and my horses were in full flight, and I thought we were racing. In any case, I do not think he was best pleased when I pulled around him just before the bridge.”
Clearly, Miss Darcy felt the need to digest this unlikely scene, for her face betrayed her perplexity and she fell silent. I left her to her thoughts, for even I could not explain the events of that day, much less the amazing consequences. Rather than take the shorter route past the dairy farm, I behaved myself and passed it to turn down a safer lane by which we would return towards Meryton.
It was upon that lane that we encountered John Lucas coming from the opposite direction. He had been, he said, looking at a gun that Mr Enders wished to sell. Upon being introduced to Miss Darcy, my friend then became even more stupid than usual.
“But it was a brutish old blunderbuss, and I told the dastard I have no interest in having my face blown off.”
“Fascinating,” I said drily. “But I must be driving Miss Darcy home now.”
“What way are you going?”
Instead of the retort I wished to offer that included the word idiot , I glanced at Miss Darcy, who was seemingly fascinated by a speck of dirt on her glove, and replied, “The direction we are pointed, John. Why do you ask?”
“Oh! I shall escort you, then,” he said grandly.
“But you just came from that way.”
“Did I? Well, I mean to be on my way home, so I may as well turn around.”
Miss Darcy and I suffered the light irritation of being shepherded all the way through Meryton until we reached Lucas Lodge, where our gallant escort felt compelled to say, “Here we are at the old family lodge. Been in my family for generations.”
Unfortunately, I could not disguise my amusement, and he instantly puffed up like a rooster and demanded, “What is so dashed funny, Lizzy? It was built by my grandfather, you know, and it will one day be mine.”
“Forgive me,” I said, struggling to regain my composure. “You know how nonsensical I can be. Good day, John.”
When we were out of earshot, I said, “Pardon me for subjecting you to Mr Lucas’s acquaintance. I cannot think what came over him! And to point out the church, the cobbler, and every other shop as though we could not read the signs above their doors!”
“I did not mind,” she said in a shy voice.
“No? Then I am glad I did not flick his ear with my whip as I longed to do. But enough of the resident halfling, what do you say to taking the reins?”
With some coaxing, Miss Darcy and I changed places, and she took us back to Netherfield Park while I sat beside her and admired the economy of her movements and the obvious confidence with which she handled the ribbons. As we approached the drive leading to Mr Bingley’s house, she glanced at me, and almost in a note of apology, she said, “You drive charmingly, Miss Elizabeth.”
I laughed as I placed my hand gently on her arm. “That is some consolation, at least. One day, I wish to emulate your style, or better yet, convince you to teach me.”
With that, I introduced the notion we may, in future, know one another much better, a suggestion which resulted in her agreeable smile and a warm farewell between us.
Later that afternoon, Mr and Mrs Gardiner and Lydia arrived. Their children, nurse, maids, and carriageful of trunks had been left in London, for their stay was not to be a long one. My mother made a great fuss over Lydia, and the poor dear withstood it patiently. Soon, Mr and Mrs Philips arrived for dinner, and there around our dining table sat my family reunited.
I observed them as if from afar, conscious of how deeply this memory was sinking into my awareness, as if we teetered on both the edge of an ending and a beginning. Though I wished the moment would last far longer, because Mr Bingley’s ball was the following day, our gathering broke up early, and we took our candles up to our rooms in hopes of a long rest.