Chapter Twenty-Nine
Netherfield Park
Elizabeth
Elizabeth had just reached the last step when Mr Darcy’s voice stopped her.
“Mrs Fiennes!”
Elizabeth paused and looked up towards the top of the stair as he began his descent.
He was donned in his greatcoat and gloves, his hat set squarely on his head.
A flutter of anticipation stirred within her—half delight that he should seek her company, half disquiet at the thought she may be required to account for her nocturnal wanderings into the library.
“May I join you?” His tone betrayed his eagerness; colour warmed his features as though he had hastened to reach her.
Her heart gave a most ungovernable leap, and she cursed its betrayal. She inclined her head, unable to withhold a smile, and accepted his extended arm. She was startled by the ease of the gesture—the first time she had done so without reserve.
They quitted the house by a side door leading into the gardens.
Searching for a safe subject, she observed the brightness of the day.
“The sun is warm for November. I believe the roads will dry enough for us to return to Longbourn.” The thought of Elinor tugged at her heart; surely her daughter would be missing her mama.
She smoothed the front of her pelisse, the familiar motion soothing her as she drew a deep breath.
“Miss Fiennes must indeed miss you.” His arm beneath her hand felt strong and steady, a quiet source of comfort.
“Elinor has never been away from me overnight before,” she admitted. “Though I am certain my family have cared for her as tenderly as I would myself, I cannot help but fret.”
They walked in companionable silence. Dew still clung to the shrubbery, each droplet catching the light like a gem.
The few leaves that remained on the branches were withered and brown, yet there was a certain beauty in their decay—the earth preparing for its winter rest before new life would return with the spring.
“I hope for both your sakes that the roads prove dry enough to travel,” Mr Darcy said at length. “Though I confess there are some here who will be sorry to see you depart.”
Elizabeth turned to him, eyes bright with mischief. “Do Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst like us so well? I had not supposed it!”
A low laugh escaped him; the warmth of it brushed against her defences, soft but certain.
“Miss Bingley, I think, wavers between admiration and envy; Mrs Hurst is content to adopt her sister’s opinions as her own.
Such has ever been her way. But it was not of them I spoke.
Bingley, for instance, will much regret not seeing Miss Bennet at breakfast.” He hesitated, as though weighing his next words.
“And I…shall miss dining with you. I know it was but one dinner, but it gave me a glimpse of what it might be to dine with you always.”
The words, full of meaning, seemed to hang in the air. For one fleeting moment she allowed herself to imagine what such evenings might be—his voice across the table, his gaze meeting hers without restraint—and the image unsettled her far more than she cared to acknowledge.
She had found his company most pleasant, save for that mortifying breakfast. But how best to answer him? Unsure how to respond, she fell back on another topic.
“Did you ever invite your sister to stay here at Netherfield? We have spoken of it before, but you said you would leave the choice to her. Has she written to give you an answer?”
Their steps crunched on the gravel as they rounded a bend in the path. Overhead, the branches formed a green-brown arch, and droplets fell in slow succession against her bonnet and pelisse, pattering lightly as they passed beneath the boughs.
“At your reminder, I must confess I have not yet written to ask her. I shall do so this very day and see whether I can persuade her to endure Bingley’s sisters for the sake of making some genuine friends.
” He turned and gave her wink. “I am certain she will accept. If my previous account of the neighbourhood and its many delights does not entice her hither, nothing will.”
“How very artful of you, sir! What diversions and delights have you described? Are they fact or fancy? Dreadfully dull or deliciously daring? Or perhaps something quite improper of the neighbours?”
“Do you question my honour, madam?” His false affront made her grin, and he replied in kind. “I wrote nothing but the truth; I would never deceive another so. The society about Meryton is precisely to my sister’s tastes—and to mine.”
“Have you written of my sisters?” Elizabeth asked, curiosity brightening her manner. “You have not truly met them, for they are not yet out.”
“I feel as though I have met them through your words. No, I have not mentioned them to my sister; I will tell her of them when I write. That they will urge Georgiana to join me I have no doubt.” He gave a slight kick to a loose a stone, sending it skittering to the edge of the walk.
“She knows Bingley is to host a ball. Should she come, I shall likely be inundated with requests to attend.”
Another curve in the path opened to a small pond fringed with rushes. Elizabeth’s steps strayed from the gravel, carrying her to the water’s edge, Mr Darcy still offering his arm. For a few moments, they stood in silence, watching the ducks and geese drift across the mirrored surface.
“She is sixteen,” Elizabeth observed at last. “Perhaps she might attend the first half and depart after dinner—or spend the evening at Longbourn with my sisters. Mama and Papa will not permit Kitty and Lydia to go; of that I am certain.” Her youngest sisters had indeed matured somewhat in the past year, but her parents remained firm in their decree that no further come-outs should occur until their older sisters were married or engaged.
“I should infinitely prefer the latter,” Darcy admitted.
“I have had the raising of Georgiana since she was eleven. To think of her as anything but the delightful sprite she was is very difficult. She has grown so much this past year and borne more than her fair share of trials, yet I resist the thought of her growing older. What man, I wonder, could ever be worthy of her? I think none.”
“That will be for her to decide, will it not? If you have taught her well, that is all that can be done. She will make her own choices—wise or foolish—and you can only do your best to guard her from miscreants and malcontents who might seek her hand.”
“Your use of alliteration is superb, Mrs Fiennes.” His lips curved in amusement. “Have you the same facility with words in every aspect of your life?”
Though she was sure he was attempting to jest, Elizabeth found his words raising her anxiety once more.
“N-no,” she stammered. “I am afraid words often fail me when they would do the most good. Shall we return to the path?” The turn in conversation made her uncomfortable, and she longed for the safety of the house.
He nodded and let her back across the damp grass to the gravel walk. As they neared the terrace, Miss Bingley’s shrill voice rang out.
“Mr Darcy! Mrs Fiennes! How surprising it is to see you walking about this morning! I had thought you would remain within after such a violent rainstorm.”
Uncertain whether Miss Bingley addressed herself or Mr Darcy, Elizabeth remained silent. He did likewise, acknowledging the intrusion with no more than a courteous bow.
“May we join you?” cried Mrs Hurst. “I dare say a brisk stroll will do me a world of good.”
“I must decline,” Mr Darcy answered. Gone was the gentleness that had coloured his manner as they walked. In its place came the calm authority that brooked no argument. “We have already walked far enough and were returning to the house.”
Miss Bingley’s smile turned syrup-sweet. “Surely, if Mrs Fiennes is fatigued, she might return to the manor unaccompanied. The door is plainly in sight.”
The lady’s rudeness irked Elizabeth. It would be dreadfully improper for Mr Darcy to abandon his present companion for another’s company.
Yet she made no move to reply; she had no wish to spar with her host’s sister.
Another reason to return to Longbourn as soon as may be.
I do not enjoy being where I am not wanted.
She was not blind to the lady’s antipathy—nor to its cause.
Perhaps the lady’s manners will improve once I am gone.
“You will forgive me for declining.”
Mr Darcy’s tone had cooled, each word deliberate, edged with warning. Elizabeth wondered whether Miss Bingley would heed it.
“I shall escort Mrs Fiennes back to the house. My correspondence awaits, and I must see to it.” He offered a curt bow and led Elizabeth away.
When they had gone far enough from the ladies to ensure the ladies could not overhear, he spoke. “Pray forgive my barely civil replies. Bingley’s sisters try my patience sorely.”
“Miss Bingley values your attention; I cannot fault her for that, for you are excellent company.”
Elizabeth was being honest, but even as she said the words, she knew they might sound more intimate than she intended, and inwardly she winced. To deflect, she added. “How pleasant it must be for her to have you as her guest.”
Her attempt succeeded; his brow furrowed.
“She desires my company permanently,” he grumbled.
“I have indicated to the lady that her hopes are fruitless, and yet, she persists. Miss Bingley would make some man a fine wife, but that man is not me. I desire more than posturing and pretension in the partner of my life. The woman I marry must be all that is good—companion, confidante, friend, helpmeet…” He paused and gave a self-deprecating smile.
“I could go on, but I fear I should weary you.”