Chapter 30
W as it an aftereffect of my fever? Or was a piece of my soul lingering in some rough, ill-lit shelter beside an abandoned wall that caused me to feel so much wonder at the splendour of my dining room.
The candles burnt within golden halos that in turn struck the china, crystal, and silver, throwing brilliant white sparks around the room and faintly illuminating the rich tones of wood, brocades, and priceless rugs.
This gorgeous scene was one I had seen hundreds upon hundreds of times, but now, I truly looked—and actually saw—the beauty that had surrounded me all my life.
With great warmth I greeted Mr and Mrs Gardiner, clasped hands with my cousin, spoke to Elizabeth and Mrs Annesley, and standing close to my sister, I played my part as host. But when not called upon to speak or act, I sat in complete absorption of the tableau as if one of those halos of candlelight had captured me within it.
Mrs Gardiner told me of her roots in Lambton, Mr Gardiner related his enjoyment of the fishing and a tour of the property he had taken with my steward.
He had also once gone swimming in the lake with Fitzwilliam but said, even in summer, it was too cold for him to think of going again.
Georgiana and Elizabeth had also gone to the lake to wade, but they had, my sister said sweetly, spent most of their time walking the soles off their shoes.
“As I recall, your friend enjoys a good walk,” I said, catching the lady’s eye.
She owned it, adding with a hint of shyness, “It seems Pemberley was made for it, sir. One would have to have a full year to explore every path.”
“Then you must see to it this is not your last visit,” I said, failing to disguise the longing in my voice.
My sister earnestly agreed. “Indeed, you must come again, Elizabeth, and as often as you wish.”
Fitzwilliam then shifted the conversation to my recent ramble, and though it was a little tiring, I entertained my company with some light anecdotes about having encountered someone who looked very much like a wizard in a hollow, and the two continuous days in which we saw no sign of human life and began to feel we had been swallowed by the underworld.
“I expected to see a fairy in the grass or a troll under a bridge at any moment,” I said. “It is no wonder so many such stories are written.”
“Were you frightened?” Georgiana asked with wide eyes.
“Only once was I truly uneasy when we were encamped in a place that could not have been darker if we had been plunged into a vat of treacle. We could not light a fire that night, for our kindling would not catch no matter what we tried. Even Trusty did not rest that night.”
“Trusty?” Elizabeth exclaimed.
I looked directly into her eyes. “Our mule—a small, good-natured beast. He was to be brought home by now,” I said, turning to Fitzwilliam. “Do you happen to know if he is here?”
“Donaldson assured me just yesterday that he is here and no worse for wear for his travels—as if I had been fretting as to the fate of a ranking member of your expedition. I swear he is as enamoured of that animal as you are, Darcy.”
“You may mock us all you like, but I assure you, he is a very good mule,” I said. “I have had several meaningful adventures in his company.”
I tried to keep my eyes elsewhere, but they would again find Elizabeth, and we exchanged a look so ripe with shared memory I feared I would expose her.
Thankfully, my sister rose from the table, and forgoing our port, for Mr Gardiner is not a drinking man and I was too unwell to indulge, we followed her to the salon where she played a little Bach for us.
Fitzwilliam took a seat next to me as she entertained our guests and murmured, “You might try not to look quite so love-struck, Darcy.”
“I am trying,” I said in a hoarse whisper.
“What are we to do about this, then?”
“If I knew, I would have done it by now. She did not like me when we met in Hertfordshire.”
“No? I wonder why. I am sure you went to great lengths to be amiable. And then, too, you made yourself so agreeable in Kent, you prat.”
“I was trying to override my feelings.”
“A failure, I take it? But,” he whispered, leaning closer, “I do not believe she dislikes you as much as she did.”
“There is a wide gulf between toleration and affection,” I said, “and I have no time to discover where her opinion falls.”
“Take heart, friend.”
“Am I so pitiful you must speak tenderly to me? I would almost rather you scold me for falling sick and then accuse me of suffering my first calf-love.”
“I have kept my gloves on purely out of fellow feeling, Cousin. Do not forget that I, too, had a fever and not so long ago. There is nothing so defeating. Not even a hole in my shoulder was worse. I was low for many weeks after, you recall. You will come about, Darcy.”
Fitzwilliam eventually left me and went to the pianoforte to stand by Georgiana, where he followed the notes on her sheet music as she played.
For all he pretended to find music uninteresting, he was actually quite proficient at playing.
Mr and Mrs Gardiner began to engage in a quiet side conversation about their children, and it was then that Elizabeth took the seat beside me.
Thinking only of her impending absence, I said, “If you are indeed so well-heard by the Divine, perhaps you could pray for a hard rain tomorrow.”
“I have,” she said in a low voice.
“You should not say so, for I am in such a state of debility I may begin to believe my sister’s friendship and enjoyment of the estate are not your only reasons for wishing for a delay.”
“They are not,” she said almost in a whisper.
“If I came to Longbourn?—”
“Yes,” she said, and then turning to look me fully in the face, I saw the sincerity in her eyes before she stood and went to sit with her relations.
My head swam for several moments as I struggled to master the pounding of my heart, the disorder of my mind, and the tears that seemed always on the verge of spilling over.
This last I attributed to my illness, which had laid me terribly low, and rendered me defenceless against any trifling swelling of my heart.
During the last notes of Bach’s concerto, and upon seeing Carsten at the door eyeing me with proprietary concern, I quietly excused myself and went to bed.
With some effort—for I had truly overexerted myself that evening—I woke in time to dress and join our company for an early breakfast before waving them away.
Speaking was still tiring, and in any case, I had little to say.
I wished only to look my fill at Elizabeth, to see her move and speak in a sweetly rallying manner to my sister as they went hand-in-hand out the door and into the warmth of a late summer morning.
“You must write to me more than ever now,” she was saying, “since I have seen all the places and met the people that fill your life. I am deeply invested in whether Mrs Reynolds decides to take her holiday or not and when your black mare has foaled. And you must faithfully report the turning of the leaves and the first frost and such.”
“I shall do so, but it is not fair that I do not myself have a clear picture of Longbourn,” Georgiana said.
Her friend only laughed. “I am certain your picture of my home is perfectly clear. It is just as unceremonious and countrified as you imagine.”
“But why should she not visit?” Fitzwilliam suddenly asked. “When we next travel to London, we should go down through Hertfordshire, should we not, Georgie? I myself would be glad of a chance to pay a call on your family,” he said, warmly taking Elizabeth’s hand.
After a few more moments of such indefinite plans and hopeful notions, formal farewells, and exchanges of appreciation, I stood wistfully before her as she searched my face before taking her seat next to Mrs Gardiner.
For some moments, I stood on the steps watching her go, recalling other moments of her leaving, and indulging a raging hollowness that had been my companion for many months.
The noise of their departure gradually receded.
The grooms returned to the stables, the servants went back to their work, my sister and cousin—talking animatedly of their plan to visit Hertfordshire—went to the breakfast room for one last cup of tea, and forgotten, I stood with my house and my long history behind me and the vista of the natural world before me.
Yes. Had I dreamt she said yes to me?
“You had best lie down for a bit, sir,” came a familiar voice from somewhere behind and to my left.
“Carsten? What are you doing lurking about?”
“I have been standing here for some time, Mr Darcy.”
“Have you? What time is it?”
“It is nearly ten o’clock, sir.”
Had I been standing there an hour? The ache in my back suggested I had, so I humbly submitted to his plan for my day, which was to lie fallow in my bed until dinner.
When awake enough to pay attention to anything of substance, I had Carsten sort through the mail Mr Parker had held for me upon my return and then asked him to read aloud those few of my letters pertaining only to matters of business, setting aside those that needed replies.
My personal letters and those that were likely to be trivial, I told him, must wait for now.
Together we settled such mundane matters as when I might be fit enough to ride the estate with my steward and begin to assume such duties as I had forgone in order to search for my worth in the wilds of the Cumbrian hills.
He also pulled out my empty calendar, and filling in the first entry, we settled it that I would see Donaldson in the morning.