Chapter XIV #2
“Yes, it was,” agreed Darcy. “But all jests have at their heart a grain of truth—that sort of humor produces the wryest commentary about life.”
“It does,” agreed Miss Bennet. “Did it make you uncomfortable?”
“To a certain degree, it did,” agreed Darcy.
He paused, uncertain how much he should say. There was no reason to hold anything back—she was too quick not to see through him, and honesty would serve them better than hesitance.
“The business with your sister brought about a sudden end to our courtship.” Darcy grinned, though he did not feel mirthful. “What there was of it, I suppose. It concerns me . . . Well, let us simply say that I wondered if your sister’s difficulties forced your hand.”
Miss Bennet regarded him for a long moment. “That, I think, is the largest difficulty between us—though our acquaintance began almost a year ago, we do not know each other well yet.”
Darcy considered this. “Then you attribute my concern to a lack of understanding?”
“In part,” replied Miss Bennet.
On the other side of the yard, a local stable hand led a team of nickering horses from the stables, and his men set about the work of hitching them to the traces and preparing for departure. The Gardiners were still inside, leaving perhaps five or ten minutes before they must depart.
“There is no time,” muttered Miss Bennet. Then she shook her head and straightened. “Brevity, then.”
“That would be for the best,” agreed Darcy.
“In brief,” said she, “if I did not wish to be engaged to you, I would not have accepted.”
Darcy offered a slow nod, turning her words over in his mind. “You have already proved as much, when you rejected Collins’s suit.”
“I did,” said she. “When we were quite young, Jane and I could see the discord in our parents’ marriage, and we agreed we would allow only the deepest love to induce us into matrimony.”
“But you do not love me,” said Darcy, knowing it was true though it pained him to say it.
This time it was Miss Bennet’s turn to ponder his words. “My feelings for you are much warmer than they were before, but I do not have clarity yet about just what they are.”
“Then why did you accept?” asked Darcy. “By your own confession, I have not yet inspired that which you believed necessary to induce you into matrimony.”
“That is another thing I cannot decipher,” confessed she. “When I consider it, however, I can only conclude that I accepted because of the promise of what I want rather than the current reality.”
A slow smile spread over Darcy’s face as he understood what she was saying. “Then you expect to be happy with me.”
She showed him a saucy grin. “Was I wrong, Mr. Darcy?”
“Not at all. You already know my sentiments, Miss Bennet—I have resolved to do everything in my power to ensure that you do not regret your decision to accept me.”
“Then there is no need to worry,” said Miss Bennet, as if she considered the matter perfectly reasonable.
She stepped forward and laid a hand on his arm. “Let us not borrow trouble, Mr. Darcy. Much still needs to happen between us, but we are already coming to understand each other.”
Darcy watched her, trying to emulate her sense of confidence.
The sincerity in her eyes made it easier to share her assurance, and he could not deny the sense in what she said.
It was not yet what he had hoped to inspire, but seeing her so determined bolstered his conviction.
There was, as she acknowledged, much they still needed to understand about each other, but they had time.
The engagement was only a day old, and not even ratified by her father. There was no need to rush to the altar.
“Then we shall proceed with that understanding,” said Darcy. “For the moment, we must depart.”
Miss Bennet gave him a sour look, but she allowed him to guide her back toward the carriage, which was now ready.
As they were walking, Darcy noticed an older woman of perhaps sixty years regarding them, appearing pleased.
When she noticed them watching her, her pleasure grew, and she addressed them.
“You make a lovely couple.”
Darcy glanced at Miss Bennet, who looked back, amused by it all.
“We have only been engaged since yesterday,” said Darcy. “And we do not even have her father’s approval yet.”
“Not that I need it,” said Miss Bennet tartly. “Papa will not object anyway.”
The woman gave a little laugh. “You are a fiery one, my dear. That will serve you in good stead in a marriage with such a tall, imposing man.”
“She does not need it,” said Darcy.
“Already wrapped around her little finger, are you? Ah, young love. I remember it well.”
Then she smiled and stepped away to her own carriage, which was waiting nearby. Darcy turned to Miss Bennet with an upraised eyebrow.
“Am I wrapped around your finger?”
“No, I do not suppose you are,” replied she. “That is something I shall work on before the wedding.”
“You will not need to do much,” said Darcy.
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had emerged from the inn and were now speaking together, and the servants had already strapped all the luggage to the top of the carriage. Without further ado, they boarded and set out again.
THAT DAY WAS EVERYTHING they expected, mile after mile of monotonous travel broken only by the same stops as the previous day and conversation between the travelers. Somehow, however, Elizabeth found she could withstand it better—her thoughts kept her occupied, as she had much to consider.
The first thought that stayed with her was the brief encounter with the woman at the stop that morning. Two words stuck out to her: young love.
What Elizabeth could not determine was her meaning.
Was the woman perceptive enough to see something that Elizabeth had not yet understood herself, or was she the sort to see what she wished?
Either she had expected to see love in a young couple walking together, or there was something between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy more than they had yet acknowledged.
Mr. Darcy’s affections were unquestioned—the gentleman had already declared himself and proved their constancy in countless small ways since they reunited. The question had always been her.
The notion that she had come to love Mr. Darcy during these few days together, after an acrimonious parting several months earlier, was ridiculous—or so Elizabeth thought.
Yet she could not dismiss it altogether.
Something was pulling them together, some force or imperative that Elizabeth could not explain, though she did not deny it.
Whatever it was, her impression of the gentleman had undergone a radical change.
For the first time, Elizabeth confronted the possibility that she was closer to loving Mr. Darcy than she had thought possible. The prospect was not displeasing.
As they traveled south, Elizabeth snuck glances at the gentleman when he was not observing her.
The problem was that Mr. Darcy observed her often, and without seeming to realize what he was doing, rendering it nearly impossible to study him without his knowledge.
It reminded her of when he was in Hertfordshire in the autumn, the way he looked at her almost absently—Charlotte, as she recalled, had commented on it more than once.
Elizabeth contented herself with thinking about Mr. Darcy.
His physical features had never been in question, for he was a handsome man, broad-shouldered, tall, and powerfully built.
Though she had known for months how agreeable he found her, she now confronted the evidence of it for the first time.
Elizabeth could not say if a man’s admiration was enough for her to think of him more warmly, but such devotion was not unappealing.
Later that afternoon, they crossed the border into Hertfordshire, and Mr. Gardiner looked to Mr. Darcy. “We should decide whether to stop at Longbourn, for we are not far distant.”
Mr. Darcy nodded, but he did not reply at once. Instead, he looked at Elizabeth. She took this as an invitation to speak.
“It will delay us,” said Elizabeth, “but I cannot but wonder what state the house is in.”
“Let us call it what it is, Lizzy,” said Uncle Gardiner. “Jane wrote of my sister’s hysterics in her letter. Unless I have misjudged Maggie altogether, she has taken to her room, leaving the house, the estate, and her younger daughters and my children in Jane’s hands.”
“The more pressing issue,” said Mrs. Gardiner, “is what the servants know and what tales have spread to the community.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Jane is everything good, but she is not adept at dealing with my mother when she is in such a state. If you ask for my opinion, we should make at least a brief stop there to assess the situation.”
Mrs. Gardiner eyed her for a long moment. “You are determined to go on to London, are you not?”
“Must you ask?” said Elizabeth, with no little trace of irony. “I have already made that quite clear, Aunt.”
“Yes, my dear,” said Mrs. Gardiner, grasping Elizabeth’s hand and squeezing it with ready affection. “Well do I know your resolve. Yet someone must remain at Longbourn and take control of the house.”