Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
“Never did I consider you vain, although you have every right to be.” Lady Acaster watched Elizabeth twist one way and then another in front of the mirror.
Her aunt’s maid had curled and pinned her hair, exposing her neck; Lady Acaster had insisted that Elizabeth try on at least three different dresses before settling on one of a deep-blue cambric.
Elizabeth did not wish to contradict her aunt; it was not vanity that caused her to fret, but rather her mind refused to settle after speaking Mr Wickham’s name aloud after all these years.
What possessed me to mention him? And to Mr Darcy of all people! From the window, the chimney of the steward’s cottage could be seen, and she forced her mind away from that scoundrel, with his angelic face and devilish smile.
It did not help that her aunt was in an impressive state of agitation.
In the mirror’s reflection, she watched Lady Acaster pace about the room, her arms gesturing wildly as she spoke.
“Now, when you see the colonel, you must keep your composure. I advise you, my dear, to remain aloof. Men like nothing more than a beautiful woman who appears disinterested. It speaks to them of a battle to be won. However, do not appear too cold, for that might work against you—”
By Elizabeth’s estimation, Lady Acaster had not drawn a proper breath for the best part of a minute. Pushing away all thoughts of Mr Wickham, she said, “Aunt, you are flapping. I would not be at all surprised if you started clucking and scratching for worms.”
“I cannot help my anticipation. Your letters were always full of admiration for your playfellow. Even now, there is a glow in your eyes when you talk of him. He is almost certainly going to be named as Lord Matlock’s heir!
Imagine if you should become engaged before the end of the summer—what a victory that will be! ”
“The colonel may be vastly changed. A youth of nineteen is a different beast to a man of four-and-twenty. And remember your promise that you would not meddle.”
Lady Acaster appeared not to hear this last remark, continuing breathlessly, “All my acquaintances who have met the colonel inform me that he is remarkably handsome! I am convinced that he will be just as good-looking, if not more so, than Mr Darcy, who, by the bye, looked exceedingly well in his green coat last night. Did you think so?”
Swallowing her exasperation, Elizabeth crossed the room, enclosing her aunt’s hand in her own.
“Your intentions are of the purest kind, and I appreciate your concern for my happiness. However, I beg of you to stop your scheming—if for no other reason than I should hate Georgiana to think our renewed friendship was only ever for my own gain.”
Sighing, Lady Acaster squeezed Elizabeth’s fingers. “Oh, how wicked of you to put me in my place in such a way that I cannot hate you for it. You are entirely correct. I shall say no more about it.”
Elizabeth knew this to be unlikely, but she thanked her aunt all the same, before adding with a grin, “And if you do choose to interfere, I shall be forced to observe, to the consternation of us both, how your conduct is identical to that of my mother.”
Despite her promise, by mid-morning, Lady Acaster’s fussing had reached an unbearable pitch, until Elizabeth had no other choice but to beg for a moment’s walk to get some air.
Georgiana wanted to join her, but Mr Darcy insisted his sister stay on hand, ready for their cousin’s arrival.
From their conversations, she gleaned that the last time they had all been together had perhaps not been a happy occasion.
Promising Georgiana that she would not be long, she escaped in search of some much-needed peace.
Her perambulations took her through the walled gardens, past the thick beech that she, Georgiana, and Richard Fitzwilliam used to climb, and towards the copse where she had spent many hours sketching leaves and collecting petals.
Everywhere she turned, she saw some corner that served as a reminder of her time with the young man.
A twisted branch that he had climbed to rescue her ribbon.
The stile he had lifted Georgiana over when they all escaped Elizabeth’s short-sighted governess.
Here was the large stone upon which he had perched and comforted her after yet another letter from her mother without a single word of affection.
In a childhood marked by loneliness, these unassuming acts of kindness shone brighter than any star.
She had been fond of him. What if he were changed?
Would those cherished memories be tarnished too?
Unable to contain the wild feeling, Elizabeth broke into a run, not caring whether mud splattered about her ankles.
This was who she truly was, not some Mayfair maiden, angling for a husband, but a free spirit longing for the soft crunch of a country path.
Breathlessly, she slowed as she came to the fishing river; its familiar stony banks had once been a source of pleasure for her.
Squeezing closed her eyes, she remembered a ten-year-old Georgiana at her side, still hearing her gasps of amazement as they sat on the moss-soaked logs watching her older cousin fish.
Such innocent times, long vanished, came flooding back.
That memory faded, replaced instead by the image of Mr Darcy by the fire the previous evening, his profile tense, his expression stony.
Their conversation had been surprisingly cordial, and never could she have imagined the haughty and serious Mr Darcy might gift her one of his father’s books.
His presence had been a welcome distraction from her bothersome thoughts until— Her chest constricted.
She should not have mentioned Mr Wickham. All that was best left in the past.
“Who’s there?” A man’s voice echoed through the stillness.
She opened her eyes and stared. There, on the other side of the river, was Colonel Fitzwilliam.
With an expression of undisguised interest on his face, he approached slowly, allowing her to note all the changes to his person.
Time has been kind, she decided. He seemed taller—not so tall as Mr Darcy, but they both shared the same broad shoulders and powerful bodies of men accustomed to active life.
The colonel’s jaw had lost its softness, replaced instead with the defined contours of a man, and he walked with purpose, his blue eyes regarding her with amused curiosity.
Straw-colour hair stuck to the perspiration on his brow, and he wiped it away hastily before flashing Elizabeth that disarming boyish grin.
“Did you hear me? Who are you? What business do you have here?”
The youth she had once known had disappeared; the man in front of Elizabeth was far more handsome than she remembered. Fighting a blush, she said, “I am a visitor at Pemberley.”
The colonel’s gaze dropped to the shards of bark and wet leaves spattered across the hem of her dress. He smirked. “I cannot believe you. No guest of Pemberley would dare to be dressed in such a charmingly rustic fashion. Its master is a stickler for propriety in all matters, especially sartorial.”
“Mr Darcy did not mention to you that I was staying there?”
“I do not read every word of his dull letters, only the parts that seem most relevant to me.”
He regarded Elizabeth with interest, his gaze raking up and down her body before settling on her face.
“Your countenance is familiar, I shall admit. Are you a new companion for Miss Darcy? No! A woman so pretty could never be an attendant to another—no female in their right mind would employ you. It would be like stringing a pearl on a necklace of glass beads and hoping no one noticed.”
A small giggle escaped Elizabeth, despite his boldness. “You do not remember my name?”
He affected a groan. “Do not be so cruel, fair maiden. You mean to say that we have met before, and I do not recall the circumstances? I must surrender my commission at once, for I appear to have lost control of my faculties.”
“We are certainly acquainted.”
“You lie, little sprite, for that must be what you are, breathless and beautiful, under these verdant boughs, with a trickster’s gleam in your eye, attempting to fool me into believing that I would not remember so heavenly a creature.”
“You call me a liar, sprite, and trickster! And I was under the impression that soldiers of the Twelfth Royal Lancers were cut of chivalrous cloth. How disappointing to discover that I am mistaken.”
A muscle twitched in the colonel’s jaw. He recovered quickly from his surprise. “How do you know the name of my regiment?”
Elizabeth laughed again; she could not help herself. How quickly they fell into their light-hearted ways of old. “As I told you, we are already acquainted.”
“Did I meet you at Lady Huntington’s ball last month?”
Elizabeth held up her sodden dress. “A woman of her stature would hardly let a blowsy creature such as me cross the threshold of Apsford House.”
He frowned. “I recognise your lovely face, but I cannot place it. Were you at Regent’s Park last month? Did you pass me in your carriage and watch pityingly as I swooned at your beauty?”
She arched a brow. “I would ask whether you were always this impudent, but sadly I know the truth of it. You always did have a silver tongue.”
The look of confusion on his face was worth waiting five years for. “When did we first meet?”
A distant clock chimed. Wiser women than Elizabeth would have put a stop to this flirtation, but it was too enjoyable not to continue.
Instead of answering, she said, “Do you know, I believe it is time to return to the house. I have heard that Colonel Fitzwilliam is to join us. I do not wish to be late—he has a fearsome reputation.”