Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
D arcy always woke with a purpose. In the five years since his father’s death, all within his realm had relied on him. His habit of rising early was now sweetened by the possibility of walking once again with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
He only saw her in the mornings, but he found himself amused by the memories of their brief interludes throughout the rest of every day. At times, he was forced to quickly remove the smile on his face in order to not draw the attention of his aunt, which was often, because Miss Elizabeth was perpetually on his mind. Each cloud in the sky was a threat of spring rains he hoped would remain at bay so he might meet her.
On Friday morning, he hurried through his morning routine, moving with eagerness to the paths just outside the formal gardens. The gardens were covered with a mist that had settled in overnight, bending the light of the first rays of sunshine which suggested a crisp, cool morning full of promise.
Miss Elizabeth, too, offered a promise of light in his day. He approached her quietly, wanting to have a few uninterrupted moments to watch her before she perceived his arrival. With her bonnet in her hand, he was able to take in the beauty of her hair, which was damp from the morning air. A few wild curls spilled out over her shoulders, glistening in the sunlight. He could not yet see her fine eyes, as her face was tipped upwards, with eyes closed. The early morning and its quiet possibilities seemed to invigorate her as well.
“Good morning, Miss Bennet,” he whispered when he came upon her.
He was greeted with a quiet, “Good morning to you, sir.” She immediately took his offered arm, and they strolled slowly in their practised manner.
Just being near her was pleasurable. He was undeniably drawn to her. Darcy was uncertain whether he would ever take action upon his feelings, yet he already knew forgetting her would be impossible. He had tried to forget her before, in London, over the winter. He had lost many nights of sleep wondering what she was doing and if he would see her again. Putting her out of his mind, even then, had proved unbearable.
He began to realise it would be harder to leave her this time—after five beautiful mornings spent together, and he meant to spend more. One week was rather not enough. It was perhaps improper that they continued meeting this way, but they never planned their meetings, not in the strictest sense. These were not secret assignations—even if he admitted to himself he was seeking her out quite plainly. In fact, he was abundantly aware of the marked attention he was giving her and the implications of that .
If she were a lady of the ton , there would already be rumours of an impending engagement after all the time spent together, and the lady in question would most assuredly be visiting Bond Street to begin planning her wedding clothes. But not Miss Elizabeth. Warmth spread through his chest at the recollection of their past exchanges and the charming manner in which she challenged him. She was no fawning miss. She was not hanging on his every word. She defied him and rebuked him and invigorated his mind. He was always hoping to be one step ahead of her, but she repeatedly surprised him with her wit.
He was pleased that she seemed livelier on these walks than she had appeared on Easter morning, but his concern from that day was still itching at him to be sure she was well. Her sullen eyes at church, coupled with the fact that she had not come for dinner that evening, worried him. When they had been at Netherfield Park together, and in Hertfordshire in general, she had been confident and self-assured. Not so in Kent. In Kent, even in her teasing, she was quieter and more cautious, and even apologetic.
“Pray forgive the impertinence of my question, but I hope you are well?” he asked tentatively.
“I am, sir.”
She seemed to take the question lightly, distracted by the trees and the birds, running her free hand across the leaves of a nearby shrub and pausing to examine its buds.
He ventured again, “You did not seem yourself at Sunday’s service. When you did not attend Easter dinner at Rosings, I was concerned for your health. I hope you are quite…recovered?”
She stopped her study of the shrub and turned to looked up at him, her brow arched elegantly. “Did my cousin say I was unwell? ”
“He did not. In fact, he did not mention anything about your whereabouts. Those were my own conclusions.”
She looked thoughtful for a moment. “I was not able to attend.”
“Might I ask why?”
Her discomfort was obvious, and he hastened to apologise. “No mind. It is none of my business, naturally.” He gestured along the path, indicating she should go ahead...but she did not. She remained still and pensive, and he sensed that perhaps she wanted to tell him more. At least he hoped she did.
“You would honour me if you should choose to confide in me,” he said gently.
Quietly, she said, “I was not allowed to go to Rosings because...because...”
He waited while she trailed off and then appeared to come to some resolution to finish. She turned her face from his when she finally continued, “Due to my misbehaviour.”
Her words were a jolt. “What? Surely my aunt has not...has she barred you from Rosings?”
Miss Elizabeth brought her hand gently to his arm, and dimly, he thought what a mark it was of her character that in the midst of her distress she sought to reassure him.
“No, sir. It is nothing of that sort.” He was hurt to hear the ambiguity in her answer. He was quickly searching for a polite response when he only wanted the truth—but she was not his to ask. If only he could demand the truth! If she was his, if she was under his protection...
She must have seen the turmoil in his expression, for she responded, “It was simply a disagreement with my cousin.”
Darcy’s brow wrinkled, bewildered at such a notion. He could only be more baffled when she looked away from him and said, “Nor am I permitted to partake of any further invitations.”
He was not at all satisfied with her answer, his concern only increasing. She was staring down at her feet, so he could not read her facial expression. “Miss Bennet, I hope you will allow me to help if you are in any distress.”
She looked up at him, her face a mixture of sadness and hope, “Thank you, sir. I shall.”
She turned towards the path once again and softly pressed his arm with her hand. His anger was tempered by her gentle touch. She may not desire to share all with him, but she appeared to trust him. Her hand pressed a second time on his arm, gently urging him to move his feet, one in front of the other.
It was in her favour to move him along, because inside his mind a storm of anger was brewing. What in the devil would occur to cause that bumbling vicar to punish his grown cousin, a guest of his wife? Nay, not only a guest but his wife’s most intimate girlhood friend! I could thrash him!
He and Fitzwilliam would call on the parsonage more often. The past two mornings after he joined her for a walk, Darcy had visited the stables for a long ride to clear his head before returning to Rosings. It was vital to find some physical exertion in order to prepare for an afternoon and evening of stale conversation with unlimited amounts of gossip and unwanted advice.
He could relinquish his morning ride this day, though, to check on the state of the parsonage. He must.
She interrupted his chaotic thoughts with a cheerful sounding tone, “I have been dealt worse punishments, Mr Darcy, I assure you. When I was much younger, my mother, in particular, was not fond of my skinned knees and ripped stockings earned from climbing trees. She has many times prohibited me from reading or walking out, and you well know these to be my most treasured pastimes. As you can see, I am out of doors now. No one has taken my walks, nor has Mr Collins limited my reading. I am no prisoner, sir.”
She looked for a response, but he did not give it to her, frustration binding his tongue. She continued, her voice becoming even more light-hearted, though surely she must have felt anything but that. “And I have brought several books with me from Hertfordshire. It will take some doing, but I am sure Shakespeare may provide me as many follies and amusements as a dinner at Rosings Park.”
With that, he chuckled. He liked very much the vision of a stubborn, young Miss Elizabeth climbing trees to the chagrin of her mother. Darcy envied her spirit and determined good humour. If she were content, he would try to be as well.
“The punishments of young ladies sound far preferable to that of young men. Richard and I—that is, Colonel Fitzwilliam and I—had countless times to line up for the veritable firing squad that was my father’s temper. Even when we were old enough to understand what harsh punishments were possible, we still threw our energy thoughtlessly into mischief, causing all kinds of trouble, only to end up in my father’s study to face his judgment. And he could be quite severe. His expectations for us were exceedingly high. Richard, as you can imagine, always the military man, would provide as much distraction to the enemy as possible in order to lessen the punishment or direct it away from me.”
She smiled up at him. “He rendered a great kindness. Have you always been close friends?”
“Yes, we have. We grew up together. His family’s estate, Matlock, is not far from Pemberley. Since he joined the army, he is often gone for long periods of time, but he is entirely devoted to his family. We share the guardianship of my younger sister. When his time is his own, he often spends it with us. I had not a brother, but he has been nearly that to me.”
“I always wanted a brother,” she said wistfully.
“I can imagine a house full of sisters was fairly different from the quiet home I was reared in. Not to mention your particular sisters,” he said, hoping to see her smile.
She feigned offence, gasping and bringing her free hand to her chest. “You wound me, sir!”
He laughed and was relieved to see her join him. Her full, honest smile brought his senses all to attention. He was so overwhelmed with joy when she enticed him to laugh. It was a freedom he was unaccustomed to. In that moment, both of them grinning widely, he imagined pulling her by her hand deeper into the woods and kissing her soundly. His smile grew even wider, and she stared at him, as if she had never seen him thus.
Laughingly, she said, “I am particularly unlucky in meeting with a person so well able to expose the real character of the Bennet women! Not to mention being in a part of the world where I had hoped to pass myself off with some degree of credit. What will your aunt think if you describe my silly and unruly sisters? Indeed, Mr Darcy, it is ungenerous of you to mention all that you know to my disadvantage!”
“Your secret is safe with me, Miss Bennet. As always, I am at your service.” He bowed deeply, almost reverently, in the same manner as Mr Collins, and found himself laughing once again as he came back up. They were caught up in the moment, both smiling and attempting to catch their breath.
“I do thank you, sir, both for your secrecy and the distraction you have provided this morning. I do dearly love to laugh, and humour is in short supply at Hunsford Parsonage,” she said, somewhat breathlessly.
He could not say more, so he simply responded, “I know.”
Clouds were beginning to block the sharp morning sun, threatening the possibility of rain. Both nodded in understanding of the darkening sky and began making their way back to the parsonage.
After accompanying Miss Elizabeth to the fork in the road that would take her to her cousin’s home, he felt a twinge of regret to say goodbye once again. He could not bring her with him to Rosings and openly pay court to her in public, as he dearly wished—not yet. And especially not in Kent.
If he did decide to accept her attentions and choose to court her, he would want her as far away from his meddling aunt as possible. And their engagement would have to be of a short duration in order to remove her from her family promptly as well. Their impropriety and connexions to trade would make her entrance into London society even more strained.
Her family truly was a nuisance. She agreed with him on this, as was evidenced from their earlier tête-à-tête. Should he decide to marry her, the distance between Longbourn and Pemberley would appropriately burden those relationships. He froze in the middle of the lane, turning his gaze back in the direction of the parsonage. Am I truly contemplating marriage?
The thought shocked him, and he began walking once again in the direction of Rosings. The ton would assume she had entrapped him in some way. It would be necessary to be seen in London with her for a time before an engagement was announced and to introduce her to Lord and Lady Matlock, ensuring their support early on .
If Lady Matlock understood his intentions, she would take Miss Elizabeth under her wing and thrust her into society properly. Her acceptance and supervision would be key.
He thought of Miss Elizabeth’s excitement and joy if he were to finally tell her that he too felt all she felt, and his pace quickened. After all her teasing and faux quarrelling these many months, he imagined she would be quite overjoyed to see her efforts had succeeded in securing him. He smiled at the thought.
Once she was his, he would ensure no one ever occasioned her to look the way she had the previous Sunday. Never again. She may truly be banned from Rosings if he made her his wife, but that alone would be an incentive to woo her. He hoped he possessed the courage to make this choice, but he was yet uncertain whether it was all worth it.
It was easy enough to convince his aunt that he and Fitzwilliam must attend to business out of doors that afternoon. His aunt was made agreeable to their scheme to venture out in the rain, as Darcy intended to inspect the eastern fields for the drainage concerns shared by her tenants.
Fitzwilliam smirked even less than anticipated when Darcy suggested they call on the parsonage before returning to Rosings.
As expected, their visit was accepted with wild enthusiasm from the vicar himself. Darcy allowed his cousin to guide the discussion and share good-humoured tales about the war on the Continent. His cousin was an experienced conversationalist and always put others at ease. Darcy, while enjoying his cousin’s banter, found it hard to sit still. He crossed and uncrossed his legs. He moved over to the window to observe the rain. He sat back down and accepted tea. All the while, he watched Miss Elizabeth. And watched her cousin.
The man could not stop talking, but he seemed harmless enough. It was hard to imagine him punishing Miss Elizabeth when all Darcy observed beyond the profuse and ridiculous flattery the man uttered was the beaded sweat on his brow; the man was nearly quivering in excitement and nervousness over his esteemed guests. He did not seem to be a danger, but merely a fool.
Miss Elizabeth appeared well too. He enjoyed watching her respond to Fitzwilliam’s stories—relishing the tilt of her head or the curling of an unruly lock of hair around her finger while deep in contemplation, as well as the way her eyes sparkled when she was rather amused. She was not the woman of the woods from four hours prior, but she did not seem unhappy either. She rather reminded him of her elder sister Jane—quiet, appeasing, and serene.
In all, it was a mystery, but one he was well pleased to figure out.
While attending church the following Sunday, Elizabeth found herself trying to avoid looking at Mr Darcy. How greatly one week improved the way she saw the man! One week of pleasing weather and fulfilling exercise with her friend. A friend? She was surprised by her own notion.
The man was in many ways completely infuriating—ruining lives one day and being a gentle confidant on another! She reminded herself that it was mere curiosity driving her interest in him. He was like a specimen in a rather intriguing experiment. She needed more evidence before drawing any conclusions, that was all.
Watching him enter the church with Colonel Fitzwilliam, she found it perplexing that these two men of such opposite natures were so close; however, Mr Bingley too was a man of cheery smiles as well as an open and welcoming character. How was it that these two talkative and hospitable men relied on and befriended such a serious creature? Perhaps Mr Darcy enjoyed being around more effusive individuals? He had certainly enjoyed her teasing antics that week.
After the service, Elizabeth noted Mr Darcy making his way to her. She blushed at his approach—her cheeks hot, she lowered her face in the hopes that her bonnet would guard her discomfiture. He was followed closely by Mr Collins, hastening after him to bow to his patroness’s revered nephew and thanking him for his continued condescension.
Mr Darcy’s entire appearance changed from that of an approaching friend to the defensive and haughty demeanour she had long been acquainted with. Her cousin asked no less than three questions before allowing a space in time for Mr Darcy to respond, to which Mr Collins received merely a nod. Not shrewd enough to see the censure in Mr Darcy’s silence, her cousin continued babbling on without any encouragement.
Once Mr Collins moved on to speak to Lady Catherine, Mr Darcy’s demeanour softened, and he leaned down to ask quietly, “Has the vicar lifted your restrictions on this charming Sunday, or shall we miss the opportunity to entertain you again this afternoon, Miss Bennet?”
His manner surprised her. Is Mr Darcy flirting? The thought enlivened her.
She mirrored his gesture, leaning towards him as if to share a divine secret. “It is a pity I shall not be joining you this afternoon, sir, for I shall miss the diversion,” she said archly. And am I flirting with Mr Darcy?
Composing herself and acknowledging a few onlookers, she adjusted her expression to a more neutral countenance and continued, “The weather appears to promise another afternoon of rain, Mr Darcy. I am sure a book will be all the amusement I require today.”