Chapter 6 #2
Darcy said nothing else, but the incredulous expression on his face told her how shocked, perhaps even how insulted, he was by the idea.
He finally shook his head, saying softly, “I could never hate you, Miss Bennet. After recovering from my surprise at seeing you at Pemberley, I hoped to obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill opinion, by letting you see that your reproofs had been attended to.”
“I do forgive you,” she said. “And you have improved in civility, but you were never as proud or selfish as I presumed. I only hope you can forgive me for abusing you so terribly.”
“Your apology is unnecessary. You were acting from ignorance, from mistaken premises.”
“And you are being too generous. I would have thought that after Hunsford you would have spurned a friendship—an acquaintance with me,” she corrected herself quickly.
Darcy gave her a significant look. “I would be very glad if what happened in Hunsford did not impair a friendship between us.” He gave his attention back to the road. “Can we agree to say no more about it?”
Elizabeth agreed, although it felt like something more must be said, but she knew not what.
Now that she knew he had no improper pride, that he was not a selfish man, now that he wanted to make himself agreeable, and the shock of learning of his being in love with her had lessened, she now wondered if his feelings for her were unchanged.
They drove some time in silence before he said, “Bingley is happier than I have ever before seen him. I was delighted to learn of their engagement, and to see Mrs Bingley’s devotion to my friend is everything I could have hoped for.”
This was a safe topic. “Jane is excessively fond of him, and he of her. They are happy in each other.”
“I am glad of it. There could be no two young people more deserving of the love and respect of a worthy partner. Although you would know their happiness better than I since you live with them at Netherfield.”
“Yes, it has been a beneficial arrangement. However, as they become more settled into their domestic life, I do not serve the same purpose for Jane as I did in the beginning.”
Jane and Bingley would insist she stay with them as long as she pleased, but Jane had more in common with married ladies now, and she naturally preferred to spend time with her new husband.
Elizabeth’s position in their household might not feel like home as the couple grew more accustomed to each other.
“They are very mutually and sincerely attached,” said Elizabeth with forced brightness.
“I am certain your good humour and cheerfulness will always make you a valuable companion to your sister,” Darcy said with a knowing look and a smile.
She blushed in reply, and Darcy said a few more words about the good character of his friend, but soon his attention shifted to the drive.
For a long while, with his attention elsewhere, Elizabeth watched him.
At first glance, Darcy was handsome with a noble bearing, but perhaps was too ascetic for some people’s liking.
On closer examination, there was a certain gentleness in his eyes, and often a humour in his look.
Had that always been there, or was she now a better observer of him?
I care for his happiness. Darcy deserved to have someone love and respect him, and she wanted him to be as happy as Bingley was.
How much of that happiness she wished for him might depend on her?
Although Darcy wanted her good opinion, did he still love her?
Or would the remembrance of the less just and less gentle sensations of the past, of what happened at Hunsford, always keep them apart?
Darcy drove the curricle to the mews at the Red Lion, and then tried not to stare at Elizabeth after he handed her down and she smiled beautifully at him in answer.
He could not convince himself that he would eventually grow indifferent to her.
He had insulted her, he had not acted honourably or feelingly towards her, and yet Elizabeth seemed to wish a friendship with him.
Was it too soon for her to wish for something more than friendship?
If she has any tender regard for me, I will do everything in my power to attach her, to assure her of my continuing affection.
“There is Bingley’s chaise,” she said, waving to her sister, and then walking towards it. “And there is Mr Balfour.”
“Darcy,” said Balfour when he dismounted, “Hester has gone to a hill that supposedly has the earthwork remains of some castle?”
“Castle Hill,” he said. There were only a few yards of foundation walls left of the castle, and they were covered in verdure and turf. “Perhaps she shall have a view of the village from there if she wishes to draw.”
Balfour shrugged, already looking round for the next place to go, the next item to buy, the next person to banter with.
“She can sketch where she pleases. You know what it is like”—he gestured to Bingley—“once a sister has married, your role as protector is incredibly lessened. Even a widow like my Hester can come and go as she likes.”
Balfour was about to leave when he added, “Miss Bennet, would you care to forgo the church service and fountain decorating frivolities to wander Bakewell with me instead? I shall be more attentive to you than the newlywed couple, and shall be livelier company than Darcy.”
Elizabeth gave him a wry smile. “You no doubt have some secret gentlemanly pursuit in your mind, and a single lady under your protection would only put me in your way.”
Balfour might have expected a polite demurral or a blush, and briefly looked taken aback before he laughed. “Why, Miss Bennet, you do speak your mind, dinna ye?” He touched his hat and left.
Bingley could not restrain a laugh, but his wife put her arm through his and asked, pointedly, if they ought not to leave.
Darcy wondered if Bingley might have become like Balfour had he not married as young as he did, and to as steady a woman as Mrs Bingley.
He might otherwise have become all frivolity and carelessness.
Darcy led them to All Saints’ Church, thinking that Balfour had been provoking on purpose and that he had not expected Elizabeth to provoke him in return.
Women were generally expected to be obliging.
Elizabeth’s frankness could be objectionable to some people.
It may even frighten some gentlemen, but he found it a great attraction.
It was a touchstone of honesty, a quality he admired in her.
“Balfour said you would not be lively,” Bingley called his attention. “Do not prove him correct.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said whilst taking his arm and thereby stopping his heart, “what can you tell us of these decorations?”
“You shall see for yourself during the service, but villages in the Peak have left garlands of flowers at wells and springs for centuries. From there, the custom of well dressing, or well flowering, has stayed in Derbyshire villages. At some point, rather than leaving garlands, we built wooden boards to form a frame about four feet wide. I have seen other villages erect a ten-foot arch over their fountains. The boards are an inch or two deep and covered in soaked river clay where a design is etched, and then flower petals, blossoms, seeds, berries, all manner of natural materials are pressed in to make patterns and pictures.”
“Where did the ancient custom come from?” Mrs Bingley asked.
“None can say for certain. In Roman antiquity, there was a festival called Fontinalia in honour of the nymphs of wells with a ceremony to throw nosegays into fountains and put crowns of flowers upon wells.”
“But how did such a custom stay so long preserved, and only in Derbyshire?” Elizabeth asked him, her expression curious.
“Was it because the Celts worshiped local water gods, or perhaps Black Death survivors thinking the local water saved them?” Bingley asked.
“Or maybe gratitude for water during a drought?” Mrs Bingley said.
“Some people think so,” Darcy agreed. The churchyard was now in view. “Derbyshire is beautiful but remote, and its hills and dales made it a challenge to pass. Perhaps its remoteness kept a Celtic or Roman practice intact even through Saxon, Danish, and Norman invaders.”
“What are the designs on the boards?” Elizabeth asked.
“You shall have to see for yourself,” he answered with a smile as they entered the church.
His guests were taken aback when the vicar read the service and then left the pulpit, and the congregation followed and listened to him read the psalm at the first well.
Bingley and his lady looked bemused by the traipsing around the village to visit each well and spring, but Elizabeth’s face was rapt with interest. The procession continued with the epistle, gospel, and then a hymn sung by church singers accompanied by a band at the final well.
“Each well or fountain with its stone surround is covered with a board dressed in flowers pressed into clay?” Mrs Bingley marvelled when the service was ended.
She and her sister were looking at the dressing at the well near the churchyard.
“Look, Lizzy, they have used violets, daisies, and primroses here.”
“The village children spent the last few days gathering flowers, moss, and the like,” Darcy said. “Then they are given over to whoever has been deemed the most talented to press into the boards.”
Bingley was taking in the crowd in the churchyard. “Why are so many people still here?”
“A fête has followed the service from time immemorial. And those of the village open their doors for strangers, friends, and visitors. Some people have already gone home to put their kettles over their fires for those who brought a picnic on the green.”
“How charming!” Mrs Bingley cried.