Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
After she awoke, Elizabeth heard from Carew—when she bustled in to deliver her cleaned pelisse—that last night’s violent rains were heavy enough to destroy crops and wash away bridges.
From her window, she could not see the garden, but she saw how the grounds were a churned mass of earth and rock, and it was strewn with branches and leaves.
The sun was shining, but it looked as though it would be days before Pemberley’s grounds dried.
She tried to think on what damage the rain might have done, but her thoughts returned to Darcy.
The prospect of Darcy still being in love with her was a constant source of delight.
Last night, she knew he had intended to select Mrs Lanyon, but mischance had put Elizabeth in the Nun’s seat.
Darcy had not insisted on kissing her hand as Mr Balfour had with Miss Darcy, and Darcy hardly looked or sounded composed when he knelt before her and spoke.
She would never forget the feel of Darcy’s fingertips lightly touching her cheek whilst his warm lips pressed against the other.
His stature was just over six feet, and there was something stirring in the way he had knelt before her, fixing his eyes on her face.
He was a handsome man, of course, but now that his manners were softened, now that he showed her more of his humorous nature, she found him still more attractive.
Even his decided, commanding air was appealing to her.
It was plain from his attitude last night that he was affected by the game.
There had been a sudden, intense gentleness in his eyes before Darcy kissed me.
In order to better understand her own heart, she went to speak with Jane, but she found her in a conversation about gowns with Louisa, and Elizabeth soon left them.
Jane likely could not tell her anything she did not already know: that Darcy might still love her, and that Elizabeth was certain now that she loved him.
She walked past the stairs near old Mr Darcy’s room and entered the room that Miss Darcy had taken a liking to.
She found Mrs Lanyon sketching by the fireplace.
“Were you looking for Miss Darcy?” Mrs Lanyon asked. “She was here not three quarters of an hour ago.”
“I was in search of company,” Elizabeth said, “and I am not disappointed in whom I found.”
“I would have thought Mrs Bingley would be your first choice.”
“Jane was with Louisa, and I had no interest in interrupting their talk about Caroline’s wish for new gowns.”
Mrs Lanyon raised an eyebrow. “I hear from the lady who waits on me that Miss Bingley’s maid induced her mistress to throw aside all she wore during the last two months—for her benefit, I suspect, because Miss Bingley always appears up to date.
Perhaps they were settling the point on whether this was needed or wasteful. ”
“I doubt Jane’s and Louisa’s opinions will coincide.
” Louisa and Caroline were in the habit of spending more than they ought.
“At home, my sister sends her lady to me if we go out in the evening. Miss Darcy’s maid, Carew, has assisted me at Pemberley.
I cannot imagine her to be the sort to influence Miss Darcy for the sake of getting her cast-off gowns. ”
“That is just as well, since I think Miss Darcy might be persuaded to buy all new gowns if she had such a maid as does Miss Bingley.”
“True, but Mrs Annesley would guide her against such foolishness.”
That topic seemed to be exhausted, and Mrs Lanyon said, “Did you enjoy the games last evening?” She had not looked up from her sketch, but there was a pointedness in her question.
“You knew Mr Darcy was going to pick you to be the Nun to his Penitent?” Elizabeth asked. “Did you not want him to kiss you?”
“I was educated in London, like my brother. Every movement of the body in entering and quitting a room, in taking a seat and rising from it, was criticised and perfected, but I know nothing about natural sciences. I suspect we are alike, in that way.” She frowned at her sketch.
“We are also alike in that neither of us is na?ve.”
Elizabeth wondered what this had to do with anything, and politely said so.
“You might be artless,” Mrs Lanyon said as she set aside her pencil, “but you are not foolish. You cannot need me to explain it to you.” Elizabeth very much did, and her expression must have said so. “Mr Darcy is only waiting for some encouragement from you.”
Elizabeth felt a rush of heat in her cheeks. Mrs Lanyon sat silently, an elegant woman who had just told her everything she hoped for whilst mortifying her exceedingly. It was no use to deny it, but she would not admit that she had soundly rejected Darcy in April.
“You mistake the situation,” Elizabeth managed to say.
“Then please forgive me. I thought Mr Darcy wanted to kiss you, and that you would welcome such attentions from that quarter.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to demur, but could not find the words. Instead, she said, “We have . . . disagreed with one another in the past, and until—if he speaks, I cannot be secure in anything more than my own feelings.”
“And a man would need to be secure of yours before he speaks.”
Not in my experience.
Of course, if Darcy were considering proposing again, he would need assurances that her feelings had changed.
She needed some opportunity to show him how tenderly she felt for him and give him the encouragement that Mrs Lanyon said he needed.
She eagerly wanted to exchange with him those feelings and promises that Darcy’s words in April had made impossible.
“I once undervalued his merits—the fault was mine—but he . . . he was not gentlemanlike—” Elizabeth could not confess all that had passed between them. “As I said, you mistake the simplicity of the matter.”
“I am sorry to have embarrassed you,” Mrs Lanyon said, sounding regretful. “I spoke and acted out of turn.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Not at all.”
“It is hardly the behaviour to earn me any friends if I misjudged the attachment between you and Mr Darcy.” Mrs Lanyon began to hurriedly pack up her pencils, looking anywhere but at her.
“You are not wrong.” There was some manner of attachment there; it was only a matter of was it enough to overcome the past. “I ought to show Mr Darcy a stronger hint as to my wishes.”
“Well, a man like Mr Darcy has inestimable worth, and you seem to know that.” Elizabeth was certain Mrs Lanyon was not speaking of his fortune.
“I shall say no more about it,” she said firmly, still not meeting her eye, “except to add that you ought to make the most of your remaining days at Pemberley. Shall we go to breakfast?”
Although Elizabeth was not embarrassed, Mrs Lanyon seemed grateful for the distraction. They went to the breakfast parlour, where they were the last to arrive, save for Darcy.
The Hursts and Miss Bingley were settling the details of seeing Chatsworth today, and the Bingleys intended to see Haddon Hall.
Mr Utterson and Mr Balfour intended to go to Buxton, but for what purpose Elizabeth had been too late to hear.
Rather than take the waters, she thought it more likely the two men were in search of a way to spend more of their money and vary their society.
She noticed Miss Darcy looked rather happy as the others sketched their plans.
Miss Darcy would enjoy having the house to herself. As much as she wanted to know Miss Darcy better, Elizabeth resolved to make herself scarce.
“Lizzy, should you like to come with us to Haddon?” Jane asked.
She saw Mrs Lanyon down the table, saying as little as she was known to say. Elizabeth did not want her new acquaintance to feel that she had insulted her by what she had done last night or said this morning. “I would be glad to, but might we ask Mrs Lanyon to join us?”
Jane and Bingley invited her. Mrs Lanyon demurred out of politeness, until Elizabeth added, “Please say yes, Mrs Lanyon. I would enjoy your company.” She gave the widow a pointed look, and when she smiled and agreed, Elizabeth knew Mrs Lanyon understood how much she wanted her to come.
There should be no awkwardness between them now.
They were nearly finished eating, but Darcy had still not appeared. “Has anyone seen Mr Darcy this morning?” she asked.
Caroline gave her a scathing look. “Why should it matter to you?”
Bingley looked askance at his sister. “You asked the same question an hour ago.” Elizabeth supposed it was too much to hope that Caroline had thought nothing of Darcy’s manner towards her since their visit to Bakewell, or the Kiss the Nun forfeit last night.
“I saw him from a window leave at first light. His steward was with him,” Bingley said with a sigh.
“He shall be an awful object tonight,” Mr Utterson said, turning over a page of his letter.
It soon became clear that half of the group knew something that the other half did not.
“The dreadful storm last night did considerable damage,” Bingley said.
“Where?” asked Mrs Lanyon.
“Everywhere,” Mr Utterson said. “That is what happens to ground that is already wet when it rains for hours without intermission. I saw it all when I rode to Lambton for my post.” He pointed out the window.
“I heard from Miss Darcy’s lady that there was damage across the county, but is it truly that bad here?” Elizabeth asked as she rose to the window.
“Apparently, rain inundated Lambton and other lower-lying towns, as well as Darcy’s properties, like never before,” Bingley said. “The rain caused the Derwent to swell three feet in five minutes.”
Those who had not known about the destruction joined Elizabeth at the window.
Some of the beautiful oaks and Spanish chestnuts looked as though they had been torn from the earth and tossed about.
The stream flooded its banks far enough to drown the land adjacent to it.
The floodwater had damaged the paths as well as uprooted and washed away the plants in the garden.