Chapter 22 #2
Her heart skipped a beat, then started to race. The meaning of his enquiry was clear, even if she was wary of accepting it.
As though guessing her turmoil, he continued, “I am asking with no peculiar purpose, Miss Bennet. I confess I still like to ride before breakfast. And if by chance I happen to meet you, it would simply be an additional delight. That is — if you would not mind…”
“Oh…” she breathed in relief, only to be surprised by the sudden disappointment she felt and becoming angry with herself. What did she want from him? What did she expect and hope? When would she be able to comprehend her desires and accept them? Would she ever know herself?
“I would not mind at all, Mr Darcy. I do walk every morning, if possible, but only to the edge of the grove beyond our garden. I would not risk going farther in this weather.”
“A wise decision, Miss Bennet. Now, please be so kind as to take me to your father, I would not wish to make him wait.”
They walked farther on, and she knocked on the library door. She opened it but did not enter, only introduced Darcy, then returned to the drawing room.
As soon as she was gone, Darcy felt he missed her already. Mr Gardiner was in the room, already sitting and nursing a drink, and he greeted both his host and his brother while accepting Mr Bennet’s offer of a drink and the invitation to sit.
Mr Bennet did not waste any more time with niceties, and in the following minutes he related to Darcy the fight witnessed by Lydia and shared the contents of the note he had received from the colonel, leaving Darcy aghast.
“The problem is that Lydia’s thoughtless reaction caused a scandal,” Mr Bennet said. “Had she come home and told me directly, I would have dealt with Colonel Forster differently. As it is, I still have to face him, and it will be a difficult and uncomfortable encounter.”
“I do not believe that Miss Lydia should be much blamed for her reaction,” Darcy replied. “She must have been understandably shocked, as we all are, I am sure. One cannot expect her to keep her composure and mind her words at such a shocking disclosure for a young gently born lady.”
“It is true. Still, I confess I did blame her,” Mr Bennet answered bashfully.
“Even worse, I suspected her of lying — either unintentionally or on purpose. And this is what Colonel Forster, his wife, and his brother are implying too. That she is but a silly girl, a thoughtless child, who either misheard or misunderstood.”
“I doubt Lydia would lie about such a matter,” Mr Gardiner interjected. “Her strong reaction must have been sincere. I wonder nevertheless what exactly Colonel Forster hopes to achieve from an encounter with my brother.”
“I am certain Miss Lydia speaks the truth,” Darcy replied.
“She could not come with such a narration or imagine it in such a short time. And, while I am dismayed that Mrs Forster and her brother might be involved in Wickham’s death, it is not impossible to believe.
It would hardly be the first time Wickham has entertained a barely proper friendship, if not more, with a lady — be they married or single — causing her family to intervene. ”
“I assumed as much,” Mr Bennet replied. “And I presume the colonel wants to ensure Lydia’s secrecy and disavowal of everything that was said.”
“Most likely,” Darcy agreed.
“Very well. I should reply to the colonel and tell him I agree to go and speak to him.”
Darcy took a swig from his glass pensively, then he said, “Forgive me, Mr Bennet, but I would caution against going to the colonel’s house.
In your position, it is not something you owe to anyone.
The colonel requested the encounter, so if the colonel wishes to speak, he should come to you.
Either at Longbourn or, if you prefer, perhaps at Netherfield, where the library would provide you complete privacy. ”
Mr Bennet sat momentarily agape, then he glanced at his brother who nodded. “You are perfectly right, Mr Darcy. Would you agree to attend the meeting? You have had your share of this Wickham story, and I trust your self-control would be useful to settle things once and for all.”
“Gladly, sir.”
“Then I believe it would be better if I stayed behind,” Mr Gardiner suggested. “Since I am a stranger to this tragedy, my presence might only complicate the situation.”
“I agree,” Mr Bennet said. “Let us finish our drinks, then I shall write to the colonel.”
Once this task was completed and the delivery of the note arranged, the gentlemen joined the others, and soon afterwards dinner was served.
Lydia joined them, but her usual volubility was missing.
She sat between Kitty and Mrs Gardiner and spoke less than ever before.
Following the mutual understanding and Mr Bennet’s earlier insistences, still shaken by everything that had come to pass, perhaps also intimidated by the presence of Darcy and Bingley, she did not mention anything about the Forsters or about Wickham, and neither did the others.
From the beginning of the visit and for the rest of the evening, Bingley remained close to Jane and therefore Mrs Bennet, while Darcy sat near Mr Bennet and Mr Gardiner, across the table from Elizabeth.
The conversation flew effortlessly, and Elizabeth often engaged in it.
The day of the sleigh ride spent in his company, the brief exchange in the hall which held a small amount of illicitness due to the allusion of an assignation and the realisation that Darcy was willingly providing her father with his friendship and support freed Elizabeth from all vestige of awkwardness and restraint towards him.
Whatever the future would bring for them she dared not presume.
But at present he was certainly a most loyal and dependable friend, caring and considerate, with no improper pride and no flaws in his manners.
And very handsome, she mused as she watched him carefully, not realising she was staring at him with the same expression he sometimes wore while staring at her.
A strange quiver affected her every time his dimples were in sight.
Darcy struggled to keep his attention on Mr Bennet and Mr Gardiner, but his eyes often flew towards Elizabeth.
Even when he did not catch hers, he still felt her gaze resting on his face.
Never having been in love before, nor ever thinking of courting another woman, at the age of eight and twenty his new feelings were exciting, stirring, thrilling.
None of his previous intimate experiences in women’s company, not that they were that many, had prepared him for the jumble of sensations that filled his heart and knotted his stomach.
It was tormenting and purely delightful, and he wished it to last as long as possible.
It did — throughout dinner and long after it, even long after he and Bingley returned to Netherfield later that night.