Chapter Ten #2
“We do, Miss Elizabeth,” he said evenly, masking his confusion.
“My father was very interested in our apple orchards and took any opportunity to plant new varieties. We have some strains from Europe, even one from the former colonies, and the Decio is said to have come over with the Romans. Our kitchens use them for cider, of course, but also apple butter, pies, any number of things. They also cut and dry the fruit for later use. Some of the apples are harvested through this month, in fact, but that will be the end of it until next year.”
“My goodness,” Miss Elizabeth said with a smile. “How many people must you feed?”
“Much of it is sold at market,” he said quietly. “My sister lives most of the year in London with her companion, and my parents are gone.”
Her smile faded. “Do you spend the festive days with other family, then?”
He nodded. “Typically, Georgiana and I spend them with my uncle and aunt in London. When my cousins are in town, they are present as well.”
“That is good,” Mrs. Bennet said in the least shrill tone he had heard from her. “No one should spend the festive season alone.” She addressed Bingley. “Will you remain in Hertfordshire for Christmas, sir?” she asked.
Bingley set his fork down. “I believe so, Mrs. Bennet.”
“Why then, you must spend it with us. Mr. Darcy, you are welcome to invite your family as well.”
Darcy could not imagine the earl and countess at Mrs. Bennet’s table, no matter how wonderful the food. Georgiana, however, would be delighted not to spend the holiday with her very formal relations. “I will inquire about their plans, Mrs. Bennet, thank you.”
Bingley was staring at him, but Darcy cared only for one person’s approbation, and it was not his friend’s.
Elizabeth was baffled. Mr. Darcy was sitting at her mother’s dining table and conversing not only politely but amiably.
He had made gentle fun of his aunt, spoken knowledgeably of his own estate, and had not even turned his nose up at her mother’s invitation that he and his family spend the festive season at Longbourn.
She suspected his relations would disdain her mother’s offer, but he had not offered any hint of that.
Instead, he had gone so far as to promise to write and extend her mother’s request for their company.
Who was this man? He was certainly not the Mr. Darcy she had grown to loathe after first hearing his insult and then enduring almost a week together at Netherfield.
That man had been silent and disagreeable in turn, but there was no sign of him now.
In his place was a man who was grave and quiet, but also wry, intelligent, with a sharp sense of humour and a deep sense of commitment to his family’s heritage.
He had defended her against Mr. Collins’s slight.
He had made her laugh. Had she met this man at the assembly, she would have been quite in love with him from the beginning.
That was ridiculous. Had she not hated him from the start?
She bit her lower lip and peeked at Mr. Darcy.
Was it possible she had not hated him from the start?
His words had certainly hurt her far more than they would have if one of the Lucas boys or Jeremiah Goulding or any of the other local men who attended the dances had uttered them.
When Mr. Darcy insulted her, she had pretended it did not pain her.
If any of those other men had spoken the insult, she would not have been pretending, for their opinions of her looks were not important to her.
For heaven’s sake. She had wanted Mr. Darcy’s approval.
And when it was not forthcoming, she had determined not to allow it to bother her—but it still had.
That was why she was so easily led astray by Mr. Wickham.
She already knew she had been vain, but oh, how distressing to realise she was an absolute ninny!
“Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy said quietly as the conversation carried on without them, “are you well? You are a little pale.”
“I am well,” she said lightly, but did not believe she had fooled him. “The conversation tonight has been a little more lively than usual.”
Mr. Darcy simply nodded. “I have played my part in that, I am afraid.”
“Oh, no!” she cried, drawing yet more unwanted attention from those around them. She closed her eyes and shook her head. “My apologies,” she said, and everyone returned to their conversations, albeit with ears fully trained in her direction.
Having so many sisters was not normally such a trial. Would this dinner never end?
“No, Mr. Darcy,” she explained, keeping her voice pitched low. “You were taking my side. I thank you for that.” She almost added that no one other than Jane ever did, but thought that might be one revelation too far.
His smile warmed her from the inside out, and she could not fail to compare it to the moment he had kissed her.
Dear God. She liked him. Maybe more than liked him. What did that mean? Could it be possible that he would actually make her an offer?
She shot a look at him out of the corner of her eye. He had returned his attention to the table, but somehow she felt he had done so because he wished to spare her any additional embarrassment.
He was thoughtful too.
As Elizabeth lifted a forkful of peas to her mouth, she decided she would behave as Jane always did. She would have to allow the gentleman to speak first. If he wanted her . . . Her courage rose. If he wanted her, it was up to him to speak, for she was a prize worth winning.
She just hoped that she was a prize he wished to win.
Mr. Darcy was now discussing apples with her father, who was expressing an interest in expanding Longbourn’s orchard with another variety or two. As she pretended to listen politely, her mind raced, and her father raised one eyebrow at her.
Elizabeth lifted her shoulders a touch. That was all Papa required, for he offered her a tiny nod and a gaze that was somehow both fond and sorrowful.
Her entire life had just changed, and Mr. Darcy was speaking about apples. She hoped that her father was not expecting more than Mr. Darcy intended. For who could make sense of such a confounding man?
“What does your heart say, Lizzy?” Jane asked.
Two hours. They had been going back and forth about Mr. Darcy’s intentions for two hours. Elizabeth’s head said that it was too soon, but . . . “My heart hopes he will ask, Jane. My head, however, is more practical.”
“Lizzy,” Jane said reprovingly, “you have already told me that he is a good and kind man, despite his faults. Clever, too, which is of great importance to you. And though I prefer Mr. Bingley’s looks, I cannot deny that Mr. Darcy is a handsome man.”
“All of this is pointless. He has not asked for my hand, nor, after two months ignoring me, is he like to.”
To her credit, Jane did consider it for a time. “Lizzy, Mr. Darcy seems a deliberate man. True?”
“Very deliberate, yes.”
“Would you have him show you preference before he decided he would act upon it in an honourable manner?”
Elizabeth had to admit that Jane had a point. “No, I do not think he would wish to raise my expectations had he no intention of satisfying them.”
“Well, then. He has not changed towards you, not really. He is only revealing his feelings now because he knows his own mind.”
“Pfft,” Elizabeth said, waving a hand. “He likes me, but is it enough?”
Her sister nodded. “Lizzy, I want you to listen very carefully to me. Will you?”
“Of course, Jane.”
“Papa was well aware that Mr. Collins would probably make you an offer.”
“Yes.”
“He knew you did not want Mr. Collins to propose.”
Elizabeth sighed. She could see where Jane was headed, but she could not deny that her sister was correct. “Papa knew.”
“Did he protect you? Quietly suggest to Mr. Collins that he turn his eye to Mary, who might have welcomed his proposals? Did he do anything to protect you or any of us, really, by asking our thoughts or wishes?”
“No.” It was the only honest answer.
Jane took Elizabeth’s hands. “How would Mr. Darcy respond, do you think, if such a man were to importune his sister?”
Elizabeth grinned. “Oh, I do not know. Toss him into the sea? Poison his tea? Have him removed by two very large footmen, never to be seen again?”
“I believe,” Jane said sternly, a faint trace of a smile curling her lips, “you mean to say that Mr. Darcy would promptly send the man packing.”
“Too bad.” Elizabeth flopped back on her pillows. “That would not be nearly as amusing.”
“However, you have made my point for me. Mr. Darcy would act decisively to spare his sister any unwanted attentions.”
Elizabeth was silent. It would be a great comfort to have someone protect her in such a way.
“One final question, Lizzy.”
“Yes?”
“Do you love him?”
Elizabeth kissed her sister’s hand. Did she? She had been falling for him, but had she fallen? Was she ready to say that she loved Mr. Darcy?