Chapter 19 The Yellow Sprigged Muslin #2
“Do I have your forgiveness?” Did his expression convey a composed confidence? The faintest smile touched his lips. How could she refuse him when he looked at her that way?
“Yes, I understand your distress that night, and my vanity is soothed. I forgive you,” she said good-naturedly.
She was so lost in her own thoughts, she did not know how far they walked in silence.
“Will you tell me why you were so quick to believe Wickham? Did you not think to ask my side of the story before accepting his lies?” he asked suddenly.
“I admit it was childish, but your insult hurt my pride. Unlike you, he flattered my vanity.”
“Has your opinion of me changed?”
“I know you to be an honourable man. But you… Your opinion of me, sir, seems to be entirely altered.”
“It has altered only in this: any objection I might have had has evaporated as I have come to know you better.” He placed his hand atop hers. “I admire you for the person you are.”
“You are nothing like the man I thought you were in Hertfordshire. I formed my views of you solely on my initial impression and someone else’s lies. Have our discussions changed your mind about me?”
“Not at all—”
“You have not changed your mind since the Meryton assembly?”
“I have admired you since the first time we spoke, and that has not changed.”
She pressed her mouth into a thin smile, a giggle at her lips. “I thought we were speaking in truths, sir. If I recall, we were introduced at Lucas Lodge, shortly before I refused to dance with you.”
“I was disappointed, but then I recognised how refreshingly different you were. Every belle of the ton would have leapt at a chance to dance with the master of Pemberley—not because they had any affection for me, but because of what my name and fortune represent. When you declined my invitation, I believed I could depend upon you to judge me as a person, not by the size of my estate.”
Again, he had spoken of his admiration for her, but she was certain there could be nothing for it. She laughed as she said, “I hope you will admire my principles, Mr Darcy, when I admit that I disliked you so much then that even your ten thousand a year was not enough to change my opinion of you.”
He shook his head in amusement, maybe even a bit chagrined. “I hope you still feel you consider me a friend.”
Were they friends? Did she wish for more?
It mattered not what she wanted—she was the daughter of an indolent country gentleman, and he owned one of the grandest estates in Derbyshire, and he was a nephew to an earl.
She must be realistic, despite his repeated comments regarding his admiration, friendship would be all they could ever share.
“I suppose we have become friends—something I would not have said when you left Hertfordshire.”
“Then we are making progress.”
They found themselves at the parsonage gate, and he asked, “Shall I see you tomorrow morning?”
“Yes, I shall see you then.”
He was so kind and complimentary today but to what end? I said we were friends and that is all I can expect from a man like Mr. Darcy. I will not think about him as anything more than a pleasant walking companion.
“Good morning, Mr Darcy.” He was elated when she took his arm as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. He covered her hand with his own. Did she have any idea of how much he anticipated their morning meetings?
“What a delightful way to begin my day, Miss Bennet—with bright sunshine and your smiling face. You look lovely this morning—the colour of your gown is very becoming.”
She blushed at his approval. Had he paid her the same compliment before?
“It reminds me of a field of daffodils at Pemberley. They were my mother’s favourite, and my father instructed the gardeners to plant them as a surprise. He had to wait until the spring before he could share his gift.”
“I wandered lonely as a cloud, that floats on high o’er vales and hills, when all at once I saw a crowd, a host of golden daffodils,” Elizabeth said softly.
“Every time I read that Wordsworth poem I think of her.” Darcy’s heart pounded. My love for this woman grows stronger every day. “When she saw the flowers, my mother wept. She was so overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. They visited the field together every spring until her death.”
“How old were you then?”
“Twelve—not long after Georgiana was born.”
“How distressing. You were so young.”
“I appreciate your kindness. It is strange to think I have lived more years without her than with her.”
“Were you very close?”
“I was their only child for a long time, and my mother doted on me. Every morning, I sat beside her at the pianoforte as she sang. I confess I resisted her attempts to encourage me to sing along with her. Regardless of her social obligations, she read to me every night before I went to sleep.” He paused, appearing wistful.
“I have many wonderful memories of our time together.”
“You are fortunate to have had someone in your life who loved you so deeply.”
“Does that not apply to you as well? Surely many cherish you.” I am at the top of that list.
“I suppose my parents and sisters care for me in their own ways, but no one has ever been as dedicated to my happiness as your mother was to yours. I find myself envious of the care and attention you received.”
She is so kind and understanding. Elizabeth would be a wonderful older sister to Georgiana, bringing happiness and laughter into our lives.
I was not being honest when I said my feelings have changed since I have come to know her better—I loved her in Hertfordshire but now I am determined to do anything to make her my wife.
“Thank you. You have a compassionate way of reflection. Instead of dwelling on the sorrow of losing my parents, I must appreciate how fortunate I was to have been loved by two excellent people.”
After they had made a short circuit of the park, Darcy returned her to the parsonage. Bowing over her hand, he thought, My heart is hers, yet there seems to be little change in her regard for me. I will never know her feelings unless I propose.
A heavy downpour prevented anyone from walking out the next morning.
By the afternoon, the skies had cleared for Mr and Mrs Collins to walk to Rosings for tea.
But Elizabeth was not with them. Darcy had missed her delightful company that morning and was eager to see her.
He wondered why she had not come but dared not ask.
“And where is Miss Bennet?” Lady Catherine demanded imperiously.
“She suffers a megrim and sends her apologies,” Mrs Collins explained.
“She exhibits one of the many inherent defects found in those of her low-born gentry. I have never suffered from a headache in my life,” said Lady Catherine. Darcy rolled his eyes at his aunt’s absurdity.
“Your Ladyship, your noble blood precludes you from suffering the maladies of ordinary people,” the parson said with his usual obsequious zeal.
She turned her attention to his wife. “Mrs Collins, you should treat your guest with a tisane of willow bark and mint. Anne was too unwell to join us, and I demanded that it be given to her earlier this afternoon.”
“I shall see to it as soon as we return. Thank you, your Ladyship.”
“You should have asked for my guidance immediately.” Lady Catherine sniffed.
“You must forgive her, my lady. Mrs Collins is still learning the many advantages of having your Ladyship as our patroness.”
As the banal conversation continued, Darcy grew increasingly concerned about Elizabeth’s health.
He caught Richard Fitzwilliam’s eye and tilted his head towards the door.
The colonel nodded once, and Darcy knew his cousin would keep his aunt distracted in his absence.
“Excuse me, Lady Catherine. I shall return in a moment.”
He slipped out of the room and, within minutes, was admitted to the Hunsford parsonage. Elizabeth sat at the writing desk—a quill in her hand. How enchanting she looked with the candlelight reflecting off the beautiful curls that surrounded her face.
“I heard you were unwell. I immediately set out to see if I might do something to relieve your discomfort.”
“I thank you, sir. I am better now.”
He paced the room for several minutes before turning towards her. “In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you and beseech you to become my wife.”
Darcy could not help but observe the stunned expression on her face. He had no choice but to wait until she found her voice.
“Sir, you honour me, but I cannot marry you.”
He had not anticipated that response. “Why? Are you already betrothed to someone else?”
“Indeed not. Mr Darcy, please, you misunderstand me. Your relatives are members of the nobility. My uncle is in trade, and my mother is the daughter of a country solicitor. When I visit London, I stay on Gracechurch Street. You live in Mayfair. Indeed, you are a gentleman and I am a gentleman’s daughter, and thus we may be considered equals–yet we are from two different worlds.
You may believe you care for me now, but how long will it be before you tire of the novelty of having a provincial wife? ”
“Pray do not underestimate the depths of my affection. Surely, you must have recognized my growing esteem for you these past weeks. Did I contemplate your family’s circumstances before asking you? Of course I did. But the only person who matters to me in this decision is you.”
“My parents must have been fond of each other when they married, but now my mother whinges about her nerves, and my father hides in his book room. They rarely have a word to say to each other, and I could never go willingly into such a marriage.”
Darcy had been so certain Elizabeth wished for his proposal. “Do you not trust my love for you?”
“I do trust you, but I must have time to think. My headache has returned, and I cannot continue this conversation. I beg you, sir, to be patient.”