Chapter 22 #2
Elizabeth paused in the doorway to watch her siblings for a moment longer before quietly leaving to check on Jane. A quick glance into her sister’s chamber revealed that Jane was at last resting, her breathing slow and even, the empty teacup on the table beside her bed.
Satisfied, Elizabeth made her way downstairs, where she found Mrs Hill in the kitchen, discussing the coming days’ menus with the cook.
Elizabeth joined them, offering suggestions for simple, nourishing dishes that would be easy for Jane to manage as she recovered, whilst also ensuring the younger girls would have enough to keep them content.
With her tasks complete, Elizabeth finally returned to her own chamber, a soft smile on her face despite the day’s concerns. For a brief moment, as she watched the rain clouds breaking outside the window, she allowed herself to hope that perhaps everything would indeed be well.
Bingley was beside himself. “We let her go, and she was clearly not well.” It had been two days since the Bennet sisters departed, and still he was agitated. “I should have insisted—”
“You are not her father, Bingley. Nor are you more than her suitor right now. Miss Bennet wished to go home, and so she did.” He did not mention how he wished Elizabeth had remained. She did not tolerate Miss Bingley’s vitriol, which had spewed in abundance since the two ladies had departed.
Bingley sighed and dropped into a chair. “I know. Do you think it is too soon to call upon her and see how she fares?” He looked so hopeful.
“I am sure it is not too soon. Shall I accompany you?” Darcy felt a keen desire to see Elizabeth again, having not been in her company for some time. Her arrival had filled him with anticipation, and he wished to be in her presence again.
“Yes. Let us go at once!” Calling for a footman, Bingley directed their horses to be saddled. The two gentlemen returned to their respective chambers to prepare. In twenty minutes, they were on their way to Longbourn, conversing amiably as they went.
“I am relieved we escaped the house without my sisters’ knowledge,” Bingley confided. “I cannot imagine why they do not approve of Miss Bennet. There is not another more congenial, angelic creature on the earth—I would stake my life on it.”
“Miss Bennet is indeed a kind, generous woman.” Privately, he thought her a little boring, but he could not say that to his friend.
Bingley was entitled to his own opinion.
Darcy preferred the darker looks and vivacity of the sister.
“As for your sisters, I believe they had somewhat higher hopes for you. Mrs Hurst’s marriage elevated your family.
They likely hoped your marriage would do the same. ”
“Miss Bennet is above me—and them, for that matter. What can they be thinking?” Bingley shook his head in disgust.
“Your sisters likely have no knowledge of these things. It is not surprising that what matters to them is different from what matters to you. Ladies are taught from a young age that they must secure the best match possible. They do not have the same…opportunities and options gentlemen have.” Georgiana was one of the fortunate few.
Her dowry would ensure she was well provided for, no matter what.
“I have never thought of it in that light. Perhaps Caroline hopes that if I make an advantageous marriage, then her chances will be better than Louisa’s.” Bingley shot him a sly glance. “There is no chance for her with you, is there?”
“Not in the slightest. No offense, Bingley, but your sister is not who I am looking for as mistress of my estate.” Darcy guided the horse around a stile. Longbourn was in sight now.
“None taken, I assure you. Caroline is difficult. I hope she can draw a man’s attention someday.”
They arrived at Longbourn’s drive and handed their horses off to two groomsmen. A few more steps and they were at the door. Darcy suddenly felt a frisson of anticipation go through him. He wondered if it was due to the desire to see Elizabeth, or the persistent curiosity about young Thomas Bennet.
The door opened, and the Bennet’s butler, Mr Hill, greeted them kindly and invited them inside.
“Are the ladies in the parlour?” Bingley asked.
“They are. Miss Bennet, bless her, is finally well enough to come downstairs. She still feels a little under the weather. Miss Lizzy is taking care of her.” Hill continued to ramble as he led them down the hallway to the large parlour.
Miss Bennet and Elizabeth sat near the fire.
The former had a lap rug over her knees and a shawl around her shoulders.
Miss Bennet lit up like a candle when she saw Mr Bingley, though she remained in her chair.
Elizabeth met his gaze, her cheeks turning delightfully pink. He could not tell if she was happy to see him or not. She stood and moved to the settee, leaving her empty chair for Bingley.
“How do you do, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked politely, taking a seat. She sat next to him, keeping a proper distance between them. Still, she turned her body towards him.
“I am well, sir. Jane hoped Mr Bingley would come today. She felt awful about her desire to be in her own bed.”
“Your sister’s wishes were understandable. Who does not rest easier in their home rather than another’s?” He smiled kindly, and she responded in kind. Oh, how he loved the way her eyes sparkled with good humour.
Bingley and Jane fell into quiet conversation, their voices soft and private, leaving Darcy and Elizabeth to themselves.
The warmth of the parlour soothed Darcy after the crisp ride, and the fire’s glow danced across Elizabeth’s face, turning her eyes a luminous blue.
She tucked a stray curl behind her ear, her lips twitching as if suppressing a smile.
“I hope the roads were not too poor for your ride, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth said, folding her hands neatly in her lap. Her tone was light, but he sensed genuine care beneath the polite inquiry.
“They were passable enough, though the storms left many ruts,” he replied, allowing a small smile to soften the stiffness he often wore in company. “It is fortunate your sister recovered swiftly.”
Elizabeth’s gaze dropped to her hands, and for a moment she looked every bit the young woman shouldering concerns too heavy for her age. “It is,” she agreed. “Jane bears her discomfort without complaint, but I could see how unwell she truly was. I am grateful she is mending.”
Their eyes met, and for a moment, the room and its quiet chatter disappeared. Darcy felt the air shift, charged with something unspoken.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he began carefully, “may I ask you something?”
Her brows lifted, curiosity brightening her features. “Certainly.”
Darcy hesitated. He rarely indulged personal curiosity, and it was rarer still for someone to invite it without motive.
“What is your favourite memory from your childhood?” he asked, surprising even himself.
He had meant to speak of the weather or the coming holidays, but the question had tumbled out before he could check it.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened, and a genuine smile broke across her face, crinkling the corners of her eyes in a way that made his heart catch. “That is not a question I expected,” she admitted with a quiet laugh. “Most people ask about my health, or whether Papa intends to hunt this winter.”
“I find I am more interested in learning who you are, Miss Elizabeth, rather than the affairs of Longbourn,” he replied softly, unable to tear his gaze from her.
She seemed to consider, glancing towards the window, where the weak November sun slanted across the carpet.
“When I was a child, perhaps eight or nine, Papa took us all to a small glen near Oakham Mount. It was spring, and the world was so green it hurt the eyes. Jane made crowns of wildflowers for all of us, even Papa, who wore his with great solemnity whilst reading from his book.” Her eyes softened with the memory.
“I remember feeling as though the world could not possibly be more beautiful, and for that moment, we were all perfectly happy.”
Darcy’s breath caught. She had a forthrightness that was so unlike what he was accustomed to—most said little about themselves but asked questions designed to probe the worth of his estate or his fortune.
All of this was thinly veiled under the guise of polite conversation.
Elizabeth’s memory was simple, warm, and real, leaving him feeling exposed and yearning for something he could not yet name.
“That is a fine memory, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, his voice lower, almost reverent. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”
She turned her head back towards him, studying him with a discerning gaze. “And you, sir? Do you have a favourite memory from your childhood?”
No lady had ever asked him that. For a moment, he was silent, searching for a memory that was not overshadowed by duty, expectation, or loss.
“When I was ten, my father took me riding at dawn across the Pemberley grounds,” he said, his voice distant with recollection.
“It was cold enough to bite, and the mist clung to the fields. We raced across the hills, and I remember feeling free in a way I did not often allow myself, even then.” His lips curved, softened by the warmth in her gaze.
“My father laughed as we rode. It was one of the few times I heard him do so.”
Elizabeth’s smile was soft, tinged with an understanding that reached places in him that had remained untouched for years. “Your father sounds as though he was a very good man.”
“He was,” Darcy agreed quietly, glancing at Bingley and Jane, who were still speaking in low voices by the fire. He turned back to Elizabeth. “I hope one day to be half the man he was.”
“You are kind to share such a memory with me,” she said, her voice gentle. “I am glad you did.”
The moment hung between them, unspoken yet acknowledged, the intimacy of shared memory weaving an invisible thread between two souls who, until recently, might have thought themselves very different.
Darcy felt the pull towards her grow stronger, something that might one day become the foundation for a new memory, warm and green as spring.
Bingley’s laughter broke the moment, and Elizabeth turned away, cheeks pink but eyes alight, leaving Darcy with the unmistakable conviction that his path forwards, though still unclear, would always lead him back to her.
His contentment was such that he could almost—almost—forget the mystery surrounding the boy upstairs.