Chapter 14
The sun rose in a splendour of pink light that morning. Darcy was awake to see it, for sleep had eluded him all night. He had dozed, but only a little and shallowly, often interrupted. When the clock struck seven, he could not stay abed any longer.
If he could not sleep, he might as well at least enjoy the beauty of the morning. Darcy rose and dressed without the help of his valet, opting for a simple pair of breeches and a loose-fitting shirt. He shrugged into his coat, but did not trouble himself to button it before making his way outside.
He took a deep breath of the chill morning air. A thin, wispy mist still covered the ground, the dew sticking out on the blades of grass and the leaves, causing the sun to glisten off the tiny droplets like tiny sparkles of gold.
Relishing the freedom and solitude of early morning, he bounded down the terrace steps.
Darcy put his hands in his coat pockets and started down the winding garden paths.
He hoped that Miss Bennet and her family were settling in.
The children had taken to the ample space and gardens of Pemberley almost instantly.
But after an early supper, it had not taken long to coax them into bed.
Mrs Gardiner and Miss Bennet had also retired early, as was only natural after the long journey.
It was odd to have so many guests at the normally quiet Pemberley. Yet it felt strangely right.
It was good to be home. He took a deep breath and looked up at the towering cliffs not far from the rear of the gardens. Every time he returned home after an extended time away, he wondered why he had not come home sooner to this place that held his heart.
To Darcy’s surprise, it abruptly became apparent he was not the only person who had left their warm bed for the splendour of early morning.
Though partially obscured by the mists, he could see the outline of another person walking toward the house.
Curious, he started toward the figure, his heart quickening as he recognised Miss Bennet.
It ought to have been a surprise, but it was not. Down to his bones, he had known it would be her.
“Good morning,” Darcy said as he approached. He could not deny the way his heart leapt in his chest at seeing her. Seeing her among the trees and flowers of his home gave him a kind of happiness he had never experienced before.
Having Elizabeth here feels so right…
He did his best to dismiss the errant thought. And in any case, what was he doing, thinking of her by her given name? Though, Darcy suspected with a twinge of guilt, it might prove impossible to stop.
“Oh, Mr Darcy,” she replied with a warm smile. “I did not think anyone else would be up at this early hour. Forgive me if I have interrupted your morning walk.”
“Not at all. I thought the same, but it does not follow that the company must be unwelcome. Did you not sleep well, Miss Bennet?”
She shook her head. “On the contrary, I have never slept in a more comfortable room. I must thank you once again,” she said.
Despite her claim that she had slept well, he did not miss the slight dark circles under her eyes.
Of course, Elizabeth had suffered much in the past days.
It would not be surprising if her sleep was troubled.
Or perhaps there was a simpler explanation.
Perhaps, like himself, she had simply felt turned about by so much change.
“Would you like to join me?” Darcy asked.
Her smile broadened. “I should like that very much, thank you.”
He cleared his throat, then, without thinking, offered her his arm. “It can get quite slick with the dew,” he said. In truth, he suspected Elizabeth could traverse the grass without difficulty. But the temptation of walking arm in arm was more than he could resist.
“How do you find Pemberley thus far, Miss Bennet?”
“Nothing short of enchanting,” she said. To Darcy’s satisfaction, she did not present it as a compliment, but as a simple assessment.
Elizabeth went on. “I have never seen grounds to equal these. I always loved the fields around Longbourn — my family’s former home, you know — and we had a nice little wood with walking paths on our land, but I find myself quite astonished by Pemberley.
And the house, of course, is no less a wonder to me. ”
“Is it much different from Longbourn, then?”
“Oh, yes, it is very different. Longbourn is like a comfortable old shoe, you know. The walls are faded and in sore need of repainting. At least, they were when we lived there. Mr and Mrs Collins may have seen to some improvements over the last two years.”
“And you have not been back to visit since your father’s passing? I hope that does not mean that relations between you and your cousin are strained?”
“They are between him and my mother. I do not think she ever forgave my father for not fighting the entail more. And she would have been angry at anyone who took Longbourn away from her.” Elizabeth sighed.
“The real misfortune is that Mrs Collins was my dearest friend growing up. Perhaps you had occasion to see her while you were visiting there last autumn?”
“Oh, yes, we became acquainted with Mr and Mrs Collins while we were at Netherfield. Your friend seems a very pleasant woman, and most sensible.”
“Yes, she is. I adore her,” Elizabeth said. “It is only that I have hardly seen her since she married my cousin.” She bit her lower lip.
“Really?” Darcy remarked. “Surely you might see her when you visit your family.”
“Yes, it is only —” she fell silent. “Excuse me, I am telling you things in which you can have no possible interest. You are good to listen to me with such patience.”
She seemed to wish a turn of subject, but Darcy felt too much concern for her to allow it. “Of course you must not tell me anything you would rather not, Miss Bennet, but I wish you would. I have a distinct feeling that the confidence might ease your mind.”
“You are much too perceptive, Mr Darcy,” she said, half scolding and half laughing. “Very well, then. There is a bit of awkwardness between the gentleman and myself. He proposed to me before he proposed to Charlotte.”
He raised his brows. Unaccountably, there was a snake of jealousy coiling in the pit of his stomach. Mr Collins was the very definition of ridiculous. He could not begin to imagine Miss Bennet married to a man with such distasteful practices of over-flattery and self-importance.
Darcy stilled. For all that, Mr Collins would have been considered an eligible match in many lights, not least in that their marriage would have enabled Elizabeth to stay in her family’s home.
Perhaps he could not imagine her married to Mr Collins not because it would have been unsuitable, but because the thought of her marrying anyone but himself was in itself unthinkable.
She looked at him, and his heart stopped.
Her eyes, so remarkably clear and fine, were beautiful enough — but their expression was everything.
“And do you regret your decision to refuse him?” he asked.
He held his breath as he awaited her answer.
In reality, Elizabeth’s life would have been much easier if she had accepted him.
She would not have had to leave her childhood home.
She would be settled, possibly with a child.
She would be in her own home, instead of accepting the hospitality of his.
“No, not in the slightest,” Elizabeth said with an emphasis that might better bear the name of disgust. “My cousin…well. Let me simply say, we should not suit. And perhaps more importantly still, I could never stomach the idea of marrying for convenience.” She looked out ahead of them on the path.
The way the sun caressed her profile made his heart yearn.
“What of you, Mr Darcy?”
“Me?” Darcy asked, taken aback. He had rarely been questioned about his views of matrimony. On second thought, he believed he had never been asked at all. His father had lectured him about his duties and obligations, but had never inquired into his own beliefs.
“Yes,” she went on. “Do you believe love should be a governing force in the decision to marry? Or is love meaningless poppycock?”
Darcy chuckled low. “Is that what you think of me?” he asked. “I know I exude a sort of seriousness that has been said to be off-putting —”
“I did not say that. You are far from off-putting,” Elizabeth said in haste.
“I did not mean to convey —” She stopped on the path and wrung her hands.
It was only then that he noticed that the ink stains on her fingers had returned.
On the last several times they had met in London, her hands had been free of the marks.
Now they were back in full force. Likely she had written several letters to inform her family of their safe arrival.
“No, of course not. I was only teasing you,” he said quickly.
“I do not know. My father taught me that love should be secondary to more practical considerations in the choice of a partner. But the more I have lived, and the more I have observed, the more I think that love and practicality have equal parts to play.”
“Tell me more, Mr Darcy,” she said softly.
“Well, attraction and affection are certainly desirable. But commitment and responsibility — these are what will see a marriage through the difficult times. I do not think anyone, no matter how deeply in love they are, can escape hardships in their marriage.”
“I agree with that point,” she said. “But do you think it right to marry solely for what you might gain from the other person: whether monetary, societal, or even if it furthers a private ambition?” She shrugged, as if he would not understand.
“I know that in our society things are done this way. My father would have accused me of reading too many novels, I suppose. But I have always known that I could not marry for any other reason than for affection.”
Darcy’s heart swelled with hope. Her words spoke of a disinterestedness that inspired not only respect, but longing. It had never occurred to him to seek a woman who would want him for who he was, not for his wealth or status.
Upon seeing it as a possibility, he found he wanted it more than anything.
His mother and father would have been appalled. His aunts and his uncle still would be appalled if they knew he was beginning to think of marrying for such selfish reasons. Well, let them be.
“And where might you find this man for whom you would give everything?” he asked softly. Bold as it was to press her, Darcy could not resist seeking a clue to her true feelings about himself. He held his breath and did not even realise he had done so until she broke the silence.
“I do not know, Mr Darcy. But I suspect that wherever he might be, when he finds me, I will know it in my heart before my mind comprehends it.”
She looked up into his eyes, and their gazes caught and held. Belatedly, Darcy realised that they had stopped walking and turned towards each other, as though to say something of overmastering importance.
Then Elizabeth slipped her hand out of the crook of his arm. She looked away, and the fragile moment between them snapped like a sugar crystal.
“Forgive me, I think I am talking nonsense,” Elizabeth told him with an embarrassed laugh. “I should return to my room. I had a late-night visit from my cousin, Mary. She could not sleep, and so I let her stay with me last night. I do not want her to feel abandoned when she wakes up.”
“Of course,” Darcy replied. Little as he wished to let her go, he had no right to keep her.
Indeed, it had been wrong of him to walk so long alone with her, and to speak so personally.
After all, Elizabeth was a guest under his roof, and therefore under his protection.
She bowed, then made her way back to the terrace through the maze of flowers and small trees.
Darcy watched her go to ensure she reached the house without incident, then continued on his way.
What had he been thinking, pressing her so?
She was a lady of breeding and would never have revealed the depth of her feelings for him, if indeed she had any, without him first making a declaration of his feelings.
And why had he spoken of his father? Even though he was gone, his aunts still had high hopes of his marrying well.
And Miss Bennet was certainly not the well-connected heiress they expected for him.
The more he thought of their expectations, especially those of his condescending Aunt Catherine, the more he felt he did not care what they thought.
Lady Catherine had always made it clear that she hoped he would marry her daughter Anne one day.
That would never come to pass, whatever his aunt thought.
But what of what he wanted? It was his life, and he was the only one who could live it. The question was, ought he to live by the dictates and expectations of others? Or could honour and duty be squared with an increasing desire to strike out and live for himself?