Chapter 13
Elizabeth watched Mr. Darcy by the path leading to Longbourn where he arranged for Mr. Jones to provide him with a list of the foremost experts on the mind in the country.
While the apothecary’s views disclaimed logic and reason, he merely reflected the attitude most accepted among those supposedly capable of helping her.
Not an encouraging prospect. Derangement and insanity never were.
But Mr. Darcy was relentless. He would stop at nothing until he had exhausted the knowledge of every expert and the effectiveness of every treatment in the country.
Elizabeth was grateful for his concern as it proved the depth of his concern.
Surely, it was the best way to proceed. The wisest course.
And how she dreaded it.
Mr. Darcy was, however, determined.
He was a confounding man. He bore all the distinctions of a proud man. What man with wealth, good looks, a high standing in society, and a mind half as sharp would not be proud?
Mr. Darcy, it would seem, for she could not rightly accuse him of pride. Not only had he exposed himself to criticism in front of Mr. Jones, but he had done so with humor. He had put her at ease at his own expense.
Frustration fanned the flames of Elizabeth’s determination. She would remember Mr. Darcy by the end of the day.
If knowledge was the key to understanding, then learning about Mr. Darcy would unlock her memories of the gentleman.
Feeling better having a plan of her own, Elizabeth let the sun warming her bonnet melt her fears and carry it away in the soft June breeze.
Tilting her head up to warm her face, she heard bees buzzing, leaves rustling, and the gentlemen’s conversation fade into footsteps.
She opened her eyes to see Mr. Darcy in front of her.
He held out his arm. “May I walk with you to Longbourn?”
She arched an eyebrow. “Without a chaperone?” He did not have the flash or flirtatious manner of a rake, nor could she imagine herself agreeing to marry one.
“We are engaged … if you wish to remain so.” His dark eyes captured hers, and she sucked in a breath when they flickered to her lips.
She caught herself leaning into him, acting on her earlier, brazen thoughts of Mr. Darcy’s kiss awakening her and leaving Elizabeth uncertain as to the perspicacity of them walking alone.
It was one thing to spin fantasies in the confines of one’s mind; quite another to act upon them.
She regained her balance. “I do … I think.”
Would a kiss restore her memory? She shook her head. Information first, then … maybe … a kiss. As a last resort.
Mr. Darcy smelled pleasant. She would wager he tasted pleasant.
His velvety voice broke the ensuing silence. “You look lovely.”
Elizabeth blushed furiously. Mr. Darcy could not have known the topic of her musings, but she felt as though he had caught her. As though he could read her mind.
She looked around, shocked to see they were already half-way to Longbourn. How long had she been pondering inappropriate displays of affection with the same man with whom she walked? Her ears burned.
He watched her, expecting a reply.
Right. Lovely. She looked down. The front of her wedding gown was wrinkled, the hem dirty.
She knew grass stains smudged the back. The silk roses matching the ribbon tied around her waist — blue like Mr. Darcy’s waistcoat — were crushed and coated in dust. She did not feel lovely; and the evidence she wore proved she did not look it either.
“Are you too vain for spectacles, Mr. Darcy?” she teased.
He had a brilliant smile. It reached his eyes. “No, although my vision will always cast you in a favorable light.”
“You do me more favor than you do yourself. I recall you admitting to giving a poor first impression at our first meeting.”
He groaned, such a wince of displeasure twisting his features as to spur Elizabeth’s compassion and humor.
“You could tell me a more favorable account, and I would not know it,” she said, smiling up at him.
He did not smile. Clutching her arm more firmly to his side, he stopped, his eyes not once wavering from hers. “I could never take advantage of your ignorance. Disguise of every sort is my abhorrence.”
Elizabeth believed him. They resumed walking.
She felt his chest expand, then his deep exhale before he began. “I had much to learn before I could even attempt to deserve you, and I pray you see my continued efforts to improve myself for your benefit as I relate those events which are now my most painful memories.”
“Events? There have been more than one?” She bit her tongue, chastising herself for speaking before giving her words proper thought. He had mentioned her refusing. That certainly qualified as a painful event.
Another wince and groan. “Regrettably, there have been several.”
Elizabeth frowned. She did not like being the source of his discomfort when he had done so much to comfort her that morning. “Then I must insist that for every difficult memory, you also share a pleasant one. I would very much like to know how we met. Perhaps, it will jog my own recollections.”
He sighed. “I insulted your vanity to your face, then refused to dance with anyone not in my party … at the public assembly.”
Swallowing her shock, Elizabeth listened as he described that evening from his perspective.
His posture stiffened and his tone sharpened with every insult he confessed.
Then, to her surprise, he gave the version she had previously told him from her point of view, until the disappointment of reliving these past events moved Elizabeth to intervene.
“Pray, speak not another word of the matter. I have heard quite enough for the present and am wondering what pleasantness could possibly have proceeded from such a beginning.”
His shoulders relaxed, and the corners of his lips curled upward. “When I did finally condescend to ask you for a dance, you refused me.”
Elizabeth gasped. “And that gave you pleasure?” It was a wonder they had agreed to marry at all with such a dreadful start.
His smile spread. Gracious, he was handsome. “It was after the Meryton Assembly. Sir William Lucas invited us to Lucas Lodge and, being of a merry sort, he insisted we dance. I recall his precise words to you: ‘Who would object to such a partner?’”
Mr. Darcy chuckled. “I accepted his favorable appraisal of my person, my character, as a matter of course … until you looked at me archly and turned away to join another party, leaving me with a gaping Sir William and my own injured pride.”
She glanced at him askance. Was the man mad?
“No lady had ever put me so effectively in my place. Your refusal to place my gratification above your own esteem won my respect.”
“Were you really so haughty?” While Elizabeth had suspected him proud, she had not thought him arrogant.
“It pains me to admit it, but I saw nobody but you the rest of the evening. There being nothing subtle about our exchange, word spread and Miss Bingley joined me, eager to benefit from your dismissal. She assumed to know the subject of my reverie.”
“How did she fare?”
“I told her she could not possibly imagine the subject of my contemplations, and it was when she attempted to guess that I got a glimpse of the offensiveness of my behavior.”
When he did not immediately speak, Elizabeth prompted, “What did she say?”
“She assumed I was considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings with such society. She complained of the insipidity and the noise, of the self-importance of the people she considered to be nothing. She pressed me to express my strictures on them. So certain was she of my disapproval, of my judgment, she expressed her approval of my opinions without any need of me giving them voice. I assured her that her conjecture was totally wrong, that my mind was more agreeably engaged.”
The way he looked at Elizabeth confirmed that she was the subject in which he his mind had been so agreeably engaged, but she wanted to hear it anyway. “Oh?”
“I told her I had been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow. And then, I named you.”
“You said you admired me? To Miss Bingley?” How delightful! Elizabeth would have loved to have observed Miss Bingley’s set-down.
Elizabeth frowned. Surely, had she known of this conversation, she would remember it. “Did I know this before today?”
Mr. Darcy thought for several moments. “If you did know, I do not believe I was the one to tell you. We rarely spoke of Miss Bingley, having many better topics to discuss.”
She sighed her relief. She could not recall what she had not known.
Longbourn came into view, and Elizabeth’s attention was caught by the curtain billowing through her open window. Strange. She often left it ajar, but she was almost certain Mrs. Hill had closed it.
Elizabeth tried to remember what had happened before leaving Longbourn.
The footman had lost Mr. Hill, Mama had been beside herself, Jane had been beautiful and calm.
Mrs. Hill had seen to everyone’s agitations and troubles.
But the details of what Elizabeth had been doing were blurry.
Something with a letter? She clenched her fists, trying harder, asking herself more questions and her frustration mounting when she simply could not recall.
They were close enough to Longbourn to hear the commotion inside.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the narrow entrance hall, Mr. Darcy following closely behind her.
Mrs. Hill bustled by, face flushed and carrying a tray laden with wedding cake sitting atop Mama’s best china, into the drawing room.
That was not quite right. The wedding feast was supposed to be held in the larger dining room. Mr. Darcy sensed it too. The offness.
Raucous laughter and a voice Elizabeth had not heard in several months — a voice she had not thought to hear for at least several more — whined, “This cake is not as delicious as what I am accustomed to in the north. My dear Wickham always ensured I had the best, what with me being with child and all.”
Elizabeth froze this side of the doorway. On the other side, she heard her father say under his breath, “Lord help us.”