Chapter 19
Paths and Observations
Tuesday morning, though still touched with the lingering coolness of the season, was sufficiently fair to invite a walk; and as the younger ladies of Longbourn had been some time in want of diversion, the proposal was received with universal approval.
Darcy, who had called earlier, found himself included in the plan with very little ceremony.
“You walk, of course, Mr. Darcy?” said Elizabeth, with an ease which might once have surprised him.
“With pleasure.”
The question of the horse, however, was less easily settled. Lydia declared she wanted to ride it this time. “It is my turn.”
Kitty argued, “You never even thought of riding it until the other day.”
Jane attempted mediation. “Perhaps it might be shared…”
“Shared!” Lydia laughed. “What am I to do – ride half the way and walk the rest? I should be quite fatigued before we even reach Meryton.”
Kitty coloured. “You always think only of yourself.”
“And you never think at all,” Lydia replied promptly.
Elizabeth, who had listened with some amusement, turned to Darcy. “I am afraid, sir, that your horse has become a subject of serious dispute.”
Darcy glanced from one to the other of the disputants. “It appears so. Ladies, if I am to bring Bramble, Miss Lydia could ride it on the way there, and you, Miss Kitty, on the way back.”
This was then agreed, and the horse was sent for.
Elizabeth fell into step beside him, while Lydia continued her determined management of the horse ahead.
For a few moments, they walked in silence.
“I hope,” Elizabeth said at last, glancing up at him, “that you were not too much inconvenienced after we left.”
“Were you concerned for me?” he asked, with a half smile.
“Yes, indeed, I was. Though I have no doubt you are very capable of taking care of yourself.”
Darcy’s expression altered slightly. “Had the weather permitted,” he said, “I believe I should have begged to be allowed to dine at Longbourn.”
Elizabeth looked at him in some surprise. “It did rain heavily. Was it so disagreeable?”
“The atmosphere,” he continued, with a calmness that did not disguise the truth of it, “was such as might have been cut with a knife.”
After a brief pause, he added, “There was some disagreement after your departure – but it is not worth repeating.”
Elizabeth looked at him more steadily. “I should like to hear it nevertheless.”
He inclined his head slightly. “Miss Bingley was not disposed to approve my conduct.” A short silence followed. “She expressed herself,” he continued, “with more freedom than was either necessary or welcome.”
Elizabeth’s expression altered – less amused now, more attentive.
“I informed her,” he said, “that the subject was not open to her opinion.”
Elizabeth could not entirely suppress a smile. “I do not imagine that gave her much satisfaction.”
“No.” He paused, then added, with quiet steadiness, “I do not think you need concern yourself with Miss Bingley’s opinion.”
Elizabeth glanced at him. “I do not know that I require protection in that quarter – but I am obliged to you for the offer.”
A faint change passed over his expression, though he did not immediately reply.
“She must be disappointed.” Elizabeth continued, after a moment. “I believe Miss Bingley and I cannot be admired for the same qualities.”
Elizabeth walked on a few steps more, then suddenly stopped. “Oh!”
Darcy turned at once. “Is anything amiss?”
She looked at him – half amused, half incredulous. “I have just remembered something.”
“Indeed?”
“At Netherfield – when Miss Bingley proposed that we should walk about the room.”
Darcy’s expression changed almost imperceptibly.
“You said,” she continued, “that you could admire us just as well from where you were sitting.” A faint colour rose to her cheeks, though her eyes sparkled. She tilted her head slightly. “Were you, at that moment, attempting to flirt with me, sir?”
For a brief instant, Darcy was taken entirely by surprise. “I…” He paused, then recovered himself. “I was not aware that I had succeeded, if I was.”
Elizabeth laughed. “You did not succeed at all. I thought you very disagreeable.”
“I have no doubt of it.”
She looked at him more closely. “But were you?”
Darcy met her gaze.
“If I was,” he said quietly, “it was in a manner very ill-suited to recommend me.”
“That,” she returned, “I can readily believe.”
A small smile touched his expression. “I have since endeavoured to improve.”
Elizabeth’s colour deepened slightly. “I think,” she said, resuming her walk, “you have chosen a more intelligible method.”
Darcy fell into step beside her once more. “I am glad you think so.”
***
After a short visit to Mrs. Phillips’s, where, to Elizabeth’s relief, her aunt was so affected by the presence of Mr. Darcy that her behaviour became unusually restrained, and the visit was consequently more pleasant than might have been expected, the party separated.
The ladies proceeded to the milliner’s, while Darcy, turned toward a tradesman’s shop a little further along the street where a respectable-looking shoemaker kept his shop.
He entered and was received with quick attention.
“What may I do for you, sir?”
“I require a pair of boots,” Darcy replied. “For riding.”
“Very good, sir. If you will step this way…”
He was seated, and the man set about his work with practised efficiency, taking the measure with care.
“You have come at a busy time, sir,” the shoemaker said, not without a note of satisfaction. “I have had more orders these past days than I have seen in some months.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes, sir. The officers now in Meryton – very fine demand for boots among them. I have near a dozen orders already.”
Darcy’s tone stayed steady. “Among them, a Mr. Wickham?”
“Yes, sir – Mr. Wickham is among my customers.”
Darcy inclined his head slightly. “I hope you have found them punctual in their dealings.”
The shoemaker hesitated – though only briefly. “Well, sir… one cannot always be certain in such matters.”
Darcy regarded him calmly. “I would advise you,” he said, “not to extend credit too freely.”
The man looked up, a little surprised. “You think it necessary, sir?”
“I think it prudent.”
A pause followed.
“There are some among them,” Darcy continued, “who are not accustomed to settle their accounts with the regularity one might wish.”
The shoemaker’s expression altered.
Darcy rose as the measurement was completed. “You would do well,” he added, “to require payment upon delivery – or before it.”
The man nodded, now entirely attentive. “Yes, sir. I believe I shall.”
“And,” Darcy said, with quiet deliberation, “it may be a kindness to your neighbours to suggest the same.”
“A kindness, sir?”
“To prevent inconvenience.”
The shoemaker considered this, then bowed slightly. “I understand you, sir.”
Darcy gave the necessary directions for the making of the boots and paid a portion of the price in advance, before taking his leave without further explanation.
***
When Darcy entered the milliner’s shop, he was not at once observed. The room was small, yet crowded with colour – ribbons, feathers, and trimmings arranged with an art that invited both admiration and indecision. The ladies of Longbourn were gathered near the counter. Lydia stood foremost.
“Oh, Lizzy, do not be so disagreeable,” she was saying. “It is only a ribbon – and a very pretty one. You cannot mean to deny me for such a trifle.”
Elizabeth, with her purse in hand, had already turned slightly aside.
“I do not deny you, Lydia. I only remind you that you have already spent what you had.”
“That is nothing to the purpose.”
“It is entirely to the purpose.”
Lydia leaned closer. “Only a little more, then. I shall repay you.”
Elizabeth opened her purse, counted her coins with quiet care, and then shook her head.
“I have not enough to spare.”
Lydia pouted. “You are excessively mean.”
Kitty, who had been wavering between two ribbons, looked from one to the other with interest, but did not interfere.
Jane spoke gently. “Perhaps another time, Lydia.”
“Another time!” Lydia repeated. “There will be nothing left worth having.”
Elizabeth smiled slightly. “Then you must be content with what you have already chosen.”
Lydia turned away with a sigh of exaggerated suffering.
It was at this moment that Elizabeth became aware of Darcy’s presence.
He had remained near the entrance, his attention fixed – not on the display, but on her.
She coloured slightly. “Mr. Darcy, I did not see you.”
“I had the advantage of seeing you,” he returned.
Elizabeth closed her purse. “You arrive at a moment of great consequence.”
“I perceive it.” A faint smile touched his expression. “I had not understood before,” he added, “that such decisions required so much deliberation.”
“They require more,” she said, “when one has not the means to indulge every preference.”
Darcy’s gaze rested on her a moment longer.
“I think,” he said quietly, “that you manage it very well.”
Elizabeth met his look – surprised, though not displeased. “You give me more credit than I deserve.”
“I do not think so.”
A brief pause followed, during which Lydia’s dissatisfaction, though less loudly expressed, was by no means extinguished.
Darcy turned, at length, toward the others. “You appear,” he said, with composed ease, “to be engaged in a matter not easily concluded.”
“We cannot decide,” Lydia returned at once. “Or rather…” she cast a look at Elizabeth, “we are not permitted to decide.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “You mistake the case entirely.”
Darcy regarded them, then said, as if the matter admitted of a very simple solution, “Allow me to remove the difficulty. You may each have what you like.”
There was a moment of astonished silence.
Lydia’s eyes brightened at once. “Indeed?”
Elizabeth turned to him immediately. “No, indeed, Mr. Darcy…you must not…”
“I see no objection.”
“I do,” she returned, with firmness. “A very decided one.”
He met her look, though not entirely unmoved. “Would you deny me the pleasure of removing so small a difficulty? I cannot like to see you obliged to deny yourself.”
Elizabeth hesitated. “You make too much of a very small inconvenience.”
“Do I?”
“Yes. Because you place me in your debt.”
“I should be sorry,” he said, more quietly, “if you thought so.”
She looked at him steadily. “It would be difficult to think otherwise, however generously you intend it.”
A slight pause followed. His expression altered – less public now, and more thoughtful. “If I have overstepped, I apologise.” He was not accustomed to being refused and felt it more than he chose to show. “Allow me to amend my proposal.”
Elizabeth waited.
“If I were to choose something for you,” he said more quietly, “would you object to that?”
Elizabeth felt the colour rise in her cheeks. “That is a different matter.”
“Why so?”
“Because,” she said, with an effort at composure, “I must then consider whether I approve your taste.”
A faint smile touched his expression. “And if you did?”
She met his gaze though not without warmth. “I might be persuaded.”
Darcy turned toward the display. “At this time of year,” he said, “I cannot offer flowers.”
Elizabeth said nothing.
“But I may perhaps find something that will serve instead.”
He selected, after a moment’s consideration, a pair of fine kid gloves – elegant, understated.
Elizabeth started slightly before she could command her expression. “They are very well chosen.”
“I am glad you think so.”
***
The business of the shop was soon concluded.
Lydia, whose objections had not survived the offer made to her, quitted the place in high satisfaction; Kitty followed, no less pleased with her own acquisition. Jane expressed her thanks with gentle propriety.
Elizabeth, though more reserved, did not return the gloves.
Darcy settled the account without display and joined them at the door.
The afternoon air was cooler than before, and the street somewhat more animated. Kitty was seated on Bramble, and Lydia continued her conversation with unabated liveliness.
Darcy, with quiet readiness, offered his arm. Elizabeth accepted it.
They moved on together, a little behind the others. For a short distance, neither spoke.
Elizabeth was conscious – though she would not have owned it – of the presence of the gloves in her hand. Darcy, equally silent, was not unaware of it.
Across the street, a gentleman had paused. He had been on the point of entering another shop but now remained where he stood.
His figure was easy, his appearance open and agreeable; yet there was something in his expression, as his gaze fixed upon the party before him, that was less pleasing than it first appeared.
He watched.
His attention settled not on the group, but on two figures walking somewhat apart.
A faint, knowing look crossed his face.
“So,” he murmured.
Mr. Wickham did not move.
Darcy and Elizabeth passed on, wholly unconscious of the observation.
And though nothing in their manner could have drawn notice from the indifferent, there was, to a watchful eye, an understanding not easily mistaken.