Chapter 8
She found Mr Darcy at the archery contest. A number of gentlemen aimed, and on the word of Longbourn’s gamekeeper, fired their arrows into targets that looked almost tiny from such a distance.
Mr Darcy hit the nine-point gold. Almost no one else did—only he and one other man took the final shots, after the targets were moved another five yards farther away.
“You have beaten me again, Darcy,” the other man said, laughing.
Mr Darcy did not laugh, but he smiled—an easy smile, again full of affection and warmth, as if this smile was his usual one.
They shook hands, and the gamekeeper approached with a magnificent laurel wreath, which he offered to Mr Darcy.
With a laugh, the other man took it and hung it easily around Mr Darcy’s neck.
Mr Darcy did not look in the slightest bit silly wearing it.
He caught Elizabeth’s eye, and laying his hand on his opponent’s arm, moved her way.
She was promptly introduced to the Earl of Matlock.
He looked at her with a probing gaze but did not linger.
A short while later, she was strolling across the lawns on Mr Darcy’s arm, only pausing so he could remove the wreath and hang it upon a low branch.
“I thought it looked rather grand,” she told him. “You make a magnificent display.”
He smiled down at her with that same warmth he had shown his relations. Could he have always possessed such an expression? How was it possible that he should be such a different person from the man she had formerly known? Most importantly, which one was the ‘real’ Mr Darcy?
“I cannot believe you did all this,” she said, coming straight to her point. “How did you convince all these people to drive all this way for what is not at all a fashionable event, with a possibility of poor weather?”
He shrugged, an almost imperceptible motion of his broad shoulders. “I asked, and I asked my aunt and uncle to ask. They came.” He revealed to her how he had learnt of the plot to spoil her plans for a school.
They walked on at the periphery of the grounds, out of the way of the laughter of men and women and the children gathered round Mr Cowdery—who was walking about on a towering pair of stilts—and the knife throwing contest, where refined gentlemen had discarded coats and were rolling up their sleeves to take a turn at it while the tenant farmers and workmen of Longbourn egged them on.
“But why? Why would you effect such a rescue? Do not misunderstand—I am beyond appreciative. Our town is a small one, and the humiliation we would have experienced due to Miss Bingley’s plotting would have been difficult to overcome, especially for my mother and father.
It appears that we shall be able to mend the school’s roof after all, which is a miracle.
My family owe you a great debt, and I do not doubt that they will express their gratitude as soon as they know of it. ”
“If you will thank me,” he replied, “let it be for yourself alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe I thought only of you.”
“Me?” Elizabeth’s words came out in almost a squeak. “But…but you do not even like me!”
He stopped where they were, near a small copse of trees, hidden from view of onlookers—a private, green-shaded world.
His eyes were still warm as he peered down at her; his hand, ungloved, rougher than a gentleman’s hand ought to be, gently laid against her cheek.
“I thought only of you,” he repeated. “I think only of you. In the morning, when I rise, you are my first thought before I open my eyes. At night, when I lie abed, you are my last thought when I close them. Any time I see something of beauty, I am reminded of your true beauty. When I hear something of goodness, I think of your true goodness. Not like you? I must refute this notion heartily, though ‘like’ is too milksop a word to come close to describing my feelings. I adore you. When I heard of Miss Bingley’s scheming, my only thought was that you should not be hurt by it.
I am sorry that I failed to protect you from her manoeuvring.
I am sorry that I did not tell her, make clear to her, that you are precious to me.
I am sorry that not only did I fail to tell her, but that I left you with any impression except of my devotion. ”
His expression, his generosity, his sincerity, all combined to form an aching wish in her heart, one she had no words for, and she placed her hand over his.
He seemed to understand, regardless. Gently, carefully, his face lowered to hers.
Her lips rose to meet his. Tenderly, they touched, then less sweetly as floodgates of emotion were released.
It was amazing, astounding, and she was sorry when he withdrew.
“Ought I to apologise?” he asked, his voice low.
She finally found hers. “What does it mean?” she asked wonderingly.
“It means I am in love, for the first time in my life. It means I would do anything for you—fill a thousand Christmas fairs with willing participants, if that is what you need. It means I beg for the opportunity to earn your respect and affection and, someday, your heart.”
“Oh,” she said, exhilaration filling her. “Kiss me again, and I shall consider it.” She laughed, and he happily obliged.
The crowds dispelled much earlier than was usual for a Christmas fair due to the prevailing need to return to town.
Certain of the arrivals were staying, however—including Mr Bingley, Mr Darcy, Miss Darcy, and Lord and Lady Matlock.
At some point earlier in the day, Mr Bingley had paid a brief visit to Netherfield Park, wherein he informed his sisters and Mr Hurst that they would be paying for every penny of the cost of their ‘celebrations’.
Shortly thereafter, the multitude of London entertainers evaporated, the well of free ale ran mysteriously dry, and their gathering dried up with it.
When several of the townsfolk joined them at Longbourn in time for carolling and wassail, they were welcomed.
“After all,” said Elizabeth, “they did come, and better late than never. Besides, we have already earned enough, I think, to repair the building and buy books enough to fill it!”
Mr Darcy smiled at her—the smile that now she questioned how she had ever lived without—and murmured, “I shall make sure of it, always.”
The Lucases were noticeably absent. As they later learnt, the Lucas coachman—having indulged overmuch in the free ale—was too far in his cups to drive.
Sir William, having likewise consumed more than good sense could counteract, had insisted upon driving the family’s carriage himself.
The vehicle had ended up in a muddy ditch, wrecked beyond repair.
Only the enormous quantities of Charlotte’s linens that she carried with her everywhere she went had saved the lives of his family, providing padded shelter against the splintering wood.
The linens were unrecoverable. Luckily, the only permanent injury was to Charlotte’s nose, the bridge of which would henceforth retain the shape of her embroidery basket handle.
Jane, with Kitty and Lydia, rode to the church in Mr Bingley’s carriage. Elizabeth, with Mary, accepted an invitation to ride with the Darcys. Her father’s brows lifted, her mother beamed, and not one word of objection was offered. Mr Collins had to walk.
They all sat on the Longbourn pew, which being much more crowded than was usual, required them to budge up close.
Since she was sitting beside Mr Darcy, Elizabeth did not mind this one bit.
Prayers were said, hymns were sung, Mr Darcy in the most beautiful tenor she had ever heard; she was able to harmonise with him in a way that seemed almost magical. The vicar again took the pulpit.
Mr Darcy clasped her hand in his; she could feel the warmth of it through her glove. They exchanged a look, a look that said this was only the first Christmas Eve of many to come.
“And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed…” Mr Palmer began.
Julie Cooper divides her time between selling chocolate-covered strawberries, wrangling her neurotic Bichon, Pogo, and inflicting reformed Mr Darcys on unsuspecting readers.