Chapter 4
“Oh no! Make way!” Elizabeth called out as once again she lost control and tumbled gracelessly onto the ice.
As Miss Darcy glided towards her in concern, Elizabeth began to laugh while dusting the frost off her skirts.
“Perhaps I ought to have cautioned you more strongly in issuing this invitation, for I do believe that I am even less skilled in this particular art than I was last winter!”
After helping Elizabeth to her feet, Miss Darcy remarked, “You truly are quite terrible!”
Her face immediately paled, no doubt mortified at the rudeness of her comment; however it only prompted further giggles from Elizabeth as she had no pretensions to skill in the activity. Soon both ladies were laughing as they steadied one another on the ice.
“Oh, if only Miss Bingley could see me now!” Elizabeth merrily exclaimed. “Of course if she did, she would have to add ice skating to her list of ladies’ accomplishments—if only to emphasise how many I lack!”
Noting the puzzled look on Miss Darcy’s face, Elizabeth continued with some contrition, “I fear I should apologise. You must be good friends with Miss Bingley for her to praise you so highly—she did not think much of me when we met this autumn.”
“She thought you were not accomplished?” Miss Darcy asked, her face a picture of confusion.
“’Tis well, Miss Darcy, for her opinion matters little to me.
My embroidery is nothing to my sister Jane’s, and although I speak and read French, I have not attempted to master any other language.
While I play and sing, I would most assuredly benefit from more practice—but you see, I simply feel drawn to so many different pursuits. ”
“But my brother says you play so very well! In his letters, he wrote that he had rarely heard anything that gave him more pleasure.”
“What?” Confusion reigned in Elizabeth’s mind at the meaning of Miss Darcy’s words. Mr Darcy complimented me to his sister? Me? The woman he deemed merely tolerable?
Up until that moment, Elizabeth would have denied that Mr Darcy’s opinions mattered to her at all.
Whilst visiting Hertfordshire with his friend Mr Bingley, Mr Darcy had done little to recommend himself to local society.
To Elizabeth he appeared arrogant and disdainful—after all, why would a gentleman feel the need to insult a lady he had never before met at a country dance?
Why bother to come to an assembly at all if he had no intention of participating?
Throughout their entire acquaintance he had stared at her with what Elizabeth assumed to be obvious disapproval—but what if she was wrong?
Lost in thought, Elizabeth startled slightly at Miss Darcy’s resumed speech.
“He spoke of you quite highly—at least for Fitzwilliam, that is. You must understand he can be exceedingly reserved amongst people he does not know well—a family trait, I fear, but our cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam has told me there is no better man to have at your side than my brother.”
“High praise, indeed!” Elizabeth cautiously resumed her attempts to glide upon the ice while Miss Darcy skated at her side, waving to Mrs Annesley who stood warming herself by a fire on the riverbank.
Surprise at Mr Darcy’s apparent approbation continued to occupy Elizabeth’s thoughts until her foot slipped once again; though this time, Miss Darcy caught her arm just in time to prevent a fall.
“Would you like to request the assistance of a footman? I know Andrew is quite steady on the ice—he usually accompanies me when my brother cannot.”
“Thank you, but I believe I shall manage,” Elizabeth assured her, somewhat puzzled by the presence of so many servants in Miss Darcy’s retinue. “Do you always bring a brigade of footmen to the park?”
Laughing, Miss Darcy replied, “At my brother’s insistence—yes, I do. It can be a bit embarrassing, but it certainly deters any gentlemen from approaching.”
“My mother would be appalled—from the time I turned fifteen she has been anxious for me to wed. At nearly twenty I am practically an old spinster in her eyes!” Try as she might, Elizabeth could not stop a hint of bitterness from emerging in her tone.
“A spinster! That seems rather unreasonable—you are still quite young, and you are lovely!”
Looking at Miss Darcy with affection—for she truly was a dear, sweet girl—Elizabeth thanked her new friend before confessing, “Well, you see, that is why I came to London. My father’s estate is entailed, and as I have only sisters, we are bound to lose our home upon our father’s death.
His heir came to visit us—actually he was in Hertfordshire at the same time as your brother—and he proposed to me. ”
“You are engaged! Are you here to buy your wedding clothes?”
Elizabeth was briefly puzzled by the dismay in Miss Darcy’s expression before continuing, “No—no, I am not engaged. I refused his offer—we were not well-suited, and life would have been a misery had we wed. In any case, my mother will not forgive me, or so she proclaims. She is disappointed in my decision, but fortunately my father supported me. It was his idea to send me to London, to spare me from her complaints, though he might have thought twice about the scheme had he known about the storm. Now I shall miss Christmas at home!”
“How dreadful! You must be very close to your father for him to support you in such a way. I know Fitzwilliam would do the same for me—well, I suppose in a way he already has…”
Although she was intrigued by Miss Darcy’s statement, the girl’s forlorn countenance convinced Elizabeth not to press.
Elizabeth continued her unsteady skating upon the ice.
The day had already brought so many surprising revelations, and it would take time for her to ponder the meaning of them all.
Despite the near-constant praise of his sister, Mr Darcy remained something of an enigma to Elizabeth.
Does he truly think so highly of me? And if he does, then why did he behave in such an ungentlemanly manner in Hertfordshire?
And what about Mr Wickham? The tales he told of Miss Darcy are certainly false, but what about Mr Darcy?
Should her acquaintance with Miss Darcy be maintained—and she had no reason to suspect it would not—then mayhap she might find some resolution for her current puzzlement. Perhaps this storm, rather than being a calamity, would indeed prove to be a stroke of good fortune after all.
Darcy sat in the library of his London home, awaiting the return of his sister from her excursion with Miss Bennet.
After a disappointing meeting with his uncle at his club, he was in a rather foul mood.
Despite the respect he owed the man as an earl and as his mother’s brother, Darcy could not appreciate his manoeuvrings—particularly when they regarded his own marriage prospects.
In his summons, the earl had requested that Darcy meet a potential candidate for the House of Commons.
One of the boroughs near Pemberley, where the Darcy family had always held a large degree of influence, was vacant, and the earl desired Darcy’s opinion on the gentleman in question.
When he arrived, however, Darcy found his uncle ensconced at a card table with Viscount Lake, who happened to have, according to his uncle, a charming and delightfully accomplished daughter.
Having met the lady in question before, Darcy was unimpressed by his uncle’s scheming.
So now he sat—waiting to speak to his sister about her continued association with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
His enduring preoccupation with the charmingly impertinent gentlewoman was driving Darcy to the brink of madness.
While the viscount’s daughter was frightfully dull and insipid, Miss Bennet, Elizabeth, breathed life into every room she entered.
And yet, for all her many virtues, Darcy simply could not countenance such an unequal match.
A knock on the door startled him from his melancholy thoughts.
“Fitzwilliam? You asked to see me?”
At his nod, Georgiana entered the room, cheeks flushed from the cold and a brightness in her eyes that Darcy had not witnessed since before the disaster at Ramsgate.
“I had the most wonderful time—thank you for letting me go! Miss Bennet is delightful—she seems to understand me so well. With so many sisters I suppose she is quite accustomed to making friends with other young ladies, though I had not expected to number myself among them so quickly.”
“Friends?” Inadvertently, Darcy frowned.
“Yes!” Georgiana exclaimed before noting the shock on her brother’s face. “Do you—do you disapprove?”
Dismayed by the uncertainty and dejection in his sister’s gaze, Darcy ran his hand over his eyes. “She is not of our station, Georgiana. You must be cautious in promoting such familiarity.”
“Not of our station? She is a gentleman’s daughter, as am I! The Bennets may not be as wealthy as we are, but I would never consider myself above her in any way.”
“Then you are being na?ve!” Darcy retorted and was immediately regretful seeing his sister’s shocked and hurt expression.
Her face red with humiliation, Georgiana stammered, “I-I do not understand. You wrote so highly of her during your visit to the Bingleys—why would you object to such a friendship now?”
Abashed by his sister’s hurt, Darcy tried to be gentle. “You cannot be certain that she did not follow me to London—I admit, I paid her too much attention at Netherfield, and no matter what you have observed, I do fear she may simply be seeking a way to maintain our acquaintance.”
Of all the responses to his speech that Darcy might have predicted from his mild-mannered sister, overwhelming outrage would not have been one of them. Perhaps her face is red not from embarrassment but anger, he mused as she began her reply.
“No wonder Miss Bennet avoids any mention of you when we speak, for if this is how you behaved in Hertfordshire then you have earned her poor opinion!”
“You will not speak to me this way, Georgiana,” Darcy warned.
“I have always thought the world of you, Brother, but I cannot overlook such callousness! Do you want to know why Miss Bennet is in London? She refused an offer of marriage from her father’s heir and was sent to London due to her mother’s displeasure.
She cannot even go home for Christmas because of the storm!
After everything she did for me that day at the Frost Fair, you would accuse her of such artifice? She had no idea of meeting me!”
Georgiana’s explanation and passionate defence caught Darcy off guard.
“I would expect these accusations from someone like Lady Catherine, but I never thought to hear such…such prejudice from you.”
In an angry whirl, his sister left the library, closing the door a mite too firmly in the process. Staggered by her words and revelations, Darcy sat unmoving in his chair—as the unfamiliar feeling of shame washed over him, leaving guilt and wretchedness in its wake.