Chapter 6
Darcy did not object to visiting the Botanic Gardens.
He had read about them and intended to make the drive at some point.
Going with Mrs Ryde and Lord Halsley, who had agreed it was an appealing notion, was no hardship.
But Darcy could not say the same regarding Elizabeth Bennet’s presence.
It was inexplicable, but he felt as though some force was pushing him towards her; in that light, it was surely better that he stay as far from her as possible.
When she had sung at the dinner party, he had been entrapped and enchanted.
She had a lovely light, clear voice, and her joyful demeanour while at the pianoforte had made up for the minor mistakes she had made.
Why had she chosen The Last Rose of Summer? It was a mournful song and seemed incongruous to her. She was no last rose, dying in a dreary world! She is the first rose of summer, full of promise and warmth and beauty.
Darcy immediately berated himself for the thought, despite it being unbidden.
At present, they were strolling the grounds of the Botanic Gardens.
There was limited time to visit—just three hours on two days of the week—and their party had arrived early so that they could take advantage of every minute.
Bramwell escorted Mrs Ryde, Lord Halsley walked with a middle-aged couple who were neighbours to Darcy and Bramwell and had accompanied them today, which left him and Miss Bennet.
He did not speak, and would not have known what to say even if he had wished to, and she did not seem to care.
What did he make of that? It was a question he debated longer than he should.
While it was just a couple of minutes, he ought to be doing as she was and taking in the gardens.
At the start of June, the trees were lush with leaves, the flowers and shrubs green with splashes of colourful blossoms. Upon occasion, her gaze was to her right, which afforded him a view of her visage.
Her eyes sparkled with interest, bright and round, and the corners of her lips were upturned.
Several times, she broke out into a smile, presumably when she saw something that particularly delighted her.
Darcy was convinced she took in every morsel of what she saw—except for him.
I am glad she is acting as though I am not here, he assured himself.
And, again, he promised himself he would avoid her company in the future.
It would not be difficult. She was sailing home shortly.
Today might be the last time they were together.
Once in England, he need never see her. While he would call on Mrs Ryde when they were both in London—it would only be proper, after all—her companion would either not be present or would sit to the side, remaining silent yet available to do her mistress’s bidding.
How simple it would be to overlook Miss Bennet then!
And, should she put herself forward, attempt to claim some friendship, Mrs Ryde would ensure she was reminded of her place.
How they all acted when so far from home would not be the same as they did when in England, particularly not town, with the ever-watchful eyes of the ton upon them.
“Oh, it is lovely!”
She said the words in an awed whisper, startling Darcy, who turned to her. When her eyes briefly met his, her cheeks, already pink with the warmth of the day, darkened, and her expression became more reserved.
“I apologise, sir,” she said. “I did not mean to interrupt your reveries.”
“Not at all. May I enquire what caught your attention?” Why had he asked when it would only extend the exchange? He was meant to be keeping a barrier between them, one greater than the foot and a half that separated them.
She chuckled and looked embarrassed. “I doubt you would find it as charming as I did. We passed a tree, an old hawthorn, a moment ago, its trunk twisting and canopy large and shielding the ground. With the brilliant blue sky behind it, I could almost imagine faeries dancing and going about their day.” Again, she laughed.
“You may call me silly and fanciful, and I shall agree with you. It has been so gratifying to hear the old stories and to learn how the Irish view the world, what their beliefs are, and how they differ from what I have been taught.”
If Darcy were more like Bramwell, he would insist on retracing their steps to see the tree for himself.
But he would not even permit himself to look over his shoulder, however much an indescribable something in him wanted to.
It was the same oddity that pushed him towards her, and he despised it.
Their separation could not come soon enough; then, the strange force that infected him would be gone for good, preventing him from behaving in a stupid manner that might have consequences that would last his entire life, such as acting on his growing attraction to her.
But he could not deny that it was what he wanted.
The more time he spent with her, the more he wished her position in life was better, that it would be acceptable for them to become friends, and that he might discover whether what he sensed he felt for her might become something even greater.
She would make an excellent wife. Quickly, he reprimanded himself.
I mean that she will doubtless make some other man a good wife.
At length, he said, “I am glad you have profited from your time here.” He had too.
Meeting her was a reminder that he had to guard himself, always remember to give precedence to his rational self, his duty, and responsibility.
Part of that would be to seriously consider finding a wife.
There was his cousin Anne, but his doubts about her had grown in recent weeks, and he could not envision ever marrying her, no matter how his relations might like it.
There would be time enough for him to consider matrimony in the autumn, when he expected to be in London, and he dismissed the subject for the moment.
In just one day, Elizabeth would be leaving Ireland.
What could she do but sigh at the thought?
How she had loved the unexpected adventure of coming here!
To be sure, her journey was not yet over; there was the ship to England and the long way home to Hertfordshire.
She was anticipating seeing her parents and sisters, but she was sorry her sojourn in Ireland was over.
If I possibly can, I shall return one day to see more of this beautiful land and its charming inhabitants.
It was early morning, before breakfast, and Elizabeth had seized the opportunity to be out of doors, to slowly stroll through squares and along streets that had become like familiar friends these past weeks, losing herself in memories of what she had done and those she had met.
Presently, she was in Merrion Square, and as she approached a particularly sturdy and lush hawthorn, reaching out a hand to touch it in greeting, she heard a deep voice say her name.
To her chagrin, it was Mr Darcy, and he was alone.
“Miss Bennet, good morning. How do you do?”
She curtseyed and responded appropriately. Glancing to her left, she met the eyes of the footman who had accompanied her and gave a nod to indicate all was well.
“I wondered if I might see you,” Mr Darcy said. “You have often claimed a fondness for taking exercise at the start of the day.”
“And so I do, as you see. I believe this is not the first time you have spotted me wandering at this hour.” Though unless Viscount Bramwell was with him, he never did more than nod in greeting. Why had he decided to intrude on her peaceful wandering today?
He cleared his throat. “You, Mrs Ryde, and Lord Halsley depart tomorrow, if I recollect.”
“We do. I have been taking a last solitary walk, visiting spots I have come to value,” she said, emphasising the word solitary. She hoped it would make him move on quickly.
The gentleman stared at her for what felt like an excessively long while.
Elizabeth wanted to roll her eyes or demand he say whatever he clearly wanted to so that she could continue her pleasant excursion.
When he ran a hand over his mouth, it struck her that he might have a serious message he wished to impart.
They were far from being friends, and if he had a favour to ask of someone returning to England, he would surely approach Lord Halsley or Mrs Ryde. Unless…
Good lord, he is not going to warn me away from his cousin, is he? He must know Lord Bramwell and she were nothing more than friendly acquaintances! And if he had concerns that she might think there was more to the viscount’s treatment of her—or hers of him—it was rather late to be mentioning it.
“I…I wish circumstances were different,” Mr Darcy said.
Her brow furrowed. “I am afraid I do not understand, sir. To which circumstances do you refer?”
She could not imagine what he meant. They were nothing to each other, and he must be glad to know he would soon no longer need to see her.
Whenever they happened to be in the same place, he seemed to scrutinise her, seeking more reasons to disdain her.
At the moment, only a sense of politeness kept her from walking away, glad in the knowledge that she would be free of him forever.
He shook his head, the gesture suggesting impatience.
“You and I, that…that we might have… But, you are too clever not to understand how it must be, given your situation. It is impossible, as I am sure you realise.” Before Elizabeth could form a response to this confusing statement, he continued.
“Where will you and Mrs Ryde go next? She will not wish to spend the summer in London.”
“I am unsure of Mrs Ryde’s plans. I shall be returning to Hertfordshire, where my family resides,” she said, her words slower than usual.
“Oh?” he said. “It is kind of her. How long will you remain with them?”
Realising she was all but gaping at him, she firmly pressed her lips together and regarded him for a moment.
Was he ill? Might a sudden malady of some odd variety be the explanation for his nonsensical speech?
“I am afraid I do not take your meaning,” she said, repeating her earlier words and speaking even more cautiously.
His expression displayed the confusion she felt. “In my experience, a lady’s companion is meant to be at the service of the lady. I think it very good of her to grant you time with your family and only wish to enquire as to the length of your holiday with your relations.”
“Her companion?” Startled incredulity added a laugh to the question. “Do you think that—”
“To your misfortune, it does severely damage your future prospects. No matter who your father is, no gentleman will overlook your having earned your living.”
“Mrs Ryde is a friend, not my employer,” said Elizabeth, her voice shaking slightly. “She and my aunt were like sisters to each other. It appears you have mistaken my position with her.”
To her surprise, he persevered as if he had not heard her. “You are hardly to blame,” he added in a tone that she supposed was meant to reassure her. “Too many people have children they cannot afford.”
Elizabeth’s hands were clenched tightly and fire burned in her; she barely managed to keep her voice steady and low enough to avoid drawing attention from anyone walking nearby. “How dare you speak of my family’s circumstances—and in so insulting a manner—when you know nothing of us!”
Finally her words seemed to penetrate his understanding. “Do you mean to say you are not—”
“I recollect discussing my family and life in Hertfordshire with your cousin and in your hearing, but evidently you took everything I said and twisted it to form a view that best suited you, one in which I rely on Mrs Ryde’s charity, one in which I am not good enough company for you.”
“I do not mean—”
“I have seen how little you like me, and I assure you, the feeling is mutual.”
Mr Darcy seemed to grow taller; his complexion paled, and his expression hardened.
“I have shown you kindness, more than the disparity of our situations in life demands of me. I warn you, Miss Bennet, that should you happen to see me or my cousin in London, do not expect the same friendly intercourse. Do not presume to—”
“I would never presume on our acquaintance,” she interjected warmly. “If you understood anything of my character, you would never speak to me in such a fashion. Chances are we shall never be forced to spend so much time together as we have these last weeks—even supposing we meet in England at all.”
He stepped backwards, almost stumbling, his eyes remained fixed on her, his lips parted slightly.
She continued, wanting nothing more than to be away from him.
“It is better to part with politeness, as difficult as that might be for both of us. I hope you enjoy the remainder of your stay in Ireland, Mr Darcy, and that you and Lord Bramwell have a safe voyage home. Good day.” She nodded once, turned on her heel, and strode away.
Her heart was pounding painfully in her chest, and she struggled to catch her breath.
It was several minutes later when she realised the horrible encounter had occurred under the same hawthorn where she had first heard his voice and learnt his opinions on marriage.
Despite the few moments when I wondered if my first impression of him was incorrect, I know it was not.
What a disagreeable, hateful man! I pray I never see him again.