Chapter 5 #2
The pond was a mirror-like sheet of water, roughly oval and about, Darcy estimated, fifteen feet by perhaps twenty feet at its widest point.
Reeds clustered around its edges, and brown lily pads floated serenely on its green surface.
Darcy eyed the reedy, cat-tailed bank, wondering how sound the mud was, but Miss Elizabeth had no such qualms as she strode up to the edge to peer into the water.
She concentrated for a moment, scanning the glassy surface, then abruptly her hand shot out with her pointing finger extended.
“There one is!”
Darcy stepped up beside her to look into the pond.
For a moment he could not see anything in the murky green depths, but then a flicker of gold flashed and caught his eye.
He had seen goldfish before in the bowls and ponds of acquaintances, but never of such impressive dimensions.
Water distorted size, of course, but if he had to guess, Darcy would estimate the fish to be about six inches in length or possibly more.
“Oh, and there is another one!” the lady cried out, pointing at another place.
Darcy dutifully observed the fish before his eyes shifted once more to Miss Elizabeth herself.
Her cheeks were flushed with the pleasure of finding the fish of which she had such fond childhood memories, and her face was wreathed in smiles.
Her joy was contagious, and he listened as she exclaimed in delight over the fishes’ continued existence in the pond.
He could enter into her sentiments; the creatures were impressive in their length and breadth and longevity; but it was Miss Elizabeth's zest for life that lent them their greatest charm.
How remarkable she was! Darcy could not, off the top of his head, think of any other ladies he knew who would so openly display a passion for mere fish.
It was not, at the moment, fashionable for ladies to be passionate about anything.
It took a certain strength of personality, or a blithe disregard for London fashions, to buck such conventions.
Miss Bingley, lady of the Town as she was, would never dream of defying such fashions, but instead she assumed the sophisticated airs that required ladies to display a languid disinterest in most subjects.
Darcy found that he preferred Miss Elizabeth's enthusiasm for life, her vigor and joie de vivre, her vivacity and the piquant enjoyment in her face as she circled the pond watching for fish. As if by magic, his opinion of her beauty seemed to increase even as he watched her.
Entering into the spirit of the thing, Darcy circled with her, observing the water intently and pointing out every flash of color that he saw.
It was quite easy to lose track of the time in the pursuit of this simple pleasure, and twenty minutes passed before either lady or gentleman took any notice of the time.
“Oh!” Miss Elizabeth said suddenly, consulting the watch hanging from her necklace. “Oh dear, I suppose we had better return to Netherfield. I expect Coachman Jack will send the carriage over relatively soon.”
“I am confident Bingley will be pleased to let you see the fish again whenever you like,” Darcy said.
She smiled at him and said, “I expect it must seem rather silly for a young lady to be so excited about fish.”
“Not at all. It is refreshing,” he said truthfully, holding out his arm toward her. She took it, and he felt a thrill of pleasure at the strength in those slim fingers.
“I find them interesting as well,” he remarked. “To be honest, I am surprised that they have thrived here for so long. What do they do when the pond freezes over?”
Miss Elizabeth frowned and said, “I do not know. It does seem odd. Perhaps they are able to find vegetation on the bottom of the pond to eat?”
“I have some vague idea that cold-blooded creatures slow down a great deal when they are cold,” Darcy said. “There is probably a book on the subject.”
“Is it not wonderful,” Miss Elizabeth said, tightening her grip on his arm a little harder, “that there are books about almost everything?”
“It is,” he agreed, looking down on her charming, rosy face, as rare, unadulterated happiness filled his chest. “It is indeed.”
***
Netherfield Hall
Later
Mr. Bingley helped Jane and then Elizabeth into the Bennet carriage, and the two ladies arranged themselves appropriately as a manservant closed the door.
“Thank you for your very kind hospitality, Mr. Bingley,” Jane said softly.
Mr. Bingley smiled and said, “It was my honor, of course. Indeed, I only hope you are not leaving too soon. I would be most distressed if you were to fall ill again from chill.”
“I assure you that I am almost entirely well,” Jane said.
Bingley stepped back and nodded at Coachman Jack, who urged the horses into action.
Elizabeth leaned back against the squabs with a sigh of relief.
Her few days at Netherfield Hall had not been as bad as they could have been.
Miss Bingley, and to a lesser degree, Mrs. Hurst, had disliked her presence and had shown it through cutting civility, but Mr. Bingley had been welcoming enough.
Mr. Darcy had been the real surprise. Their shared toil to save the spaniel Maxwell had resulted in, if not actual friendship, at least a warm acquaintance. He was more intelligent than she had expected, and their conversations had been interesting.
Still, she was very glad to be returning home to the comfort of her own chamber. Jane, too, would doubtless rest better in her own bed.
Yes, it was good to be going home.