Chapter 6 At Last! Friday
At Last! Friday
Elizabeth had had the strangest dream. She had been crying in Rosings’ gardens with Colonel Fitzwilliam, then she had flirted quite brazenly with Mr. Darcy in Charlotte’s parlor! Never had her dreams been so vivid, nor so full of eligible men.
She awoke shortly after dawn—for she had gone to bed at sunset—with a prodigious thirst. She felt somewhat similar to mornings after a party where she drank too much wine, but she had not had anything at all last night.
In fact, she could not remember even eating dinner.
Her stomach made a loud grumbling noise and she quickly dressed and put up her hair before skipping down to the kitchen.
A village woman came to the parsonage to cook most days and was generally there early in the morning to bake bread.
She had been very kind to Elizabeth and often packed her a scone or muffin to take with her on her walks.
“You’re up early, Miss.”
“I believe I went to bed rather early.”
“Molly said you had an upset yesterday. I hope all is well with your family.”
“Yes, everyone is well, thank you,” said Elizabeth hesitantly. What upset was Mrs. Hopkins referring to?
“I’m glad to hear it, Miss.” She pulled a tin of muffins from the oven and set them on the worktable to cool. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to take some of those on your walk?”
“Yes, please.”
Mrs. Hopkins was wrapping a few muffins when Molly came in.
“Are ya feelin’ better, Miss?”
Elizabeth looked at her in confusion. “I am quite well, Molly. Why would you expect otherwise?”
“You were awful upset yesterday. And then the gentleman came to see ya and you went straight to bed before it were full dark!”
Elizabeth felt the floor tilt beneath her and grabbed the back of a chair.
“Have a care now, Miss!” cried Mrs. Hopkins. She pulled out the chair and guided Elizabeth to sit down.
“What gentleman, Molly?” she asked, dreading the answer.
“Why, Mr. Darcy, of course. Do you not remember?” asked Molly.
Elizabeth fell back in the chair and was vaguely aware of Mrs. Hopkins telling Molly to bring her a cup of tea and that good lady chafing her hands.
“There, there, dear. It’s nothing that can’t be solved. All will be well soon enough.”
Elizabeth turned to face Mrs. Hopkins with a desolate expression.
It was all coming back to her now. She had sat in the dirt and cried with Colonel Fitzwilliam.
And she had flirted with Mr. Darcy in Charlotte’s parlor.
It had not been a dream. He had called her ‘my sweet,’ and held her hand, and looked into her eyes quite intimately.
And he was expecting her in the grove this very morning.
“I need some air,” she said weakly. She moved woodenly to the table where the muffins were wrapped and grabbed the cloth, then stumbled out the door.
All the way to the grove she berated herself for her stupidity and Charlotte for whatever it was she had put in the tea.
What must Colonel Fitzwilliam think of her? She had cried through her handkerchief and his as well. He had been uncommonly kind to her, and attentive without requiring anything from her. It had been a comfort. Knowing she had such a staunch friend could only do her good.
But Mr. Darcy! Oh dear. Had he said he loved and admired her? Was she remembering correctly? And had she laughed at him? Truly? What a mess! And now they must discuss what he had said the evening before—and likely what he did not say. Did he mean to make his proposals? How would she respond?
Yesterday morning, she would have refused him and gladly sent him on his way with a bug in his ear and no guilt in her heart.
But this morning, everything was different.
Not only had she found out he was not half the villain she had long imagined him to be, but he had been so tender and gentle with her.
He had made her laugh and been everything lovely when she had no right to expect such from him.
Of all the things she knew of Mr. Darcy, the one she had been most sure of was that he was a bad-tempered man.
But bad-tempered men did not speak kindly to a lady after she had laughed in his face when he declared his love.
Could she truly not know him at all?
“Good morning.”
Elizabeth jumped. “Mr. Darcy! I did not see you there.”
He smiled and removed his hat. “Forgive me. I did not mean to startle you.”
“Would you like to walk?” she asked. Why did her voice sound so small?
He nodded and fell into step beside her. After a minute of silence, he said, “I spoke with Fitzwilliam last night.”
Elizabeth sighed and closed her eyes. “I see I am to have no dignity left by the time I leave Kent.”
He smiled gently and touched her elbow. “There was nothing undignified in your behavior.”
“He must not have told you how I sat on the ground like a farm animal.”
His brows lifted. “He left that bit out, but I’m sure you were very elegant.”
She was startled into a short laugh. “You are ebullient this morning, Mr. Darcy.”
“I am happy.”
“Might I enquire what has made you so happy?” she asked with a grin. Stop flirting, Lizzy! Though it was difficult to wish to stop flirting when he was so evidently pleased by it.
“You may.”
She lifted a brow in question.
“You.”
“Me? I have done naught but walk beside you.”
He took her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing the back gently. “You came this morning, and very early, too, and I cannot hide my delight at seeing you.”
She smiled back at him for a moment before remembering that she did not particularly like Mr. Darcy, for he was an ill-tempered, difficult man. Was he not?
She pulled away and walked on. “I am glad to know you are so easily pleased. Might you be half so happy with a muffin?” She unwrapped her bundle and held one out to him. “They are very good, I promise.”
He took it, thanked her, and they were silent again as they meandered down the dim path.
The sun was higher now than it had been when she rose, but the further they moved into the trees, the dimmer it became.
They eventually came to a brook, and he gestured to a small bench along the bank.
She sat and looked out at the water, watching a beam of sunlight dance on the surface.
She took a deep breath and said, “You said you spoke with Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
He sighed.
Oh, dear.
“Yes, he told me that you had been fed a pack of lies from Wickham, which is hardly surprising, and that you were very upset.”
She looked away.
“Of more interest to me was that you thought I did not like you.”
“He told you that, did he?”
“Yes.”
She sighed.
“I’m certain you realize by now that dislike could not be further from the truth.”
“I have some idea, sir,” she said to her shoes.
“I beg you would indulge me. Whatever has made you think I do not like you?”
She looked up at him in surprise. “Truly?”
“Truly. I would know what I have done to give you such an erroneous opinion of me.”
She picked at her skirt again, then decided that the last day had been odd enough. It would be difficult for the situation to get any worse, so she may as well tell him.
“Well, it is many things really. When you were in Hertfordshire, you seemed displeased with the neighborhood overall.”
“But not you specifically!”
She shot him a look.
“Forgive me. Please, carry on.”
“You particularly seemed to dislike my family, you did not seem to like Mr. Bingley’s preference for Jane, and you did say I was not handsome enough to tempt you.”
“What?” he cried.
“At the assembly, before we were even introduced. You looked me right in the eye before you said it. I know you knew it was me to whom you were referring.”
He colored and walked away, then paced back toward her. “But did not my attentions after that show that I felt quite the opposite?”
“What attentions?”
He had looked upset before, but now he appeared positively stricken.
“At Netherfield—”
She huffed before he could continue. “At Netherfield you argued with me each time we spoke, and you spent half an hour in the library with me without saying a word.”
“And without reading a word, either.” He said it with such a look, and a tilt to his mouth that was not quite a smile, that she could not help but flush scarlet. “And I asked you to dance a reel with me. You refused.”
“You were in earnest?”
“Of course I was! Why else would I have asked?”
“To mock me.” She said it so matter-of-factly that he could only stare at her in wide-eyed surprise.
“I do not know what sort of man asks a woman to dance only to mock her, but I can assure you, I am not such a one.”
Elizabeth was about to retort when she saw an image of her father, saying something that sounded well on the surface to her mother, but when listened to more carefully, proved to be insincere and designed with nothing but his own amusement in mind.
The activity was made worse by Mrs. Bennet not always understanding what her husband was doing.
In a flash, Elizabeth realized that this very behavior had ruined her mother’s trust in her father, and that she had expected Mr. Darcy to act as Mr. Bennet had, without accounting for how very different the two men were.
“Are you well, Miss Bennet?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes, quite well. It seems I am to be astonished and disillusioned continually on this trip. Do you think it is something in the air at Rosings?” She tried to smile at her jest, but she could tell by his expression that it fell flat.
“I am curious, but I do not want to intrude by asking what you have become disillusioned by.”
“May we discuss it at another time? I need to think on it some more.”
“Of course. I believe you were telling me how rude I was in Hertfordshire last autumn.”
She laughed. “And you were telling me how attentive you were. Were we in the same place, do you think?”
He smiled ruefully. “I must apologize for my comment at the assembly. It was uncommonly rude of me. And patently untrue. I have no excuse other than that I was in a monstrous mood.”