Chapter 8 A Dull Sunday & an Exciting Monday #2
The folly had been built by Sir Lewis’s father and was a small round structure at the top of a hill rather distant from the house. It was a beautiful prospect, and it had a lovely view of the countryside, but she did wonder why it was built in so remote a location.
“Sir Reginald de Bourgh built it for his wife. She loved to paint landscapes, and this view was one of her favorites. She would ride her mare here with her paints and spend the afternoon. He was very fond of her, so he had this built as a gift for her thirtieth birthday.”
“That is very romantic,” she said softly, looking at the folly with new eyes.
It was a graceful structure, with lovely simple columns, not ridiculously adorned with ornate crowns or Grecian statues.
There was a tiny room in the center. Its door was locked, but she could see through the window that it contained a small chaise and a pair of chairs with a low table between them.
It would have been the perfect artist’s retreat. “It is charming.”
“Yes, it is. My aunt is not overly fond of it, so the path leading to it has become rather overgrown. There was a wider horse path just there.” He pointed to a space between the trees where the grass grew slightly shorter than its surroundings. “Only the deer use it now.”
“That is rather sad.”
“Yes, I have always thought so.”
“What was Sir Lewis like?”
“My uncle?”
She nodded. “Growing up with such parents had to have impacted him in some way. Was he artistic like his mother? Or romantic like his father?”
“I do not know, to be honest. I was only twelve when he died. I know he was a kind man, and much older than my aunt. She was his second wife. His first had died in childbed along with the babe and he was much affected by it, or so everyone said.”
“How awful!”
“Yes, it would be difficult for anyone, but his was said to be a love match, and he mourned her for nearly a decade before wedding my aunt.”
Elizabeth made a noncommittal sound and turned to look over the view.
It certainly painted Lady Catherine in a different light.
Had she wished for a love match? Or even an affectionate marriage?
Had she thought she would have it, or hoped for it with Sir Lewis, only to find he was still mourning his first wife and had only married her for an heir?
She shook her head. She was being fanciful.
She knew nothing of Lady Catherine’s desires nor her heart.
The lady may have had exactly the marriage she wished for.
Sir Lewis might have been a perfectly wonderful husband to her, despite still mourning his first wife.
Though, even as Elizabeth told herself this, she knew it was not true.
Lady Catherine did not have the sensibility of one who had been loved.
She was too cold, too shuttered to have experienced such a thing.
With a sigh, Elizabeth sat on the cold stone, letting her feet dangle over the ledge. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes. Do you have more muffins?” he asked as he lowered himself to the floor of the folly. He leaned back against a pillar, his legs stretched out before him and his eyes on Elizabeth.
“I do.”
She passed him a muffin and they sat in silence while they ate, looking at the view.
Well, Elizabeth was enjoying the view. Darcy was enjoying watching Elizabeth.
He had never thought he would enjoy courting.
It seemed a terrible waste of time and energy.
If a man knew he wanted to marry a woman, why not simply ask her and be done with it?
Surely the marriage itself would offer more opportunities for intimacy than a courtship would.
But then he had not given the lady’s feelings much consideration beyond her acceptance of his suit.
To his great embarrassment, he realized he had counted on the very thing he most abhorred about society—ladies pursuing him for his wealth and position alone—to be his ally.
He had expected her to accept him because it was prudent and he was a good match, yet he had also desired her affection and respect, while doing nothing to earn either.
He expected a lady, Elizabeth to be precise, to fall into his arms with rapturous joy why exactly?
Because he had a grand estate and a large income? It was abhorrent.
He did not know when he had last been so disgusted with himself.
“What must it have been like? To be loved like that?”
“Pardon?” With a start, Darcy realized Elizabeth had been speaking while he was lost in how own thoughts. “Forgive me, I was not attending.”
Elizabeth smiled self-consciously and looked at her lap. “I was saying nothing of import. Would you like another muffin?”
“Please, continue. You were saying something about love?”
She darted her eyes to him, then back to her hands.
“I was musing aloud, that is all.” She met his eyes for a moment, then turned her gaze back to the trees.
“I wondered what it was like, for Sir Reginald’s wife.
To be loved like that. For a man to build his wife a folly—he must be more than fond of her. ”
Darcy watched her steadily, wondering about her determination not to look at him and the pink tinge on her cheek. “A man in love would do a great deal more,” he said softly.
Something about his voice, deep and low, made her turn to face him. She felt her cheeks flame before she could comprehend the look in his eyes. Her mouth dropped open slightly and her breath came faster, though she did not know why. “Would he?”
Mr. Darcy swung his legs over the folly ledge and scooted closer to her, so close she could have twitched her finger and touched him. “He would indeed, Miss Bennet.”
Her breath hitched and she tried to think of something clever to say, but her mind had emptied completely.
Something warm was on her hand. She could not think what it was, so lost in his gaze was she, but then she felt it moving, tracing over each finger one by one, and realized he was touching her hand. Had he removed his gloves?
Feeling overwhelmed by the intimacy of the moment, she broke his gaze and laughed nervously. “Shall we head back?” she asked. Why was her voice so breathy? Had he noticed?
“Of course.” Darcy’s voice was softer than usual, too. At least she was not the only one affected.
They stood and she gathered her shawl around her, careful not to look at him directly.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Yes.” They had walked a little distance from the folly—and she had calmed considerably—when she asked, “Would anyone mind if I came here again? It is a lovely prospect.”
“You are welcome to visit it as often as you choose. Though perhaps it would be wise not to mention it in front of my aunt.”
“Do you think she would disapprove?”
“Not truly, but she does not like to talk of this place. I am not certain why.”
“I imagine Sir Lewis visited here often with his first wife,” she said unthinkingly. “It is a romantic location.”
Darcy stopped and turned to face her. “Yes, it is.”
He touched her cheek softly, so lightly she barely felt it, and then dropped his hand. When he withdrew, he seemed shy somehow, as if he was afraid he had offended her.
Without thinking on her actions overmuch, Elizabeth linked her arm through his and said cheerfully, “May I have your arm for the way down? You know the path better than I.”
He half-smiled at her and pulled her a little closer and she rewarded him with a bright smile of her own. He seemed so very pleased when she smiled at him that she found herself doing it more and more. Making him happy gave her a rush of pleasure she did not care to examine too closely.
They were proceeding slowly. He was courting her.
She knew his intentions, he knew she needed time to learn if they would suit and to develop affection for him.
So far, all was proceeding as expected and Elizabeth felt no need to question it.
She had had enough self-evaluation last Thursday to last her through three courtships, and she felt no need to scrutinize their every interaction.
She was getting to know him. That was all.
“How goes your effort to win fair lady, Darcy?” Fitzwilliam bounded into his cousin’s room after dinner where Darcy sat pretending to write a letter.
Darcy glared at the colonel for a moment for interrupting his very pleasant daydream and said, “It is going very well, I believe. I took her to the folly this morning and she was quite taken by it.”
“That is progress! And have you been practicing your flirtation skills?” Fitzwilliam said with a dramatic waggle of his eyebrows.
Darcy sighed. “Yes, it is all progressing apace.”
“Excellent!” He clapped his hands so loudly Darcy jumped. “I will look forward to standing up at your wedding.”
“She has not accepted me yet, Cousin.”
“But she will, Darcy, she will!”
Darcy looked at him suspiciously. “How can you know that? Less than a week ago you told me she was likely to refuse me.”
The colonel shrugged. “Miss Bennet is an honest woman. She would not continue meeting you if she did not believe she could find her way to accepting you eventually.”
A new light lit Darcy’s eyes. He had not thought of it like that.
“You must be patient with her and continue to woo her. Surely it cannot be a wholly trying experience?”
He gave Darcy such a look that he blushed to the roots of his hair.
“No, it is not wholly unpleasant. Not unpleasant at all, actually.” He looked to the wall, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“Fitz, what does it say about me that I had not even attempted to woo her before? That I had not even thought about her feelings one way or another? Shall I make a brutish husband? The sort who makes others pity his wife when they are seen together in public?”
The colonel would have laughed, but his cousin seemed genuinely distressed.
“Darcy, you will make a considerate husband, I am certain of it. Look how well you treat Georgiana!”
“She is my sister. It is different.”
“Yes, you will be much closer to your wife, and receive much more from her in return.”
Darcy shot him an irritated glance. Could Fitzwilliam be serious about nothing?
“Cousin, I will be the first to admit you can be overbearing and more concerned with your own comforts than the feelings of others.”
Darcy’s gaze leapt to his cousin.
“It is not surprising. You were raised to remember your own importance and you have the income to ensure others remember it as well.”
Darcy’s nostrils flared.
“But despite all that, you are a kind man, and a generous one. Your first attempt at catching Miss Bennet was deplorable, but you have seen the error of your ways and are improving with the speed of a new colt. That speaks miles for your character. There are men who would have simply walked away when told they had done wrongly. They would not have tried to make it right or cared about the opinion of a woman who was unimpressed with themselves. But you are going to great lengths to be worthy of Miss Bennet. You are a fool if you think she does not recognize that, or if you do not see what it says about you. It takes a great man to admit to his faults and correct them.”
Darcy took a deep breath. He felt the best sort of pride that his cousin thought he was a good man, for he knew Colonel Fitzwilliam was among the best of men himself.
But more than that, he heard the ring of truth in his cousin’s words.
He had been full of his own importance, and in many ways he still was.
If he did not check it, he would destroy the beautiful, fragile thing that was growing between him and Elizabeth.
“I thank you, Fitzwilliam. Your opinion means a great deal to me.” Darcy said softly.
They sat quietly for a few minutes before Darcy broke the silence with an irritated huff. “Am I truly so overbearing?”
“Oh, horribly so.”
“And inconsiderate of others?”
“Only when they want something that does not coincide with your wishes.”
“Difficult?”
“Of course.”
“Officious?”
“Quite often.”
“Demanding?”
“All the time.”
Darcy huffed. “I wonder you travel with me at all.”
“You are so spoiled you would throw a fit if I did not.”
Darcy turned toward his cousin and glared at him. Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled back with his usual insouciance.
After several seconds of this they finally broke, each laughing deep, hearty chuckles. They laughed for some time, sipping their drinks, and settled back down in the stiff chairs before the fire.
“I am glad you came to Rosings, Fitz,” said Darcy quietly.
“You are welcome, Cousin.”