Chapter 38 The Fishing Party
Darcy had just cast his line when Bingley propped his rod against a rock and went to meet Jane.
“You have returned from your shopping trip,” he said warmly. “May I bring you a little ratafia or some water?”
He guided her to a chair and began to serve her a drink. Darcy turned, his attention drawn to the path leading from the house. The ladies were approaching through the shade of the trees, Peter Miller following behind with two fishing rods and a basket.
Among the group, Elizabeth caught his eye at once.
She wore one of her simple muslin gowns, her hair loosely bound, and looked, he thought, like a girl setting out on an adventure.
His gaze lingered on her lips, and he was so powerfully drawn to her that a sharp pang pierced him.
He had grown dependent upon her. He feared that he might have become too dependent.
What if she, too, proved unfaithful? The thought struck him like a blow.
This, this was precisely what he had spent years guarding against, dependence upon a woman.
The realization left him shaken and deeply troubled.
She drew close and lifted her face to meet his eyes, her lips now curved in a smile, her own eyes laughing.
“Good afternoon, sir. I brought pudding. It is in the basket Peter carries.”
He felt himself relax. She was exactly as she appeared. Her open expression and trusting gaze assured him she was an innocent, guileless woman; she was his Elizabeth, his wife.
Peter set down the rods and the basket. Elizabeth unfolded a blanket she was carrying and spread it beneath a great oak. Darcy propped his rod and called to the other men, “My wife brought us the best pudding this side of heaven, if anyone wishes a respite.”
Robert soon appeared with another basket containing tea, coffee, and wine.
When Mr. Rivendell approached, Darcy made the introductions.
“Elizabeth, may I present my friend and neighbor, Charles Rivendell. Rivendell, my wife, Mrs. Darcy. This is her sister, Miss Mary Bennet, and beside Bingley stands her elder sister, Miss Jane Bennet. They are recently betrothed. You know Miss Isabella already.”
Mr. Rivendell bowed to each lady in turn. Elizabeth then directed, “Peter will hold up the basket, gentlemen, help yourselves to the pudding. I shall pour the tea and wine if you tell me your preference.”
Within minutes, they were all comfortably settled, some on blankets, others upon stones or leaning against tree trunks, enjoying the promised pudding, sipping wine or tea, and chatting with good humor.
Bingley fetched the only remaining chair, placed it beside Jane, and turned to Mary with an inviting smile. “Miss Bennet, will you not sit?”
Mr. Rivendell soon drew near to Mary. “Miss Bennet, are you Mrs. Darcy’s twin?”
Mary’s eyes shone with amusement. “No, sir, though many have thought so. I was born nearly two years after Lizzy. I am just turned nineteen, and she will be one and twenty in March.”
“Do you make a long stay at Pemberley?”
“Until October, when we remove to Hertfordshire for my sister Jane’s wedding. Afterwards, we will winter in London.”
“Then perhaps we may meet there,” he said, smiling. “Will you save a dance for me?”
“That would be delightful, sir. Which one shall I reserve?”
“The first waltz.”
A delicate flush warmed her cheek. “I will, sir.”
Elizabeth addressed her husband. “Fitzwilliam, will you allow Isabella and me to cast our lines, or is this sport reserved for gentlemen only?”
Darcy laughed. “Elizabeth, my dear, I had no idea you could cast a line.”
She smiled back. “Indeed, I can, sir. I grew up with a rod in one hand and a fly in the other.”
He offered to prepare her line, but she refused, saying, I do not wish to take away from your sport, sir.
If I encounter any problems, I will seek your help.
She wandered up the stream to choose her own place.
Isabella followed, her rod in one hand, a tackle box in the other, until Richard intercepted her, taking the tackle box and walking beside her down the bank.
Meanwhile, Lewis was caught up watching a tête-à-tête, his expression darkening when he saw Rivendell approach Miss Mary Bennet and then engage her in conversation. The man was three and thirty, a widower with four children. Far too old for a girl of nineteen, he thought.
Finishing his pudding, Lewis returned his bowl to the footman and crossed to where Mary stood. “Rivendell, how are the children? I heard measles has been going around.”
Rivendell looked alarmed. “Indeed? I had not heard of it.”
“There is a family down with it now,” said Lewis gravely. “The physician has placed them under quarantine. Isabella and I have not been exposed, so you need not fear.”
The older man relaxed. “Ah, my children had it earlier this year; the eldest brought it home with him from Harrow, but to my knowledge, I have never had it.”
“Rivendell has four children, the eldest a boy of nine,” Lewis remarked, turning to confirm, “Is that right, Charles?”
Rivendell said, “Actually, Charles is ten. This is his first year away at school, and the poor boy came down with the measles. They sent for me at once. I brought him home and kept him isolated, but the others soon caught it. The youngest could not be kept from his brother’s room; he would run in to keep him company, and so the illness spread to my three other children. ”
Mary laughed at the tale, her eyes alight with amusement.
Lewis turned toward her. “Miss Mary, do you cast a line too?”
“No, sir, I prefer indoor pursuits. I could never abide touching a fish, nor the smell of one.”
The two men chuckled, then looked toward Elizabeth and Isabella, both of whom stood near the stream with their lines.
“Miss Mary, it is a fine art in your sisters’ hands,” Lewis remarked.
Rivendell added, “Lewis, your sister is also an expert. I imagine you taught her?”
Lewis shook his head. “No, my father taught us both. There is only a year between us in age, and we learned everything together.”
Rivendell observed, “Mr. Darcy is quite taken with your sister, Miss Bennet. He has abandoned his rod entirely to stand and watch his wife.”
Mary said. “Yes. He is very much in love. It does one’s heart good to see that such a thing exists outside of novels.”
Lewis’s gaze lingered on her face. “Miss Bennet, may I escort you to the dripping well? Have you seen it yet?”
She studied his face. He seemed amiable enough this morning.
And he seemed to sincerely wish for her company.
“I have, sir, when I first arrived at Pemberley, but I would be happy to see it again. Georgiana and I left ribbons hanging from a branch where the water drips. I should like to see whether they are hardening.”
Lewis smiled faintly. “I am afraid you must visit my estate if you wish to see true petrification. There is not enough mineral in this well, but let us see. Perhaps there is a little.”
He offered his arm, and she took it. Together they walked down the wooded path, their figures soon hidden among the trees.
Rivendell looked after them thoughtfully and nudged a tuft of grass with the toe of his boot. “She is a beauty,” he murmured to himself, “but she is only nineteen. Hearing about the children did not put her off. But I would end with ten children if I married so young a girl.”
He shook his head, smiling at his own folly, and turned back to the stream. Picking up his rod once more, he began casting with renewed concentration.
Lewis held Mary’s arm securely within his own, and as they walked, she found herself listening to him speak with surprising animation about his home, his mother, and his tenants. His conversation flowed more freely, and his eyes, she noticed, were gentle when they turned toward her.
“Does your father allow his daughters to read the newspaper?”
“Yes, sir,” Mary replied. “Whichever of his daughters wishes to read them is permitted to do so.”
“And Miss Mary wishes to read them?”
“Yes. So does Lizzy, but none of my other sisters care to keep abreast with the times, sir.”
He asked, “How many sisters have you?”
“There are five of us, Mr. Lewis.”
“Are they all as lovely as the three who are here at Pemberley?”
Her cheeks colored, but she answered modestly, “All my sisters are very similar in appearance, sir, excepting my sister Jane.”
“Your sister Jane,” he said thoughtfully, “is very like the rest of you. Her fair hair is her only dissimilarity, but I should have known anywhere that she was your sister.”
He paused before asking, “So you have no brothers?”
“No, sir,” she replied. “Our cousin will inherit my father’s estate. It is entailed away from the female line.”
Mr. Lewis’s brow puckered. “Will he marry one of his cousins to resolve the entail?”
She looked at him steadily. “He came especially this year for that purpose, but none of us would have him.”
Lewis turned to her, his brows raised. “What was wrong with him?”
She thought carefully about her answer and decided an innocent evasion would be necessary. “Nothing, sir. He was everything amiable and handsome, but he did not suit any of us. Jane was already attached to Mr. Bingley, and Mr. Darcy had already claimed Lizzy.”
He regarded her curiously. “And you, Miss Mary?”
“I did not fancy him, sir. Papa advised him to marry our friend instead, and he did. They were married a little over a month ago.”
“Singular,” Lewis said quietly. “So you would not marry for prudence, ma’am?”
She looked down at her hands. “No, sir. I hope to marry for love, like Jane and Lizzy, but if that is not possible, then I will marry a man I can respect. Otherwise, we should not suit.”
Lewis saw that she was uncomfortable and changed the subject. “You mentioned earlier that you will remain until October here in Derbyshire, and then remove to London. Have you any plans beyond that?”