Chapter 17
Sir William’s visit to Hunsford lasted only a week, but that week was more than enough time to convince him of his daughter being most comfortably settled, with such a home, such a husband, and such a patroness as were not often met with.
He then returned to Hertfordshire, leaving Maria and Elizabeth to continue their visit.
Though Elizabeth had not been sanguine in her hopes of enjoyment in a visit to any house which included Mr Collins, she soon found that the result surpassed all her expectations.
Not in Mr Collins himself, for he was just as foolish, just as patronising to herself and obsequious to Lady Catherine as she might have guessed, but in several other respects, Kent soon proved to have charms beyond anything Elizabeth could have guessed.
It was most pleasant to walk all over the countryside, clothed as it was in the fresh green of spring.
The grounds of Rosings Park and the lanes around the parsonage were both engaging in their way, but Elizabeth’s favourite walk of all was one which lay between them, and yet seemed to belong to neither.
It was wilder than the groomed paths of Rosings, but Elizabeth liked it all the better for that.
Best of all, it was peaceful in its quietness, and sometimes amusing for the squirrels and wild rabbits she saw playing among the trees.
In so quiet a place, it was strange how often she seemed to meet Mr Darcy.
Stranger still, that they met still more often after she mentioned that it was a favourite haunt of hers, so that he might avoid it if he wished, and strangest of all that Elizabeth found herself looking forward to each meeting more than the last.
How wrong she had been in thinking him proud, cold, and superior!
Each conversation showed her something of his affection for his sister and cousins, the responsibility he felt towards his estate and his people, even of a certain sly humour she had not suspected him to possess.
Elizabeth began to have a mortifying suspicion that the walk, which had once been her favourite for its own merits, was rapidly becoming preferred as the place she met Mr Darcy.
But that was folly, surely. If they were rapidly becoming friends, they could never be anything more. Mr Darcy had been good enough to warn her, good enough to help her, and good enough to become her friend. She ought not to hope for more than that.
Still, Elizabeth set out for her walk one morning with a sense of eagerness she could not deny, nor even tell herself was entirely due to the beauty of the Kentish countryside.
“You are being very foolish,” Elizabeth mumbled to herself. “How lovely the morning is! You ought to enjoy what is all around you, and not spoil a pleasant walk thinking of a gentleman who certainly is not thinking of you.”
As she reached the turn onto the path where they had so often met, Elizabeth slowed. There was no reason to believe anyone should be there; none at all. She did her best not to hope.
Mr Darcy stood just beyond the turn in the path, as though he had come there with no particular expectation of meeting anyone, yet was not entirely surprised to find that he had.
At her approach, he inclined his head with composed civility, though there was, to Elizabeth’s perception, a slight alteration in his expression which suggested that her presence was not unwelcome.
“Miss Bennet.”
“Mr Darcy.”
He turned to walk beside her, easily and without discussion. They continued for some distance without speaking, the quiet between them not so much awkward as undefined, until he said, with a glance toward the path ahead, “You have chosen the same direction as before.”
“I find it the most agreeable,” she replied. “Though I begin to suspect it is less private than I had supposed.”
“I hope you do not consider your enjoyment of it diminished.”
“Not diminished,” she said, though with a slight smile, “only less exclusively my own.”
He appeared to consider this, then said, “I should be sorry to deprive you of any claim you may have had on it.”
“I cannot claim it,” she returned. “Only recommend it.”
“And I am obliged to you for the recommendation.”
There was something in the manner of this which, though lightly spoken, carried more intention than the words themselves required. Elizabeth was conscious of it without choosing to examine it too closely.
After a moment, he said, “My sister has been very much pleased with your company.”
“I have been very glad of hers,” Elizabeth replied. “She has a sweetness of disposition which must recommend her to everyone who knows her.”
Mr Darcy’s expression softened, though only slightly. “She does not always find it so easy to be known.”
“I can believe it,” Elizabeth said. “But she has already overcome more than she supposes.”
He looked at her then attentively. “You think so?”
“I am certain of it. She speaks with more confidence than she did when I first saw her, and she listens with more assurance. That is no small progress.”
“It is more than she would have allowed herself to claim,” he said.
“Then Miss Darcy must rely on others to observe it for her.”
There was a brief pause, though not an uncomfortable one. He seemed inclined to speak again, and at length he did so. “You have been very patient with my aunt.”
Elizabeth glanced at him. “I have had excellent practice.”
He almost smiled. “I do not doubt it.”
“She requires attention,” Elizabeth continued, “and I have found that it is more easily given than resisted.”
“Yet you give it without surrendering anything,” he said.
“I hope so,” she returned, a little surprised.
“I am certain of it.”
The quiet that followed was of a different kind than before. It was not merely the absence of speech, but something more deliberate, as though both were aware that the conversation had approached a point from which it might proceed in more than one direction.
Elizabeth felt it, though she could not have said precisely what it was. In his manner, there was a degree of regard she had not seen before, or which, if she had seen it, she had not been inclined to trust. Now, she found herself less certain that it could be dismissed.
“You are very fond of walking,” he said after a moment.
“I am,” she replied. “For me, it is the only way to think with any degree of clarity.”
“And do you always find what you seek in it?”
“Not always,” she said. “But I am often nearer to it than I was before.”
He inclined his head slightly, as though the answer satisfied him. “I think that is as much as can be expected.”
They had reached the rise in the ground by this time, and the path opened before them in the way she had always liked best. Elizabeth paused there, not from necessity, but from habit, and he stopped with her.
For a moment, neither spoke, but the silence was easy. And it was, she thought, a very strange sort of peacefulness.
They moved on again after a brief interval, though more slowly than before, as if neither wished to hurry the walk to its conclusion.
The ground beyond the rise was less even than the rest, the path narrowing slightly where the grass had begun to encroach on it, and the turn of the land required a more careful step than the broader avenues below.
Elizabeth, whose attention had been more engaged in the conversation than by her footing, did not immediately observe the change. She had just begun to speak again, turning slightly toward him as she did so, when her step faltered.
The misstep itself was slight, scarcely more than a moment’s imbalance, but it was enough. Her foot turned beneath her, and though she made an instinctive effort to recover herself, the attempt only shifted her weight more suddenly than she intended.
Elizabeth cried out as she fell, and her attempts to catch herself only prevented the accident from turning into a tumble. Much of her weight had come down on the side of her foot, forcing her ankle suddenly to the side, and she stood only with difficulty.
Darcy was beside her at once. “Miss Bennet, are you hurt?”
“I do not think so,” she said, though the answer came more quickly than her certainty. She tried to take another step, but the effort brought with it a sharp, unmistakable pain that checked her immediately.
He saw it. “You are,” he said, not as a question. “Please, you must not attempt to walk further.”
“It is nothing of consequence,” she replied, though the firmness of her tone did not entirely conceal the strain beneath it. “Only a misstep.”
“A misstep that has injured you,” he returned. “You must not disregard it. You could worsen the injury.”
She drew a breath, as though to steady herself, and made a second attempt, more cautiously this time, but the result was the same. The pain was severe enough that Elizabeth knew she risked damaging the joint further if she continued.
“I believe you are right,” Elizabeth said, keeping her voice level with an effort. “I cannot ignore the injury.”
He did not answer, but his attention had already shifted from inquiry to action.
“You cannot remain here,” he said. “Nor can you walk back.”
“I shall manage it,” she said, though without much conviction. “It is not so far.”
“It is too far to attempt in your present condition.”
There was no harshness in his tone, but there was a steadiness which made it impossible to contradict him. “I suppose you are right,” Elizabeth admitted.
Mr Darcy stepped closer. Lightly, he touched her arm. “You must allow me to assist you,” he said steadily. “A small liberty will be necessary to see you home.”
Elizabeth looked at him in confusion. “I do not quite understand your meaning.”
He swallowed. “If you will allow me, I shall carry you.”
“Carry me?” Elizabeth said faintly in astonishment. He was right, it was likely the best solution, but she could not ask a gentleman to simply pick her up and —