Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The path to the chapel was slippery and downhill, but Miss Elizabeth did not complain, not even when she lost her footing and had to steady herself against Darcy. She had simply laughed, waving him away with an embarrassed swipe of her hand.
“You must take a tighter hold of my arm, lest it should happen again.”
“Your poor arm has only just escaped the clutches of one unfortunate damsel. I should imagine it needs a rest before it comes to the assistance of another.” She bestowed upon Darcy a smile of heavenly sweetness and he was overcome with the urge to lean in and taste those full, rosebud lips.
“I am always happy to be of assistance to you, Miss Elizabeth. You need never doubt it.” He tore his eyes away from her face and held out his hand to help her across a large rock.
Their journey together had been a spontaneous suggestion, borne out of a desire to put Miss Bingley in her place.
But now that he was here, virtually alone with Miss Elizabeth, there was an undeniable pull of adventure.
“Do I walk too fast for you?” She called out to him from over her shoulder, her voice brimming with merriment.
“A wise man knows when he should let another lead the way,” he replied, unwilling to admit that he was able to admire her much better when she was in front of him, not behind.
“You sound like my godfather.” She raced on, and he could hear nothing but birdsong and her laughter.
The tower he had perceived from the path was somewhat misleading: as they approached, he realised it was more like a sunken garden, enclosed by four stone walls, one very tall, all in varying states of ruin.
Miss Elizabeth was just ahead of him now, her hand running along the grey cobbles, her expression joyful as she regarded the crumbling chapel with delight.
“How wonderful that so much still stands.” She took in their surroundings with endearing enthusiasm.
“Am I to infer that you are an optimist? It would appear to me that much has been lost to the ravages of time.”
She laughed again. “I firmly believe one should appreciate what remains, not regret what has been lost.” She took a few steps and stood more centrally in the open space, looking about her as she did.
“If walls could talk! Just consider all the important events that have taken place in this very spot—baptisms, marriages, and goodness knows what else!”
“Would you wish to be married in a place such as this?”
His question perturbed her, perhaps for its suddenness, and her reply sounded flustered. “Well, I had rather hoped for a roof on my wedding day. But I cannot deny that it has its charms.”
She stepped away from him and over to what was left of the far wall.
Beyond her profile, he could see rolling hills, dotted with trees.
Branches rustled overhead and a splash of sunlight illuminated her face as she looked out at the countryside.
A dark curl danced in the breeze. She is bewitching, he thought.
More bewitching than any other woman I have ever met.
She turned back to him and her eyes, alive and bright, met his.
Desire pulsed through his veins, a fire that he had long suppressed, but now that they were here, in this intimate place, it could no longer be ignored.
If only her family were not such a trial.
You might soon find your heart to be in some danger.
He stepped towards her, valiantly attempting to remain composed.
He took great pains never to pay a woman any special attention, but Miss Elizabeth was impossible to resist. The more he was in her company, the more of it he craved.
His heart beat an unsteady tattoo as he stood beside her. “The castle is a delight. I am glad I came.”
“You do not wish you were in St Albans?” One of her eyebrows raised in an expression of the purest mischief, and he wished that she might look at him like that forever.
“No,” he replied, his throat suddenly dry. “This is far preferable.”
There was something in the way they stood, in this abandoned chapel, that spoke of lovers.
An unwelcome image burst forth in his mind, that of his sister and Wickham.
What had it been like for them, when they had found each other alone?
To what means had Wickham stooped to persuade Georgiana to abandon her family?
Had he forced her to bend to his will? A darkness descended upon him, and he retreated slightly, the spell he and Miss Elizabeth had found themselves under suddenly broken.
“Gracious, whatever is the matter!” Miss Elizabeth looked up into his face, reading the gloom in his expression perfectly.
“It is nothing,” he replied, too quickly. “Let us rejoin our party.”
“But you look so very disturbed! Have I done something to upset you? You must tell me at once.”
“No! Nothing could be further from the truth.” He lowered his voice. “I take great pleasure in your company.”
A beautiful colour rose in her cheeks. “Is it Mr Wickham, then?”
Darcy hesitated. That she could perceive with such devastating accuracy the source of his troubles was strangely affecting.
Wickham’s attempted seduction of his sister was a private affair—one too painful to discuss with even his closest friends.
Yet temptation lingered on his lips. In a bitter voice, he replied, “Am I so easily read?”
“You had the same look upon your face when you encountered Mr Wickham in the woods.”
Those expressive eyes widened as she spoke, and his instinct told him he could trust her.
He did not know why, for in many ways she was a virtual stranger, and yet he was overcome with the urge to lay bare his heart and tell her everything that echoed within it.
He had carried the weight of Georgiana’s failed elopement alone and now he had these terrible letters to contend with.
It would be a relief to talk about it with another.
But he stopped himself: he loved his sister too dearly to expose her to any censure.
“You do not have to speak of it, if you do not wish to.” Her wide, frank eyes shone with genuine concern.
Darcy had never known passionate love, the desire to seek out one person above all others, and he had told himself countless times that Miss Elizabeth was an unsuitable prospect.
But the way she looked at him now, with gentle understanding, he could not help imagining her as his wife.
If she were, then he would be free to speak of whatever troubled him.
She might draw him to her embrace, and he might spend a few blissful moments losing himself in her heavenly presence.
“I ask only as a friend, which I now hope I can claim to be.”
Her words brought him back to his senses.
She was not his wife, nor would she ever be.
To burden Miss Elizabeth with the knowledge of Wickham’s nefarious schemes would be unfair and ungentlemanly.
He held back the waves of emotion roiling in his chest and gave a tight smile.
“Your concern and friendship are most welcome. However, I am not at liberty to discuss these matters. All I can say is that Wickham remains a thorn in my side.”
Miss Elizabeth’s expression softened. “Let us save our breath to speak of more pleasant things,” she murmured. “It is a shame that one man should have so much control over another’s happiness—especially from afar.”
“Wickham has no hold over me.” Again, he spoke too sharply and immediately regretted his defensive tone.
Miss Elizabeth was not the object of his unease.
He frowned, wishing that they might return to the easy camaraderie they had before.
“Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth. My temper got the better of me—as it so often does on the subject of Wickham.”
Miss Elizabeth scarcely let him finish his apology. “I shall say no more—only that in me you may find a sympathetic and discreet ear.”
Whether it was the sincerity of her words or the loveliness of her countenance, he could not say, but he was seized with the urge to kiss her. Without knowing what he was about, he captured her hand and lightly pressed his lips upon her fingers. “And you may find the same in me.”
Miss Elizabeth’s eyes widened and he dropped her hand awkwardly, no longer trusting himself to speak or act rationally around her.
“We should find the others,” he said gruffly and offered her his arm.
She took it with stammered thanks, her colour still heightened.
As they began to retrace their steps, Miss Elizabeth chattered away in high-pitched accents.
He could not attend to everything she was saying, and he was certain her verbosity was only to cover the discomfort she must feel at his conduct.
He had overstepped. If he did not have any serious designs on Miss Elizabeth’s affections, then he must desist in paying her so much attention.
He glanced at her; she was now speaking with desperate urgency about the melody of a nearby blackbird.
“The others have returned to join Miss Bingley.” He pointed up the path, glad for a distraction.
Miss Elizabeth appeared to welcome it too.
She broke away from him as they approached the others, addressing her sister with a forced brightness.
“Mr Darcy was curious to see the chapel and I can confirm that it is in a worse state than the last time we visited. You must thank us for sparing you the ordeal of a muddy walk.”
Mr Lucas regarded Miss Elizabeth in horror. “Your boots, Miss Elizabeth! They are ruined! I am amazed at Mr Darcy permitting you to walk in the dirt. Did you not wish to stay where it is dry?” He proffered his arm to lead her away.
“I have never had cause to regret straying from a well-trodden path.” Miss Elizabeth did not look at Darcy, but he sensed her words were for him. “It is the only way to have a true adventure.”
“Spoken like the goddaughter of an explorer!” Mr Lucas gave her a knowing wink.
“Yes, indeed.” With a moment’s hesitation, Miss Elizabeth accepted Mr Lucas’s offer of an escort, and Darcy was forced to watch them walk off together, unable to conquer the queasy jealousy at seeing her on the arm of another man.