Chapter Twenty-One
Elizabeth
“Fishing? Surely not.”
Charlotte’s voice carried disbelief as she settled into her chair. Elizabeth smoothed her wool gown and smiled at her friend’s expression.
“I am entirely serious. Mr Darcy has promised to teach me.”
“But fishing, Eliza? You have never shown the slightest interest in such pursuits. Your mother always said it was not suitable for young ladies.”
“My mother said many things about what was proper for ladies,” Elizabeth replied, perhaps more sharply than intended. “But I am now mistress of my own house, and if I wish to try fishing, I shall.”
Charlotte studied her with the keen perception of long friendship. “This sudden interest would not have anything to do with spending time with your husband, would it?”
Heat flooded Elizabeth’s cheeks. “Certainly not. Mr Darcy speaks of fishing as wonderfully peaceful. I thought it might provide pleasant diversion.”
“Pleasant diversion,” Charlotte repeated with a knowing smile. “You sitting still for hours with nothing but a fishing pole? I cannot imagine it. You have never been able to remain motionless for ten minutes together.”
“I am sure I can manage perfectly well.”
“Besides,” Charlotte continued teasingly, “if you wanted to spend time with Mr Darcy, surely you could find other ways? You take all your meals together, do you not?”
Elizabeth hesitated. She could hardly explain that their dinner conversations were tentative at best, or that this fishing expedition was the first genuine invitation for companionship Darcy had offered.
“We do,” she said. “Though he rarely accompanies me on visits elsewhere.”
“Does he not? How odd. I should think a new husband would wish to present his wife properly to the neighbourhood.”
“I believe he feels uncomfortable in such situations, particularly around Mama. Although he agreed to dine at Netherfield this evening,” Elizabeth chose her words with care. “But tell me—when do you leave for Hunsford?”
Charlotte’s expression grew serious. “That is what I came to discuss. Mr Collins returned to Kent yesterday and sent an express this morning, requesting I join him immediately. Lady Catherine wishes to receive me at Rosings before the wedding.”
Elizabeth suppressed her first thought—that Lady Catherine’s idea of reception likely involved interrogation and criticism. “And you feel prepared for such scrutiny?”
“I must be, must I not?” Charlotte’s smile held a brittle edge. “Mr Collins has written extensively about her expectations. I shall try to meet them.”
“Charlotte.” Elizabeth reached for her friend’s hands. “I shall miss you terribly. I only hope you will find happiness.”
“I shall find contentment,” Charlotte replied. “I shall have security, a comfortable home, and a husband who will provide for me. Sometimes, Eliza, life is not about grand passion.”
Her words echoed Darcy’s but before she could respond, footsteps announced Darcy’s approach. He appeared in the doorway, dressed for the outdoors, his greeting to Charlotte both warm and genuine.
“Miss Lucas, what a pleasure. I trust you are well?”
“Indeed, Mr Darcy. I was just telling Elizabeth that I leave for Kent soon to join Mr Collins at Hunsford.”
“Ah, then you will be staying at Rosings?” Darcy’s tone held sympathy Elizabeth did not miss. “I have had the honour of Lady Catherine’s acquaintance several times.”
Charlotte looked apprehensive. “Mr Collins speaks of her with such reverence that I confess myself somewhat intimidated.”
Darcy’s mouth twitched with what might have been amusement. “Lady Catherine is… formidable. But she is very fond of her gardens, particularly her roses. She has special affection for Rosa damascena—Damask roses. A small offering of seeds would likely find favour.”
“How thoughtful of you to mention it,” Charlotte said. “Though Lucas Lodge has no such specimens.”
“Think nothing of it. I shall send some to Lucas Lodge. I had ordered some to plant come spring.”
Elizabeth watched this exchange with growing warmth. Darcy’s kindness to Charlotte revealed consideration that touched her unexpectedly. He owed Charlotte nothing, yet sought to ease her path.
After Charlotte left, Elizabeth remained by the window, watching her friend disappear down the lane. The finality struck her—Charlotte would marry Collins, move to Kent, and their friendship would become mere correspondence.
“That was extraordinarily kind,” she said without turning.
“We should help others when we can,” Darcy replied simply. “Miss Lucas faces enough trials without adding Lady Catherine’s displeasure.”
“It was generous, nonetheless. Charlotte will remember your thoughtfulness.”
Something softened in Darcy’s expression. “We should collect our fishing equipment. The morning advances, and fish are most cooperative before the sun grows too warm.”
As he moved towards the door, Elizabeth felt that unfamiliar warmth in her chest. Perhaps there was more to discover about the man she had married than his competence and courtesy. Perhaps beneath his reserve lay qualities she had never suspected.
The prospect of spending the morning in his company suddenly seemed considerably more promising.
***
The lake stretched before them like polished steel, its surface broken only by the occasional ripple of wind. Frost still clung to the reeds despite the morning sun, and Elizabeth pulled her cloak tighter, wishing she had worn more layers beneath her practical brown dress.
“Are you warm enough?” Darcy asked as he arranged their equipment in the small boat.
“Quite comfortable, thank you,” she lied, not wanting to appear delicate.
Darcy affixed the bait to both rods, then handed her one which she took at once, eyeing it as though it were a sabre and she about to engage in battle.
“You hold it like so,” he showed her. “Then, you throw it out like this.” He demonstrated once more.
Elizabeth squinted and attempted to place her hands the way he had placed his. Her fingers tangled, not wanting to go the way she ought. Not wanting to look foolish, she proceeded to throw out the tackle the way he had done. Alas, the book instantly snagged in her gown and she let out a yelp.
“Perdition, how foolish of me,” she said.
“Do not fret,” he replied and quickly helped her untangle the mess. After fixing up the rod, he handed it to her again. “I went too fast, I beg your pardon,” he said. “Here, the technique is simple enough, though it requires coordination. Allow me to show you.”
He moved behind her, his arms coming around hers to position her hands on the rod.
His breath brushed against her cheek as he did and she shivered at once.
She forced herself to remain still. “Your grip should be firm but relaxed—here.” His fingers covered hers, adjusting her hold.
The warmth of his body at her back sent heat through her despite the cold morning.
“Now, the motion must be smooth,” he said, his voice low near her ear. “Too forceful and you’ll frighten the fish. Too gentle and the line won’t reach far enough.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught at his nearness—the scent of his soap, the solid strength of his chest against her shoulders. Heat bloomed in her cheeks that had nothing to do with the November chill.
“I think I understand,” she managed.
They cast the line together, watching it arc across the water before settling with barely a splash. Darcy stepped back, leaving her oddly cold without his balminess.
“And now?” she asked, speaking quietly.
“Now we wait,” he said, settling beside her on the boats wooden bench. “Patience is essential in fishing.”
Elizabeth lasted perhaps three minutes before shifting on her seat. Another minute passed before she sighed. Two more minutes, and her fingers drummed against the boat’s side.
Darcy chuckled. “You don’t strike me as the most patient of women.”
“I’m not,” Elizabeth admitted. “I’ve always been someone who acts rather than waits. In that respect, I rather resemble Lydia.”
“Your sister does possess a certain fire,” Darcy agreed. “Although yours appears more controlled.”
“I try my best,” she said with a small laugh. “This is new for me. Charlotte jested earlier she had not known me to sit still for ten minutes together and I am afraid she was right.”
“It will come with time,” Darcy assured her.
They sat quietly, watching the line disappear beneath the water. Elizabeth forced herself to remain still, though every instinct urged movement.
“There’s virtue in stillness,” Darcy said. “In letting things unfold rather than forcing them. When you learn to be truly quiet, a peace settles in your chest that can’t be achieved through action alone.”
Elizabeth studied his profile, noting how serene he looked. “Did you discover that wisdom yourself?”
“Mr Wickham—the elder Mr Wickham—taught me that when I was ten. My father and he and his son went fishing together. My father was more impatient. Rather akin to you. But Mr Wickham was the sort who could sit still for hours upon hours, just moving to get the fish out. We spent countless hours like this beside Pemberley’s streams. Especially after my father passed.
He had remarkable patience for a restless boy. ”
“You speak of him fondly.”
“He’s been more father than guardian to me. Which makes recent news distressing.”
“You have had bad tidings?”
Darcy’s expression grew troubled. “Georgiana wrote that his heart is failing. I heard he was retired now but when he told me, he said it was his choice after Lord Matlock offered it. It seems this was not the truth.”
His pain tinged his words and Elizabeth’s heart went out to him. “I’m sorry. You wish to visit him?”
“Very much. And I’d like to bring you, if you’d consent. He’s eager to meet his new daughter-in-law.”
The request surprised her. “I’d be honoured to come. I wonder if the old man might know where his son is,” Elizabeth mused.
Darcy shifted, his posture growing tense. “I doubt it. He was heartbroken by how George turned out. He has taken orders now, but those who know him doubt it will last. Mr Wickham would not say it out loud but I feel he has lost all faith in George. For good reason.”
“Still, if we could find him…” Elizabeth considered. “If I could look him in the eye and ask if he attacked me, I’d know the truth. I’ve always been good at detecting lies.”
He shifted beside her, the boat swaying ever so slightly. “Would that change anything?”
“I would know if my senses deceived me or not. If he swore he was not the man who attempted to kiss me, then I could let it go, focus perhaps on who else it might have been. If he was the one, I could have him brought to justice. Somehow.” She knew even that would be difficult if he did not admit to being the one.
It would be her word against his. She might be an earl’s daughter, but he was a vicar.
There was no telling whose word would be believed.
“I’m not sure such knowledge would bring peace.”
“Perhaps not. But it would restore my confidence in my own perceptions.”
Suddenly Elizabeth’s rod bent violently, nearly escaping her grasp. The line sank as something powerful fought beneath the surface.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “What do I do?”
Darcy rose quickly. “May I help?” At her breathless nod, he positioned himself behind her, his arms bracketing hers as his hands covered hers on the rod. “Steady. Let him tire himself, then gradually draw him towards us.”
Elizabeth was acutely aware of every point where they touched—his chest against her shoulders, his arms surrounding her, his breath stirring her hair. Her heart hammered with excitement over both the fish and the man supporting her.
Together they worked the line, letting the fish exhaust itself before drawing it towards their boat. Elizabeth’s laughter bubbled up as silver sides flashed beneath the water.
“It’s enormous!” she gasped.
“A fine trout,” Darcy agreed. “Perhaps three pounds.”
They landed the fish together—a beautiful specimen with speckled sides that caught the sunlight. Elizabeth stared at their prize with wonder, scarcely believing her success.
As Darcy secured their catch, Elizabeth glowed with triumph. When he turned back, his expression held warmth she’d rarely seen directed at her.
“I’m very proud of you,” he said simply.
He stood across from her and suddenly, his hands were on hers. “Very proud indeed,” he said with a beaming smile. Her pulse thundered at his touch and she gulped down the lump in her throat. “You are formidable.”
The elation of their success, combined with his nearness and the sincere admiration in his voice, overwhelmed Elizabeth’s restraint. She parted her lips and drew closer, feeling his breath on her skin.
“Elizabeth,” he said softly, though she wasn’t sure if he meant to stop her or not. Their lips were so close, she almost tasted him but then, he pulled back, letting go of her hand.
“Forgive me,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean—”
“There is nothing to forgive. But if we wish to bathe and dress in time for dinner with your family, then we ought to return.”
Why had he grown weary so suddenly? She could not understand him at all at times.
He’d wanted to kiss her, she knew this from the way he looked at her. Was he still angry over her harsh words weeks ago? Or was there something else holding him back?