Chapter Three #6
Between his stunning brown eyes, crooked smile and gentle teasing, Elizabeth was lost. But she was determined to hold her own—her father had prepared her well to match wits with the likes of Mr. Darcy.
“How can I deny such a willing student?” she replied with mock solemnity. “Your apology was insufficient for the obvious reason that you did not, in fact, believe you had anything to apologise for. Quite simply, Mr. Darcy, you lacked sincerity.”
“That is not entirely true, Miss Bennet,” he told her. “I sincerely regret that my manner of expression has caused this lengthy deviation from the topic at hand.”
“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth exclaimed, trying to sound annoyed, but it rang as more amused to her own ears.
“I apologise, once again,” he said, his slight smile and the telltale light in his eyes making Elizabeth’s heart flutter uncontrollably, threatening the precarious hold she had on her wits. “Sincerely, I assure you. Now would you be so kind as to answer the original question?”
“I am afraid I cannot recall what it was,” she said in what she hoped was a firm and not at all breathy voice. Why did she feel breathless when their pace could best be described as unhurried?
“Why was Miss Darcy running away from home?”
“She was doing no such thing,” Elizabeth insisted.
“What was she doing? And what does it have to do with Miss Devon?”
“I was hoping you had forgotten that.”
“I did not,” he responded and then earnestly told her, “I admire your desire to maintain my sister’s confidence, but you seemed to imply that she planned to tell me herself, so you would not be revealing anything that she had not intended to reveal anyway.”
“You are not wrong. However, the logical resolution would be for you to wait until she tells you, would it not?”
“Please, Miss Bennet,” he said quietly. “Her behaviour over the past week since we arrived at Pemberley has been . . . has caused concern . . . I am concerned.”
Later, when Elizabeth lay in her bed and replayed her day, committing to memory every look, every smile and expression of Mr. Darcy, she would remain uncertain if she had been persuaded by his earnest tone, which revealed a worried elder brother, or his smile, which she felt certain could convince her to do a great deal more than spill a secret.
After she gave him the bare essentials of Georgiana’s relationship with Miss Devon and her desire to flee her home rather than be subject to her whims any longer, Mr. Darcy had questions.
“Why would she not come to me immediately with her troubles?” He sounded truly put out. “Did she not think I would help?”
“That was not what caused her to hesitate to confide in you,” Elizabeth assured him.
“Do you say that because you know or because you know it is what I would like to hear?” he asked.
“Although I cannot claim any great knowledge of your character on such a short acquaintance, I have surmised that you are not someone who likes to be placated, and therefore I would not bother,” she told him frankly.
He nodded as if acknowledging that Elizabeth had correctly appraised this aspect of his character.
“If it was not her belief in my indifference to her plight or inability to help, then what was it that caused her to keep all of that to herself?”
Here, Elizabeth paused once again. This time, her hesitation was not so much about spilling secrets, since Georgiana’s belief in Miss Devon’s tendre for her brother was conjecture rather than fact, but she knew that it was a somewhat inappropriate topic for her to engage with a gentleman.
A gentleman she barely knew. However, in that indefinite space she occupied between free-spirited girl and refined young lady, Elizabeth had always favoured the former.
Better truth in a vaguely taboo conversation than unnecessary prevaricating.
“Having observed Miss Devon’s apparent attachment to you,” Elizabeth faltered a little at this revelation, “Miss Darcy did not want to interfere if there was any potential or desired ... connection.”
While she blushed slightly, Mr. Darcy stared at her, dumbfounded. He clearly did not understand.
“Connection?”
Elizabeth noted that he did not dispute Miss Devon’s attachment. Indeed, he did not seem at all surprised. She waited another few moments to see if he would realise what she was implying. He did not.
“For goodness' sake. She was afraid you might return Miss Devon’s affection and did not want to prejudice you against her. It was because she knows how much you love her and want to protect her that she stayed silent. It was her way of loving and protecting you.”
Mr. Darcy was silent for a long moment, and Elizabeth took the opportunity to look around.
They were almost to the end of the path which would bring them to the edge of Barlow Hall’s western garden.
Their direction must have been determined by Mr. Darcy, as Elizabeth had paid absolutely no attention to where they were walking.
“Thank you for explaining,” he said at last. Unable to read his tone, Elizabeth worried about what he was thinking and perhaps planning.
“What will you do?” It was not her business and the question was at the very least impertinent, but she could not help herself.
“What do you think?” he asked, finally looking her in the eye once again. It was as disorienting this time as it had been every time so far in their brief acquaintance.
“What do I think you will do or what do I think you should do?” she asked after a moment.
“I have no doubt you have a decided opinion on what I should do; however, I am curious as to what you think I will do and if the two diverge.”
“Having only met you this afternoon, I am sure I could not say,” Elizabeth answered sincerely.
“Well then,” he responded with a small smile, then his tone became serious as he added, “please allow me to thank you for your kindness to my sister. She is a good girl. I am glad you came upon her when you did. I hate to think what might have happened had you not been there to talk some sense into her.”
“I have no doubt she would have talked herself out of it. In addition to being good, she is also quite intelligent,” Elizabeth responded. “You will address her concerns?”
“I will.”
“Thank you.” Elizabeth accepted that that was the only answer she would get, knowing he did not owe her more reassurances.
They stood on the edge of the wood with Barlow house in the near distance, candles already lighting it up as twilight settled in.
“I will bid you good evening,” Mr. Darcy said with a quick formal bow.
“Good evening, Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth offered a curtsy, then boldly asked, “Will I be able to see Miss Darcy again soon?”
“It is unlikely. The family usually only spend a fortnight or so at Pemberley in the summer, and Miss Darcy is to go to Matlock house, by coach this time, soon.”
“I see.” And she did, but that did not stop her disappointment. As Mr. Darcy turned to go, Elizabeth added, “Thank you for the escort home.”
A bow was his only response as he proceeded back down the path. She stayed until he was out of sight.
Elizabeth thought of little outside of the Darcy siblings for the next few days.
Despite Mr. Darcy’s response, she had hoped Miss Darcy might call.
In truth, she had hoped they would call together.
When this did not occur for several days, Elizabeth consoled herself with the idea that if the situation with Miss Devon had been resolved with her termination, there may have been enough uproar at Pemberley to make them forget about her at least for a time.
And while she did not forget about them, Elizabeth remained active enough to find the occasional moment where her thoughts of them, or him, did not consume her.
In the week that followed her encounter with the Darcys, Elizabeth’s music master came for her usual lessons which were now three times per week.
She visited the stables every day with treats for both the animals and the stable hands.
This and her natural curiosity and happy disposition, especially when around the horses, had made her a favourite from almost her first visit.
Jane had recently suggested they make a special gift for their aunt, uncle and Mr. Barlow for hosting them.
It was to be three embroidered pillows, and although at first Elizabeth resisted—she was both terrible at and hated embroidery—Jane arranged their work so that Elizabeth was left with the most simple tasks—spooling the thread, filling the pillows and the like.
This helped occupy the sisters on two rainy afternoons during the week.
On the second of these two occasions, which were carried out when the intended recipients were otherwise engaged, Elizabeth had difficulty focusing on the task at hand.
“Would you like to stop for the day?” Jane asked with her usual kind accommodation. And yes, Elizabeth did want to stop, but she knew Jane would simply find time to do all the work herself.
“No,” she answered, pulling more batting from the basket.
“You are thinking of Miss Darcy?” Jane asked, turning her gaze back to the pillow she was embroidering.
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, not adding that she was also thinking, quite intently, of Mr. Darcy. “I cannot help but still hope for a visit.”
“Of course,” Jane responded in obvious sympathy. “I am sure her failure to visit is in no way a reflection of her desire to establish a friendship.”
As if to confirm Jane’s wisdom and perception, they heard a small commotion outside the door and a moment later, Mrs. Gardiner nearly burst in.
Elizabeth rose quickly to place the pillows Jane was not stitching behind her chair.
Looking at her sister, she saw Jane had placed her half-finished pillow under a blanket.
“Ladies,” Mrs. Gardiner began, sounding slightly winded. “We have a visitor.”