Chapter 30
The moment she stepped out of the house and the heavy door closed behind them, a whirlwind of snowflakes was upon Elizabeth.
It was snowing heavily now, the flakes huge, a curtain that hardly allowed one to see through it.
Several oil lamps lit the street, casting a warm yellow light; no other walkers could be seen, and no sound of carriages disturbed the eerie silence.
The usual clamour of London seemed to have been smothered beneath the falling flakes.
She stopped, delighted, to better feel everything.
“Well, Mrs Darcy? What would you like to do? Do you dare go farther, or should we return to the house?”
His eyes, burning with tiredness and all the problems straining him, still crinkled in a smile. She felt suddenly warm and smiled back mischievously.
“You should know better than to challenge me, Mr Darcy, especially in regard to one of my avowed pleasures.”
“By all means, then. Shall we?” he invited her, offering his arm.
Before she had time to take it, her booted foot slipped. She desperately grabbed his arm with both hands, and his other hand caught her in time.
“Ladies’ shoes are not made for such weather. Nor your coat, I dare say,” he teased her.
“Just another unfair thing, much to the disadvantage of women. Then again, perhaps not too many women walk in such weather.”
“Of that, I have no doubts. Very few women are like you, Mrs Darcy.”
She pondered over his meaning for a moment, until she felt his left hand cover hers as she held his right arm tightly.
As close as Hyde Park seemed in daylight, under the warm sun, it felt farther away at night.
A few flakes sneaked their way under her bonnet, landing on her face and lips, melting and tickling her skin.
On the ground, the fresh snow melted under their steps, turning into water and mud, which stuck to her petticoat.
They finally entered the park, leaving the last of the oil lamps behind them.
Here there were no lights, yet they were not in darkness; the snow reflected what little moonlight there was, casting a pale, even glow across the ground.
The paths were hidden under a thin, treacherous layer of white.
There was stillness and silence, only disturbed by their footsteps.
At times, she could feel the strain in him through the fine wool of his greatcoat — the same strain that had accumulated between her own shoulder blades from carefully placing one foot in front of the other upon the slippery path.
They walked for a while, both enjoying the scenery and each other’s company. The more she walked, the more comfortable she felt holding his arm, her hand covered by his.
“This is beautiful,” she whispered.
“It is, and cold. And so are you, if I may say so. You look chilled, and your petticoat is at least six inches deep in the melted snow. It will freeze soon,” he said lightly, teasing her again.
She paused, glanced down at her gown, which was dirty and wet, just as he had said, then turned to look at him.
He paused, still smiling at her. As she stared at him, he removed his glove, then the back of his fingers gently brushed over her face.
Her cheeks were tender from the cold, and his touch seemed to burn her, the heat running from her face throughout her entire body.
She tried to smile, quivering more from his touch than from the snow. At that very instant, a sudden gust of wind sent a new flurry of snowflakes into Elizabeth’s face. She blinked rapidly and felt rather than saw Mr Darcy glance down at her.
“You will catch your death,” he repeated. “Are you sure you do not want to return?”
“I am a little cold,” she admitted. “But if you do not mind, I would like to walk just a little longer. Perhaps to the lake?”
“I certainly do not mind. There is nothing else I would rather do and nowhere else I would rather be than here, with you.” He paused again, gazing deeply into her eyes. “Is it strange to say this chilly stroll fills me with warmth, joy, and happiness?”
Flushed, she shook her head. “No…not at all…quite the opposite.”
They took another few steps. Elizabeth’s foot slid a little on an unseen patch of ice. She gave a small, involuntary gasp and clutched at his sleeve.
“Careful,” he murmured, and the word contained more tenderness than instruction.
She laughed under her breath, a breath that misted white between them. “I fear I am not made for graceful walking in the snow. You must think me very clumsy.”
“I think you—” He stopped himself, as though the rest of the sentence had proved too perilous. Then, quieter, “I think you beautiful and enchanting. Even your clumsiness is charming. Besides, it gives me the chance to pretend I am helping you, since you have already helped me so much.”
Embarrassed, she ducked her head, pretending to study the snowy toes of her boots.
“You are growing reckless with your teasing compliments, sir.”
“If compliments are true, are they still considered teasing?”
Another small slide — his boot this time.
He caught himself easily, but the sudden movement drew her closer against his side.
For a moment, they stood thus, pressed together, she beneath the shelter of his large shoulder, snowflakes gathering on the brim of her bonnet and on the rim of his hat. Neither moved to step away.
The warmth of his arm seeped through layers of wool and linen, steady and alive. Tentatively, she let her fingers curl a little more firmly into the bend of his elbow. His hand, still resting over hers, tightened by the smallest degree, as though he had been waiting for permission.
They resumed walking, more slowly now, each step a small negotiation with the ice and with each other.
Their arms were no longer merely linked; they leant, just perceptibly, into one another.
When a larger flake landed on the tip of Elizabeth’s nose, Darcy lifted his free hand as though to brush it away, then hesitated, suddenly shy of the gesture.
The sound of hoofs and wheels, out of nowhere, interrupted their solitary walk.
Darcy pulled her aside, then turned to look back; from beneath the curtain of snowflakes, a carriage suddenly appeared, travelling at high speed.
Spotting them, the coachman halted the horses abruptly, in a commotion of neighing and stamping.
Then the coachman’s voice, “What the bloody hell…?”
“Watch your horses, man!” Darcy shouted at him. “This is not a road for galloping!”
The man mumbled an apology, then a female voice interjected, “You should watch where you are walking!”
Then, another voice was heard and the carriage’s occupants finally seen as the window was lowered. “Darcy? Is that you?”
“It is,” he replied coldly. “Lord Conway, Lady Lavinia, Miss Gilford… A surprise to see you.” Darcy’s voice and greetings were polite but restrained. The others, however, sounded exuberant.
“Darcy, what on earth are you doing here on foot, at this time? In this weather? I hope we did not interrupt some private business,” Lord Conway asked in an insinuating tone, causing the others to laugh.
“You did interrupt, as I was having a lovely walk with my wife,” he said, and Elizabeth took a step forwards.
“Ah, Mrs Darcy,” the earl said. “A pleasure to meet you! We were wondering why Darcy was keeping you away from us!”
“The pleasure is mutual, sir,” Elizabeth replied.
“I do not understand. You are out here on foot? At this hour? In this weather?” Lady Lavinia repeated with obvious distaste.
“We are,” Elizabeth said, amused. “I enjoy walking, and my husband indulged me.”
“But you are all wet! Just look at your gown! I would never walk in such weather!” the other lady continued. Elizabeth blushed with embarrassment, conscious of her poor appearance.
“In fact, I find my wife’s enjoyment of exercise refreshing and enchanting,” Mr Darcy declared. “Her liveliness and natural manner are attractive to me, and I am delighted to join her any time I can.”
“I never expected to see you indulging in something so peculiar, Darcy,” his lordship said. “I always believed you were a stickler for following the rules and observing decorum.”
“I cannot imagine why you believed that, my lord,” Darcy responded. “But even if that were the case, a man is inclined to change old habits when he is happily married and wishes to indulge his wife.”
“That I can understand,” the man replied with a leer.
“Now, please excuse us. As pleasurable as it has been, it is time for us to return home,” Darcy concluded. Then he placed Elizabeth’s hand back on his arm and walked away, while the carriage continued its journey.
“I am sorry for the disturbance,” Darcy said. “What a misfortune to be interrupted by those vexatious people.”
“A misfortune, indeed. I dare say Lady Lavinia and many other young ladies are still resentful that you married someone from outside their circle.”
“I never intended to marry any of them. If I had, I would have done so long ago.”
“I assume they did not possess the fortune you needed?” she asked and immediately regretted it.
He stopped and looked at her, waiting for her eyes to meet his.
“Several of them did. As I said, the money was vital to me but not the only consideration in my decision.”
“I am sorry if I offended you… The truth is…” She was cold on the outside of her body, with heat growing inside her. She felt the impulse to admit it, but prudence advised her against it.
“Yes? What is the truth?”
She walked on, counting her steps while searching for the right words.
“What truth did you mean?” he insisted.
“The truth is, I am glad you did not choose one of those ladies,” she whispered, wondering whether he had heard her.
“I am glad to hear it,” he eventually said. “The truth is I congratulate myself every day for my decision.”
She lifted her head and met his eyes, which were gazing at her. She smiled, paying no mind to the wind and the snow blowing in her face.