Chapter 2
Elizabeth
Elizabeth Bennet loved Longbourn.
However, in some ways, being at home again made her feel as though she no longer fit into the family smoothly, as though she could no longer bear her loud and chaotic home life.
Every time she returned from a long visit to the Gardiners, there had been a brief transition period, but not only was her tolerance for shrill voices, maternal shrieks, and sisterly drama lower than ever, she felt as if she did not wish to train herself to endure.
And yet….
The fact was, she loved the land. She loved the grove with the oldest beeches, oaks, Scots pines, and yews—the trees that had remained uncut, growing thicker and thicker trunks during the generations that Bennets owned the land.
She loved the rocky stream and the little pond, green with its partial covering of blanket weed.
She loved the winding path through the kitchen garden and the fruit orchard, and she loved the sudden twist in the path that ended in a wildflower meadow, presently covered with summertime blooms: daisies, buttercups, red campion, field violets, thyme, and yellow rattle.
In particular, she loved the view from Oakham Mount. She used to feel as if she owned, not the land, but the panoramic vista itself, because she had never encountered another person on the hill.
On this morning she would share the precious spot, the beloved view, with Mr Darcy.
She chose a prettier dress than she would normally have worn to walk in, for she did not usually anticipate meeting anyone, and of course she wound herself in a shawl to ward off the early-morning chill.
Her hair was styled in a simple chignon that disappeared under her favourite cottage bonnet.
On her way out the kitchen door, Elizabeth scooped up two warm rolls and a peach, placing them in a small basket which she carried on her arm.
She hurried to the meeting spot, even though she knew she would be early—and there he was, even earlier than her! His blond steed was tethered to a bush.
As always, Mr Darcy looked handsome, but his breeze-ruffled curls and his country clothing—a riding coat, buckskin breeches, and a simple knot in his cravat—somehow made him look even more attractive than ever. She hurried to meet him, feeling as if her smile did not quite fit on her face.
He bowed more deeply than necessary, smiled more broadly than usual—revealing his elusive dimples—and said, “Good morning, Miss Elizabeth.”
His voice sounded more ebullient than she had ever heard it.
“Good morning, Mr Darcy. I brought us a small collation.” She hoisted the basket.
He brought from behind his back a saddle bag and said, “I had the same idea.”
And then he offered his arm, which she gladly held during the first, wide portion of the trail.
“I am so happy to be walking one of my favourite paths, here where I grew up,” Elizabeth said. “But it makes me realise how much you must miss Pemberley.”
“I do. You will love Pemberley, too, I know. There are many miles of trails there.”
“And actual peaks, not just hillocks we grandly call mounts, I imagine.”
Mr Darcy chuckled. “Yes, we have actual peaks. But Longbourn and Hertfordshire have their beauties, as well. This walk is lovely.”
Elizabeth looked up at him, expecting him to be eying their surroundings, but his eyes were fixed on her.
She blushed but said, “Sir, I insist that you watch where you are going. I have seen how graceful you can be, despite your prodigious height, but please trust me when I say that neither of us will be graceful if you trip on a root and bring me crashing down next to you.”
“My apologies,” he murmured with a slight upturn of his lips.
They walked without conversation for a few minutes, but something about the fact that they were more truly alone than they ever had been before seemed to infuse the air with magic, with connexion.
Of course the trail narrowed, in spots, and she had to release Mr Darcy’s arm as they walked single-file.
But rather than forgo their physical connexion altogether, Mr Darcy held her hand.
At one point, where the gravel path had petered out to a more slippery dirt track, Elizabeth briefly lost her footing as the dirt skidded across the underlying rock, and both of them ended up letting go and putting their hands down into the dirt to prevent a more drastic slide.
Standing again, once they reached firmer ground, Elizabeth begged Mr Darcy’s pardon and looked ruefully at her dirty glove.
He said, “Do not apologise, Miss Elizabeth, because this gives us an unusual opportunity.” And he removed his own dirty glove, and then the clean one. He put his gloves into his pocket.
Surprised—Elizabeth had not been outside without gloves for years—she followed suit. Since she had no pockets, she gave her gloves to Mr Darcy for safekeeping. They resumed walking, and holding hands, and the feel of his skin touching hers felt…electrifying.
As they reached the top, Elizabeth was aware of the fact that their breath was a bit more rapid than the mild slope warranted.
She rushed to act as if being utterly alone with a man was an ordinary situation.
“Now, is this not pleasant?” she asked. She showed him the flat rock that marked the very top of the mount, and she spun slowly, pointing out the features to be seen in the full-circle view.
Then she led him to the convenient fallen log that she had sat upon countless times.
They shared the rolls and the peach. Mr Darcy opened his saddlebag to reveal muffins, a bottle of cider, and several figs. They eagerly dispatched those as well.
“Well, I shall not be eating breakfast with my family,” Elizabeth said. “And they shall ask me why.”
“Just tell them that the sunrise and morning dew, the rustling leaves and robins’ songs, all give you sustenance.” Mr Darcy smiled into her eyes and finished in a soft voice, “I love that you love nature.”
They spoke more of the beauties and wonders of the natural world. Mr Darcy described his favourite walks on the grounds of Pemberley, and she told him the tale of running into a pine marten, an animal wholly unknown to her before the encounter, in the forest edging the high point of Oakham Mount.
Mr Darcy told her of the wild beasts and birds he had seen in the Peak District, where Pemberley was located: red deer and badgers, grouse and curlews, buzzards and kestrels, even river otters.
She spoke of her early fascination with spiders.
One time, when she was very young, she had cried when a maid had killed a common house spider in the back parlour, and then Elizabeth had tried to stand against the forces that would sweep away the beautiful web the creature had woven the night before its death.
“Oh, dear,” Mr Darcy said. “I am not certain that Pemberley is prepared for a mistress who insists on the inviolability of spiders and spider webs.”
Elizabeth laughed and said, “Well, it is quite a beneficial thing, then, that I am no longer five years old.”
And they both blushed, realising how often they took it for granted that they would marry.
Finally done eating, Mr Darcy said, “Miss Elizabeth, I realised yesterday that I have been too guarded when speaking of financial matters with you.
The fact is that nobody in the world knows what I wish to disclose, other than myself and one of my bankers.
Not Georgiana, not my solicitors, not even my upper servants know.
“But I feel strongly that you should know how much you and I will earn per year, how much our total fortune is, and where I have been investing and spending much of that money so far. When we marry, you will have an equal vote in how we use it, who we support with it. And it will take some time to explain—more time, I imagine, than we should take this morning. But we also need absolute secrecy. My father and grandfather decided, long ago, that it makes sense to keep the amount of wealth secret.”
“I am not certain I agree that I should know such things, Mr Darcy. However, if you wish to tell me, I will hear you out. How about meeting where we met today on the next dry morning? I have the feeling that tomorrow morning will be rainy.” Elizabeth pointed to a dark ridge of clouds on the horizon.
Mr Darcy nodded his acquiescence to that idea, and they both stood and brushed pine needles from their clothing. As they rapidly descended the hill, Elizabeth felt how very comfortable their silences were—something she had never experienced with anyone else, other than Jane.
“Have you noticed, sir,” she said to him, “that we can talk quite openly on almost any topic, and we can remain silent for many minutes, just as easily?”
“Silence always feels easy to me, Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy said with a grin. “And have I not mentioned that some of our conversations have been excruciating?”
Elizabeth blushed, remembering the content of such an excruciating conversation.
She had wished to make clear that her idea of marriage included absolute fidelity, despite society’s general acceptance that certain kinds of straying were acceptable.
To cover her embarrassment, she boosted one eyebrow, signalling a tease.
“I am certain it is easier for you to speak with Miss Bingley or Miss—”
Mr Darcy interrupted, saying, “Conversations that are excruciating with you are impossible with anyone else. And I have never felt so close with anyone—not even my sister or cousin—than I have with you, whether we are speaking seriously or laughing, whether we are silent or exchanging views at a brisk pace.”
When they reached Mr Darcy’s horse, Elizabeth said, “I wanted to say that you might start your campaign to win my father’s favour by challenging him in chess.
I have yet to beat him myself, and I feel certain that he wishes to face an adversary with many victories under his belt.
I advise you to do your best to checkmate him early, and often. ”