Chapter 5 Elizabeth
Elizabeth
That night, Elizabeth spoke with Jane about her initial impression of Mr Bingley.
“Oh, he seems to be just what a young man ought to be," Jane said. “He is sensible, good-humoured, lively; and I never saw such happy manners! He shows so much ease, such perfect good breeding!”
“Wonderful,” Elizabeth said. “That was my impression of him, too, but of course I have had little conversation with him. You saw him during a crisis, when Fred was injured; I suppose he attempted to be helpful?”
“Oh, yes. He was right by my side, willing to help in every way he could, and quite solicitous when I was feeling faint.”
Elizabeth smiled. She had wished for a worthy man to appear in Jane’s life, and the fact that her own happy relationship might be instrumental in its occurrence gave her a wonderful feeling.
“Jane, you are practically perfect in every way, and I am almost certain that any man would see that, but I do wonder if a man would ever see that you liked him. You are less expressive, more reticent than many women—and I wonder, when it comes to relationships between men and women, if men need just a bit of encouragement to continue their attentions?” Perhaps more than your usual manner would provide? ”
She felt terrible to see Jane’s smile disappear as if it had never been. “I—I do not know if…” Jane stammered, seeming uncertain of how to go on.
Elizabeth hurried to attempt to make things better.
“I am not at all certain of anything, Jane. I just wonder if you might wish to try to show your feelings a bit more. Think about how much you like Mr Bingley, and just smile at him and gaze at him as you hold that thought in your mind. I think your feelings will show.”
“I—you are not saying that I have to flirt with Mr Bingley? Mama says I should, and I do not even know what she means, not really.”
“I am no expert, Jane.” Elizabeth reached over and squeezed her sister’s hand. “But I think, at least for now, if you just smile more at him and look into his eyes, instead of looking down, he will see your regard.”
Jane nodded slowly. She then said, “You are always expressive, Lizzy; I feel certain that you have no idea what it is like to feel shy.”
“Perhaps I should be a little less expressive,” Elizabeth said with a low laugh. She thought of Mr Darcy’s touch, particularly his hand and his lips on her bare hand. There was something intoxicating about that experience, and she wondered if her response was so evident it might seem wanton.
Jane asked, “What are you smiling about, Lizzy? You seem quite…dreamy.”
“Oh! I just dearly love Mr Darcy, and I am certain he knows it.” Elizabeth realised that she did not wish to tell Jane about holding Mr Darcy’s hand, and certainly not about his kiss on her bare hand. That felt too…dear, too private to share.
As she readied herself to go to sleep that night, she embraced her dreaminess, allowing the physical responses she had felt early that morning free reign as she considered that their marriage would be even more exciting and satisfying than she had ever imagined.
Even though she had expected to wake up to rain, Elizabeth still felt a pang as she saw just how much rain had fallen overnight and how much continued to fall. She thought of summertime rainstorms as brief afternoon squalls—not storms that last all night and into the day.
She would not be able to walk, of course; nor would she be able to see Mr Darcy.
Hoping the rain would subside before long, so there would be at least a possibility of walking and visiting the next day, Elizabeth decided that she should try to soften her father on the topic of her suitor, and she asked if he would play a game of chess with her.
“Certainly,” her father said. He seemed genuinely pleased at her request. He was only a little bit sardonic as they took their places at the table.
“So, Papa,” Elizabeth said, “I hope you will be able to teach me enough that I might be able to defeat Mr Darcy someday. What did you learn about his play yesterday?”
Her father rubbed his hands together, smiling as he said, “I would love to see you best him, Lizzy.” He explained about Mr Darcy’s immediate flanking action and the way in which Mr Darcy had led him to guard his king with pawns—but then was able to force a checkmate with his knight.
“I thought my pawns were guarding my king, but they ended up trapping him,” he finished.
Instead of playing, Elizabeth and her father decided to set up chess pieces in a variety of ways as they attempted to learn the tactics Mr Darcy had used.
They even poured over Philidor’s book about chess strategy; they had both read the book several years ago, but now they refreshed themselves on various gambits and moves.
After luncheon, Elizabeth was startled to hear hoofbeats. She looked out the window and saw with satisfaction that the rain had subsided to a drizzle; still, the roads surely must resemble rivers!
Hill came to the parlour door and announced. “Mr Darcy.”
Elizabeth was ecstatic at the unexpected call from her beloved.
She was startled to feel physical flutterings as well as happy emotions.
Her hands actually tingled as she remembered holding her suitor’s hand, without gloves, the day before, and the sensation of his tender kiss on the back of her right hand.
She squelched the desire to reach out that hand. She could not caress his cheek or beg for his kiss here in her parents’ parlour.
“Mrs Bennet, Miss Bennet, Miss Mary, Miss Kitty, Miss Lydia,” Mr Darcy was saying as she stood and swayed with the memories. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said; greeting her last, his voice changed as he said her name. It was softer, lower, even a bit rumbly.
She tore her eyes away from his lips, looking into his eyes to reply, “Mr Darcy.”
When he followed her to the settee, she noticed that he was carrying a paper-wrapped book.
Assuming it was a gift, she flushed with pleasure but ignored it as she said, “This is the most pleasant surprise, sir. I believe I heard Gulltoppr’s hooves rather than the splash of a rowboat.
Did you have your beloved horse wading in the stream that used to be a road—for three miles? ”
“I did not,” he said. He laughed with her but answered in a straightforward manner: “Gulltoppr and I cut across one of Netherfield’s fallow fields and a bit of pasture here at Longbourn. Both fields had excellent drainage although, of course, there was some mud.”
“Well, I am ever so grateful that you both battled the elements to visit. Please thank Gulltoppr for me,” Elizabeth teased.
Grinning as he nodded, Mr Darcy said, “Georgiana is starting lessons with Mrs Green on keeping household accounts, today, because we could not use the carriage. Also…for this visit, I thought I would tackle your father on another front: books.” He lifted the wrapped book in one hand and continued, “I had picked up a first edition of Walter Scott’s Marmion when I was in London.
I meant it for the library at Pemberley or Darcy House, but today I woke up thinking that your father might enjoy it. ”
“Oh! It is on his list of books he wishes to acquire. He has an octavo format from the third edition, but I know he would love the first edition quarto format.”
“Will you come with me as I present the book to him?”
“I will.”
Elizabeth led the way to the library and knocked on the door. “Papa, it is me,” she called. Bid to enter, she did so before saying, “And Mr Darcy.”
Her father looked up with a frown at the unexpected addition. “Good lord, how did you manage to make it here through all this rain? Did you, perhaps, swim?”
“I rode. My horse seems to prefer slogging through the mud out of doors to sheltering inside the stables.”
“Ah, but a horse is a mere beast; what can have caused you to stir from your fire?”
“I believe I was most motivated by my hopes of a debate, sir. What think you of the popularity of Walter Scott? Is Scott’s emphasis on chivalry and heraldry tedious or romantic?”
Elizabeth wanted to laugh as her sluggish father sat up straight, his eyes snapping to Mr Darcy’s face with interest, but then his rapidly feigned slump back to his characteristic appearance of lassitude.
He drawled in his usual ironic tones, “Oh, I find Scott’s romanticism itself tedious!
Scott panders to the people to sell his scribblings, and yet…
.” His tone became a bit less sarcastic as he finished, “There is something of interest, something special in every line he writes, and that is not easily accomplished.”
Mr Darcy asked, “So you enjoy reading Scott but disdain him because throngs of other people like his writings, too?”
Elizabeth saw that her father was struggling not to show his enjoyment.
He said, “I heard Marmion quoted and was mightily intrigued, but then I saw that every person in the bookstore was buying a copy, and I simply had to return the one I meant to purchase to the shelf. That was the second edition. I finally ended up purchasing a third edition. I find it quite vexing when books are sold out, and I wish that Scott was not nearly so well liked.”
“Well, Mr Bennet, what are your thoughts on Lord Marmion? Is he too villainous to be heroic?”
“People who point out that Marmion dabbles in forgery—and therefore should not be celebrated—should recall that a certain poet and playwright from Stratford-upon-Avon often had his heroes murdering kings and wives, friends, and even themselves. Compared with that, a spot of forgery is not so very bad, is it?”
“I agree.” Mr Darcy smiled and added, “I take it from your responses, sir, that this gift will be appreciated.” He stretched out his left hand, which had been hidden behind Elizabeth, and held out the wrapped book.
“A quarto? First edition?” Elizabeth heard reverence in her father’s whisper, but he adopted a more careless expression and said, “So, you truly are wooing me, Mr Darcy?”
Her father still had not taken the book. Mr Darcy extended it farther, almost forcing the book on the older man. Both men chuckled a little, and Mr Darcy said, “Open it, please. I should love to look at it with you.”
Elizabeth grinned and kept out of the way while the two book lovers pored over the book.
She loved books as well, but she could tell that the men loved the physical object more than she did.
They commented on the leather cover, the high-quality paper, the large size, and, according to her father, the very smell of the book!
The book itself seemed to matter almost as much as the poetry contained within.
Finally closing the book again, Elizabeth’s father said, “Thank you, sir. Truly; this is marvellous.”
“You are sincerely welcome, sir.” Mr Darcy smiled down at him, then seemed to become conscious of their height disparity; he stepped back, next to Elizabeth, and asked her father, “So…how goes my suit?”
Elizabeth took Mr Darcy’s arm and fondly squeezed it, saying, “Yes, Papa, are you convinced that Mr Darcy is everything a young man should be?”
Her father laughed, still clutching the precious volume, and said, “Well, perhaps I should remain obdurate a while longer. What would it benefit me to give in too soon? Perhaps I would no longer have someone challenging me in chess or bringing me gifts.”
Elizabeth said, “For shame, Papa,” but all three were smiling. There was a lightness to the conversation that seemed to bode well for her father’s eventual approval of the marriage.
“We will leave you now,” Mr Darcy said, and he bowed and led her out of the library and back to the ladies in the parlour.
“Now, Miss Elizabeth, let us plot our next steps. Perhaps you and I can play a game of chess during this visit, and I can challenge your father with discussions on William Godwin or Mary Wollstonecraft?”
Elizabeth was still embarrassed that her father was behaving unreasonably, but the silver lining to his sable cloud (à la Milton) was that she and Mr Darcy had enjoyed working together, plotting to overthrow her papa’s negativity.
The two schemed and laughed, ate cakes and biscuits warm from the oven and sipped Pekoe tea, and eventually returned to the library to play a game of chess.
Elizabeth utilised some of the moves that her father and she had researched and practiced, but of course, Mr Darcy won.
Her father had not bothered to stir himself to move to a spot where he could watch the game, but he did smirk at his daughter and said, “Come, come, Lizzy, you must do better next time.”
During the game, Mr Darcy had served her several compliments on her superior strategies.
Now that the game was over, he said, “I did not anticipate you being such a strong player.” They returned the pieces to the board in anticipation of a future game.
When they were finished, Elizabeth’s father urged them to leave the library.
Out in the hall, Mr Darcy said, “I shall leave you now, for I must check in with my sister. I hope she is getting on with her new companion.”
“I hope so, as well,” Elizabeth said as she watched Hill hand over Mr Darcy’s things.
As he opened the door to leave, he pointed to a patch of blue sky. “Tomorrow, perhaps?” he murmured.
“I hope,” she said, laughing a bit at her repeated refrain. “I suppose that I hope for many things,” she whispered as she raised up her hand.
He took it with alacrity and kissed it as he had the day before. Elizabeth felt the same sort of jolt, but was surprised when he did not immediately release her hand, but rather turned it over and kissed it again, this time on her palm.
She made a little sound in the back of her throat, and she saw that his dark eyes were even darker.
She felt as if the two of them were in danger of spontaneous combustion—and just from a kiss on the hand!
She felt every bit of her vibrate, even after he released her hand and turned to ride away on his beautiful horse.
“Tomorrow,” she promised herself.
“Tomorrow?” Jane asked. She had come looking for Elizabeth.
“I hope it will be clear tomorrow,” Elizabeth said.
“I do, too,” Jane exclaimed. Her sudden and vivid blush caused Elizabeth to study her sister’s face with attention.
“Because….” Elizabeth let the word hang in the air.
“Oh, no reason in particular,” Jane said. She kept her eyes cast downwards, a certain sign to those who knew her well that she was not being entirely forthcoming.
“Because a certain young man who is leasing a nearby estate might just come to Longbourn tomorrow?”
“Well, I was rather hoping that he would.”