CHAPTER 17 In the Garden
“I could carry you all day and everyday,” said Darcy.
She was surprised by his honesty and felt herself blushing. Elizabeth also felt somewhat awkward, as her hands were now clasped together in front of her and she did not quite know what to do with them.
“I believe it would be easier,” he suggested mildly, “if you put your arm around my neck.”
“Oh! Yes, of course.”
She put her left arm around his neck.
“Do not worry, Miss Elizabeth, for you are very light.”
She nodded absently, not really worried at all about falling, but noticing that her hand was now gripping his shoulder and that his face was mere inches away.
She never noticed before how beautiful his eyes were - rather deep set, with long eyelashes, with a lock of his hair falling casually over his brows.
She was mesmerised by it and was tempted to reach out and put her fingertips against it.
To find out if it was as soft as it looked.
She also noticed how very solid he felt, and she was again reminded of her dream - of being ensconced in his arms. And the sensation of being loved… and protected.
He began to walk down the stairs and she felt herself leaning slightly more towards him.
It was a little frightening, though, going down Charlotte’s steep and narrow staircase.
Her right hand went around his neck, as if of its own volition, meeting her left one at his far shoulder.
Now her head was leaning on him, tucked into the curve of his neck.
Fortunately, he did not seem to mind. Elizabeth closed her eyes, and noticed the scent of him - pine, lemon and sandalwood.
She felt each step as he made his way downwards. Neither spoke. At length, she found herself in the small vestibule, still in his arms.
“We’re here,” she said breathlessly.
“Of course we are,” he said with a smile.
He looks terribly handsome today, she thought to herself, feeling her face turn even redder than before. She also felt dizzy and wondered if it was from his proximity or her recent illness. She hoped she would not swoon like some feeble ninny.
He stepped out of the house and into the bright, still day. “Perhaps you might like to sit in the garden?” he asked. “I believe there is a bench by the side of the house.”
“That would be lovely.”
She turned her face towards the sun, thankful to finally be outside.
“Happy, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked.
“I am,” she said, smiling into his face. I am close enough to kiss him, she thought to herself, unable to stop herself from sighing a little.
He walked to a bench not far from a bed of wildflowers and put her down. For a while neither spoke, both enjoying the moment.
Eventually, she said, “So what have you been doing lately, Mr. Darcy?”
He chuckled. “Well, I was in the garden yesterday morning - picking flowers.”
Elizabeth smiled. She could just imagine it - Darcy walking between the rows of Lady Catherine’s roses and clipping the ones he liked. “Will you tell me more about it, Mr. Darcy?”
“You are not teasing me, are you, Miss Elizabeth?”
“No, not at all! You seem to forget that I have been indoors for over a week. And I do hate to be cooped up. And the thought of you - in that garden…I just wish to know more about it.”
“Well then, I shall tell you. But first, have you ever been to Lady Catherine’s rose garden?”
“Yes, but not for several weeks. And only a few buds were out then. And I certainly did not encounter the profusion of blooms that your bouquet seems to signify.”
“Yes, you are right. For it was only during the past few days that they’ve completely opened.
” He inhaled deeply and smiled. “The garden was truly lovely yesterday morning. There was row upon row of various coloured blooms. Pinks, greens, reds and oranges with that heady fragrance that reminds you it’s… springtime.”
“I can just imagine it,” murmured Elizabeth.
“The grass was still dewey, and the earth was damp…”
Elizabeth took a deep breath, listening to Darcy’s descriptions and imagining both the garden and its scent. “Tell me more.”
He smiled reminiscently. “It reminded me of my mother’s rose garden at Pemberley. She and Lady Catherine used to send seedlings back and forth. Some of the blooms at Rosings actually came from there, and vice versa. I thought of Pemberley…and my mother, as I walked around choosing the flowers.”
“You must miss her.”
“Yes…still. Though it has been sixteen years since she passed.” He stared up at the sky for a moment, apparently lost in his memory.
“She took prodigious care of her garden and used to go out on even the windiest days. She would mercilessly prune the stems and often clip some blooms for the house. I carried the basket for her and we would go around choosing the colours we liked best.”
“How old were you?”
“About ten, I think.” He gave her a sad smile and she realised that she’d never seen him so vulnerable before.
He continued, “My mother wore a straw hat with a wide brim. It was her favourite. Unfortunately, the edges were frayed. My father offered to buy her a new one, but she loved that hat and refused to wear anything else. I suppose I loved it too…in retrospect.”
For a while they were both silent as Elizabeth thought of a ten year old Darcy, standing at his mother’s side. In a garden at Pemberley, with the wind blowing at her frayed straw hat.
“I thought about that hat as much as I thought about her…” he murmured, “in the years after she died.”
“It must have been a sweet memory,” said Elizabeth.
“Yes, it was, but…”
Elizabeth gave him an encouraging look.
“But all I could think of…really…was going riding afterwards. And I always felt regretful that I did not enjoy those moments more - with her. She promised to ride with me, you see, as soon as we were finished in the garden. I actually could not wait to leave. And I feel bad that I made her think otherwise.”
Elizabeth smiled sympathetically and touched him on the sleeve. “Mr. Darcy,” she said, forcing him to look at her, “I am fairly certain that she was aware of it.”
“Do you think so?”
“I do,” she said deliberately. “Because you were only ten. And you could not be expected to enjoy such an activity as picking flowers. You were a boy who wished to ride his horse. And your mother was probably amused by it - your impatience to go riding. It was probably endearing to her. And I believe she enjoyed your company all the more, because you were such a patient and faithful little boy.”
His brows furrowed and now he looked away. “I never thought about it that way before…”
Elizabeth nodded. “When you think about those days, you must remember how happy your mother was to be there with you. I know I would have been, to have had such a kind - and dutiful - son.”
He looked back at her and blinked. Then finally smiled. “Yes, you are right, Miss Elizabeth. And I thank you for turning my bittersweet memory into a happy one.”
Elizabeth looked into his brown eyes and wondered how she could ever have thought him arrogant.
Minutes later she asked, “And was the rose garden at Pemberley as impressive as the one here?”
“Oh yes, even more so. But do not tell that to Lady Catherine. My mother, you see, created some of her own hybrids. She had several with more than one shade. Pink with yellow. Orange with red. Lavender with white. She named them, too. Some of them in Latin and some after her friends and family.”
“Did she name one after you?” asked Elizabeth.
“Yes, of course.”
“What was it called?”
Darcy looked a little abashed.
“Come, Mr. Darcy, you must tell me.”
“You will laugh for it seems so…childish.”
She laughed and said, “But I shall laugh anyway.”
“Fitzy’s Little Rainbow,” he said forlornly.
Elizabeth put her fingers to her nose, then began to giggle; and then she began to laugh outright.
She looked at the tall and serious man beside her and could not think of a more incongruous name.
Especially since Darcy himself wore black a great deal.
At least during formal events. For a moment she was worried that he would take offence, but eventually he gave her a small smile.
“And what did this flower look like?” she asked, pressing her palms to her eyes.
“It was pink, with green and yellow edges.”
They were silent again, Elizabeth attempting to imagine this elegant hybrid which was called, Fitzy’s Little Rainbow. And then she remembered something and said, “The flowers in my room…they are pink…and their edges are pale green. You could almost call them yellow.”
“Yes, I know. They look like the ones at Pemberley.”
She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.
Elizabeth did not know why, but now she felt a little tearful, thinking about the Pemberley roses that his mother had named after her little boy.
The boy she must have loved more than life itself.
The seedlings were probably sent to Rosings then planted there.
They grew there, and thrived. And yesterday morning they were picked by that same boy who had grown to be a man.
And now they were in her room. And she felt terribly maudlin about the whole thing though she didn’t know why. Elizabeth turned her head away.
“Are you crying, Miss Elizabeth?”
She sniffled and answered, “Maybe.”
“But there is no need for it.”
“I know.”
She felt his hand close over hers and noticed that he wore no gloves at present. He squeezed her hand briefly then let go again.
“Did you pick Fitzy’s Little Rainbow and give them to me?” she asked.
“I did,” he answered. “And I hope you enjoyed them.”
She looked at her hands and then at the handkerchief he held in front of her. She dabbed at her nose and eyes, then murmured, “I think they are beautiful.”
He nodded and she was surprised to find that he looked relieved. Could he possibly think that I would not like the flowers? she thought to herself.
“They have a very delicate scent,” she added without thinking, “and are now on a table beside my bed. I think of you whenever I see them.”
Their eyes met and she noticed a slow smile overspreading his face.
She returned the smile.