4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
O nce within the confines of her room, Elizabeth paced back and forth for some time as she contemplated all that had passed between herself and Mr Darcy. Her intuitions had been perfectly correct, he was there to press his suit, and she could feel no regret at her initial accusation and refusal before the gentleman had even had time to greet her properly.
She did blush at how forthright her actions had been, but she had learnt her lesson from the disastrous proposal she had received from Mr Collins. It was better to be candid so that there was no opportunity for mannerly behaviour to be mistaken for encouragement. Her cousin had been confused by her effort to soften the blow of her refusal with kind gentility. He had taken it as a perverse sort of demure flirtation. The danger of such a situation arising again, with Mr Darcy of all people, had caused the impulsive, candid refusal before the man hardly had the chance to utter one profession of confused devotion.
Elizabeth sat and attempted to begin a letter to Jane whom she knew was still suffering from low spirits. But any effort that was not pacing and recalling in an endless loop the visit from Mr Darcy was futile.
To imagine a man such as he could mistake himself from repulsion to ardour so rapidly and completely, Elizabeth came to the conclusion that he must have indeed succumbed to the power of her voice. As utterly ridiculous as it seemed, there was no other explanation that made any plausible sense. It simply was not possible that a gentleman who had expressed such indifference towards her at the Meryton assembly, unreservedly for all the room to hear, could have been hiding a genuine regard that had bloomed into love. No, as unlikely as it was, her bewitching voice was the only explanation.
It was so unlikely that it would have been humorous but for the very serious dilemma of a man of Mr Darcy’s standing being artificially enamoured with her. There was no helping it. Tomorrow, she would meet with him by design and explain away his deluded fancy. For a mischievous moment, Elizabeth could almost wish she had an audience of Lady Catherine and Miss Bingley to witness the bizarre scene that was sure to unfold, for they would not believe that any mortal woman would refuse such a man, no matter how little she cared for his regard.
The next morning was as bright and pleasant a spring day as any could hope for. The air still bit sharply when the wind blustered, reminding everyone that Old Man Winter had not fully surrendered his grasp on the countryside quite yet. Only when Elizabeth remembered the seriousness of her errand could she forget the beauty around her.
Birds were trilling, daring each other to sing louder and longer in their efforts to court the most desirable mates. Elizabeth almost laughed aloud, noting that her dilemma was quite the opposite than that of the birds. She had to endeavour to convince one of the most handsome and eligible of all the men in the country that he was not in love with her, that her voice was far from lovely, and that he had much better look elsewhere for a wife.
A snap of a twig caused her to whirl round. From behind the palings at the head of the drive emerged Mr Darcy. As he strode the short distance to her in the meadow, Elizabeth became fully aware of his broad shoulders and fine features. For a fleeting moment, the recollection of painful earnestness that had given his usually stern voice such passion as he had declared himself to her caused her heart to tremor with an unfamiliar stumble. She shook her head to dismiss the silliness, needing only to remind herself of his rudeness and harsh superiority to calm the effect of his handsome face.
“Miss Bennet, I was not certain you would be here.”
“Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth said with a slight tilt to her head, “I do not believe I have ever given you a reason to doubt my word, have I?”
“Indeed not.” Mr Darcy looked down with a frown, his bravado of yesterday seemingly gone. Elizabeth noted that the flesh beneath his eyes was shadowed, his hair not quite so immaculately in place. “That is one thing I have come to expect from you—perfect candour.”
Elizabeth dared a small laugh, for, after their awkward encounter yesterday and Mr Darcy’s honest disclosure of what he believed to be his true feelings for her, she did not think he had intended that statement as a slight. “You seem fully aware of my forthright nature. But I do not wish to allow my desire to be honest to be a shield behind which I may shoot sharp insults. Not like—”
Elizabeth bit her lip to hold her speech in place. The name of Lady Catherine had almost slipped out. Even if Mr Darcy was temporarily enthralled with her, she did not wish to insult his nearest relations.
Mr Darcy shook his head. “I think I can assume you were about to mention my aunt. You must allow me to apologise for those of my family who do not possess the same sensibilities as you. With your candour, you usually have the grace to be mindful of not offending. There are others of my family—such as my sister and my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, who rarely give cause to blush on that head.”
“You must allow me to apologise as well, sir. I was rude when I spoke just now.”
“I disagree. You were unreserved. My aunt is lauded as being sensible and straightforward, but I am not blinded by rank so severely that I cannot also be aware of her very real tendencies towards belittling insults that serve no other purpose than to raise herself in her own estimation whilst wounding others. I am not alone in this; my cousin would agree.”
Mr Darcy gazed up into the trees through narrowed eyes, unsettled and apparently not pleased with the course of their conversation thus far. Elizabeth was glad to have the silence to regather her composure. A rare compliment from Mr Darcy had just been bestowed upon her; it was such a marvel that it made her temporarily confused as to what the man could be about.
“Perhaps familial mortifications are at least one thing we have in common, Mr Darcy.”
He turned to look at her, and smiled for a brief moment. “Yes, perhaps that is one thing we can share. Though I would wish to add that we seem to have a similarity in the turn of our minds. When we observe absurdities, we each have our ways of overcoming discomfort.”
“Yes, we do. Mine is to find some amusement, though not in a public, shaming way. Whilst yours is to go silent as the grave in both conversation and appearances. It would be difficult to find two people with less in common.”
“There I must disagree again. We have much in common, if you would but allow yourself to entertain the possibility that we have perhaps misunderstood each other.”
“I do not think I could misunderstand such blatant insults to me and my family.”
Elizabeth thought she heard a small groan of frustration from him, though perhaps it was little more than the burst of wind rustling the budding branches overhead.
“I can say little to refute that accusation, as I believe there is some truth to it.”
“Some? Do you declare me to be a slanderer? My word cannot be believed?”
“No, but I think some of what you say has been shaded by the lies of George Wickham.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth, but Mr Darcy rushed on. The expression on her face could hardly have been apologetic in appearance.
“I say as much for I was also easily swayed by his warping of the truth for much of my childhood. Several of the instances of my behaving badly were spurred on by Wickham’s calumnies. Every lie he utters is wrapped in such a charming package that unless one is well acquainted with his character, it is difficult to distinguish what is true and what is false. I openly confess to you that I was misled on many instances as well.”
“I appreciate your candour, but Mr Wickham was in no way responsible for the insults you so eagerly uttered at the Meryton assembly.”
“I have no wish to add crimes that Wickham did not commit to the long list of his transgressions. You are correct. I acted the ass and am willing to say as much to any who may wish to hear it.”
Elizabeth contained a smirk by squeezing her lips tightly together. A man so lofty in the upper ranks of society admitting his misstep? It seemed to be a rare occurrence, and Elizabeth was fully aware of how easily a lesser man would have sneered at and dismissed her injured feelings. She could not help but compare his behaviour to Mr Collins. When pressing his suit, Mr Collins had been all that was demeaning, dismissive, and dictatorial.
“I accept your apology.”
Mr Darcy’s eyes lightened as his brows raised. “At least one stalemate has eroded. Shall we walk to celebrate?”
Elizabeth looked at him through narrowed eyes. “I would not wish you to believe that this is any sort of encouragement. As I said previously, you are mistaken in what you think is some more noble feeling towards me.”
“Then convince me. If you are under the impression that my declaration yesterday is a mere phantom of love, then it will be an easy thing to dispel, will it not?”
“I suppose…” Elizabeth said as they walked a wide, natural path that ran from the field and between two rows of oaks.
“I believe nothing is so efficacious as an unreserved conversation for cooling off weak sentiments. But you would not agree to that, for I remember that you said poetry was a better method. You declared that ‘If a love is thin and slight, one good sonnet would starve it away entirely’.”
“Did I really say something that bold to you?” Elizabeth laughed, having only a vague recollection of the conversation.
“Yes. Your mother was…I believe she was keen to let Mr Bingley know that his was not the first heart to be swayed by your eldest sister’s beauty.”
“Ah, yes. Now I recall more fully. Mama was relating the sad tale of the gentleman who visited my uncle Philips and wrote several lines to Jane.”
“And I had the impression that you wished to change the subject by blaming his poorly written verse as the cause for the lack of an offer to your sister.”
“I wished to change the subject because my mother can be so awfully embarrassing.”
Mr Darcy laughed, taking Elizabeth unawares. She smiled up at him, glad to have this short burst of humour in the awkward exchange.
“Mrs Bennet has some amiable qualities that I admire,” Mr Darcy said.
Elizabeth was struck so forcibly with shock that she froze. Mr Darcy took several more steps before he, too, stopped and turned to face her.
“Whatever can you mean, sir? I cannot even begin to guess at what quality my mother owns that you could possibly admire!”
“There is a strength of spirit that Mrs Bennet has that I have rarely encountered. She made little secret about her dislike of me. Now I am fully aware that she was reacting to her child being insulted. Yes, many mothers would not hesitate to continue to fawn over a wealthy bachelor in the hopes that he might become enamoured of one of her other daughters. I fully expected it. There is no reason why I might not have become interested in one of your younger sisters. She, however, was quite determined to let the world know that she believed me to be less than gentlemanly. All for your sake.”
Elizabeth blinked and dropped her gaze to the ground before Mr Darcy’s boots. This had not occurred to her for some reason. Her mother had risked Mr Darcy’s permanent ire simply to defend her. It would seem that some of her mother’s inelegant moments were actually quite admirable. And she had not perceived it! But Mr Darcy had and held a small measure of respect for her mother because of it.
She raised her eyes to his face. As he stood, in silence, with his hands clasped behind his back, a rolling bank of clouds washed over the landscape, rapidly illuminating him with vivid sunlight through the branches overhead, then sending him back into shade.
“I think… That is, I know , that you have made an important distinction there, sir. I had not reflected on the subject in that light.”
They continued walking towards a point in the path that meandered into a thick stand of trees. The yews seemed grasping as they encroached upon them. Elizabeth felt a sudden chill rustle under her skin. Doubt crept into her mind, eroding her assertions of Mr Darcy’s indifference. Was it possible that such a man was truly fond of her?
It was such a bold idea, breaking upon her well-established views, that she inhaled sharply. Mr Darcy paused beside her as her step faltered.
“Are you unwell, Miss Bennet? We can return the way we came.”
“Is there a reason you have chosen this path? It is close and the air is suddenly heavy.”
She felt startlingly alone with this man whom she had spent so many of the past months despising. It unnerved her, not in a way that gave rise to fear, but in a manner that made the fine hairs along the back of her neck tingle with awareness.
“There is a small stone bridge that I believe may interest you, just ahead. The path opens up and will relieve your current distress.”
Though wary, Elizabeth could not deny the strong urge in her breast to continue this walk. “I had no notion this path was here at Rosings. It has a wildness to it that I hardly think could have escaped the notice of Lady Catherine.”
Mr Darcy smiled, looking down. “And by her notice, may I assume that you mean her disapproval?”
“That is your conclusion, not mine, sir.”
They continued and, just as Mr Darcy had predicted, the tight path opened and the sound of a lush, healthy tumble of water greeted them. A delightful stone bridge arched up and over the wide stream. Just beyond it was a rough patch and a sudden drop that made a scattering of small falls. Elizabeth could not refrain from praising the scene.
“I am glad it is so inaccessible! To have a single stone of this bridge removed would be tragic. What a lovely scene! By far, the most charming that I have encountered since my arrival here at Rosings.”
They strode to the centre of the bridge and stood, side by side, gazing downstream at the enchanting vista. The skin along the cheek closest to Mr Darcy warmed unaccountably. Elizabeth turned her gaze from the scene before her and had the distinct impression that the gentleman had just turned his eyes from her.
After several more moments of the water making the only conversation, Mr Darcy cleared his throat and said, “I believe I have a remedy for our present predicament.”
Embarrassed, Elizabeth could only reply, “Yes?”
“Your declaration that badly composed poetry is the best possible remedy to cure a slight infatuation.”
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed in confusion.
“A weak inclination can be done away with entirely by a few verses. The more wretched the composition, the more speedily the regard will be extinguished.”
“And your solution is?”
“If my regard is nothing more than a brief delusion, brought on by your voice, it will scarcely have the strength needed to survive some verses. Perhaps if you wrote some poor poetry, you might overcome it entirely?”
Elizabeth laughed loudly, shaking her head, not quite believing that the dour Mr Darcy had made such an outlandish, but highly amusing suggestion.
“I should write poetry that is so terrible that it will put to the test whether you speak truly about your regard for me?” She could not deny that she was intrigued. An accusation of coquetry, the sort that Mr Collins would blame her of though her refusal had been unequivocal, could not be possible. From the moment Mr Darcy had entered the parsonage parlour, not one hint of encouragement had escaped Elizabeth, by any thought, word, or expression.
Mr Darcy, perhaps believing her pause was indicating offence, held up one hand. “I did not intend to upset you; I am merely at a stalemate. How is one to prove that intentions are sincere when they are dismissed as a sort of bewitchment?”
Elizabeth turned in order to hide a smile. “I suppose you do have a strong argument in your favour, Mr Darcy. Your recollection of my opinion on bad poetry is accurate. I did proclaim poetry to be the most efficacious method of ending a faint inclination. Especially poorly written poetry. If poetry can render a slight fondness powerless, then particularly bad poetry could annihilate it altogether. Are you certain that you wish to put yourself through this trial?”
Though Elizabeth’s gaze was upon the flowing stream beneath them, she could clearly hear the sound of a relieved breath being let loose from Mr Darcy’s mouth over the light tumblings of the water.
“I can assure you that nothing from your pen, your lips, or the tips of your fingers, could ever dissuade me from what I feel for you.”
For the first time since this travesty of an attempted declaration of regard had begun, Elizabeth felt the raw, undisguised passion in Mr Darcy’s words. It was so startling that she turned a bewildered expression up to him. Her body was again aware of how terribly alone they were. Agitation made her turn her back to him and return along the path they had taken to the bridge.
“I feel I must take my leave of you, sir. Maria was most anxious to rework the ribbon along her bonnet in the way Lady Catherine had declared to be the only suitable arrangement.”
“Then my proposal is acceptable? Tomorrow morning, I may expect a composition that will destroy any regard I may have been entertaining?”
Elizabeth turned, ready to dismiss the entire endeavour as a lark that could not be looked upon with any measure of seriousness. A laugh was just beginning to curl up from her chest when it froze in her throat. The man standing on the stone arch bridge, towering higher than his already impressive bearing, had one hand gripping the moss-covered stones. This hardly struck her as a passing fancy of a wealthy man wishing to toy with the inclinations of a young lady. His ungloved knuckles were white, his expression unmoving, as if he were of the stone itself yet filled with hidden desires that shocked Elizabeth with the effort he exerted to appear calm.
With a shake of her head to dismiss such thoughts, Elizabeth said, “If that is your wish. Such a poor verse will leave you horrified and no doubt overpower with disgust any imaginings you have of regard. I warn you that your opinion of me may drop precipitously.”
Mr Darcy shook his head, smiling. “It is not possible. But, by all means, try your best, for I look forward to it. I expect you shall fail.”
Elizabeth did laugh, for there was a pulse of challenge in the tone of his voice that intrigued her.
She returned to the parsonage at a brisk pace. Maria was in a muddle with her fingertips turning bluish from the tangle of pale pink ribbon that ensnared them.
“Oh, Lizzy! Where have you been? We are set to visit in just a few hours, and I cannot abide the thought of Lady Catherine catching sight of me from a window and observing my ribbon not in the more rounded twist that she suggested!”
“Oh, Maria,” Elizabeth sighed out, rolling her eyes upward, “is her opinion really so important to you?”
Her young friend’s open mouth and stuttering start at a shocked reply was all the answer Elizabeth needed. With a sigh, she sat heavily and began to help unwind the intricate tangle that Maria had somehow achieved.
As tea was brought in and Charlotte joined them, Elizabeth could not help but allow her gaze to wander to the window, unable to dismiss from her mind the image of Mr Darcy standing tall on the stone bridge. The small barb of doubt had penetrated her defences and pressed gently, but persistently, against the firm opinions she had of Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Now she blushed at the former mistaken impressions she had of him. He had indeed been proud and occasionally rude during his stay at Netherfield. He had indeed inserted himself into the affairs of his friend and Jane. But if he had been willing to admit his missteps and she could not, what did that say about her character? Was she prepared to have that shame hang upon her conscience? To be less rational than Mr Darcy? No. She must reforge her impressions of him.
She hardly attended to anything that was said by the other two ladies present. Elizabeth’s imagination was ignited by the prospect of composing wretched poetry. The fun of the challenge and the real hope that it would lessen Mr Darcy’s regard had her so intrigued that it was time for them to prepare for their visit to Rosings before she realised.
As Elizabeth stood, Charlotte remarked, “That long walk must have set you up decently. You did indeed look a little pale this morning. But now your cheeks are glowing and there is a twinkle in your eye that I have not seen in quite some time. I am glad you appear so well and are not having one of your headaches.”
“No! I feel very fine indeed.”
“Then you shall not object to another song?” Maria enquired as she twisted and turned before the mirror with her appropriately adorned bonnet set lightly on her head. “Colonel Fitzwilliam said he has rarely heard such a voice as you have.”
“Oh, yes! You must,” Charlotte agreed. “Though I am not musically inclined, I have missed your performances so much since coming into Kent. Please? Your time here is coming to an end, and I should very much like to hear you play and sing at least a few more times. Especially whilst the gentlemen are in residence. They both so obviously enjoyed it yesterday.”
Elizabeth wavered, a scrap of pink ribbon fluttering from her fingers to the floor. “I had not… I should not wish to be accused of ostentation. When there is no one else to perform, it makes me feel as though I am begging for compliments.”
“Nonsense, Eliza. No one who has an ounce of sense would make such an accusation.”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, certain there were some at Rosings who could not be accused of possessing a great deal of sense. Charlotte pressed her lips together and glanced at Maria who was just moving past them on her way to her room upstairs.
“Well…not the two gentlemen, anyway,” Charlotte whispered, not wishing to be overheard by her impressionable younger sister.
“Only if Lady Catherine demands it. Then I will sing again if she insists.”
As she climbed the stairs, an odd fluttering tickled Elizabeth’s heart. Unexpected nervousness plagued her. The gentleman on the bridge would be there, with his oddly mixed expressions of stoicism, strength, and beguiling powerlessness. It caused her anxiety, but she could not deny that she was also looking forward to seeing him again.