Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The days in Kent went by with relentless haste.
Elizabeth thought that most of her joy was due to the ease inherent in being in the country.
Her routine of taking walks, visiting Charlotte and Maria, and reading was similar to that which she had maintained in Hertfordshire, and it pleased her.
Lady Catherine had habitually invited Mr and Mrs Collins to dine twice a week prior to her guests’ arrival, and considering Mrs Collins’s relationship with Lady Courtenay, she did not break custom during their stay.
Elizabeth continued to enjoy long rambles through the extensive lands around Rosings, usually accompanied by Mr Darcy, sometimes by design and sometimes by chance.
They had been in Kent a week when, on one of their morning walks, Mr Darcy unexpectedly remarked, “It surprises me how little you speak of your marriage or your deceased husband.”
“For so long, I was unable to speak his name. I grew accustomed to being silent on the subject.”
“Of course, for the sake of your disguise. Surely you spoke of him within your family circle?”
“Not often. For the first months of my bereavement, I was increasing. I spent the time on a remote estate in Northumbria near Morpeth. I was in a state of shock when I arrived, hardly believing Henry was dead, and I had this great conspiracy surrounding me. It seemed absurd, particularly for a girl of eighteen to whom nothing of note had ever happened before.” She tried to laugh, but it emerged devoid of humour.
“When I returned to Hertfordshire, my father reminded me of the need to maintain the appearance of a carefree, unencumbered young lady. I think they supposed my months in Northumbria should have been sufficient to mourn Henry.
“My father did not wish to hear about it, and my mother could not comprehend that having his fortune was not the same as having him. Jane did the best she could, but she had no idea what it was to lose a husband you love. So all I could do was to put on the most cheerful mask possible, both at home and on the rare occasions I was in company.”
Darcy was silent a moment and then ventured, “When my mother died, we were encouraged not to speak of her. I recall Mrs Reynolds saying it pained my father to hear her mentioned. However, when my father died, only Georgiana and I remained. Georgiana wished to hear about him frequently, and it was rather soothing to speak of him.”
After another pause, Elizabeth confessed, “I did sometimes long to speak of Henry. All I had left were my memories of him, and those slipped away more each day.”
They were diverted by a field of wildflowers, causing Elizabeth to exclaim over them although they were not yet in full bloom. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply to catch any whiff of their developing fragrance and enjoying the feel of the spring sun on her face.
As soon as they resumed walking, Darcy asked, “How did you meet him?”
She glanced at him. It baffled her that Darcy, who by his own account was a jealous man, would wish to hear of her romance with her departed husband.
He added softly, “I would be honoured if you would tell me.”
After a brief hesitation, she agreed.
“I had gone to Bath with my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner. My aunt, you see, had then two daughters and dearly wished to give my uncle a son, but several pregnancies had been lost, and she despaired of ever having another child. They took a house for the whole of the winter and spring, and I accompanied them. One day, I stood looking in the window of a shop while my aunt stepped inside to consult with the proprietor, and I was approached by two gentlemen.”
The man who approached was kindly looking, not very tall, and slightly built.
His fair hair was mostly straight and looked as though it needed cutting.
He was, perhaps, not conventionally handsome, but he had the sort of face that inspired trust, with warmth and the suggestion of home in his smile.
I knew I would like him before I even heard his voice.
“Pray, forgive me, Miss.”
“For what?”
“For what I am about to do. You see, I find you the loveliest creature I have ever beheld, but alas, there is no third party here to introduce us. So I face a difficult choice.”
I struggled to contain the broad smile that threatened my countenance. “Which is?”
“Either I can yield to propriety and leave this place still unacquainted with you, or at the risk of offending you, I shall introduce myself and ardently hope that I am afforded your mercy. You seem a good, merciful sort of girl—what say you to overlooking my indiscretion?”
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire, sir.”
“Mr Henry Warren of Lancashire.”
We both stood, smiling at each other, until the other gentleman with Mr Warren made himself known by clearing his throat. Mr Warren did not remove his eyes from me, saying, “May I present my friend to you? Miss Elizabeth Bennet, this is Mr James Hanley.”
The three of us talked as if we had known one another for years though Aunt Gardiner was displeased to find me speaking to two strange gentlemen when she came out of the shop.
“Elizabeth, dear, come along.”
Henry gazed at me as I departed, and I just knew that what had happened on that street was the most significant moment of my life thus far.
Our next meeting was just hours later when I went with my aunt to a nearby garden for a stroll. “Quite a coincidence that we should find ourselves here at the same place and time,” I said as Aunt Gardiner looked on suspiciously.
Henry whispered, “Not really…I have lain in wait for you for hours. Once I discovered your place of residence, I assumed you would be along sometime. If not today, then I planned to return tomorrow.”
I should have scolded his impertinence, but I could not. Instead, I laughed delightedly at his words, took his offered arm, and strolled with him under the watchful and uncertain eye of my aunt.
The next week passed in a happy haze of assemblies, balls, and card parties.
With Aunt Gardiner’s maid trailing us determinedly, we went for long walks, speaking of anything and everything.
Henry told me he was an orphan with his sole claim to kinship being his twin brother, Francis.
I regaled him with tales of my mother, my father, and my four sisters.
We learnt that we both loved to read, dance, and be out of doors.
We discovered we liked the same foods and had similar taste in music.
Had I cared to look, I might have noticed that Henry was a man of some means and standing; he was given a certain deference in society, which should have betrayed his consequence. But I was young and falling in love, and I did not care to think of much beyond that.
On the eighth day of our acquaintance, we visited in the drawing room of the house that Aunt and Uncle Gardiner had let. I played for him on a pianoforte that had seen better days, hoping my voice compensated for the poorness of the instrument.
When I finished, Henry clapped enthusiastically then turned strangely timid. “May I speak to you in private?”
My heart raced as I dismissed the maid and joined Henry standing by the window.
He took my hand and brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss.
“I know not the words to persuade you nor the way in which to act the ardent lover, so I will speak in a way that might seem dull and stupid.
Please know, it is only my deep affection for you that renders me thus; I am helpless to your charms, to your wit, and to your beauty.
“Even though it is but a week that I have known you, I believe—nay, I know—that I love you. I love you deeply, passionately, and abidingly, and I beg you to be mine from this day forward.”
I could barely speak, but I had to be certain I understood him. “To be yours?”
“My wife, dear Elizabeth. Please marry me. Please be my wife.”
His eyes met mine with an earnest longing that took my breath away. I gasped out my reply, “Oh yes, sir, yes, I will marry you. I will marry you.”
In a trice, he pulled me to him. I thought he might kiss me, but he restrained himself admirably. We spent the rest of the day dreaming happy dreams and planning for our life together. Uncle Gardiner was due in Bath the following day. We decided to tell him our news first and then my parents.
Even then, having accepted his offer, I had no idea he was an earl.
It seems rather extraordinary to me now, but some allowance must be made for youth.
I was only seventeen and had been in society very little.
He had introduced himself as Mr Henry Warren—I did not imagine for a moment that he was of the peerage.
It was my aunt who first questioned what I knew of his prospects.
“Affection is important, and you should not marry without it,” she cautioned me. “However, you will still require a home and something to feed you. Your parents will not give their daughter to a man with nothing to recommend him.”
Uncle Gardiner had no scruple in asking Henry pointed questions about his situation, knowing that Papa would wish to know all.
What he learnt astonished all of us—me, most of all.
We took a walk along the shore shortly after Henry’s conversation with my uncle, and I must admit, my first inclination was to cry off.
“I do not think I can—”
“Elizabeth, I love you with all my heart, and you can do this; you can be my wife and my countess…”
Tears immediately sprang to my eyes. “I have not been raised as you have, Henry. My father is a gentleman, but our estate is entailed on my cousin and brings in only two thousand a year. My sisters and I have each a portion of only one thousand pounds. We are not known in London Society and—”
“Do you think I did not realise that?” Henry laughed. “My darling, I have fallen in love with you, not your fortune or your family estate.