Chapter 12
UNINHIBITED LIVELINESS
D arcy wished he knew what Elizabeth thought of his obtrusion onto her outing.
The Gardiners seemed pleased with his company, but he had no faith whatsoever in his ability to discern Elizabeth’s feelings correctly.
It was regrettable that his offer to act as their guide had been all but impossible to decline.
Two of Mrs Gardiner’s acquaintance had happened by just as he suggested it, and it was they who expressed astonishment and delight at the honour of his condescension, the Gardiners only accepting thereafter.
It was precisely the opposite of what he intended. He had meant to demonstrate the sincerity of his regard to Elizabeth and show humility to her relations, not to flaunt his rank by rendering the townsfolk awestruck.
“Well, my dear, is it as pretty as you recall?” Mr Gardiner enquired as they descended into the narrow valley.
“It is deeper than I remember,” his wife answered. “I did not think the sides were so steep or so high as this.”
“It is usually the other way around for childhood memories,” Elizabeth remarked. “Things you revisit as an adult tend to look smaller than you remember them, not bigger.”
“Your aunt is uncommonly short though, Lizzy. You must make allowances,” Mr Gardiner quipped.
Darcy smiled, beginning to enjoy the Gardiners’ sportive way of talking to each other and comprehending that it was likely from them Elizabeth learnt her talent of teasing without any meanness at all.
“Very droll,” Mrs Gardiner replied. “But, as your uncle knows perfectly well, I was not a child when I lived in Lambton, Lizzy. I came here when I was eighteen, after my mother died, and my father sent me to live with my aunt and uncle. I remember your father coming into my uncle’s workshop one day, Mr Darcy.
His fob watch—his grandfather’s—had come loose as he rode through the town, and it was caked in mud, and the glass cracked.
He was so pleased my uncle managed to salvage the workings that he sent all his watches and clocks there afterwards. ”
“Your uncle was Mr Henrick?” Darcy asked. When Mrs Gardiner confirmed it, he turned around, lifting his fob watch on its ribbon, and holding it in his palm for her to see. “The very watch he mended. He is no longer in Lambton, though.”
“He and my aunt moved to Anglesey some years later, and I was sent to live with another uncle in Bishops Stortford. That is where Mr Gardiner and I met.”
“Fortunately for me, my wife has a surfeit of uncles,” Mr Gardiner observed.
“That I do,” she agreed. “My father was one of seven boys.”
Elizabeth had grown exceedingly quiet, and a quick glance revealed her head to be bowed, the rim of her bonnet not wholly concealing her blush.
Darcy did not wonder that she was uncomfortable; she was no doubt anticipating that he would despise Mrs Gardiner yet more for her family’s condition in life.
“It must be pleasant to have a large family,” he said.
“My father was an only child, so I have no aunts or uncles on his side. My mother was one of three, though she occasionally expressed envy at my father’s want of brothers and sisters.
But Miss Bennet has met my aunt, so she will comprehend that sentiment well enough. ”
Elizabeth’s incredulous amusement banished any regret he ought to have felt for such a coarse and disloyal remark.
“I have met Lady Catherine,” she agreed. “I have also met Colonel Fitzwilliam. So, tell me, which of them is your uncle most like—his son or his sister?”
“Neither really. Lord Matlock is very quiet, very self-possessed.”
“More like his nephew, then.”
Her comment drew his gaze to hers. He dared not presume she meant to compliment him, but neither did he think she meant to censure him. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“Everyone tells me I am like my aunt Wallis, which is silly, because she is not a real aunt, but I suppose we are similar in temperament.”
“Then I am sure I would like her very well.”
Elizabeth grinned, although it looked as though she was trying not to. “I am not sure she would approve of you.”
Mr Gardiner cleared his throat. “Lizzy’s aunt Wallis does not like anyone, Mr Darcy. You must not take it personally.”
Elizabeth’s secret grin broadened into a full smile, and she leant sideways to whisper conspiratorially, “She has a very low opinion of my mother.” She straightened, but after a second or two, added, “On second thoughts, maybe you would get on.”
Thoroughly ashamed by his previous censure of all Elizabeth’s relations, Darcy opened his mouth to deliver a sincere and long overdue apology.
He stopped when she looked at him, and he saw the mirth on full and glorious display in her expression.
She was extraordinary—truly unlike anyone he had ever known.
He could think of no one else with compassion enough to forgive the vilification of their own mother, grace enough to admit the truth of it, and humour enough to laugh about it.
“I say, are these Lilies of the Sea?” Mr Gardiner enquired. Darcy and Elizabeth both turned back to find him peering at an outcropping of rock that obtruded onto the path.
“Undoubtedly—they are ubiquitous in these hills.” Darcy stepped aside to allow Elizabeth to see.
“Lilies of the Sea?” she asked.
“They are known colloquially as Derbyshire Screws, for their shape, though I know them as Astroites, which they are called for their star shape in cross section. You are familiar with them, Mr Gardiner?”
“I have never seen one in situ before, but a handful of specimens have passed through my hands over the years. They are gaining popularity as curiosities. People have begun to question their mineral properties. I believe there was some chap in the seventeenth century who thought they might be petrified plants.”
“Martin Lister,” Darcy confirmed, yet again humbled by Gardiner’s knowledge of the world.
“I have never seen anything like them,” Elizabeth remarked.
“My house in town is built from Derbyshire limestone and named for them—Astroite House. You can see them dotted about the walls.”
“How extraordinary! I should like to see that.”
Darcy doubted Elizabeth meant it, but that did not prevent his insides jumping with anticipation of taking her there to show her.
“Look, there!” Mrs Gardiner exclaimed. “Was that an otter? In the ferns, by the water.” She, her husband, and her niece all peered hopefully at the riverbank.
Darcy watched Elizabeth. He did not even pretend not to and did not care who caught him doing it.
He watched her, watching the riverbank, and marvelled at her total want of affectation.
Unlike most women of his acquaintance, she did not position herself to better show off her figure or feign interest—or disinterest—in things to make herself more fascinating.
She went through the world artlessly, vivaciously, and wholly unaware of her own allure.
He had never wanted a woman in the same way—body and mind.
It was like an obsession. His thoughts were full of her, all the time, but he wanted her approbation as much as he wanted her touch.
He wanted her company as much as he wanted her kisses—and he wanted those more than any gentleman would admit.
When she craned her neck to peer over the water’s edge, his gaze trailed along the line of her jaw, the rest of him aching to trace her other curves—until she leant too far, and alarm pierced the haze of his desire.
He instinctively reached towards her, then someone shouted, and Mrs Gardiner tripped into his arms.
For a few, confusing seconds, Darcy had no idea what was happening.
He righted Mrs Gardiner and was almost knocked over himself by her husband, who was leaping about from one foot to the other, shouting inarticulately and flapping his hat at his feet.
Darcy turned in panic to locate Elizabeth—and there she was, unharmed, unafraid, and laughing unrestrainedly at their expense.
She noticed him looking and made a vague attempt to school her hilarity, but it lasted only until her uncle cried, “Not an otter, Mrs Gardiner! Not an otter!” whereupon her laughter redoubled.
“Please forgive me, Mr Darcy,” Mrs Gardiner said, red-faced. “It ran directly towards me.”
“What did?”
“A rat,” Mr Gardiner answered. “A very large rat. I am glad you find it so amusing, Lizzy!”
“I am sorry,” she replied, with negligible contrition. “It was just so funny when you screamed like that.”
“So would you have if it had been your leg for which it was aiming!” he replied, though his grumbling was good-natured. “You must excuse us, Mr Darcy. We are not usually so uncivilised.”
Darcy dismissed his apology with a shake of his head and was earnest in thinking none was necessary.
He might have disliked such an exhibition under other circumstances, but there was something about Elizabeth that reduced all such qualms to moonshine.
Who could care a whit for propriety when she flouted it so exquisitely?
He never laughed as she was laughing now; he never cast aside restraint or allowed himself to take pleasure in the ridiculous.
Her uninhibited liveliness was beautiful and invigorating to behold.
Indeed, he did not think he had ever felt as happy as simply watching her laugh.
All he could think was how dearly he loved her, and he dared not say anything else for the certainty it would be those words that spilled out before any others.
He merely offered her his arm and exulted privately when she took it without hesitation and resumed their walk, silent but smiling unmistakably for him.