Chapter 17 #2
“You did not search very hard for that, sir,” Elizabeth called to him. “One might be forgiven for thinking you prepared for this game in advance.”
He looked up, and for a moment said nothing—only stared at her with an intensity that stilled her hands, stilled everything. Then he moved up the slope towards her, and the wind resumed; hastening clouds on their way and tousling her hair once more.
“I knew there would be wool somewhere,” he admitted. “One of my tenant farmers brings his sheep up here to graze.”
Elizabeth freed her ribbon and replaced her bonnet, asking as she retied the bow, “Might I enquire, if it is not too impertinent, what you said to your footman just now that made him so happy?”
It was evident the question took Mr Darcy aback, but he answered without objection. “I promised to double whatever the other gentlemen tipped him at the end of the day if he went down to the lower path to judge our game.”
“That was generous.”
“Adjudicating parlour games, albeit outdoor ones, does not fall within the usual remit of his duties. Besides, I am in an exceptionally good humour.”
It showed, Elizabeth thought approvingly.
They were called to attention, along with everyone else, by Mr Connelly, who seemed to have assumed the role of umpire.
With several warnings to take care, for it was ten or twelve feet to the next ledge down, he bade them all line up along the ridge of the bluff with their arms outstretched and their objects at the ready.
On three, they all let go, and within seconds, Miss Adams’s parasol—thrown by her brother—had been declared the first lead balloon.
Lord Garroway was duly disqualified from the game.
The other items were retrieved and re-thrown again and again; the competitors whittled down one at a time.
Elizabeth played along, hoping the chaos of her thoughts was not apparent.
She kept thinking of Mr Darcy’s letter, in which he had laid out all his dealings with Mr Wickham and motivations for separating Jane and Mr Bingley.
It had overturned her conviction that he lacked compassion and forced her to acknowledge his good intentions.
Even so, it had not much improved her understanding of the man behind the words or induced any great desire to know him better.
Its effect had rather been to shine a light on her own character, exposing all her own defects.
It was only now, as more and more facets of him were revealed to her, that the caricature of polite society into which she had turned Mr Darcy was falling away to reveal a man of exceptional depth.
He had faults, yes—but he had that in common with the rest of the world.
He also had friends, family, responsibilities, pleasures, and problems, just as every other person did.
Indeed, his problems seemed greater than many people’s.
The look on his face as he told her about Pemberley’s uncertain future had made Elizabeth’s heart heavy for him.
The desire to comfort him in that moment had been overwhelming.
To be the woman to whom Mr Darcy turned for comfort in every moment of need was a privilege Elizabeth suddenly wanted very, very much.
She could feel the pulse at the base of her throat and knew her heart was racing, but as for the other sensation, fluttering at the top of her stomach beneath her ribs, prickling at the edges of her mind— that she could not name. Though she could guess.
Her hand shook slightly as she held out her ribbon for the next round.
When it was pronounced to be the next lead balloon, Mr Darcy asked if she would like to return to the picnic area for a drink.
He watched her as they walked, obviously concerned, and Elizabeth was sorry her distraction had banished his earlier complacency, for it had looked well on him.
That thought only rattled her more, however, and feeling as though she would burst if she did not speak, she stopped walking and blurted the first words that came to mind.
“I am sorry.”
“What for?”
“For what I said to you in Kent. For what I said about you in Hertfordshire. For the way I misjudged you. All of it. Everything.”
He said nothing, seemingly fixed in astonishment.
Several others overtook them on the path in a dash.
They called something as they passed, but Elizabeth did not hear what.
Neither did Mr Darcy, judging by the intensity with which he continued to regard her.
It endeared her to him further still and persuaded her not to wait for him to reply.
“I am heartily ashamed of what I said, and what I thought. I would have you know, I do not think it anymore.”
At last, he opened his mouth to reply but was distracted by one or two drops of water landing on his face.
They both looked up, just as the heavens opened and let forth a deluge of rain; huge, fat drops that seemed wetter than water ought to be and filled the air with the smell and deafening patter of a summer squall.
Elizabeth tucked her shoulders inwards as though they might fit under the rim of her bonnet.
A cataclysmic roll of thunder made her shriek and drop her ribbon, then laugh as she bent to retrieve it.
She quieted as something came to rest around her shoulders.
When she straightened to her full height, Mr Darcy pulled the lapels of his coat closed under her chin.
She held her breath. His was such a presence!
—his clenched hands resting, gentle but hot, on her collarbone, his beautiful face inches from hers, rain dripping from the curls plastered to his forehead, and his eyes as stormy as the sky.
The air between them shifted, and for the space of one, shocking heartbeat, Elizabeth thought he would kiss her.
Then his hand was at her back, and they were running together towards the carriages, joining in with everyone else as they tussled and harried each other out of the downpour.
The rain on the roof of the carriage was too loud for conversation on the way back to Lambton.
Mrs Gardiner dozed lightly; Mr Gardiner squinted through the gloom at his book.
Elizabeth watched the storm-capped hills roll past the window, feeling it was an unjustly dreary end to a momentous afternoon.
Indeed, were it not for the fact that she was still wearing Mr Darcy’s coat, she might have thought she had imagined the most exhilarating few minutes of her life.
Quarter of an hour after arriving back at the inn, she would have done anything to return to dreariness. Instead, shock and dismay were her new attendants, along with something much more visceral that ached tangibly in her breast.
A letter had arrived for her uncle while they were out. It signalled an end to all their engagements in Derbyshire, an end to their holiday, and an end to many more things besides.
My brother Gardiner,
I hope you are sitting down. Your children are all fine—be not alarmed on that score.
I regret that your nieces are not all so easily accounted for.
My youngest has lost what little reason she had remaining to her and eloped with one of Colonel Forster’s officers—Lieutenant Wickham.
You met him at Christmas, I believe, and liked him as well as we did.
Alas, we have been unhappily deceived in his character.
The pair left Brighton last Saturday and were traced as far as Clapham but no farther. They have certainly not gone to Scotland. I came to town on Monday and have been searching for them since, to no avail.
Jane has, I understand, written to Lizzy more than once, appealing for your swift return.
I suspect, from the want of any reply, that her requests were too subtly made.
Mine will not be. I implore you to come home.
I need your knowledge of London; Jane needs Lizzy’s help at Longbourn; your sister needs a degree of patience that I suspect only your dear wife can provide; Lydia needs all our prayers.
I fear she is lost, Brother. I am sick with guilt. I hope to see you in London very soon.
Yours &tc.,
T Bennet