Chapter 7
Saturday morning, after a hearty breakfast and a swiftly written letter to her mother, Elizabeth went for a walk in the park. As had become her habit, she sang as she walked through the grove, a secluded and pretty part of the park that had escaped Lady Catherine’s fastidious manicuring.
There was a little stream meandering alongside her and she stood on its banks and threw petals of the cherry blossom she was holding into the water as she sang a country song about a shepherd who’d fallen in love with an unattainable maiden.
“Pardon me. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
Elizabeth jumped and pressed her hand to her heart.
Standing not ten feet away was a tall man, with broad shoulders and blond hair, a smile on his face as he looked directly at her.
She quickly deduced by his clothes that he was a gentleman and assumed he was one of the mysterious nephews, though he was certainly not Mr. Darcy.
The man rapidly approaching them, however, was.
“Ah, Darcy, there you are!” cried the blond man. “I was walking along and stumbled across this lovely creature. Shall we introduce ourselves?”
“That is hardly necessary, Fitzwilliam,” said Mr. Darcy. “Miss Bennet, it is a pleasure to see you.” He bowed and she curtseyed, saying nothing. “May I introduce my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam? This is Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire.”
Another round of bows and curtseys ensued. “I am pleased to meet you, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Mr. Darcy.” She bobbed again. “Good day.” She walked away from them, leaving the men to look at each other quizzically before following after her.
“You are staying at the parsonage, are you not? Please, allow us to escort you,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said quickly. She stopped and looked at him and then at his cousin before nodding.
“Very well.” She began walking again, now flanked on either side by Lady Catherine’s nephews.
“How do you find Kent, Miss Bennet?” Mr. Darcy asked quietly from her right.
“It is very beautiful,” she answered.
He nodded.
They fell silent.
Elizabeth felt all the awkwardness of having been caught in so indecorous a pursuit by a stranger, and then forced to keep company with Mr. Darcy.
Of all people! She had hoped to avoid him as long as possible, and here she was, a foot away from him, walking down the lane like old friends, only they had nothing to say to each other.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, never one to be silent when he could be speaking to a pretty lady, began asking her about her home.
At first, his questions were simple and her answers even simpler, but they persevered, and before they reached the garden gate, the colonel and Elizabeth had laughed twice and shared innumerable smiles about the vagaries of village life and market towns.
Elizabeth invited them in for tea and they were quickly introduced to Charlotte and Maria and conversation continued much like it had outside.
Mr. Darcy sat quietly, speaking only when necessary, Colonel Fitzwilliam had enough to say for both of them, and Maria was so nervous she said nothing at all.
Charlotte and Elizabeth kept the colonel well entertained between the two of them and Mr. Darcy seemed happy to simply observe.
After half an hour, the gentlemen left, the colonel all smiles and Mr. Darcy wearing his usual haughty expression.
That afternoon, as was now her habit, Elizabeth went to Rosings to practice her music.
The butler greeted her as he usually did and a footman guided her downstairs.
She practiced for an hour, ended with a song she knew by memory and enjoyed playing, and went upstairs and let herself out a side door near the stairwell.
What she didn’t know was that Mr. Darcy was in the room just above, standing at the window looking out at the estate.
“What is Miss Bennet doing here?” he asked.
“Sir?”
“Nothing, Timms. I just saw Miss Bennet leaving and wondered if she was visiting my aunt,” Darcy mused as his valet continued laying out his riding clothes.
“As I understand it, she visits around this time every day to practice the pianoforte.”
“Practice? Where?”
“In the companion’s room. Will there be anything else, sir?”
“No, that will be all. Thank you, Timms.”
The Monday following Easter (and a long and tedious Easter sermon followed by an even longer holiday dinner), Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam spent the morning reviewing estate accounts.
After tea, Darcy took a turn in the garden and when Miss Bennet exited the house after her usual pianoforte practice, he offered to escort her home.
She deferred at first, saying it wasn’t necessary and she was perfectly fine on her own, but he insisted.
They did not speak for the first five minutes, until they were out of sight of the house and walking through a sunny grove.
“How long will you stay in Kent, Miss Bennet?” he asked.
“My father will collect me at the end of the month,” she answered.
“Does he have business in Kent?”
“I believe he means to speak to Mr. Collins about the estate, but otherwise it is a pleasure trip.” At Mr. Darcy’s confused look, and indeed, who could blame him, for speaking with Mr. Collins could never be termed a pleasure trip by any sensible person, she explained.
“My father has taken a house in Margate for the summer. He and my mother and sisters will stop here for me, after collecting my eldest sister in London.”
He nodded. “How is Miss Bennet enjoying London?”
“She likes it well enough. She has made many new acquaintances there.”
“It is a busy season in town,” he said.
They walked on in silence until they reached the parsonage gate.
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy.” She curtseyed. He bowed and wished her good day, then left.
Elizabeth entered the parlor where Charlotte sat near the window, sewing something white and lacy.
“Was that Mr. Darcy walking with you?”
“Yes, he escorted me from the main house.” She sighed and dropped into a chair.
“What did you talk about?” Charlotte asked.
“Nothing, it would seem. I told him we were going to Margate after leaving here and that Jane was in London. That was all. Hardly a riveting conversation,” she replied with a bored expression.
“We can’t all be as bright and sparkling as you, Eliza,” Charlotte teased.
“I would settle for tolerably interesting at this point,” Elizabeth retorted.
Both women laughed and the topic changed to other things.
The next day, Mr. Darcy once again met Elizabeth when she left the house.
He walked her home, they spoke a mere five sentences between them, and he left her at the parsonage gate.
She thought fate was terribly perverse to have him around just when she would be leaving Rosings and not the amiable Colonel Fitzwilliam, but thought no more of it.
He was absent the remainder of the week.
The following Monday, it happened again. He even ran into her twice on her morning walks and joined her. He was always civil and acted somewhat happy to see her, even though she knew he was only being polite. She dearly wished he would simply greet her and move on, but it was not to be.
The parsonage was invited to Rosings for tea and cards on Wednesday and Friday for dinner.
She enjoyed her conversations with Colonel Fitzwilliam very much.
He was similar to herself; at ease in company, good at discourse, and quick to laugh.
Mr. Darcy sat near them and tried to join the conversation occasionally, but he often commented on a topic just after they had moved on to a new one, and after a few attempts, he sat close but remained silent except for the odd sound of agreement.
Colonel Fitzwilliam was fond of hearing Elizabeth play and often asked her to favor them with a song.
He turned her pages and laughed with her behind the pianoforte while Darcy suffered his aunt and cousin on the other side of the room, a distracted look on his face.
Elizabeth wondered what he was about, frowning so at everything that was said and glaring in her direction every few minutes.
She knew her playing wasn’t perfect, but it was much improved and Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed to find her perfectly entertaining.
She told herself to put Mr. Darcy out of her mind and focused on charming and being charmed by the good colonel.
Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam called again Saturday morning.
Darcy often sat slightly back from the group and Elizabeth wondered why he bothered coming if he wasn’t going to speak to anyone.
They were in company often enough; surely he was accustomed to their presence by now?
She thought his lack of conversation was indicative of his belief in his own superiority and it confirmed that her assessment of him in Hertfordshire had been correct.
She had seen him nearly every day that week, but she doubted he’d spoken more than a dozen sentences altogether. Insufferable man.
Monday, he was in the garden when she left Rosings and he fell into step beside her, alternately making dull conversation and watching her in a way that made her feel inadequate somehow.
She raised her chin in defiance and walked on, hurrying her pace.
He was there again the day after that, and the day after that.
Thursday, Mr. Darcy was not waiting when she stepped out of the house, and Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief and walked on her own.