Chapter 4
You know how interesting the purchase of a sponge-cake is to me.
— JANE AUSTEN
The day was pleasant, if not a bit overcast. As the ladies spilled out of the front door of the house and onto the walk, Mrs Bennet peered at the sky. “If it was not such a bother, I would order the carriage.”
Elizabeth sighed. Had the decision been left solely to her, they would not be going out at all. Yesterday, Mr Darcy had promised to call upon them. Although it was early yet—barely past the breakfast hour—she could well imagine what he would likely think should he happen to call and find no one at home to receive him. Would he be indignant? Would he be hurt? Would he call upon them another time? Or would he view her family absenting themselves as a slight and stay away?
The idea of losing his good opinion now—and his society—especially after passing such a pleasant time with him, pained her. While she had mentioned his being in the area and his promise to call to her mother, Mrs Bennet was doubtful that Mr Darcy would bother with them, regardless of the civility he had shown Elizabeth the previous day, for he had not been so respectful in Hertfordshire, nor so complimentary.
“Why are we standing about like a gaggle of stupid geese?” Lydia demanded, putting herself forwards. “I thought we were walking to the village.”
Again, Mrs Bennet squinted at the sky. “If it should rain, our petticoats will surely be ruined, and our stockings too, for the streets here flood at the slightest provocation.”
“Perhaps,” said Elizabeth, seizing upon the opportunity to redirect her mother, “we would do better to remain at home today. I am certain that Mr Edwards will not have any new ribbons to speak of, nor any new lace. Surely, the weather will be much finer tomorrow.”
“Lord,” said Lydia, rolling her eyes. “Your predictions for the weather are as useless as Mary reading Fordyce to Kitty and me! If we do not do something interesting soon, I shall go distracted. Of late, we have done nothing but stay at home.”
“We walked to the village yesterday,” Mary reminded her with a note of irritation.
“And we were confined to the house for two whole days before that,” said Kitty. “I could not care less if it rains so long as we are entertained.”
“Perhaps I will call for the carriage after all,” said Mrs Bennet, more to herself than to her daughters.
“That will take another half an hour at least,” Lydia whined, stomping her foot in protest.
Kitty voiced her agreement, and Mary began to moralise, which only served to make Mrs Bennet all the more undecided as to whether she ought to order the carriage or continue to the village on foot.
Sensing there would be no swaying her youngest sisters from their course, or convincing her mother to remain at home, Elizabeth resigned herself to promoting the path of least resistance—hastening their departure so that they might return in good time to receive Mr Darcy. Pointing to a patch of sunlight shining down upon the street, she said, “Look over there, Mama. There is no need to call for the carriage. We will be perfectly safe. It is a quarter of a mile to the village, barely any distance at all. If we hurry, perhaps Mrs Carter will have those sweet rolls you so enjoyed the other morning.”
It was the promise of sweet rolls that appeared to persuade Mrs Bennet, who exclaimed, “Oh! What a fine thing that would be. Come along, girls,” and set off at a brisk pace with her daughters in tow.
They had not yet reached Orchard Street, which intersected the high street, when a gentleman appeared at the top of it and began walking determinedly in their direction.
Elizabeth recognised him at once—his tall form, his regal bearing, and his long, purposeful stride. No other man she had ever known carried himself the same way, with such a dignified air and such grace. As he drew closer, she could see his gaze was fixed solely upon her. The warmth and affection she saw in his eyes made her blush, as did the infinitesimal smile playing upon his mouth.
Despite her discomposure, Elizabeth was relieved to see that Mr Darcy appeared pleased rather than offended to find them out and about. With a small but sincere turn of her own lips, she smoothed an imaginary crease in her gown and endeavoured to appear composed.
“Mr Darcy,” said Mrs Bennet the moment he reached her. “I had heard you were in the area.”
“How do you do, Mrs Bennet?” said Mr Darcy with a low bow. “How do you do, Miss Bennet? Miss Mary? Miss Catherine? Miss Lydia?”
The ladies curtseyed.
“We are all very well today, sir,” said Elizabeth, hoping that her mother and sisters would remember their manners and not behave as they had in Hertfordshire. “You find us on our way to the village.”
“May I accompany you on your walk? The weather is very pleasant.”
“If it suits you, sir,” said Mrs Bennet.
Mr Darcy offered her his arm, she accepted it, and they led the way to the village.
Elizabeth followed behind them, interested to see whether Mr Darcy’s newfound ability to converse would extend to her mother. To her pleasure and satisfaction, it did.
“I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Bennet yesterday, madam. You and your daughters, I understand, have been here for two weeks. I arrived yesterday myself and was on my way to call upon you now. Pray tell me, how are you enjoying yourselves?”
“How good of you to think to call upon us, sir,” her mother replied. “I suppose that I would like the seaside very well if not for all of the sand and the wind and the birds flapping about overhead at all hours of the day. They make such a racket as I have ever heard! But that is to be expected, I suppose. We were supposed to travel to Brighton, though. Lydia had longed to accompany Colonel and Mrs Forster when the regiment removed there for the summer. Indeed, I had thought that was where we were all headed, but then we arrived here. No doubt my husband, who refused to allow poor Lydia to go to Brighton with her friends, thought it a good joke.”
Elizabeth blushed with shame. While she, too, had suspected her father had purposely chosen a seaside retreat that was free of excess and officers, she was mortified to have her mother imply that his generosity in sending them there was merely for his own amusement rather than for the pleasure and protection of his daughters.
“Evermore on Sea is very different from Brighton,” Mr Darcy observed.
“I should say it is,” said her mother. “Lizzy claims that our coming to Kent is for the best, but I cannot agree. There is not one red coat within fifty miles of here. We could be murdered in our beds by French smugglers while we sleep, and no one would be the wiser.”
“We are very far south, madam, near the mouth of the North Sea. I believe we are safe.”
“I hope for all our sakes you are correct, sir.”
There was a brief moment of silence, after which Mrs Bennet exclaimed, “How surprised we all were when you quit Netherfield Park last autumn, Mr Darcy! Mr Bingley returned, of course, and married my Jane, but you did not accompany him. Not that you would have, in any case. At the very least, I expected to see you at the wedding breakfast, but you were not in attendance there either.”
“I regret that was so,” said Mr Darcy.
“Bingley said nothing of your plans to us,” said Mrs Bennet with a little sniff, “but Jane insisted that you must have been called away on important business and would have attended if you could.”
The tips of Mr Darcy’s ears turned red. He cleared his throat. “Mrs Bingley is everything generous and good. She will no doubt make Bingley an excellent wife.”
“That she will, sir. There is no one so beautiful as my Jane, nor so good. She has settled in quite well at Netherfield, if I do say so myself. I had a letter from her just yesterday telling me all manner of things about the house and the servants. They will join us here, you know, so you will see for yourself how well they do together.”
“I…that is excellent news,” said Mr Darcy. “Did Mrs Bingley happen to say when they will arrive?”
“Oh, not for a few days at least, for Bingley has business with his steward. Some problem or other with a field. Hopefully, it will all get sorted soon. I was told there would be an assembly one evening or another, and dear Bingley, as you know, enjoys nothing better than dancing with my Jane.”
They walked on, with Mrs Bennet talking of Jane and Bingley and Mr Darcy appearing distracted as she did so. The more her mother talked, the more embarrassed Elizabeth became. By the time they entered the village, Mr Darcy looked as though he was barely attending at all. How could he, with her mother going on about place settings and meal planning without pause and her sisters tittering and laughing and carrying on behind them?
“Oh,” Mrs Bennet suddenly cried. “There is Mrs Richards. I must speak to her while I can, for I heard from the housekeeper that she may go away soon. She has the most wonderful recipe for apple tarts. You must join us for dinner some night soon, Mr Darcy.”
Mr Darcy barely had time to thank her before she was off, hurrying across the street to greet her friend.
With burning cheeks, Elizabeth stood quietly beside him as Lydia and Kitty, without a word to anyone, hastened towards the haberdashery. Mary, her head held high, followed after her mother.
“You must allow me to apologise for my mother, sir, and my sisters.”
“There is no need. Your mother was very civil to me. Had she refused to speak more than a few syllables, I would not have taken offence. She was extremely welcoming and generous last autumn, and I quit the country without taking my leave of her. It was badly done.” Shaking his head, he said, “As for your sisters, they are young yet, and excited to be in a new place, somewhere different from what they have known all of their lives.”
“For the past week,” Elizabeth told him, “they have done nothing but complain. My mother is displeased with the seaside, and my sisters are displeased there are no balls and parties to attend. Mary, for the most part, seems to be content. She enjoys reading, and although I have found the offerings at the circulating library rather meagre, she has had much to say in its favour. There are apparently several ecclesiastical works she has declared rather fascinating.”
“And you?” he asked with a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “What have you found to please you? Other than the sea and the bluff and the vivid sunsets.”
The corners of Elizabeth’s lips lifted in a smile. “I like the seashells and the stones on the beach. I like the fishing boats bobbing upon the water from dawn until dusk. I like the people and the buildings and the church. And I like the sweets. There is a little shop in the centre of the high street which serves the most delicious cake. I cannot seem to get enough of it.”
“It so happens that I, too, enjoy eating cake. Your mother and sisters appear to be occupied at present, but I would be honoured if you would consent to join me for a cup of tea and whatever delicacies Mr Holland has on offer this morning.”
“I would like that very much.” The words she spoke were more than polite. They were honest. Whereas before, Elizabeth would have done all she could to avoid spending time with Mr Darcy, now she found that she actually enjoyed his company, and his conversation. Gone was the reticent gentleman she had known in Hertfordshire and at Rosings. Gone were his hauteur and his pride. His manners were softened, as was his mien. Whenever he regarded her, she saw sincere interest in his eyes and in his expression—not the disapproval or superiority or dislike she had mistakenly imagined before.
He offered her his arm. “Shall we, Miss Bennet?”
Smiling up at him, Elizabeth accepted it. “Pray lead the way, Mr Darcy.”
Half an hour later, they were seated at a table by the window, its surface draped with white cloth and crowded with plates of marchpane and decadent slices of chocolate cake. Elizabeth raised her teacup to her lips and took a measured sip as Mr Darcy spoke of his home in Derbyshire.
“Its beauty is rugged, especially in the heart of the peaks. Pemberley is in the thick of it, surrounded by granite and woods and waterfalls, which freeze in the winter months, for as beautiful as it is, the climate is colder than what you are used to in the south.” Setting his fork upon his plate, he wiped his mouth with his napkin and contemplated a piece of marchpane shaped like an owl.
“It sounds lovely,” Elizabeth told him, returning her teacup to its saucer. “I believe I would be quite willing to brave the cold Derbyshire winters to explore its beauties first hand. Especially the woods.”
Her comment appeared to please him, for he smiled as he said, “Pemberley’s woods are truly something to behold. There is one particular oak tree on the edge of it that is thought to be close to one thousand years old. Its trunk is as wide around as a post coach is long, and its branches are thick and knotted. According to my grandfather, who is long dead, the locals used to secure tokens to its branches, small items meant to express thanksgiving, or some special request in a time of need. They believed the tree, by far the oldest and largest in the forest, would whisper their messages to the wind, which would in turn carry them all the way to Heaven, to the ear of our Lord.”
“Have you left any tokens tied to the tree, Mr Darcy?” she asked, smiling as she did so.
“I have,” he admitted. “But not for a long time.” He paused to take a sip of tea. He cleared his throat. “When I was eight years old, I wanted a dog. One day, after hearing my grandfather’s tale of the Wishing Tree, for that is how it is known, I asked my father to take me there so I could make my request.”
“And was your wish granted?”
“It was, but it was my father who granted it. He took me to the tree, but he would not permit me to leave a token for that purpose. Instead, he told me more of its history. How it stood for hundreds of years through droughts and storms and wars. He told me how it was considered a sacred place, and therefore I should make no request for my own benefit, but for the benefit of someone truly in need.”
“Your father must have been a wonderful master of Pemberley.”
“He was an excellent man,” said Mr Darcy quietly, seriously. “He was all that was benevolent and amiable.” He paused and touched the rim of his teacup with his fingertip. “It was from my parents that I learnt to think well of myself and meanly of others. As a child, I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles but left to follow them in pride and conceit.”
“I see no pride now,” said Elizabeth gently. “No conceit.”
“And that is owed to you.”
Those words, so earnestly spoken and with such a look of warmth, made Elizabeth feel warm as well. She felt a lovely, fluttering sensation in her belly as she regarded him, and as he regarded her in turn. The longer she looked at him, the harder she found it to look away. She said, “I have done nothing to warrant such credit.”
“You have done more than you know,” he told her. He looked as though he would say more—that he wanted to say more—but something beyond the window caught his attention, and his gaze was suddenly drawn there.
Curious as to what had distracted him, Elizabeth looked out of the window and saw a gentleman staring back at her. He was impeccably dressed, and attractive, even with a look of utter astonishment upon his face. “Do you know that gentleman?” she asked, turning back to Mr Darcy.
“I do,” said Mr Darcy, looking displeased. “He is Colonel Fitzwilliam’s elder brother and, of late, a thorn in my side.”
“Oh. Does he live here?”
“He has an estate in Yorkshire and a house in London.”
“And now he is here.”
“As you see.”
Elizabeth turned to look out of the window once more, but Mr Darcy’s cousin was no longer standing before it. He was entering the shop and calling to Mr Darcy as he did so. She thought she heard Mr Darcy utter something unintelligible beneath his breath.
“So, this is the pressing matter of business that required your immediate attendance.”
“Emerson,” he admonished as he rose from the table, a slap of vibrant colour upon his cheeks. “You are not in the street but in a respectable establishment. Pray use your indoor voice.”
“Are you not going to introduce me?”
Mr Darcy sighed. “This is Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire. Miss Bennet, my cousin, Viscount Emerson of Sallow Hall.”
Elizabeth abandoned her chair and curtseyed. “It is a pleasure, my lord.”
His lordship smiled and bowed and said, “The pleasure is entirely mine, I assure you, my dear.” Then, upon observing Mr Darcy’s scowling countenance, his smile widened. “Where in the world have you been hiding this lovely creature, Darcy?”
“Miss Bennet is a gentlewoman, Emerson. Her father has an estate not three miles from the one that Bingley has let. He is lately married to her eldest sister.”
“So, there are more of you?” his lordship enquired with a grin, looking at Elizabeth in much the same manner as Mr Collins had once looked at Cook’s mincemeat pies.
She was beginning to understand why Mr Darcy appeared vexed. “The last time I checked, my lord, there was but one of me,” she said, giving him an arch look. “If you mean to enquire whether I have other sisters besides the one who is lately married, I have three. The youngest is not yet sixteen and the other two are not much older.”
“Georgiana’s age,” his lordship murmured with a grimace.
“Indeed.”
As though speaking of them had summoned them, the door of the shop was suddenly thrown open and Lydia, followed closely by Kitty, entered in a swirl of petticoats and ribbons.
“There you are, Lizzy,” said a breathless Lydia. “We have been looking all over for you.”
“Mama is beside herself,” Kitty gasped, “for she met Mr Drummond, who said he will call upon us within the hour.”
The moment Elizabeth heard Mr Drummond’s name on her sister’s tongue her heart sank, especially when she glanced at Mr Darcy and saw that his vexation had grown. “Who is Mr Drummond?” he demanded rather than enquired.
Had Mr Darcy demanded anything of her in months past, Elizabeth would have ignored him, but her present mortification—namely her sisters’ rudeness—prompted her to say, “He is a gentleman to whom we were introduced upon our arrival.”
That might have been the end of it, had Lydia, whose voice always overpowered everyone else’s, not talked over her and informed everyone in the room, “He is a dreadful bore who speaks of nothing but his bossy mother and his ridiculous cat.”
“But the worst part,” said Kitty, wrinkling her nose, “is that Mama likes him and his tedious stories. For weeks, she has said how she hopes he will marry Lizzy.”
Viscount Emerson, who had poured himself a cup of tea, choked on it.
Elizabeth felt as though her entire countenance had burst into flames. “I urge you both to remember where you are and to whom you are speaking. Pray go and tell Mama that I will be along shortly. There is no need for her to wait.”
“La, she and Mary are already gone,” said Lydia. “Kitty and I were sent to find you. If it is all the same, we will remain in the village, for there is nothing for us to do at home. It is not us who Mr Drummond comes to see.”
“You will do no such thing,” Elizabeth told them. “You will return home at once. You need not sit with Mr Drummond, but you will be respectful and conduct yourselves as young ladies ought to do.” Drawing a fortifying breath, she turned to Mr Darcy, who looked impenetrably grave, and felt her insides twist into a knot. “Pray forgive me, sir,” she said miserably. “It appears that I am wanted at home.”
“Then Darcy and I will be more than happy to see that all three of you ladies return there safely,” said his lordship.
“That is very kind of you, my lord,” said Elizabeth, “but hardly necessary. We do not wish to impose.”
“Utter nonsense,” the viscount insisted. “Is not that right, Darcy?”
“Utterly and completely,” he replied. “It is no imposition at all.”
Judging by his sombre tone and the fact that he did not meet her eye, Elizabeth doubted that was true. She thanked him regardless and encouraged her sulking sisters towards the door before either of them could say anything to further mortify her. They had almost made it across the threshold and into the street when Lydia suddenly turned around and said to the viscount, “You are very tall, and your waistcoat looks very fine. Are you one of Mr Darcy’s rich friends?”
“Lydia,” Elizabeth hissed, wishing she possessed the ability to silence her sister’s wretched tongue forever.
She could not bear to look at Mr Darcy for fear his mien would be darker than the clouds overhead. Intending to offer an apology to his lordship, she trained her eyes upon him instead, only to find that, rather than offended, he appeared amused.
Glancing from Lydia, to Elizabeth, to Mr Darcy, he laughed. “It so happens that I am his richest friend, but unlike Darcy, I am most certainly not in want of a wife.”
“You had best not tell my mother such a thing,” said Kitty, “for she is convinced that every single man of great fortune must be in want of a wife.”
“Not every rich, single man is the marrying type,” he told her with a wry little twist of his lips.
“That is just as well,” Lydia informed him, “because not every single lady wants to marry a rich man.”
“In my experience, I have found that is not the case,” said the viscount. “When it comes to money and security, my dear, mark my words—any lady with sense will choose a fat purse over a pauper.”
“Not Lizzy,” said her youngest sister, a smug smile upon her lips. “She could have been mistress of Longbourn when my papa dies, but she refused our cousin because he is pompous and ridiculous and could never make her happy.”
“But Lizzy would have made him miserable, too,” Kitty added, wrinkling her nose. “I cannot imagine her sitting idly by while Mr Collins’s odious patroness tells her how to run her household and keep her chickens and do whatever else a wife must do in order to please her husband.”
“Good Lord,” muttered his lordship. “That does sound odious. Does this dreadful patroness of your cousin’s have a name?”
It was not Lydia who answered his enquiry, nor Kitty, but Mr Darcy. “Mr Collins,” he said with no little irritation as he looked pointedly at his cousin, “is Lady Catherine’s parson.”
Elizabeth’s mortification was complete.