Chapter 6
Nothing ever fatigues me but doing what I do not like.
— MISS CRAWFORD, MANSFIELD PARK
Mr Drummond had been there for hours. Now that Mr Darcy had come, courtesy required him to politely make his excuses and withdraw, yet he made no move to do so. Instead, he reclaimed his chair and resumed the ridiculous tale he had been telling Elizabeth’s mother about his gouty cat.
Mr Darcy, who had not yet claimed any seat, looked on with a touch of apparent irritation, which turned to confusion as Mr Drummond said,
“…and Her Highness was so very naughty that I sent her directly to bed without her supper. It pained me, of course, for the poor dear did nothing but yowl and cry all night long, but Mother would not allow her back into the drawing room for anything. She was adamant that she would have her way. What else could I do but oblige her?” His mien became serious as he said, “I will tell you, madam, I slept not one wink that night, and as soon as the sun rose the following morning, I stole away to her bedchamber and fed her a breakfast fit for a queen.”
“And you were very right to do it,” said her mother. “The poor dear. I am certain she was much better behaved once she had eaten her fill. I myself like a good breakfast. It does wonders for the constitution. I suppose it is only fitting that Her Highness would as well.”
Elizabeth nearly laughed at the incredulous expression on Mr Darcy’s face. Taking pity on him, she told him quietly, “Mr Drummond was speaking of his cat, sir. She is named for his mother, but he has taken to calling her ‘Her Highness’ because to call her by her given name causes confusion amongst his friends. Or so he claims. From what I have gathered from his stories, she is quite spoilt.”
“The cat or the mother?” Mr Darcy enquired drily.
This time Elizabeth did give way to laughter. “Both, I imagine.”
The corners of his lips lifted in an intimation of a smile. “It is very good to see you, Miss Bennet.”
“And you, as well, Mr Darcy.”
And it was good to see him, surprisingly so. With Mr Darcy came intelligent, interesting conversation, whereas Mr Drummond talked incessantly of his cat and his mother, both of whom apparently preferred Beethoven over Mozart, mutton over beef, and long naps on the upholstered seat in his study window. She could not imagine marrying him. In fact, the more she saw of him, the more she suspected that Mr Drummond was not inclined to marry anyone. He was so clearly attached to his mother, and his mother to him, that Elizabeth doubted the woman would ever willingly give way to a wife should he dare to bring one home; nor did she believe Mr Drummond would ever demand that she do so. It was entirely likely the thought would never even cross his mind.
Mr Darcy indicated an upholstered chaise longue set against the wall on the opposite side of the room. “Shall we sit?”
Elizabeth glanced at her mother, who was listening attentively to Mr Drummond’s absurdity, and shook her head. “To be honest, I can think of nothing I would like less. I have been sitting in this room all afternoon and have grown rather restless.”
He gestured towards the window instead. “There appears to be an impressive view of the coast.”
“Oh, yes,” she said, brightening as she led him towards the window. “The view is truly something to behold, but it is nothing when compared to being out of doors. The sand and the waves and the scent of the sea…there is nothing else like it.”
“No,” Mr Darcy agreed, falling into step beside her. “I daresay there is not.”
Elizabeth pointed out the back garden, and a long, sandy path that wound all the way down to the beach. “When the tide is at its peak,” she told him, “the water comes very close to reaching the bottom of the path. It is a little bit frightening but also exciting, especially seeing the waves churn and recede and charge forwards yet again. My mother was appalled by it, for the waves can be quite forceful at times, and my sisters and I were promptly forbidden from using the path at high tide, for fear that we may be swept out to sea.”
“And so you stay away, so as not to cause her to worry.” A wry intimation of a smile appeared once more upon his mouth. “In this instance, your mother is fortunate to have only daughters, for a son would not be so accommodating.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I fear you give us too much credit, Mr Darcy. Ladies, too, feel the urge to seek adventure on occasion. Some far more often than others.”
“Do you refer to yourself?”
A blush bloomed upon Elizabeth’s cheeks as she confided, “There was one particular night shortly after we first arrived when the moon was almost full. It cast its silvery light upon everything in its path, and the water positively glistened. There was barely any wind, and the sea was calm. As my mother slept, my sisters and I stole from the house in our nightshifts and robes and down the path and dipped our bare feet into the water.” With an arch little smile, she said, “Now, despise us if you dare.”
“That I can never do,” said Mr Darcy, “for I am guilty of committing the same offence, many times.”
“How many times?” she asked, imagining him as a boy, stealing away to experience the rush of water on his feet, and the shifting sands beneath them.
He grinned and shook his head and laughed. “Far too many to count I am afraid.”
Feeling bold, she said, “And I suppose you have bathed in the sea as well.”
This time, it was his countenance that became flushed. “I have,” he told her. “In fact, I still do whenever I have the opportunity, which is not nearly so often as I would like.”
“I confess I am quite envious. Sea-bathing is something I have yet to experience.”
“I am surprised to hear it,” he said, and indeed, he did look surprised. “I would have thought you, with your curious nature and your adventuresome spirit, would have been eager to bathe in the sea.”
She looked across the room at her mother, who was at that moment speaking to Mr Drummond in hushed tones. She heard tiny snippets of their conversation—the words cat…supper…fish pie—and shook her head with a rueful little smile. “An adventuresome spirit matters little when one’s mother will not agree to the scheme. She has declared it too dangerous, especially as Mary and Kitty are not strong swimmers.”
“There are bathing machines and dippers just north of here. I assure you it is quite safe.”
“I have made the same argument myself, as have my sisters. My mother is determined. We none of us will be going sea-bathing while we are here.”
Mr Darcy looked at her for a long moment, so long in fact, that Elizabeth nearly began to fidget. At length, he said, “Then you will simply have to come back another time.”
“That is unlikely,” she told him, knowing full well that her father would not sanction another trip to the seaside for many years to come. The expense and the time it took to travel there were too great.
“Anything is possible,” he insisted. “In the meantime, Miss Bennet, perhaps you would do me the honour of consenting to walk along the beach for half an hour or so? The rain has stopped, the tide is low, and the wind is not nearly so strong as it was yesterday. Should you happen to feel the urge to unfasten your bonnet’s ribbons, I am confident that your bonnet will remain firmly upon your head.”
Elizabeth laughed, delighted that he would tease her, especially considering he had not only suffered mortification as a result of such a mishap, but an injury. “I intend to leave my bonnet at home, sir. But I thank you for your assurance all the same.”
They applied to her mother, who gave her consent in an absent fashion, for she was in the midst of telling Mr Drummond about her nervous complaints. Far from disinterested, he appeared enthralled. Neither appeared to think anything of their walking out alone together, and so Elizabeth determined to enjoy her half an hour of freedom while it lasted.
Mr Darcy assisted her with her pelisse, and they left the house through the back entrance. Elizabeth led the way across the garden and down the long, winding path to the beach, pointing out various flowers that she admired, and the gulls overhead.
The sea was exactly as Mr Darcy had said—surprisingly calm. “How wonderful to be out of that stuffy drawing room and breathing fresh air! I was beginning to think I would go mad.”
“I know precisely how you feel. I spent the last two days imprisoned in the house with Emerson.”
“A penance indeed,” Elizabeth remarked with a teasing turn of her lips as they made their way towards the water’s edge.
“There are also two others in residence there, both of whom claim an acquaintance with you. Lady Catherine and her daughter.”
Hearing of their presence surprised her, for she had heard nothing of that from anyone, not even her mother. Lady Catherine had been gracious to her when she had visited at Rosings Park, but her graciousness was often accompanied by a barrage of impertinent questions and unsolicited advice. “Oh.”
“I have said nothing of their arrival, for they have yet to leave the house, although my aunt will certainly do so before long. She is eager to know everything about the place, likely so she can be of use to the villagers and everyone else in residence, whether they request her interference or not.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Yes. I recall quite clearly how Lady Catherine likes to be of use! But I am surprised she would choose to come here. It is so quiet, unlike Brighton, which I imagine has many diversions better suited to her tastes.”
Mr Darcy shook his head. “I understand why you may think so, but I assure you, this is precisely the sort of place my aunt prefers. The village is prosperous, but its people are not born too high. There are tourists, but none of them claim ties to the nobility which, in her mind, only reinforces her sense of self-importance. If there were a dowager countess or a duchess or even another lady of rank equal to her own, she would not be so satisfied.”
“Ah. I suppose that makes an odd sort of sense.” A thought occurred to her then. “Does Lady Catherine know that I am here with my mother and sisters?”
“Not as yet, no.”
Elizabeth bit her lip. “You wish my presence here to be kept a secret?”
“No. No. Of course not.” He paused to rub his brow.
Elizabeth hardly knew what to think, especially as he said nothing further as they made their way along the shore. Waves capped with white foam rushed towards their boots, but never quite succeeded in reaching them. She stared at the ground as she walked, at the impressions that other creatures had left in the sand—gulls and terns and crabs. The wind was not harsh, but it was strong enough to loosen a few curls from their pins. She tucked them absently behind her ears.
It had long been her custom to speak plainly, but with Mr Darcy, it had not always served her well. They were friends now rather than antagonists. And she liked him. She liked him very much. Reining in her impatience until he was ready to speak for once was not beyond her, even though her curiosity was piqued.
She had no sooner decided on her course, when Mr Darcy obliged her by saying, “My reason for keeping your presence here a secret is purely selfish. Simply put, I wish for more time with you, so that you can come to know me better. And also so that my aunt, who is ever more determined to see me married to her daughter, will stay out of my personal affairs so that I might resolve them to my satisfaction. Whatever that may entail.”
He looked at her then, his eyes attentive and serious, and Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat. She had not known what to expect, but she had not expected him to say what he had to her. Did he mean what she thought he meant by it? That he wished to renew his addresses to her? To marry her? She was shocked, although perhaps she ought not to have been. He had sought her out again and again. He had made every effort to speak with her and to show her kindness, despite the wretched things she had once said to him. Mr Darcy had forgiven her. Enough to want to be with her, to come to know her better, and to allow her sufficient time to come to know him.
The question remained: Did she want the same?
Looking at him, at the tension in his face and his shoulders and his hands as he awaited her reply, she thought that perhaps she did want it. He was not the same man that he was last autumn, nor was he the same man that he was in the spring. Or perhaps he was, but in ways she had not recognised because she had never truly taken the trouble to know him—who he was or what he believed or what he liked. She had not considered his thoughts or his feelings or his impressions of the world beyond a few conversations in a handful of drawing rooms surrounded by other people.
Elizabeth’s throat felt suspiciously tight. She swallowed thickly and licked her lips and willed her voice to remain steady. “I do not know how to answer you.”
“You need say nothing at all.”
“How can I say nothing when you have said so much?”
“And yet,” said Mr Darcy with a self-deprecating twist of his mouth, “I feel as though I have not said nearly enough to you.”
They were nearing the ancient staircase that led to the bluff, but it was too late in the day to climb to the top. Elizabeth would not have wished to make the climb in any case, not when Mr Darcy was so serious and grave and silent. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine she was back at Rosings. Then, his silence had been a constant irritation, especially when he presumed to join her on her solitary rambles. She walked often, and therefore he joined her often. Now, she felt his silence every bit as viscerally as she did then, but instead of irritation, she felt an ache in her throat and a knot in her belly and an ever-increasing desire to be close to him.
As they continued to make their way ever farther down the beach, Mr Darcy’s coat sleeve brushed Elizabeth’s arm, and she stumbled—not because she was knocked out of kilter, but because the sensation of it left her reeling. Mr Darcy, being the proper gentleman that he was, came to her rescue. He steadied her by placing his hand on the small of her back, and the sensation it produced almost upset her again. Where he touched her felt wonderful and warm, as did all the places his hand did not touch. That he had suddenly developed such power over her was astonishing, but perhaps it was not the result of something Mr Darcyhad done, but rather the result of something Elizabeth had begun to feel towards him. She was still contemplating what that might mean when she heard Mr Darcy say,
“I went to Hertfordshire last autumn because I was ordered there by my aunt, Lady Carlisle, after she insisted Georgiana might recover from her disappointment faster if I was not hovering over her like a mother hen. She was correct, of course, for I was angry, and rightly so—with Wickham for his unconscionable betrayal, with my sister for failing to recognise Wickham’s true intent, and with myself for allowing her to go off to Ramsgate in the first place when I had felt in my heart that she should remain at home.”
Elizabeth could hear the self-recrimination in his voice, and it pained her. Wanting to comfort him, she said gently, “I cannot imagine how difficult that must have been for you. It was a terrible thing that Mr Wickham did, but you ought not to blame yourself for his choices and actions, nor should you blame yourself for doing something for your sister that you believed would afford her pleasure. You should give yourself the credit you are due. You are an excellent brother. And you were a far better friend to that scoundrel than he deserved. Now, I think it is time for you to be a friend to yourself.”
He stopped walking then and stood before her, his fingers toying with his signet ring. He looked towards the sea, where the sun’s rays glistened like jewels upon the water as it rolled and dipped with the tide. Elizabeth found it difficult to avert her eyes from it. More difficult still was resisting the urge to reach out and place her hand over Mr Darcy’s fingers to stop him from twisting his ring. That he was nervous as well as agitated affected her, more deeply than she would have believed possible. She wanted to calm him, and to offer him reassurance, but to touch him in so intimate a fashion was not her right.
“Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth…”
Hearing her name on his lips—accompanied with such words of endearment—sent a shock through her, as did the look of adoration in his gaze as their eyes met and held. He had always called her Miss Bennet, even when in Hertfordshire. Even when Jane was nearby. Only her father ever called her Elizabeth, and sometimes her mother when she was vexed. Never had it sounded the way it did when Mr Darcy pronounced it, as though her name was not a name, but a prayer.
She could not speak, no matter how she tried.
And so Mr Darcy cleared his throat and tucked his hands behind his back, and said, “Forgive me for having forgotten myself in such a way.”
“Of course,” she murmured, willing herself to remain calm.
“You are very generous.”
“I am not generous at all,” she insisted, linking her fingers together so her hands would remain where they belonged. “I am…” She gave a little shake of her head, frustrated that the word she sought eluded her. “I am sorry,” she said with a self-effacing little huff. “It appears that I have lost the ability to express myself.”
“I am not unfamiliar with the feeling,” said Mr Darcy with an ironic twist of his mouth.
They began to walk again, in silence at first, but eventually Mr Darcy said, “Last autumn, when I said what I did in reference to you—that you were not handsome enough to tempt me—it was for the sole purpose of getting Bingley to leave me alone. I did not even glance at you, but in your general direction, to placate him.”
“Mr Bingley,” Elizabeth remarked with the intimation of a smile playing upon her lips, “can be persistent when it comes to dancing. He enjoys the exercise. Therefore, everyone else ought to enjoy it as well. He ought to have left you alone, especially when he knew that you disliked standing up with strangers.”
“I ought to have danced with you,” he told her. “I ought to have begged Bingley for an introduction, for although I did not see you properly at the time, it was not long until I did. Once I saw you, truly saw you, there was nothing in the world I wanted more than to know you. To this day, no other woman has ever attracted my notice, or garnered my esteem and my admiration as you have done. You are, without doubt, the handsomest woman of my acquaintance, but also the cleverest and the most charitable.”
Elizabeth did not immediately reply. She had thought Mr Darcy extremely handsome at the time—all the ladies had considered him handsome. Once she had overheard his insult, however, he became less so. He had wounded her vanity, far more than Mr Gilbert’s roving hands and Mr Talbot’s attentions to Jane had. To hear the sincerity in his voice as he paid her such pretty compliments now gratified her. He had been honest with her, and so Elizabeth would be honest with him.
“I wish you had asked me to dance as well. I had thought you uncommonly handsome and overhearing the comments you made about me hurt.” The hint of a smile turned her lips as she said wryly, “It is far pleasanter for a lady to hear herself referred to as being handsome and clever instead of merely tolerable.”
“You are handsome, exceedingly so, and your intelligence has always impressed me.”
“That you truly think so pleases me more than I can say. But charitable?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. “That I cannot accept. How can you consider me charitable after what I said to you in April?”
“How can I not?” Mr Darcy insisted. “You said much that I needed to hear. You challenged me for my poor behaviour and held me accountable for it. You reminded me of what I ought to have done all along, which is to treat you with the respect that is your due as a woman worthy of being pleased. I did nothing but stare at you in Hertfordshire. In Kent I was little better. The other day, you offered your friendship. If that is not charitable, I do not know what is. As for myself, I am determined you should know what you mean to me. Assuming I knew your mind and that you in turn knew mine has done us no favours. I would have you know my thoughts, and my heart.”
“You ought to hate me.”
“I cannot. I can do nothing but love you.”
“How?” she asked as his words made her heart race and her belly tighten. “How is it possible that you still love me?”
He smiled, but it was a sad smile. “It cannot be helped. Through you I have been properly humbled. Through you, I have become a better man. I will always be grateful for that, and I will always love you for it, regardless of your sentiments towards me.”
Alarmed, she said, “You almost sound as though you are saying goodbye.”
“No. Never. But…”
“Whatever it is, simply say what you have to say. We have long since gone beyond the pale of polite conversation. If there is more, I wish to hear it.”
“Very well. In May, I told Bingley that I had concealed your sister’s presence in town. I told him that I believed I had been mistaken in my assumption that she did not care for him, and I urged him to return to Hertfordshire at once so that they might soon come to an understanding.”
“He told us that you encouraged his return to Netherfield, but nothing was said about your confession. He said merely that he had been too long away, and that Netherfield required his attention.”
Mr Darcy rubbed his brow. “Did he happen to mention that we quarrelled?”
Frowning, Elizabeth told him, “No. He mentioned nothing of quarrelling with you. I suppose that is why you did not attend my sister’s wedding?”
“I did not attend your sister’s wedding because I was not invited.”
Elizabeth blinked. “Jane said nothing of this to me.”
“I doubt that she knows. Bingley may not have wished to further injure her by telling her the truth of the matter.”
Elizabeth was at a loss for words. Mr Darcy and Bingley had been friends for a long time. Bingley had sought his advice on all manner of subjects. But perhaps forgiving him for concealing Jane’s presence was beyond even Bingley’s good nature. Still, it disappointed her to learn that her congenial new brother had gone so far as to exclude his good friend from his wedding. He was, after all, just as much to blame as Mr Darcy, for he had spent much time with Jane and therefore ought to have known her better.
He was also a grown man, an independent man, perfectly capable of making his own decisions and acting upon them without reference to anyone else. Unless Mr Darcy tied him bodily to his bed in London to prevent him from boarding his carriage, Bingley was as guilty as his friend.
Mr Darcy cleared his throat, not once but twice, and averted his eyes to the ground.
He was his own master and would never stand for anyone dictating the course of his life. Elizabeth had refused his proposal of marriage in the severest of terms, yet he had written her a letter to explain himself and handed it to her in the grove the next day. It was scandalous of him to do it, and wrong of her to accept it, but not one day passed when she had not been glad that she had. From Mr Darcy’s letter, she learnt the truth of Mr Wickham’s perfidy, and the lengths that Mr Darcy would go to protect those he loved.
Shewas one of those he loved.
This time, when Elizabeth noticed his fingers twisting his ring in an endless loop around his finger, she did not hesitate to reach out and still his hand. “I am so very sorry.”
Mr Darcy covered her hand with his own before grasping it tightly. “As am I,” he said softly, and raised her hand to his lips.