Chapter 9
Though it is right to be prepared for the worst, there is no occasion to look on it as certain.
— MR GARDINER, PRIDE PREJUDICE
They were playing cricket on the beach—Mary, Lydia, and Darcy made up one team, while Elizabeth, Kitty, and Viscount Emerson, who had remained in residence even after Lady Catherine and her daughter departed, made up the other.
“Ha!” cried his lordship. “You are out, Darcy!”
Elizabeth watched with a smile on her lips as Darcy told him, “Of course I am out. You throw the ball with as much force as a five-year-old.”
Lord Emerson scowled as Darcy passed the bat to Mary. The ball was thrown, Mary swung, and her bat made contact with it. Cheers rang out from Darcy and Lydia as Mary ran.
The expression on his lordship’s face was so shocked it was comical, and Elizabeth could not help but laugh. Mary was small but mighty. While she preferred reading to dancing, she could hit a ball across a cricket pitch with as much force as any gentleman.
It was then, as they were all cheering and laughing and fumbling with the ball, that Elizabeth happened to glance in the direction of the house. There, descending the path that led to the beach, were Jane and Bingley.
“Jane!” cried Kitty, dropping the ball upon the sand as she hurried towards her eldest sister. Lydia and Mary followed her with wide, happy smiles on their faces.
Elizabeth joined them. After much embracing and exclaiming and laughing, she turned to greet Bingley, who was looking not at her but at Darcy, who was approaching them with his cousin. The look on his face spoke volumes—Bingley was not pleased.
“Bingley,” said Darcy, inclining his head. “It is good to see you.”
“I regret that I cannot say the same.” Without uttering another word, not even to his wife and sisters, Bingley turned and strode back up the path.
Elizabeth’s sisters appeared to be as much in shock as she was, save for Jane, who appeared embarrassed and disappointed. Offering Darcy her hand, she said, “Pray allow me to apologise for my husband’s rudeness, Mr Darcy. You have been a good friend to him for many years and do not deserve such poor treatment.”
“It is very good of you to say, Mrs Bingley,” he told her, his voice sombre and his mien serious, “but you may feel very differently once you are made aware of what I have done.”
Jane, in typical Jane fashion, offered him a gentle, reassuring smile. “I know what you have done, sir, for Charles and I have spoken of it at length. I am well acquainted with his view of the matter, as he is acquainted with mine. Between you and I, at least, know that all is forgiven. Pray excuse me while I see to my husband.”
Darcy watched her go with something akin to awe written on his countenance.
Lord Emerson said, “Good God, Darcy. What have you done now?”
Elizabeth, sensing Darcy was likely in no mood to bear his cousin’s invasive questions, which would surely incite her sisters to make enquiries of their own, encouraged them all to return to the house. To her astonishment, and with no further questions or protest, they obliged her. After they were well on their way up the path, she turned to Darcy. “I am sorry,” she said, and placed her hand upon his arm.
He covered it with his own hand at once, pressing it gently. “It is no one’s fault but my own. Your sister is exceedingly generous. Her forgiveness astounds me. I should not have been so forgiving had someone interfered in my romance with you.”
“It is Jane’s way. She is a gentle soul with a forgiving heart. She does not like to see others suffer, regardless of their actions.” Linking her arm through his, she tugged him towards the sandy path, and they began the ascent to the top. “She also wrote in her last letter that, while it was wrong of you to interfere, she did understand your reasoning behind it.”
“Your excellent sister did not tell him I would be here, obviously. Did she know?”
“Of course. When I wrote to her last week, I told her that you had been calling upon us, that we had become friends, and that you were such delightful company that I had decided I could not bear to live without you.”
Darcy laughed. “Quite the opposite of what you once thought of me.”
Elizabeth drew closer to him and squeezed his arm. “Hush. My opinion of you now is what matters, and I could not have a higher one. In any case, Jane was excessively pleased by our happy news, and relieved. She has always thought well of you, even back when Mr Wickham was spreading his lies about you. I told her that I love you now, and that I would like it above all things if you and Bingley could reconcile.”
“I am grateful to have earned your sister’s good opinion,” he said as they reached the top of the path, “but I should like to have Bingley’s as well.”
They entered the house, then stopped short as they saw Kitty, Lydia, and Lord Emerson pressing their ears to the parlour door. Mrs Bennet sat upon a cushioned bench, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. Mary sat beside her.
“Mama,” said Elizabeth, hastening to her mother’s side, “whatever is the matter?”
“Oh, Lizzy!” cried her mother. “The house is in an uproar, for Jane and Bingley are arguing in the parlour, and I am certain he will end by casting her out. What will become of her then?”
Having some idea of what they might be arguing about, Elizabeth glanced at Darcy as she patted her mother’s hand. “I am certain Bingley will do no such thing.”
“Oh yes he will,” she insisted. “Had he wanted a wife who would argue with him, he would have married you instead of your sister. I have no idea what has got into her! She has always been so steady and complaisant. Now she is scolding poor Bingley like a fishmonger’s wife!”
“Perhaps we ought to speak to them,” Elizabeth told Darcy, growing truly concerned. Jane had rarely raised her voice to anyone, not even when they were children and a five-year-old Lydia had stolen her favourite ribbons and given them to the barn cats.
Darcy rubbed his brow.
“Someone ought to do something,” said his lordship as Jane’s voice was heard through the door. “She may throw something at him before long. Bingley’s head is thick, but I doubt it is thick enough to repel a blow from a mantel clock.”
“Come away from the door, Emerson,” said Darcy in exasperation, “and you ladies as well. It will not do to eavesdrop on a conversation that does not concern you.”
With petulant faces, Kitty, Lydia, and the viscount did as they were bid.
“I will speak to him,” said Darcy.
“It is very good of you, sir!” Mrs Bennet cried, rising from the bench and clasping his hand. “I am certain Bingley will listen to you. He has always done so before and is bound to do so now. You are, indeed, very sensible.”
Elizabeth watched as Darcy’s sombre mien became even more so. None of what her mother said had gratified him; her words had likely served to remind him of his past affronts. That he was also subject to her family’s scrutiny as they stood packed together like sheep in a narrow corridor surely did not help. Turning to his cousin, she said, “Would you be so kind, my lord, as to take my mother and sisters into the drawing room? Mama is overwrought and I believe some tea would be welcome.”
“Oh, yes,” said Mrs Bennet. “That would be just the thing to put me to rights. And some cake as well.”
“And some brandy, perhaps?” his lordship suggested with a charming smile, offering Mrs Bennet his arm. “A spot of brandy in your tea would do your nerves a world of good. My great-grandmother, the dowager countess of Shrewsbury, always swore by it.”
“Your grandmother sounds like a very wise woman, my lord,” said Mrs Bennet, “but I fear we have no brandy.”
“It is well,” said his lordship, herding everyone down the corridor and towards the drawing room. “We shall make do with whatever there is in the sideboard. At the least, I imagine your cook has a bottle of sherry on hand, a bit of rum. We shall make good use of it, I assure you.”
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth remarked, frowning at the back of him, “asking your cousin to look after my mother and sisters was not such a good idea after all. I will not be happy to find them half in their cups.”
“Emerson would not dare. I would flay him alive.”
From within the parlour, Elizabeth could hear Jane’s voice say with no little emotion, “…has he done that your sisters have not? They interfered as well, but I have not seen you take them to task for it. I have not seen you cut ties with them for taking three weeks to return my call, or for sending me a note that implied you would someday marry Miss Darcy, who is barely sixteen years old…”
Darcy laid his hand upon the parlour door, hesitating.
Elizabeth laid her hand upon his back. “You need not intervene if you do not wish to do so. I should never have suggested such a thing. They are grown adults. Husband and wife.”
He turned and reached for her, exhaling heavily as he settled his hands on her waist. Touching his forehead to hers, he said, “I want to mend things with Bingley, but interfering once again, especially now that they are married, is not the way to mend them. It would likely only make everything worse.”
Her hands had been resting on the lapels of his coat; now, she slid them over his shoulders and into his hair. “I agree,” she said, and placed a tender kiss upon the corner of his mouth.
She could feel the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
“You are a teasing woman,” he said to her.
Smiling, she pressed her lips to the same spot again. “I have it on good authority that you like to be teased,” she told him archly.
“Kiss me properly,” he murmured.
“Jane and Bingley are behind that door,” she reminded him, but she kissed him anyway—the way he liked—and held him close.
The Bennet householdhad always been lively, but that evening the gaiety within it was stifled by the tension between the gentlemen. Jane and Bingley looked, for all intents and purposes, to have reconciled. Elizabeth was glad, for their arguing had affected everyone in the house to some extent, but none more so than Darcy. He had interfered in their courtship, and now that interference was affecting their marital harmony as well. He was not happy. He missed his friend.
Mrs Bennet, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia had gone upstairs to nap, to read, and to pull apart their bonnets, respectively. Elizabeth and Darcy were in the back garden, lounging on a floral rug spread upon the grass. His head was in Elizabeth’s lap, and she was reading to him a sonnet by Edmund Spenser.
One day I wrote her name upon the strand,
But came the waves and washed it away:
Again I wrote it with a second hand,
But came the tide, and made my pains his prey.
‘Vain man,’ said she, ‘that dost in vain assay,
A mortal thing so to immortalise;
For I myself shall like to this decay,
And eke my name be wiped out likewise.
“It is fortunate for me,” said Darcy, “that Mr Drummond had no notion of making you his wife, else this sonnet would be intolerable. Where did you get it?”
“From my father’s book-room.”
“Does he consider this appropriate reading material for a young gentlewoman?”
Rolling her eyes, Elizabeth snapped the book closed. “You need not listen to another word,” she told him with mock sternness. “I shall leave you to find some other way of amusing yourself, Mr Darcy, and I shall see whether supper is ready.” She made to rise, but he grasped her hand.
“I am content as I am. I promise to keep my comments to myself.”
Elizabeth took a moment to admire him—his tousled hair and his rumpled coat and his smile. “I do believe that I like you this way,” she said, smiling affectionately as she touched his face.
A throat was cleared, and Darcy released her hand.
Elizabeth’s cheeks flamed as she beheld Bingley, his eyes averted, standing a dozen feet or so away. Darcy rose at once, extending his hand and assisting her to stand.
Elizabeth smoothed her skirts and hoped that her new brother would not be inclined to think less of Darcy for having come upon them in such an unguarded moment.
“I was hoping to speak to you privately,” said Bingley, glancing at Elizabeth. “Forgive me, Lizzy.”
“There is no need,” Elizabeth told him, then turned to Darcy and said, “I will be in the house should you need me.” In a gesture of encouragement and affection, she laid her hand upon his arm. But when she went to withdraw her hand, Darcy grasped it and did not let go.
“Whatever you have to say to me,” he told Bingley, “Elizabeth may hear.”
Bingley looked as though he would protest, but eventually, he did no more than sigh. “This is difficult for me to say. But I suppose you are not unfamiliar with the feeling, having said what you did to me in May.” Pursing his lips, he told Darcy, “I am still angry about it. You were very wrong to interfere. Do you admit as much?”
“I do, and I am truly sorry for it. I should never have presumed to know Mrs Bingley’s heart better than you knew her yourself. Your knowledge of her was superior, and I ought to have recognised that. I should never have interfered.”
A slap of colour appeared high upon Bingley’s cheeks. Elizabeth could not account for it, until he mumbled, “Jane said much the same. That I knew her better than anyone save for her sisters. And I should have known that she loved me regardless of what you and my sisters said about it. That she was not merely trying to please her mother and elevate her family by accepting my attentions.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking for all the world like a little boy who had been called upon the carpet by his mother. “She said quite a lot of other things, too, but I shall not mention them. It would likely take us all night, which would vex my new mother to no end. Apparently, Cook has got hold of a fine goose.”
“Will you shake hands, then?” Darcy asked him, stepping forwards and extending his own.
Bingley offered him a rueful twist of his lips. “Only if you accept my congratulations. I understand we are to be brothers.”
“I could not think of a better one,” Darcy told him.
“Nor I,” said Bingley, clasping Darcy’s hand and pulling him into a crushing embrace.
“So,”said Elizabeth, swinging her bonnet by its ribbons as she walked along the beach beside Darcy the next day. As it was nearing dusk, it was blessedly devoid of people, and they had it entirely to themselves, save for Jane and Bingley, who trailed behind them. The stairs that led to the bluff were just ahead. Her lips lifted in a smile.
“So,” said Darcy, smiling at her in turn.
“I suppose that all is well that ends well. You and Bingley are friends once more.”
“We are, and I could not be happier. It was good of him to speak to me.”
Elizabeth’s smile slipped from her face. “He ought to have spoken to you much sooner. As Jane said, you did nothing worse than what his own sisters had done.”
“No, but they are very different creatures. They wanted to raise themselves up to a position in life that was better than their own.”
“I did not see much wrong with their position, only their attitudes.”
“Must we speak of Bingley’s sisters?” he asked. “We are here, at this lovely seaside retreat, and they are far away in Scarborough. It is a relief to be free of Miss Bingley and her aspirations.”
“I am certain it is,” said Elizabeth with an arch little smile. “Shall we climb to the top?”
Darcy looked from Elizabeth to the staircase, then back to Elizabeth, and sighed. “If you desire it, I suppose we must.”
Placing her hand upon the rockface, Elizabeth began to climb. “It is not terribly difficult,” she told Darcy. “It is simply very steep.”
“It is very high,” he said as he followed behind her. “Which means that the ground, once we arrive at the top, is a very long way down.”
“The view is worth it.”
“Worth risking falling to your death?” he asked drily.
“Hush,” she told him. “And I will be silent as well, so as not to distract you.”
Darcy laughed. “That is impossible. For you distract me as much when you are silent as when you are not.”
They ceased speaking in any case, for the higher they climbed, the more imperative it became that they pay attention to the placement of their feet. Finally, they reached the top. Elizabeth leapt from the staircase onto the bluff and Darcy followed, although in a more dignified, cautious manner. His aversion to heights had surprised her, until he told her how his father had fallen from an outcrop of rock near Pemberley and never fully recovered from his injuries. That he indulged her in her adventures despite his aversion only made her love him more.
They stood together, looking out over the coast, where inky waves rushed onto the shore and receded, again and again. Overhead, gulls soared in endless circles in search of a tasty supper of hermit crabs, snails, and oysters.
Then there was the sky, resplendent with vibrant colour. The sun hung low within it, slowly making its way towards the horizon.
Elizabeth sighed contentedly as she watched it, anticipating the moment it would disappear into the sea. She felt Darcy move closer to her and reach for her hand. She surrendered hers without hesitation. “I love it here,” she said to him. “When I first discovered this place, it was like finding buried treasure.”
“Until the day you discovered me standing in this very spot.”
“No. I was shocked, and embarrassed, but never upset or disappointed. You were kind to me, far kinder than I felt I deserved. Now, I am nothing but grateful.” She paused, then said softly, “You told me that day that you believed there was magic here. I have come to believe that as well. Of all the mysteries and delights I have experienced since I arrived, coming to know the man you truly are at heart is by far the very best of all the treasures I have found at Evermore on Sea. Falling in love with you has been effortless, as effortless as breathing. Now that we have found our way to each other—now that we are to marry—I cannot imagine any other course for myself. I cannot imagine my life without you.”
“Nor can I imagine my life without you,” he told her with no little emotion, giving her hand an affectionate squeeze as he tugged her towards him until she rested within the circle of his arms. “There is nowhere I would rather be than by your side. When I came upon you that day, I was lost. I wanted clarity.”
“And we both know that I am the very opposite of ambiguous,” she said teasingly.
Darcy shook his head. “You are everything I needed. Everything I wanted to find I have found with you. Clarity. Hope. Happiness.” He drew her closer, and without so much as a by-your-leave, he kissed her—tenderly, lovingly, deeply.
“I love you, Elizabeth,” he said against her lips when they parted, his breath ragged and his heart pounding in time with her own. “I have for a very long time, and I will never stop.”
“I am glad,” she murmured, touching his face with trembling fingers, “for I have come to love you at least as much.” And she stood upon the tips of her toes, pulled him close, and kissed him as he had kissed her—with her whole heart.
The setting sun was quite forgotten.
The End