Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
A s they entered November, Elizabeth was not satisfied. It was difficult for her to not be cheerful, but no matter how she sought to improve her mood, it was futile. Even the weather was not cooperating; the days were overcast and the wind biting. Her chief source of discontent was Darcy, who was nearly miserable, quieter than ever, and increasingly withdrawn even from her.
“Christmas is just eight weeks away,” she said to him one morning. He and Mr Bingley were at Longbourn. Fortunately, Georgiana and Mr Wickham had stayed at Netherfield; Elizabeth had suffered enough of that gentleman’s company of late, and she had a better chance of coaxing Darcy into being easy, perhaps even enjoying their time together, without him there.
He only made a noise of agreement.
“My mother was speaking of it this morning. My aunt and uncle Gardiner usually come to Hertfordshire to celebrate with us.” That earned her a glance; otherwise, Darcy kept his gaze on the cup he held or on Jane and Mr Bingley, who were their sole companions in the parlour.
“And this year?”
“I do not see why they would not. I believe my mother envisions an even livelier Festive Season than usual, with you and Mr Bingley in the neighbourhood.”
He turned to meet her eye. “And my sister and Wickham.” His voice was firm, perhaps even a little cold.
“Them as well, but as much as I am pleased to spend time with Georgiana, I cannot say the same of him. ”
His eyebrows quickly rose and fell, and again he studied his almost empty cup.
Why must everything return to Mr Wickham? It was a rhetorical question, of course, but as the days passed, and with each exchange she had with him, she was growing more frustrated. She and Darcy should be married; she had assumed they would be by the end of November at the latest, but because of Mr Wickham, they were mired in a horrible dream. The only thing that would make it worse would be if he took Georgiana away, physically separating her from Darcy and their relations; her betrothed would be frantic and nothing she could do would ever calm him. Quite likely, he would search endlessly for the couple, leaving her behind in Hertfordshire or, if they were married, Derbyshire. It was not the life she wanted for them.
“Perhaps we shall have snow,” she said, forcing cheer into her voice. “It makes the world look so pretty. For a day or two, at least, before it begins to melt and turns everything muddy.” She chuckled and was rewarded with a brief smile that encouraged her to continue. “I do not know if we have ever spoken of it, but do you like to skate? The pond at Haye-Park usually freezes enough that we can go, and it is such a lovely setting. Is there a place to skate at Pemberley?” She knew there must be, since the estate was so large, but she wanted him to speak.
“There is. I imagine winters are colder in Derbyshire, and when I have been there, I do what I can to make being outdoors agreeable.” She asked him to go on, and to her relief, he did. “My father taught me and later Georgiana to take pleasure in whatever activities were available to us. He believed that boys in particular needed to run about mad as often as possible to stop them from getting up to mischief. It prepared their minds for learning, he claimed, and I suppose there is some veracity to it. We skated, built structures with the snow, sometimes staged battles using snowballs—Fitzwilliam was always especially fond of that—and we have a sleigh.”
With this opening, they were soon having an easy conversation about the winter and what Colonel Fitzwilliam and Viscount Bramwell were like as boys. She slipped her hand into Darcy’s, and felt his fingers tighten around hers. There was a risk that he would be reminded of Mr Wickham, but Elizabeth did her best to avoid it. Eventually, she would have to convince Darcy to accept Mr Wickham—not like him, but see that the friend he had loved was not entirely lost. First, she still had to work on Mr Wickham. Currently, he frequently made sly comments evidently intended to make her doubt Darcy or her attachment to him. He spoke of her doing well to capture a ‘rich prize’, implying that her only interest in Darcy was his wealth. Once, he had been so bold as to say, “People like us, those who have comparatively little, must think of the future. There is no denying there is comfort in a large fortune, even if one obtains it through marriage and not birth.”
Mr Bingley and Darcy left when it began to rain. Given the heaviness of the clouds, the former suggested they would be wise to return to Netherfield, “…before we are forced to im pose on Mrs Bennet’s hospitality far longer than a few hours. I would like to stay, naturally, but prudence tells me it is not a good idea to delay our departure.”
He gazed longingly at Jane as he spoke, and Elizabeth wished he would propose. Could he not see that it would give them all a reason to rejoice? And, if they began to make arrangements for Jane’s wedding, her father might finally allow her and Darcy to proceed with their own.
Standing near the entrance with Darcy to say farewell, she held both of his hands in hers and smiled. “I share Mr Bingley’s wish that you might stay longer. I am glad my mother and sisters allowed the four of us our privacy. As you know, that seldom happens at Longbourn, but I have missed being able to give you and you alone my attention and selfishly keep all of yours on me.”
He sighed, but it seemed one of relief rather than vexation. “I wish I could take us away, somewhere we could forget anyone else existed. I do not like to feel people are standing between us.”
“Neither do I. It will not be like this much longer. I am determined, and, as my mother always says, I am stubborn and headstrong. Nothing will keep me from securing what I wish, and what I wish is you. ”
He smiled and even gave a soft chuckle, which was a victory. “As long as you are mine, you may be as stubborn as you like.”
Standing as tall as she could, she pressed a kiss to his lips, not caring if they were observed. They were engaged, and if it encouraged her father to cease insisting they put off marrying, so much the better. Mr Bennet still made the occasional attempt to change her mind about ending the engagement, once arguing that they might resume their connexion, “…in a fe w years, after we have an opportunity to see what the consequences of his sister’s marriage are.”
“I am yours forevermore,” she whispered. “I love you, Darcy, more than I can say.”
Again, he sighed. He rested his forehead against hers for a moment. Before mounting his horse, he kissed her hands and gave her a long look, smiling when she mouthed the words, “I love you,” hoping he would repeat them, but he did not.