Chapter 2 #2
“Although I have a house in Town,” Mr Darcy said, “I consider home to be my estate in Derbyshire. Also, I gather, not visible from Oakham Mount.”
“Derbyshire is definitely not visible. Would you like to walk to Oakham Mount now and see the unexaggerated truth?”
“I always prefer exercise over drawing-room chatter,” he responded.
He stood and waited while Elizabeth informed her mother of their destination and then gathered several sisters as chaperones.
He allowed Elizabeth to precede him into the foyer, where they all donned their outerwear before setting off.
Elizabeth had little concern about propriety and did not mind a bit that she and Mr Darcy walked faster than her younger sisters, and it was not long before they left them far behind.
She pointed out the trail he could take from Netherfield, once they were high enough to see it, in case he ever wanted to walk or ride to Oakham Mountain on his own, and he commented appreciatively on the late-blooming wildflowers that did not grow in Derbyshire.
However, their ascent was mostly silent.
Elizabeth was pleased that Mr Darcy had the capacity for such quiet togetherness.
She loved to be outdoors in part because she enjoyed the soft sounds of small animals skittering through leaves or digging into soil, the susurration of leaves trembling in the breeze, the melodic bursts from birds, and the rhythmic trills and croaks and whirrs from insects and frogs.
Longbourn was quite noisy, generally, and Elizabeth considered it a most irritating flavour of noisiness.
She hated when people brought mindless prattle and mean-spirited gossip into nature, as well.
Once they reached the top of the hill, Elizabeth slowly turned around a full circle to enjoy the panorama of forests and fields.
Having enjoyed the all-encompassing view, she turned to look at Mr Darcy.
He was watching her with a little, enigmatic smile.
She realised that, smiling, he looked very different from the concerned young man she had first seen in London, all those years ago, and also very different from the uncomfortable man she had danced with at the assembly.
Smiling, he looked even more handsome, which should have been impossible, and of course she smiled back at him.
“It is very pretty here, is it not?” she asked.
“Very beautiful indeed,” Mr Darcy said. She saw that he was still studying her more than the landscape, so she pointed out the small park connected with Lucas Lodge, the forest that formed part of the boundary between Netherfield and Longbourn, and other features that could help a newcomer orient himself.
Eventually Lydia and Kitty arrived, squabbling over whose bonnet was prettier, and Mary trudged up the last few yards with a very judgmental look that she swept over her bickering sisters as well as over Elizabeth—likely because she had dared to disappear from her chaperone’s sight for a number of minutes.
“I suppose you now see why I generally walk alone, sir,” Elizabeth whispered.
He chuckled but then became serious. He said, “I have a much younger sister. I have always tried to protect her, but this past year I neglected to be as careful as I should have been, and I nearly lost her. I wish the world was a safer place for young women, and girls, but….”
He did not finish his lament, but Elizabeth understood his point and murmured, “We cannot always count on Mr Darcy and his cousin Richard saving us from every iteration of Mr Wickham?”
“Unfortunately, that is the truth,” he answered.
“But still, I walk alone on my father’s estate, not a London street nor the wilderness.”
He nodded; then, offering his arm, he asked, “Shall we?”
Elizabeth took his arm as they moved to descend the trail. During portions of the descent, they had to walk single file, but whenever they achieved a flatter, wider trail, he offered his arm again, and Elizabeth gladly took it.
Suddenly, from behind, they heard a shrill cry, “Come back here!” The cacophony of giggles and shouts and insults and thudding steps down the trail caused Elizabeth to drop Mr Darcy’s arm so she could spin around and glare at Lydia and Kitty.
With her feet positioned in a wide stance, her arms akimbo, and steel in her voice, she called out in a low pitch, “Lydia and Kitty! Please cease this objectionable behaviour immediately!”
She heard Mr Darcy gasp, and she supposed he was horrified by her youngest sisters’ noisy and careless deportment.
Because she was firmly planted in the middle of the trail, Lydia and Kitty did slow down and then stop.
Elizabeth immediately realised what had caused this latest quarrel, and she hissed at Lydia, “Give your sister her bonnet.”
Then, blushing with the utmost mortification, she turned back to Mr Darcy. “I apologise to your eardrums and your sensibilities, sir.”
She watched Lydia return the hat and walk, rather than run, back to the house, Kitty trailing behind her while inspecting her bonnet for damage. Elizabeth sighed and then turned towards Mr Darcy to see how horrified he might be.
But he did not look horrified. Indeed, he was grinning. Elizabeth wanted to swoon, and she pleaded with her nerves, telling her body that it was impossible for him to become even more gorgeous than before; her body was not, apparently, inclined to listen.
She was not certain what to say. Between the humiliation of having such noisome and ill-behaved sisters and the discomfiture of having her knees respond to his smile by threatening to utterly give way, she felt incapable of forming words of inquiry or further apology.
But her silence was not a problem, because Mr Darcy spoke: “I remember you!”
“You remember me? From when I was eleven?”
“I do. You saw Wickham leering at your sister and staggering towards her, and you planted your feet and put your hands on your hips, as you did just now, and you glared at him. You were so protective of your older sister—and she was much taller than you then, instead of only an inch or two taller, as she is now. You were fierce. And admirable.”
Elizabeth continued to blush. She said, “Thank you for the pretty speech. I am positive I little deserve such kind words, and I am surprised that you remember me. I fear that the reality is that you saw my supposed fierceness as humorous and pitiable—after all, how could I have protected my sister from Mr Wickham, at age eleven, if you and your cousin had not been there?”
“No. You were not pitiable. And not laughable. You would not have been strong enough to stop Wickham physically, but I feel certain that you could have frightened him off with your words and your glare, and if not, you certainly could have rallied some protection from others, even if we had not been there.”
Elizabeth could only feel embarrassed for so long, and she burst into laughter over the picture of her standing up to Mr Wickham with just her words and her frown.
“I am ever so certain that you are right, Mr Darcy. Since you say I was strong enough and fierce enough, I must have been so. I can picture it, a little girl, age eleven, hurling words like cannonballs and felling grown men.”
He laughed along with her, but he stopped laughing and even smiling once they reached the clamorous house. Elizabeth turned to look at him before entering and asked, “Should I go in by myself, fish Mr Bingley out for you, and allow you to escape the pandemonium within unscathed?”
“I am not afraid,” he said. “‘Once more unto the breach,’ madam.”
Even though he seemed to have sworn off laughing, Elizabeth chuckled at their bookish humour and, once she reached Longbourn’s parlour, she sought to soothe her mother and calm her sisters.
She eagerly drank her lemonade and rang for more refreshments, and she fostered polite conversations about pleasant topics, as well as she could.
And…she attempted to shrug off the sadness she felt, knowing that her family would likely manage to sink any marriage prospects she might ever have, because of their vulgar words and boisterous conduct. Who would ever wish to connect with her family?