Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
Georgiana and Mrs Annesley had left for Ramsgate a fortnight ago, and to Darcy’s surprise, Pemberley felt quiet with them gone. His sister was reserved, but having two fewer people to take excursions with and share meals with had contracted his circle since he was not entertaining this summer. Miss Lucas might have been more pleasant with him as of late, but she still fell behind when they all walked through a dale or she excused herself after dinner rather than sit with Elizabeth and him.
He did not mind it at all.
Darcy was too much accustomed to commanding his feelings, so it was unlikely that Elizabeth knew how often she was in his thoughts or how much he enjoyed being with her. He had the good sense to devote as much of his time to her company as was possible. August was nearly over, and by December, she would be gone.
The letters were brought in at breakfast, and he could hide his disappointment over her eventual departure by poring over them. The first was another from Milton, and Darcy kept his face impassive as he read it. His cousin asked after Elizabeth’s health in the starkest of terms and repeated his intention to take the child if it was a boy. He carefully folded it so Elizabeth would not see .
Finding Fitzwilliam’s will felt more urgent now, as her delivery date was two months away.
He cast a quick look to see if she had noticed his furtiveness. Elizabeth and Miss Lucas were comparing their letters from home; between each of their sisters, they had a complete view of whatever the latest Meryton gossip was. He, meanwhile, was absorbed by an alarming letter from Mrs Annesley.
The most worthless man in all of England had attempted to renew his acquaintance with his fifteen-year-old sister. Georgiana remembered him from her childhood, but Mrs Annesley had not been at ease with the man’s manner, and was now asking if George Wickham was indeed a long-time friend of the Darcy family.
Darcy felt Elizabeth glancing at him while he read. Some of his outrage must have shown on his face. Perhaps he was not as in command of his feelings as he thought.
“Are you well?” she whispered across the table. Of course, Miss Lucas could still hear them, but she had the good manners to pretend to be engrossed by her coffee and her own letter.
He wanted to tell Elizabeth he had distressing news, but he had no right to impose his concerns on her, or to consult and confide in her about personal matters. “Of course.”
She held his gaze and looked as though she did not believe him, but she was too polite to press him. He had never before wanted a confidant so badly. He wanted to talk about it with her, and he would have talked of it with Fitzwilliam if he were still alive. All of his worry for Georgiana, combined with his feelings of frustration and grief, made it impossible to sit at the table a moment longer.
“I have matters of business, ladies,” he said, collecting his letters and rising. “I shall see you both this evening.”
Not that it would take him that long to compose a letter to Georgiana’s companion to state explicitly that Wickham was not to be allowed near her. An hour later, he was certain that he had composed his thoughts calmly, but with enough emphasis to clarify that his sister should have no contact with that scoundrel. He was writing the direction as one of the library doors opened and Elizabeth entered .
She seemed self-conscious and hovered in indecision before approaching the table.
“It is now the third week in August.” He did not know how to reply to this statement of the obvious. She took a few steps nearer. “Could we go to the bank in Bakewell tomorrow? To receive my quarterly pension.”
Why was she nervous to ask, especially when he was the one to insist she claim her pension in the first place? “Certainly. We can go today if you like.”
“Tomorrow or another day this week. I could have asked you any time; there is no hurry. I will probably walk in the park today.”
Darcy had risen when she entered, and she stood by the table, neither looking like she intended to stay nor seeming as though she had said all that she wanted to. It was not like Elizabeth to be bashful, but they stood looking at one another in perplexity.
“Did you need any?—”
“I know you received a letter that distressed you,” she said in a rush. She had been reading her own letter and talking with Miss Lucas when he read Milton’s, and he breathed a sigh of relief that she had only seen his more expressive reaction to Mrs Annesley’s. “You have been such a dear friend to me, and I wanted to make certain you were well, and, and be a friend to you if… never mind. It is not my place.”
She turned, and Darcy reached out to place his fingertips on her arm. “Please stay.”
He gestured to two chairs and waited for Elizabeth to ease herself into one. It felt like it was her place, and that she felt it too helped to calm his worries and yet also made his heart race. “I consider you my particular, intimate friend, and frankly, there is no one whose confidence I need more.”
“What has happened?”
“A former acquaintance has presumed to reacquaint himself with my sister, and Mrs Annesley writes she had concerns about his boldness and his intentions. I do not want this man near her. ”
“Georgiana is rather young and shy, and has been little in the world, but is this man so wicked that they should not even speak?”
He gave a dry laugh. “There are four things of which Mr Wickham is wicked enough to be very fond: a late hour, a winning hand, a good bottle, and a pretty woman.”
He explained how George Wickham was his father’s godson, whose vicious propensities and spendthrift ways were never known by his father. A family living was to have been Wickham’s by his father’s wishes, but Wickham had refused it and asked for money instead. “These three years I heard little of him, until this spring when the living fell and he wrote to me—since he spent all his money—that he was now resolved on being ordained, if I would present him to the living in question.”
“I assume you refused to comply with this entreaty?”
“And every repetition. I could show you the letters he wrote in reply, but I suspect that even for an officer’s wife, his words of abuse and vulgarity to me would be ones that would shock you.”
“Are you worried he might harm Georgiana to revenge himself on you?” she asked in alarm.
“From what Mrs Annesley said, I think he hoped to elope with her—for her thirty thousand pounds.”
“I doubt she will fall prey to such a scoundrel with Mrs Annesley with her.”
“Your advice in town regarding Mrs Younge was invaluable. I think if Mr Wickham had approached Mrs Younge, she might have pushed Georgiana into accepting his affections. And she might have accepted, remembering her fondness for him when a child. Mrs Annesley is more cautious than Mrs Younge would have been, and more aware of Georgiana’s nature.”
“There is no way to know that she would have eloped. But while you are in awe of my good advice, may I offer you more? I am not certain it is my place?—”
“I say it is,” he said firmly. “I need to talk to my intelligent friend who loves my sister like I do. ”
She looked into his eyes, and for a moment he wondered if even through her grief, her fears, and her impending motherhood she felt the same connexion between them as he did. She swallowed thickly. “I wanted to suggest that you write to your sister as well. Explain to her what type of man this Mr Wickham is.”
“There is no need to alarm her with the extent of that man’s worthlessness.”
“Oh, but I think there is,” she insisted. “Georgiana is good-hearted and would hate to wound you, but she is fifteen and just entering the world, and the attentions of an older man can be a powerful thing. If she feels an interest in him and is flattered, and her brother forbids the connexion, she might think you do not understand her or do not understand that man’s nature as she does.”
“You think my telling Mrs Annesley to forbid all contact will drive Georgiana into his arms?”
She smiled sadly. “Probably not, but just in case, tell her what sort of man he really is. Your father never knew how unprincipled he was. Don’t let Georgiana make the same mistake.”
He saw the wisdom of it. “I will write to her directly. You need not go,” he said when he saw her brace her hands on the chair arms to rise. “You said you were walking in the park. Wait half an hour, and I will join you.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Then you had best hand me a book so I have something better to do than distract you with my chatter and admire the evenness of your lines. Although please send her one line of my love, and then I will leave you alone.”
He handed her a book of poems from the table and then made quick work of writing a synopsis of the vices and misdeeds of George Wickham. His sister would, he hoped, listen to their guidance and be so appalled that she never so much as looked at that man again.
When he finished, he rose to offer his hand to Elizabeth, but she got up on her own. She moved to the edge of her chair and leant forward, keeping her back arched and chest stuck out, to keep her balance and stand. She gave him a smug smile and walked to the door ahead of him. She could move about without help, but if he saw her attempt to lift anything, he would intervene.
“Have you seen all the park?” he asked when they were outside. They entered the woods and ascended some of the higher grounds.
“Most of it, but not all at one time. I understand from the gardener it is ten miles around. I try to come out every day.”
Pemberley had many charming views of the valley, the opposite hills, with the long range of woods, and part of the stream, but she might find it dull by now. “I am surprised you are not tired of it. We can plan another excursion with Miss Lucas. Dovedale, Chatsworth, or back to Matlock Bath even, if you wish.”
Elizabeth shook her head and looked all around her. “I have told you before, I am happy at Pemberley.”
“You also said being a guest was not the same as being in your own home, and so you cannot wonder at my having concerns as to how content you are.”
“Well, being a guest here is nearly as good. Besides, I have two months to the conclusion now, and it will be harder to move around then. I must choose to be happy where I am.”
He smiled at her wry tone. “I hope this landscape can hold your attention until then. It is at least very different from the south where you are from. That is all richly cultivated, but rather flat.”
“These northern hills have a wilder, bolder, more majestic appearance.”
He had never heard it described that way, but he had always thought the High Peak, with its succession of hills and intervening dales, was a beautiful object.
“It has been a fortnight since Georgiana left,” she said while they wandered slowly. “For so quiet a girl, I had grown fond of her company.”
“I miss her too. She is often here for the summer months, but in the past, she was a child in the nursery. Now she is not a little girl, but not fully grown either.”
“I suspect the transition from little girl to young lady will take us all by surprise. I am glad to have met her. ”
His heart warmed toward Elizabeth, but was it possible for him to rise further in her esteem? “Does Pemberley now seem lonely with fewer friends here?”
“Never,” she exclaimed. “Not with you here,” she added in a softer voice. She put an arm through his and pointed to another path with her other hand. “Could we walk that way? It gives an excellent view of the house.”
He agreed, and their pace along this narrower and slightly steeper walk slowed considerably. Elizabeth was such an active person, but he had noted a change. Not in her attitude, or even greatly in her appearance, but in her energy. She was as spirited as ever, but physically her vigour was not as it was even a fortnight ago. Now when they met in her room in the evening, she had to put up her feet and often seemed ready to fall asleep sooner than she had last month.
He doubted she could climb the Heights of Abraham now, but if he suggested such a thing, she would take it as a challenge. And she would insist on paying the fee herself.
“Are you feeling tired?” he ventured to ask sometime later. They had reached a wall with a stile, and he crossed first and then carefully handed Elizabeth over. She was cautious about where she put her feet, and then leant against the stone wall once she was safely down.
She blew out a breath and looked at the view. “I am four-fifths of the way.” At his curious look she continued, “I am pregnant thirty-two out of the forty expected weeks. Of course I am tired. But that does not mean I cannot go for a walk. Especially when I am rewarded with a view like this.”
He stood right next to her, against the wall and taking in the vista. All that was before them was the house. It was a handsome stone building, standing well on rising ground, and backed by a ridge of high woody hills. But he was a little surprised to hear her say such a view was her reward.
“I love being here more than any other place, but even I can admit that there are finer beauties in the High Peak than Pemberley House.”
She seemed to lean against him a little, and Darcy rested his arm on the wall behind her. He cautiously curled his fingertips around her arm, exhaling a sigh of relief when, instead of pulling away, she rested against him more.
“Perhaps you do not see it as I do,” she said, looking down at the house. “Pemberley suits Derbyshire in particular. People accustomed to a highly cultivated scene might think it unadorned, but I have never seen a place for which nature has done more.”
“Whatever renovations or improvements will be made in years to come, I hope the natural beauty will never be counteracted by any sort of formally adorned appearance.”
“It is the most remarkable place.”
“Did you appreciate Cádiz and its landscape?” he asked, daring to put a little more pressure into his fingertips. She leant into him more fully.
“It was nothing like this. A narrow sliver of land surrounded by the sea. A natural fortress. I liked the plazas and cathedrals, and the warmth, but craggy hills, a river, trees scattered on its banks, and a winding valley are more to my liking. There is something both calming and stimulating about it.”
“Being at Pemberley soothes and elevates my mind. I always feel that way here. I thought it was because I was home, rather than the landscape itself.”
“Why could it not be both?” To his delight, she was now resting entirely against his side, her head against his chest as she looked at the view. He lowered his hand from her arm to her waist. “Before, I thought you seemed friendlier here, but I think it is because you are more at ease here at Pemberley than you were in Hertfordshire or town.”
What did he feel with Elizabeth nearly in his arms, talking about how happy she was in the place that he valued the most? What he felt was not admiration. Their relationship went far deeper than friendship, or even duty, in the past months. It was love. And the depths of it had taken him entirely by surprise.
Until now, he had dared not consider that she might feel the same about him. But he loved her, and now he was desperate to know if the connexion he felt between them meant as much to her as it did to him. She must feel something for him. His arm was around her and she leant against him happily, but had she mourned her husband enough? Could he make her as happy as Fitzwilliam had?
Did Elizabeth love him as much as he loved her?
He was gathering his courage to speak when he saw a slight flutter of the fabric of Elizabeth’s gown. She winced and brought a hand to her stomach.
“Good heavens,” Darcy whispered.
“That was probably a knee, or a foot,” she said, rubbing the spot. “They are moving around much more now.”
He tried to imagine a fully formed infant moving in such a small space, but it was beyond his comprehension. “Do they move often?”
“I notice it more when I am trying to sleep or when I eat something sweet. I think my walking lulls them, but now that we have stopped, they are protesting.”
Darcy stared at the section of Elizabeth’s skirt that had flickered.
He had never considered an unborn child as something with a temperament, needs, or the ability to sleep. If they moved about so much, he supposed it was not so strange to think of them as having times of wakefulness and slumber.
There was another person present on the hillside with them, and another person to consider in his imaginings of a future with Elizabeth. It did not matter to him that she had few connexions and less money, or that by marrying her he would raise a child who was not his own. He loved her, and so would love any child of hers.
“You don’t want to…do you?” she asked, blushing. “They will probably move again, if you want to feel.”
It took him a moment to understand what she was asking. Darcy nodded, incapable of speaking. Elizabeth took his hand and pressed it onto her stomach, holding it there.
“Be patient,” she said, staring at their interlaced fingers.
He had put his arm around her, held her hand, hugged her once, but this felt too familiar with so many feelings unsaid. However, he was not moving from this spot until he felt something.
After a minute, he felt a swift kick against the palm of his hand .
He gave a gasp that shifted into a strangled laugh. His eyes flew to hers, and they sparkled with delight. “That is extraordinary!”
She smiled brightly, and then her countenance softened. Were her feelings as confused as his? He felt overjoyed, a little awestruck, and deeply sad. His cousin had never felt his child kick. Was Elizabeth heartbroken that Fitzwilliam was gone and would never have a moment like this? Or was she glad Darcy was here with her now?
They had turned to face one another, and Darcy kept his arm around her. Elizabeth gently rested her hands against his chest, and Darcy looked down at her lips, aching to kiss her. The look in her eyes gave him reason to believe she wanted him to.
He bent his head, and his mouth touched hers, carefully, to test her response. She let out a soft moan at the warm contact. Then he began to truly kiss her, slowly but with teasing caresses. She tilted her head to bring him closer to her. Kissing Elizabeth was such an intimate thing, and all he could wonder at was if it felt as perfect to her as it did to him.
Her hands grasped his coat as if to hold herself steady. Then she kissed him with such unexpected enthusiasm that it almost staggered him. Desire gripped him. The kiss was soul-stirring, his tongue sliding along hers as he cupped the side of her neck, holding her close.
Elizabeth suddenly pulled back. But other than a slight widening of her pupils and a flush to her cheek, she gave him no reaction. She did not demand a declaration, did not push him away, did not confess her own feelings or ask to know his.
His heart sank as he understood the look in her eyes. If he declared himself now, she would say no, but then why had she kissed him so affectionately?
“What are we doing?” he whispered.
She closed her eyes, still in his arms. “I don’t know.”
“Should I apologise?”
“No,” she said, opening her eyes to give him a sad look. “But I should. As lovely as that was, it cannot happen again.”
Elizabeth hurried down the walk back to the house, or at least hurried as fast as her current condition allowed. Darcy knew she did not want his company on the way back, and let her go until she was nearly out of sight before slowly following.
Would she never accept his hand and his heart? She might have too much grief to consider him as a husband, or have more important things to think about now other than him. Elizabeth loved his sister. She loved his home. But could she ever love him?