4. Longbourn—5 December 1809
Back at Longbourn, Elizabeth attempted to process that day’s encounters with Mr Darcy.
She knew from the article about him that he was very accomplished, science oriented, and wealthy.
She knew from his letters to her over the past two years that he was kind, knowledgeable, and helpful.
From yesterday’s encounter, she realised that he was handsome.
And then: today. This morning, when he had unexpectedly returned to give her answers to the questions she had most recently written, she had been struck by the generosity of someone who would sit down to write out the answers again even though he was blameless in his return letter’s near-destruction.
She had wondered about that and had pigeon-holed that wondering for later contemplation.
Before she had had a chance, he had said that he did not shoot, and that he wished to foster life.
She considered the fact that, for the first time in her life, she felt attraction for a man.
It was not as if he had become more handsome; it was that he seemed suddenly to be an actual human being.
Not The Wealthy Landowner. Not The Esteemed Horticulturalist. Not even The Benevolent Correspondent.
Instead of a role—almost a label—he became a complex person whose character and opinions she deeply respected.
Then, after that revelation, came her after-luncheon visit to the Netherfield aviary.
It was somewhere she went every single day, unless travel or weather made it impossible, but her visit had become much more significant by his being there.
He was surprised, too; she could tell. But the fact that he followed her and helped her feed her birds seemed an indication that he was as interested in her as she was in him.
The sensation standing behind the wicker screen with him felt like an upheaval in her body.
She had been dancing with boys and men who were not in her family since she was fifteen years old.
She had had her hand kissed by several men who had complimented her person or otherwise acted as if she was attractive.
John Lucas had managed to land a kiss on her cheek when they were both sixteen, and Mr William Goulding, Junior, had attempted to kiss her lips the next year—and had not said a thing about it to anyone after she gave him a resounding slap for his temerity.
And yet, none of these experiences, all of which had involved proximity with an actual touch from a gentleman, seemed even remotely exciting when compared to merely standing a few inches away from Mr Darcy.
She could not adequately describe the sensations his nearness had elicited.
She had not the vocabulary, even, to describe the location of some of her sensations, like the unexpected throb somewhere below her navel.
She had no idea the reason for other sensations, like shivering in the warm, moist conservatory.
Apart from her physical sensations, she was unsure of her emotions.
Was she feeling bewildered and excited, happy and nervous—all at the same time?
“Are your birds well?” Elizabeth’s sister Jane asked that night as they readied themselves for bed.
“What?”
Jane patiently repeated the question and waited for a response.
Elizabeth said, “Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”
“You seem upset.” Jane studied Elizabeth carefully and added, “Or perhaps that is not a good word…. You seem unlike your usual self.”
Nodding, Elizabeth said, “I have had a surprising day.” Sighing, Elizabeth explained, “Jane, you are so very well behaved, I have not told you some things I have done. I was afraid you would be so shocked you would tell tales to our parents, which I did not wish, and so I kept some things from you.”
Jane seemed surprised but, being Jane, not judgmental. And Elizabeth proceeded to tell her about writing to Mr Darcy and being found out, and the three times she had seen the man over the course of two days.
Jane’s eyes grew quite round when Elizabeth tried to describe how Mr Darcy made her feel, but all Jane said at the end of her confession was, “This will be helpful later, now that you know—and now that I know, from your descriptions—what attraction feels like. Now that I am twenty, and you are eighteen, we will have to learn how to hide the responses and indicators that would signal to men our attraction, or else we will be seen as improper, perhaps even wanton.”
Elizabeth objected, “I am not wanton!”
“Of course you are not, Lizzy. I certainly did not say nor think that you are, and I am upset that you might have thought I did.”
Elizabeth was not at all sure what to think.
Jane’s opinion that they ought to learn how to wholly hide their feelings…
. She was not certain if it was a good idea, because it seemed to guarantee frustration and unhappiness rather than true connection and love; she was not sure if it was possible; she was not positive if the idea of hiding her true feelings was even virtuous.
At any rate, she had something more important to think about: should she keep saving for a female Barbary dove? Or should she try to trap a wild European turtledove? She wished she had more resources to find out the chance of having viable offspring from such a mating.
She consulted the notes she had taken on turtledoves over the past half decade; she untied the ribbon that kept those notes separate from notes on various plants and other birds.
As she reread her notes, she remembered that, while it was relatively easy to trap European turtledoves, it was very hard to breed wild turtledoves in captivity.
They tended to be so nervous in confined spaces that they often injured themselves and smashed their own eggs.
No, she would stick to saving her money for another Barbary. She once again organised her notes, tied them neatly again, and filed away the packet.
As Elizabeth pinched out her candle’s flame and settled herself in her bed, she thought, as she so often did, about a wondrous future in which she had built up her horticultural and bird-breeding practices so that she was able to afford a large conservatory and a separate aviary.
Since Longbourn was entailed to the male line and would therefore be inherited by a distant cousin, exactly where this conservatory and aviary would exist depended on her marrying a man who owned or leased property—hopefully, a gentleman with an estate.
For the first time, this requirement that she marry a landowner took its rightful place in her wakeful dreams.
And when Elizabeth succumbed to sleep, the landowner emerged from a shadowy existence to sharper focus in her dreams: Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, who, as it happened, already owned a large conservatory and a separate aviary.