14. Kensington Gardens, London—Saturday, 16 December 1809
Elizabeth woke up and stretched, happy but surprised to see another sunny morning.
Has there ever before been a December with so much delightful weather?
She remembered that Mr Darcy had promised a ride to Kensington Gardens if the weather permitted, and she rose and began to ready herself for the outing.
Her thoughts turned to the events of the night before.
She had seen the anxiety her statement—“I hope you are not ashamed of us”—had caused Mr Darcy, and she felt a tiny bit of remorse for having troubled him.
However, he was not a perfect man, and from what she could see, there was nobody in his life who held up a mirror to him when he faltered or erred.
Several unprecedented things had happened at the lecture. Mr Darcy had put his hand over hers. It was shocking how much attraction she felt; Elizabeth had both revelled in the unexpected touch and found it incredibly distracting.
What had motivated that very public gesture?
It had felt as if he was marking his territory. Claiming her as his. If that was his motivation, it was both mortifying—to be seen or treated almost as a piece of land, or an object one could own—and wonderful—it was incredible to be desired by such a man!
The other surprise was Mr Darcy’s retreat through the private rooms of the Surrey Institute to avoid the crush of people demanding an introduction.
Like Georgiana, Elizabeth felt quite good about them making an escape without the unwanted half-hour of saying polite nothings and meeting people she might never see again.
But she was afraid that the message their escape would send was that the Darcys were ashamed to give the names of their guests.
I am not a kitchen maid! Elizabeth thought.
Then she had to laugh at herself. For if Mr Darcy was a snob to wish to avoid acknowledging his interest in the daughter of a country squire with no fortune or connexions, she was also a snob.
A kitchen maid was still a human, a woman—and surely there was, somewhere, a kitchen maid with intelligence and character who was worthy of being elevated to gentry level by marriage…
. And yet, she found it entirely impossible to imagine Mr Darcy marrying any kitchen maid, and she found it almost as impossible to imagine even the young men she knew from Hertfordshire—those who were destined to become country squires with no fortune or connexions—marrying a kitchen maid.
She loved to laugh, including laughing at all things ridiculous—and so Elizabeth laughed at herself. She scooped up her letters for Jane, Mary, and Papa, and took her ridiculous self down to breakfast.
Mr Darcy arrived with his sister and Mrs Annesley, asking with a rather hesitant voice if Miss Bennet might be available.
Elizabeth felt a pang of sympathy. He looked like someone who had not slept well, and she worried that he had been quite badly affected by the previous night’s events.
She greeted the callers as warmly as she could, and she asked brightly, “Are we still hoping to go to Kensington Gardens?”
She watched Mr Darcy’s eyes, and she saw relief there.
They soon bundled up into the carriage. On the way to the gardens, Mr Darcy mentioned that his friend Mr Bingley wrote to say that he was in a formal courtship with Miss Jane Bennet.
“I assume your sister wrote to you of this, and that you are happy with their developing relationship?”
“Actually, I had not yet heard, but yes, I am very happy. I noticed their mutual interest before leaving Hertfordshire, so it is not at all surprising.”
But it was, in fact, surprising. Why had Jane not written about it?
She received regular letters from Jane, every two or three days, and there were a few mentions of Mr Bingley—he said this or did that—but no hints that their relationship had gone further than the occasional call and dancing together at public events.
Elizabeth was fully aware of the irony, since she had not written to Jane of her own courtship, either—however, she had a viable reason: her mother would demand the letter, read it, and broadcast everything said within minutes.
Aunt Maddie did not read others’ letters nor gossip about others, so Jane had no reason not to share.
Georgiana said, “You are smiling like…like a cat who caught a bird that was, in fact, a valuable and exotic pet.”
Elizabeth flinched, immediately picturing one of her songbirds in a cat’s jaws. She saw Mr Darcy wince, as well, and Georgiana apologised with a little cry of distress. “I am so sorry to use such a dreadful metaphor!”
Elizabeth reached over to where the younger girl sat with her brother.
“It is just fine, Georgiana. I was just realising that I owed my sister Jane a letter, and I was feeling guilty, and then I was laughing at myself for wasting even a few minutes of such a beautiful day on useless and negative feelings.”
“So you are saying that I should not waste even a few minutes feeling guilty about my painful metaphor?” Georgiana looked hopeful.
“Well, I had not thought of that connection, but you are correct—you should not.
Unlike most parks in London, Kensington Gardens had a gate with a gatekeeper who limited entry to only the “respectably dressed” public who behaved according to upper-class standards.
She had never been there before, because she had worried a bit about ensuring that the Gardiner children would behave well enough to please the guard.
Hyde Park was closer and only had rules about no poaching, stealing, or duelling.
Of course, with the exception of the occasional mud splatter, Elizabeth always dressed respectably, but that day she had taken special care, wearing her newest day dress and borrowing a beautiful pelisse from her aunt.
She felt as if she fit in with the others approaching the gate, but on the arm of Mr Darcy, she could have no worries.
If she had to compare Mr Darcy to the other young men walking in the park, she would say that his bearing and countenance looked, not just aristocratic, but noble, perhaps even princely.
Other young men looked far less dignified, and even those who swaggered or who wore brightly coloured waistcoats seemed less confident than he.
They attempted to gain attention, and he simply was… himself.
She assumed some of the young men were titled. Mr Darcy had no title, and yet there was something about the ancient Darcy name and the reportedly vast Darcy fortune that gave him a stately carriage and mien.
Plus, his clothing was impeccable.
As they passed through the gate, Elizabeth was grateful that Mr Darcy covered her hand on his arm, once again indicating a certain amount of possessiveness.
However, being Mr Darcy’s possession as they walked before the gatekeeper had the benefit of hiding her less expensive and more worn nankeen glove with his unblemished kidskin one.
Elizabeth was ecstatic to view the gardens for the first time.
Massive dark silhouettes of leafless elm trees lined the broad gravel walkway, and thousands of linden trees had such dense twigs that they lent a reddish-brown haze to the winter scenery.
There were other trees and vibrant evergreen bushes, as well.
“This is Round Pond,” Mr Darcy said, removing his hand from hers as he waved at the body of water. “It is not a circle, despite its name, but if you could see it from above, it does have lovely stepped and rounded corners.”
“It’s much larger than I had thought it would be,” Elizabeth said. “And, oh! We get to see swans!”
Indeed, a flotilla of seven snowy-white swans approached them, gliding over the water. Elizabeth knew that their webbed feet were making steady and powerful strokes under the water, but the birds looked so calm and lovely, it was no wonder they were associated with royalty and elegance.
“They are beautiful,” Georgiana said.
“Seven is surely a lucky number,” Mr Darcy murmured into Elizabeth’s ear. “A number that stands for completed cycles: seven days of the week, seven notes in a scale, seven colours of the rainbow. As for the swans, they stand for lifelong love, you know.”
“Ah, yes; they mate for life.” Elizabeth certainly could not reach her suitor’s ear, but she kept her words to a whisper.
“As I will,” he murmured.
“And I will, as well.” She smiled and added, “Destiny, magic, and now augury and the mystical properties of numbers. You are quite adept at using anything and everything to excuse yourself for doing exactly what you wish to do, are you not?”
“Oh, yes, I am bending everything in the universe towards my goal of marrying you,” he replied. “If I did not, I imagine there would be no convincing you.”
Elizabeth was so embarrassed that her need to tease had resulted in her seeming to make quite outrageous claims of her own importance to him. “I did not think through my tease. I did not mean it as it sounded.”
At that moment a number of waterfowl descended onto the surface of the pool, and the majestic group of seven swans swelled to seven times the number, along with mallards, wigeons, moorhens, and coots.
Under the cover of the sounds of all the beating wings and watery landings, Mr Darcy said, his soft voice and warm breath tickling her ear, “Well, I do mean what you think I mean. I am allowing a decent interval to pass before I formally propose, but I hope very much to marry you. And because I wish to start as I mean to go on, I must apologise for giving into my own reluctance to speak with people I barely know, and by my actions possibly endangering your reputation or your future standing with society. I do not feel the least glimmer of shame about being with you and your uncle, and I had no reason based on snobbery to avoid introducing you. My reasons were more selfish and thoughtless, just a swift and unfortunate reaction to the situation of preferring to be in the carriage with my own party, returning home, rather than in a packed room attempting to make introductions to people whose names I barely remember.”
Elizabeth signalled her understanding with a nod and a smile.
She explained, “I felt that it was likely people would assume you were ashamed of our circumstances and thus did not wish to tell our full names. But I too preferred to ride home rather than run a gauntlet of people you little know and little wish to know. However, I suggest that, in the future, neither of us give in to our more short-sighted goals and, instead, consider more long-term gains by being friendlier and more approachable.”
“I apologise again. Also, I promise I am not attempting to lay responsibility for my manners at your feet, but I hope you will help me by scolding me when I err.”
She could not help but laugh at his order. However, the swan nearest her seemed to glower and then started running across the water, kicking up droplets and spray. Soon the swan’s huge wings were unfurled and beat strongly against the air as the bird stretched its neck forward and lifted off.
“I suppose that swans do not dearly love laughter. More’s the pity,” she said. Mr Darcy took out a handkerchief of spotless white cotton lawn, and she stood still while he dabbed at the water droplets that had flown back onto her face and hair. “Thank you, Mr Darcy,” she whispered.
“Please call me William.”
“Gladly, when we are not in public; and you may call me Elizabeth when we are alone.
“Thank you, Elizabeth.”
Her name on his lips sounded like a plea and an answer to prayer.
She had no idea how that was possible, but, then again, it was also impossible for him to wish to marry her.
It seemed that her life had parted ways with routine and expectations some time ago, and she was not wanting to close any doors… not purposefully.