Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The same day that he and Elizabeth had discussed the subject of Bingley and her sister, Darcy had written to his friend apologising for his own part in separating him from his lady-love.
In the letter he suggested that, if Bingley still felt the same way about her, he should return to Hertfordshire post-haste and woo the dickens out of Miss Jane Bennet.
However, any such determined effort to win the lady’s affection must be done without grovelling at her feet, because, when all was said and done, it was of utmost importance that one’s male pride and dignity remain intact.
Before he had written that letter, once everyone had returned to the villa for refreshments, and while he was making an entry in her album amicorum, Darcy had noticed Elizabeth engaging in a tête-à-tête with Miss Wright, although the latter seemed to own the greater share of that conversation.
Afterwards, he had become confounded by Elizabeth’s behaviour.
She remained friendly enough with others, but towards him her polite yet distant manner had discouraged any continuation of the intimate sort of intercourse in which they had partaken while walking between the clifftop and the house.
None knew better than he that a person might appear withdrawn or aloof due to a desire for privacy.
Nevertheless, it seemed entirely out of character for such a cordial person as Elizabeth to be unapproachable.
A se’nnight had passed since then, and Darcy still fretted about why she had kept him at arm’s length.
More like not wanting to touch me with a pair of tongs!
During that time, although Elizabeth’s friend had come to visit, she had not.
Miss Hughes had made excuses for her, giving a lingering headache as the reason for her staying away.
He feared that Elizabeth might be disgusted or even cross or, at the very least, disappointed because of his errors of judgment where both of their sisters were concerned.
She had every right to be. It had been foolish to keep Georgiana in the dark about Wickham, and it had been wrong to participate in Miss Bingley’s scheme to keep her brother and Miss Bennet apart.
In that, Darcy had ventured too far, assumed too much, and made light of what ought to have been serious.
Eager to seize the day, Darcy had awakened early on the morning of the picnic and boating excursion.
All four residents of Cliff House had accepted his invitation, and his plan was to use cunning and perseverance to ferret out the truth of Elizabeth’s indifference towards him.
He could not countenance having to henceforth meet only as acquaintances rather than the good friends he had assumed they had become.
He, Georgiana, and Mrs Carter had arranged everything in advance, and although Miss Wright had kept offering her assistance and giving unwanted advice, the three of them had assured her that they had matters well in hand.
The true purpose in refusing her help was that Darcy had not wanted to give the woman any notion that she might become Strandsmere Park’s mistress.
“You are a guest here, madam,” he had told her, “and I shall not have you concerning yourself with our preparations.”
Having kept an eye on the barometer for days, he had remained hopeful as its rising pressure signalled improved weather.
Indeed, on that particular morning, the Bristol Channel glistened in bright sunlight, and the thermometer on the outer north-facing wall already indicated a temperature of sixty-nine degrees Fahrenheit.
An agreeable south-westerly breeze whispered across the cliff, and he hoped it might be sufficient to keep at bay all manner of winged biting or stinging insects.
It would not do for his guests to be attacked on what was to be a pleasurable afternoon.
And so it was that he set about ensuring both of his own punts—and the Cliff House one that had been brought over earlier that morning by Mr Baker’s factotum—were supplied with a copper brazier and aromatic blends of camphor, cedar, and herbs to burn and produce insect-repelling smoke.
He even had Edward, his adolescent groom, fetching things and taking them by gig to the dock.
“Ensure that each boat has a sturdy barge pole and a spare.” They are even longer than a pair of tongs, and Elizabeth might need one to not touch me with.
“And add some blankets and cushions for the ladies’ comfort.
Also, ask a footman to fetch three of the Galilean spyglasses from my study.
Tell him they are to be found on a shelf behind my desk.
Then you are to carefully place one in each of the boxes you will find on the punts.
You will be rewarded for your efforts with additional servings of small beer today and tomorrow. Off you go, then.”
In the meantime, Darcy’s household domestics, under Mrs Carter’s supervision, were busily preparing the food, putting up a canopy, arranging tables and chairs beneath it, and carrying out all the necessary appurtenances for a sumptuous al fresco repast in the villa’s formal garden.
Yes, all is in hand. What can possibly go wrong?
When the Cliff House carriage arrived and deposited its four passengers on the avenue beside the formal garden, Darcy, who stood waiting there, breathed easier.
Elizabeth was amongst them. He also was gratified to see that, unlike Miss Wright, the three ladies wore gowns with long sleeves, just as he had recommended.
Mr Baker’s factotum, who had earlier arrived by way of Willow Bourn and had stayed to help with preparations, hurried to the coach and hefted from it what appeared to be a weighty crate. “Where should I put this cider, Mr Darcy?”
“Blocks have already been brought from the ice-house, so over there.” He pointed at the utilitarian canvas tent set up beneath a stand of towering shade trees, and Tom set off in that direction.
Approaching the Cliff House party, Darcy bowed and greeted them individually.
As he reached for Elizabeth’s gloved hand, he imagined reverently kissing her bare fingers, then turning it over and kissing her palm.
That fancy, however, went out of the window like the defenestrations of Prague.
Elizabeth had hidden her dainty hand behind her back and offered him a smile as fleeting as her curtsey had been shallow.
Upon turning back to Miss Baker, Darcy was surprised to be presented with a covered basket. “And what do we have here, madam?”
“That is Mrs Poole’s Baumstriezel, sir.”
“I see. And will Mrs Poole not miss it?”
Miss Baker laughed. “Oh, you rapscallion!”
In his almost twenty-eight years of life, that was the first time Darcy had been referred to as a rapscallion.
And it possibly was the first time he had attempted raillery with a lady other than Elizabeth.
Glancing her way, he noticed those dainty gloved fingers covering her mouth, but she could not conceal the twinkle in her eyes that bespoke merriment.
He winked at her surreptitiously, but she frowned at him before looking away. Criminy, woman, how you puzzle me!
Blushing like a schoolgirl, Miss Baker apologised to Darcy for having spoken out of turn.
“Not at all, madam. No umbrage was taken, I assure you.” He smiled at her, then peeked under the linen cloth covering the basket. “This does not look like the tree cake I enjoyed at Cliff House.”
Mr Baker responded. “That is because it is a Baumstriezel, not Baumkuchen. And what you have there”—he nodded at the basket—“is referred to as a chimney cake.”
When Elizabeth softly spoke his name, Darcy turned to her, hoping to see in her eyes an arch remark brewing, perhaps something about trees and chimneys.
“Allow me to take that Baumstriezel for you, sir, and place it upon the dessert table over there.” And she did so, being obvious in her determination to not make any sort of contact with his person, even his eyes.
And there it is. The tongs—or the even longer barge pole—with which she will not touch me.
By then, everyone had gathered beneath the canopy, so Darcy, the Bakers, and their niece followed in Elizabeth’s sweet-smelling wake.
Georgiana and Miss Althea made a fuss over her, enquiring after her health and expressing their delight in seeing her again.
With far less fervour, Mr Wright and his two eldest daughters greeted the party from Cliff House.
Then, one and all, they filled their plates with an apparently unlimited assortment of picnic fare.
Chilling upon a table of ice were pitchers of lemonade, the cider from Mr Baker’s orchard, and bottles of wine and ale.
Tea and coffee would be served later along with rosewater rout cakes and other dainty viands sweet to the taste.
When everyone had eaten their fill, Mr Baker called out, “Mr Darcy, do you suppose it wise that we now pile into punts? I have a sinking feeling after eating all that food.”
“Frederick, you were not supposed to eat all the food.”
The Baker brother and sister were a much welcome addition to the party and so very different from the dour Wright family.
“Never fear, Mr Baker.” Darcy raised his voice so all could hear. “It is a bit of a walk to Willow Bourn, so we may be a quarter of a stone lighter by the time we board the punts. So, everyone, shall we?”
He watched as the ladies gathered their shawls, fans, parasols, drawing paper, and such.
Turning his attention then to the household domestics as they stealthily started packing up, Darcy spotted Hector, nose level with the table beneath the canopy, slobbering and eyeing the tasty array of meats.
Before he could yell a warning, shouts of dismay rang out from maids and footmen alike as they scrambled after the dog.