Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The shaded woodland footpath had gradually given way to sunlit open fields with iridescent lilac-blue butterflies on the wing and fluttering graylings amongst green grasses and yellow meadow rue.
Marsh orchids grew alongside the drainage ditches where warblers sang their sweet song, and aromatic angelica peeked its head up from the rhynes.
Elizabeth stood there for a moment, appreciating the herb’s fresh, sweet scent while a skylark, so high above that it was naught but a dot, sang in a clear, bubbling warble.
Walking then through bucolic perfection, she wished she was close enough that she might hear the Darcys’ discourse, for she had just caught her own name being mentioned.
She also tried to detect symptoms of affection between Mr Darcy and his future bride, but there was nothing to suggest theirs would be a loving marriage, which saddened her.
As much as Elizabeth might have wished it otherwise, their impending union was much on her mind, and she prayed that they would not marry without affection.
Perhaps their secret understanding is simply a trial period in which they are testing their true compatibility.
A degree of spiteful glee could not be restrained.
Ha! If such be the case, then by the look of things, there might soon be a secret separation.
Elizabeth’s opinions on the subject oscillated like a weathervane turning with the changing winds, and such a vacillation between trust and doubt was positively exhausting.
There are far too many inconsistencies! I want to think only the very best of Mr Darcy, and I refuse to accept that he would have no care for a woman’s reputation, not after the way his own sister was treated so abominably by the despicable Mr Wickham—he of the lies and half-truths.
No honourable gentleman would risk bringing shame and disgrace to a lady.
Elizabeth asked herself why such a private person—as Mr Darcy certainly seemed to be—would confide in her and be confident of her discretion.
Both brother and sister had been ill-used by Mr Wickham, and to trust anyone with their painful and mortifying histories with that despicable man required a great deal of faith.
And while she was pondering that subject, she also wondered why Miss Wright would entrust a mere acquaintance as herself with a dangerous secret.
How reckless of her to hand me such a weapon.
Good heavens, were I so inclined, I could destroy her family’s good name and ruin her reputation with just two words: ‘secret understanding’.
Of course, never would I be that malicious.
Rather than depending solely on what might actually be a scandalous falsehood invented by Miss Wright, Elizabeth took into consideration Mr Darcy’s conduct over the duration she had known him.
He had been aloof and arrogant in Hertfordshire to be sure, but never had there been even a hint of a breach of morality on his part.
And now, knowing how he feels about Mr Wickham’s iniquity, I firmly believe that such a gentleman would not behave dishonourably.
Besides all that, he had admitted and repented his mistake regarding Jane and Mr Bingley. He had apologised for causing distress and for not warning Elizabeth about Mr Wickham. All of which, in my opinion, is a mark of honour and integrity.
Although conjectures, rapid and wild, continued to invade her thoughts, Elizabeth was satisfied with none of them. Anxiety and hope oppressed her in equal measure while she discarded every excuse she could invent for Mr Darcy and Miss Wright’s clandestine arrangement.
Miss Althea, walking along with a spring in her step, waved about a stalk of angelica. “It would be such fun if the three of us and Miss Darcy could all be assigned to the same punt.”
“Yes,” agreed Miss Hughes, “but you already promised that you would go with my uncle, my aunt, and me in the Cliff House boat.”
“We shall know soon how we are to be assigned. Look.” Elizabeth pointed to a glistening ribbon of water not far ahead, and they hurried towards it.
Dreading the moment when Mr Darcy would realise that she had not given her consent to go in his punt, Elizabeth had no intention of debating the matter with him.
In any event, it was most likely a moot point.
By the manner in which Miss Wright clung to the gentleman, like a barbed bur, it was evident he would be stuck with her for not only the remainder of that afternoon but for the rest of his life as well.
It gave Elizabeth a small degree of satisfaction that Miss Wright was destined to sit with a malodorous creature during their boating excursion.
Secretly smiling, she asked herself whether she had meant Hector or the gentleman.
But, were she being honest, she would have to admit that Mr Darcy was anything but malodorous.
Whatever captivating fragrance he used, she found herself deeply breathing in the scent and savouring the woody-spiciness of it.
I hope Miss Wright cherishes it. Or, better yet, that it makes her sneeze.
It was not, however, the redolent gentleman who then stood facing her in the middle of the meadow’s footpath but his sister.
“Miss Bennet, my brother was remiss in gaining your agreement to go in his boat. So I am asking you, begging you, to please say that you will come with us, for Miss Wright will not if Hector does.”
“I would go with you, Miss Darcy,” Miss Althea volunteered, “but I already promised Miss Hughes and her aunt that I would go with them in Mr Baker’s punt.”
Miss Darcy continued in her appeal to Elizabeth, and such an earnest and pertinacious application was more than could be withstood. Unable to think of any tolerable pretence, she reluctantly capitulated. “Very well, Miss Darcy, you may inform your brother of my acquiescence.”
How awkward I shall be in his company. And how naive I was to think Mr Darcy might feel the same way about me as I do—did—about him.
Even if Miss Wright’s claim proves to be a falsehood, I must not allow myself to believe such a gentleman might have designs on me.
Sorely disappointed in herself, she was also angry for having been so callow.
Although Elizabeth acknowledged that she had not yet been violently in love with him, she had hoped that her budding feelings towards Mr Darcy might blossom into something more intimate during the course of the summer and be requited.
Miss Wright had dashed nearly all hope of that by speaking of their precious understanding and declaring that connexions must prevail. Yes well, to that I say ‘Balderdash’!
And what do I actually know of Miss Wright?
What might be her true character and motives?
She seems shallow, without much substance.
Proud, boastful, and so supercilious that I tend to be guarded around her.
But it is difficult to trust my own discernment when I was initially mistaken about Mr Darcy and Mr Wickham, both of whom I knew for much longer than I have Miss Wright.
First impressions can be so terribly wrong, and by now I should have learnt from my errors.
However, if a pledge, a promise to one another, had indeed been made, then Elizabeth dared not interfere with it.
She recalled a piece written by the celebrated writer Samuel Richardson.
It was something to the effect that if a young gentleman’s love is undeclared, then a young lady should not yet dare to be in love with him.
To do so would be a deviation from accepted conduct and must not be allowed.
Elizabeth had always thought it was senseless writing, but perhaps it might have saved a naive, hopeful young woman—herself—from disenchantment.
From ahead, Mr Baker beckoned and called out to his followers. “Not far now. Do come along.”
To Elizabeth’s surprise, Mr Darcy had somehow managed to rid himself of the prickly bur that, until then, had clung so tenaciously to him. Without a word or even a glance, and looking distraught, his future bride, parasol in hand, brushed past Elizabeth’s party and hurried back towards the others.
Looking over her shoulder, Elizabeth saw that ‘Miss Wright the Bur’ was clinging to her father’s sleeve. Words were exchanged amongst the group, then Miss Baker walked away, leaving Mr Wright alone with his two eldest daughters.
“Aunt,” said Miss Hughes, as the woman approached, “is aught amiss?”
“No, dear. The Wrights simply required a moment of privacy.” With a sideways glance at Miss Althea, Miss Baker added, “Apparently, there is a little dispute about the seating arrangements on the boats. But come along, girls. Leave them be. They will find us at the stream soon enough.”
“If you will excuse me, I had best discover what my family is about.”
Elizabeth watched Miss Althea hurry away. Poor Miss Wright—having to choose between sharing space with a wet, smelly dog or sharing her gentleman with me. Stifling a smile, she followed the others to the landing place.
Claws clicked on grey, weathered wooden boards as Hector eagerly trotted towards the end of the dock.
About to jump into the water, he was forestalled by Miss Darcy, who restrained him by fastening an embroidered leather lead onto his matching soft collar.
“Sorry, Hector, but there will be no paddling about in there until later.” The panting dog then fell into an ungainly sort of sprawl, evidently thinking the time and place was ideal for a restorative afternoon nap, unmindful of the fact that the humans would have to step round or over him to access the punts.
Together, the two Darcys quietly spoke awhile, and Elizabeth assumed it was about her, for the gentleman’s smiling eyes often strayed her way.
What was he about, looking at her in such a beguiling manner when he had an understanding with another?
Botheration! I never should have agreed to go on his wretched boat with him.