Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
As Elizabeth and Mr Darcy walked arm in arm along the cliff, there was much to be discussed. In fact, the gentleman spoke almost unremittingly, and she suspected he might be doing so as a distraction from further temptation. Such restraint was both appreciated and regretted by her.
He told her all that had transpired regarding the fates of John and Molly, Miss Althea’s suspicions about the boating incident and purloined letter, the Wright family’s pecuniary distress, young Mr Wright’s gaming debts, and the threat of a breach of promise suit.
The gentleman’s leniency with the footman and maid came as no surprise; Miss Darcy had already intimated that her brother was kind-hearted towards his domestics. What dumbfounded Elizabeth was the entire lack of both honour and good sense demonstrated by the Wrights, save Miss Althea.
Having stopped, Mr Darcy pointed to a dark head that had popped up in the Channel. “’Tis a grey seal, perhaps the same one that Hector tried to rescue.” They watched in silence until it submerged. “Shall we turn back now?”
“Indeed, we should. The others are looking in our direction. At least I spoke the truth when I told them we were to discuss colour.”
As they walked towards their friends, Elizabeth pondered all that had been disclosed, but there was something Mr Darcy had failed to mention. “What did Mr Wright mean earlier today when he referred to me and a certain necklace?”
“Miss Wright’s garnet has been unaccounted for since this morning when she awoke.
Through her delirium, she seemed to remember you standing near the bedside cabinet where the necklace had been placed last night.
Do not concern yourself.” He caressed her hand.
“I know you are not culpable. Chambermaids are searching for the misplaced piece of jewellery as we speak.”
“I am far too happy and too much in love to be bothered by anything less than a catastrophe.” Realising what she had unintentionally uttered, Elizabeth froze in mortification. Mr Darcy, too, had stopped dead in his tracks.
“Speaking of things misplaced”—she talked rapidly, all the while feeling the heat of his intense stare—“I received three letters at once from Jane. In one she mentioned that Mr Bingley had returned to Netherfield without his sisters. In the second, she wrote, with great enthusiasm and admiration, about her intended.” When she glanced his way, Mr Darcy appeared uncommonly astounded.
“Yes, indeed, sir. Thanks to you, Jane and Mr Bingley are to marry.”
He shook his head. “What did you say?”
Elizabeth raised her voice and slowly repeated, “Jane and Mr Bingley are to marry.” She knew that was not what he was asking, but Mr Darcy had neither declared his love nor asked for her hand.
“Then I am pleased for them. But I was asking what you said before that. Between being ‘too happy’ and ‘a catastrophe’.”
He grinned at her, and Elizabeth considered feigning ignorance, but it was no use.
She was caught. “If you know the beginning and the end of that admission, then surely you must also remember the middle part. You need not make me say it again.” Elizabeth looked away, her eyes tracking a rock pipit as it darted along the fence.
“Humour me. Please.” With a finger beneath Elizabeth’s chin, he gently made her face him again.
“Very well, sir. My courage, you see, always rises with every attempt to intimidate me. I, um, might have mentioned something about being too much in love.” Elizabeth’s face burnt and not from the sun.
“I might argue that there is no such thing as being too much in love, my love.”
Exquisite little flutters of happiness radiated throughout Elizabeth’s body, and her smile could not be contained.
“Oh yes, it is very much a thing, Mr Darcy. I once asked my father what he was reading. It was something written by Horace, and Papa spoke of Aristotle’s ‘mean’ or intermediate state, a balance, or middle ground, between two extremes of deficiency and excess. Too much of anything can be harmful.”
He made a scoffing sound. “Apparently, your argument rests upon the philosophy of a cat. Heiress Tottle may know something about balance, but what does she know of happy mediums?”
Elizabeth told him he was being silly.
“I am too much in love to be serious,” Mr Darcy said. “And speaking as you did of courage… Taken to excess, courage might manifest as recklessness. You never would act or speak recklessly, would you?” He offered his arm, and they resumed their walk.
Elizabeth laughed. “Never recklessly, no. I act as I see fit and speak only with conviction.”
“I am very glad to hear it.” After a long pause, he asked, “And what of your sister’s third letter?”
“To my great disappointment and equal delight, Jane and Mr Bingley cannot await my return. After so much time apart, they are eager to wed. By now they must be married. So, you may offer your congratulations. And also your condolences. Your Mr Morse, my Mr Mouse, has turned up his tiny little pink toes. I shall sleep peacefully henceforth, without disturbance.”
“Until you marry.”
“Do not tell me you have mice in your walls.”
“No. I have, as you know, a philosopher cat at Strandsmere. Pemberley has numerous barn cats. And a sleek black-and-white parlour cat shares with me the services of a full complement of domestics in London. If you do not sleep peacefully in any of my homes, it will not be because of mice.” Mr Darcy caressed her bare fingers as they rested upon his forearm.
Wishing he, too, was not wearing gloves, Elizabeth came to a standstill. They were within sight of the villa. “Our secret wants to burst forth from me like a tightly furled bud that can no longer resist blooming.”
“Do so at your own peril, madam. Come.” He tugged on her hand. “You must paint something. Having accepted my dear sister’s invitation, you really must do so.”
“Please do not make it a habit to use my own words against me, Mr Darcy. But, yes, for her sake, I shall paint. But only if we make it a joint effort.”
To Elizabeth’s surprise, he agreed, and, to her further surprise, Miss Darcy, Miss Hughes, and Miss Althea were not at their tables as they had been just minutes prior. Their three paintings remained drying in place, held down by weights.
“Most likely they are inside enjoying refreshments.” Mr Darcy looked round. “Would you rather we take your paraphernalia to the garden, away from prying eyes?”
“Prying eyes? There is no one else about. And all we intend to do is paint, unless you have an ulterior motive for making such a suggestion.”
“Me? I was not the one who stole a kiss.”
Disregarding that reminder of her earlier audaciousness, Elizabeth contemplated the house, picturing in her mind where Miss Wright’s bedchamber was located.
She is probably up there somewhere, harassing the maid trying to pack all those costly silk gowns of hers into a trunk.
“Do the guest rooms not overlook the garden?”
“Yes.” He seemed disappointed. “I thought the laurels, yews, sweetbriar roses, and lavender might have created a romantic background for your watercolour. But perhaps it would be best if we remain here.”
“Good thinking, sir.” She smiled to herself as Mr Darcy fetched his sister’s stool and placed it close beside her own. His shoulder pressed against hers when they sat. “You begin.”
He removed his gloves, dipped a squirrel brush into the pot of water, and washed the top third of the paper with light blue paint for the sky. Blue and green were mixed for the Bristol Channel, which filled the middle. The bottom was painted grass green.
Once the entire paper had dried, Mr Darcy exchanged the broad brush for a finer sable one and depicted a perfect rainbow with a pink setting sun beneath it, touching the horizon and casting a rosy glow across the water.
Elizabeth beamed at him. “That is what I would call a stroke of genius.”
“While not true to life, it is colourful.” He dipped the sable bristles into water. “Now, your turn to finally paint something.”
Their fingers lingered as Elizabeth took the brush from him. Above the arc, she added two ‘m’ shapes soaring together. “You cannot tell by looking at them, but they are a couple of very happy birds.”
“And what a stroke of luck that they found their way to one another.” Mr Darcy smiled into her eyes. “Now that they have done so, they should discuss a wedding.”
Elizabeth reminded him that the male had yet to ask the female a certain question.
“A mere formality, Miss Bennet.” He set little weights on the corners of their creation.
“However, when I spoke of a short engagement, the truth of the matter is that I must be at Pemberley early in September. But I will not go there without you. Which presents a dilemma, for I must speak to your father.”
Elizabeth told him she was twenty-one. He asked what she was suggesting, and she said she hardly knew.
“You will want to marry from Longbourn, yes?”
“We both have resided in Wyman’s Cove for a longer duration than is required for a common licence, and it matters little where we are wed.
What greatly matters to me is that my family be present.
I wish there existed some magic method of instantly sending and receiving messages between here and Longbourn.
And while I am imagining such incredible wonders, would it not be convenient if travel between Hertfordshire and Somerset took only three or four hours? ”
“The latter may be nigh, thanks to James Watt and others before him. Steam engines are the way of the future. But,” he whispered, leaning closer, “I would rather speak of our future.”
They both jumped as Miss Darcy spoke. “Brother, Mrs Carter would like a word with us both. And the Wrights are preparing for departure. Miss Bennet, would you also like to come and wish them a safe journey? Be forewarned that the lamentations presently resounding within Strandsmere’s halls may be somewhat disturbing.
Speaking of which,” she added with a grin, “did I just interrupt something?”