Chapter Twenty-One
Longbourn
Elizabeth
Elizabeth found Jane in the small sitting room off the hall, already dressed for the day and sitting near the window with a book in her hand. At the sound of the door, Jane looked up, and the smile which immediately touched her face made Elizabeth suspicious before a word had been spoken.
“What?”
Jane's smile widened. “I said nothing.”
“You were preparing to.”
“I was only wondering what you encountered upon your walk.”
Elizabeth removed her bonnet. “Fields. Trees. A tolerable quantity of mud. Nothing Hertfordshire has not provided before.”
“How strange.”
“What is?”
“That they should make you smile so.”
Elizabeth's hand paused upon the ribbon of her bonnet. “Was I smiling?”
“You were.”
“I am frequently cheerful before breakfast.”
“Not after walking above two hours, and certainly not since you lost Julia's company on your walks.”
Elizabeth glanced towards the clock and was surprised to discover Jane was right. She had not realised how long she had been away.
Jane closed her book and set it aside. “So, what did you find upon Oakham Mount? I suppose that is where you went.”
“Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth continued to fiddle with the ribbons of her bonnet.
Jane blinked. “The same Mr. Darcy?”
“Unless Hertfordshire has lately acquired another, then yes.” Elizabeth removed her bonnet. “It seems Mr. Darcy has also discovered an interest in wandering about Oakham Mount.”
“And you were together all this time?”
“Not all of it. I reached the summit before him.” Elizabeth settled beside her sister. “We happened upon one another and walked together afterwards.”
Jane regarded her with an expression of growing comprehension. “I begin to understand the smile.”
“Do not.”
“I have said nothing.”
“You continue to accomplish a remarkable amount with silence.”
Jane laughed. “Did you enjoy his company?”
Elizabeth considered pretending the question required thought, but there seemed little purpose in deceiving Jane. “Very much, actually.”
“Very much?”
“Must you repeat it?”
“I only wished to be certain I heard correctly.”
Elizabeth nudged her lightly. “Mr. Darcy is different when there are not fifty people about him. He was agreeable enough when we danced and during his visit yesterday, but this morning he seemed less guarded. I begin to suspect he notices everything and simply chooses very carefully what he means to say.”
“I cannot think that a bad thing, can you?”
“I did not say it was.” Elizabeth looked down at her bonnet, turning one ribbon absently between her fingers. “Indeed, I believe I rather like it.”
Jane's brows rose.
“There. That expression is precisely why I ought not to tell you anything.” Elizabeth protested.
“I am only listening.”
“Very loudly.”
Jane's smile remained, but she allowed Elizabeth to continue without teasing her further.
“We spoke of Derbyshire and Hertfordshire, books, Papa, Mr. Bingley...” Elizabeth glanced sideways at her sister and was rewarded with the faintest colour in Jane's cheeks. “And Julia.”
That removed the teasing from Jane's expression. “Julia?”
“Yes. I hardly know how we came to the subject, but once we did, I told him considerably more than I intended. Her illness, her leaving Hertfordshire, the letters...” Elizabeth frowned. “Even foolish little things I have not thought of in months.”
“Perhaps you wished to speak of her.”
“I always wish to speak of her. That has never made it easy.”
Jane reached for Elizabeth's hand. “Perhaps Mr. Darcy made it easy.”
Elizabeth was quiet for a moment. “Surprisingly, yes. He did.”
There was something about admitting it which made the morning feel more significant than it had upon the hill.
“He listens very attentively,” she continued. “Not merely waiting for his opportunity to speak, as so many people do. When he asks a question, one has the impression that the answer genuinely matters to him.”
“That speaks well of him.”
“Yes.” Elizabeth hesitated. “And yet there is something peculiar about it.”
“Peculiar?”
“At times his interest seems almost to come before the question.” She shook her head, dissatisfied with the explanation. “I cannot describe it properly. He will ask something and then look at me as though my answer has confirmed what he suspected rather than told him anything new.”
Jane considered this. “Perhaps he is simply perceptive.”
“Perhaps.”
“Mr. Bingley says he has always been reserved.”
Elizabeth turned towards her at once. “Does he indeed?”
Jane coloured.
“How fortunate that Mr. Bingley has already supplied you with such useful intelligence concerning his friend.”
“He happened to mention it.”
“Naturally.”
“Lizzy.”
Elizabeth laughed and squeezed her sister's hand. “Very well, I shall spare you. Perhaps you are right. Mr. Darcy may simply be a quiet, observant gentleman, and I am determined to make him mysterious because I should be disappointed to understand him so easily.”
Jane retrieved her book. “You still have not answered my question.”
“Which question?”
“What you found upon your walk that made you smile.”
Elizabeth gave her a look which warned against asking the question again, though the amusement in it spoiled the effect. “I believe I have.”
Jane's answering smile was insufferably knowing.
Elizabeth rose before her sister could make anything further of it, gathering her bonnet as she did. She had enjoyed the morning. There was no reason to deny something so simple merely because Jane might attach greater importance to it.
What was less simple was the question which followed her from the room.
Why had speaking to Mr. Darcy felt so easy when, every now and then, listening to him felt strangely like being remembered?
~
Netherfield
Darcy
Darcy found Bingley alone in the breakfast room when he returned, the remains of an early breakfast still spread before him and a newspaper folded, unread, at his elbow.
“There you are.” Bingley looked up. “I had begun to think you lost. Where have you been all morning?”
“Walking. I wished to see something more of the country before the weather turns.” Darcy poured himself coffee from the pot upon the sideboard, conscious of how carefully incomplete the answer was.
“You have been walking a remarkably long time for a man who has scarcely left Netherfield since arriving, and you were gone before any of us were properly awake.” Bingley regarded him with mild curiosity.
“Caroline will be disappointed. She has been asking whether you mean to accompany her into Meryton this afternoon. She says you mentioned wanting to see something of the neighbourhood.”
“I had not intended to accompany your sister.” Darcy took a measured sip of his coffee. “And I have begun to see something of the neighbourhood on my own.”
“No, I did not suppose you had.” Bingley returned to his newspaper, though not before giving Darcy another glance. “Whatever you have been about, you look considerably more cheerful than you did when you arrived in Hertfordshire. I begin to think town agrees with you.”
Darcy made no answer beyond drinking his coffee. The observation was unfortunately accurate. He had spent close to an hour in Elizabeth's company and returned to Netherfield with the uncomfortable knowledge that he would willingly have spent more.
Yet it was not their conversation about books or Derbyshire which remained most strongly with him as he climbed the stairs to his room. It was Julia.
Until I know otherwise, I would rather believe there is some explanation I have not yet been given
Darcy’s thoughts returned to Elizabeth’s words, which had followed him all the way back to Netherfield.
Somehow, he had found himself in the middle of her dilemma, possessing part of the explanation she wanted while lacking the one answer that mattered most. After telling Bingley he would take breakfast later, Darcy went directly to his room and sat at the writing desk.
Though Mr. Humphrey had previously reported finding nothing of consequence, Darcy wrote again, requesting every particular he could discover concerning Mr. Harding, however insignificant.
If Harding could not be found through Somerset, another means would have to be attempted, even if Darcy had only the slightest information with which to begin.
Darcy paused, his pen hovering above the page.
Richard.
His cousin possessed acquaintances Darcy did not, particularly amongst military men and those whose connections carried them continually between counties.
More importantly, Richard could make enquiries without exciting the sort of attention Darcy's own name might attract.
If Mr. Harding remained somewhere in England, there was a reasonable chance that a man with sufficient connections might discover some trace of him.
Darcy finished his instructions to Humphrey and sanded the sheet. Once he received an answer, he would write to Richard with something more useful than a surname and an uncertain history.
The decision brought an unexpected sense of relief.
He could not undo what had already happened. He could not return Elizabeth's letters unread, nor pretend he had not stood beside her that morning asking questions whose answers he already knew. But perhaps he could accomplish something beyond merely regretting it.
He could find Harding.
And through Harding, perhaps Julia.
Darcy leaned back in his chair, remembering the change in Elizabeth's face when she had spoken of her friend.
He had wanted several times that morning to offer comfort and had known that anything he said must either be inadequate or reveal too much.
He was growing tired of possessing information he could not honourably explain and offering words where she needed certainty.
If he spoke to her of Julia again, he wanted to have something to give her.
A direction. News. Proof that her friend was safe. Anything more substantial than another assurance that silence need not mean affection had died.
Whether Elizabeth ever knew what part he had played in discovering it seemed, at that moment, surprisingly unimportant.
Darcy sealed the letter to Mr. Humphrey and rang for it to be sent with the day's post.
For the first time since arriving in Hertfordshire, he felt he had done something concerning Julia Harding that he need not be ashamed of.