Chapter Thirteen #3
And then there was the great coincidence of the alias he had chosen.
Her first inclination was to suppose that he claimed to be Will Darcy as a means of getting close to the earl’s family, but she could not see that Mr. Worthing had done anything to take advantage of her relations.
He had not made any claim on Pemberley, nor sought to present himself to Lady Anne as her long-lost son.
Indeed, he had done nothing while masquerading under this alias that he might not have done as Mr. Worthing – nothing except captivate her immediately.
She could not account for why he had practiced such deception, and until then she knew she could not forgive him.
And Elizabeth did wish to forgive him, more so as the day went on.
In leaving Rosings and coming to Wildewood, she had crossed a line that could not be easily uncrossed.
She had risked her reputation, her place in the world as well as in Lady Catherine’s home, and she still very much desired the outcome that she had imagined when she embarked on this journey.
Though his name had been false, Elizabeth still believed the man himself was true, and all that had passed between them was enough for her to hope that all could be made right.
Yet though she knew she would likely forgive him – for the alternative was to return home to her mother’s wrath – Elizabeth was in no great hurry to end his self-recrimination.
She and her sister dawdled a great while in the village; Kitty made an inordinate number of purchases to be billed to Mr. Worthing, and she encouraged Elizabeth to do the same.
When they returned to Wildewood, late in the afternoon, they spent an hour in the treehouse, visiting Duchess and the kittens.
Miss Annesley insisted upon Kitty devoting an hour to her French lesson, and Elizabeth made a lackadaisical effort at participating until Mr. Chasuble brought their studies to an end as he approached the ladies on the back terrace.
He invited Miss Annesley to dine with him, for his favorite cousin was visiting from Chichester, and he worried his cousin’s wife would be in want of feminine company.
She was to have that in abundance, for Kitty invited herself and Elizabeth along; the young ladies still had no wish to dine with Mr. Bingley and Mr. Worthing.
Mr. Chasuble was too generous to betray any hesitation at accommodating them all, and Miss Annesley agreed that they would walk to the vicarage in a half hour, after making themselves ready.
They retreated to the house, and though Elizabeth hoped to evade the gentlemen completely, Kitty hastened in the direction of their voices.
The doors to the parlor were shut, and though Kitty tugged on them, they were apparently locked from the inside. Elizabeth gave a snort of derision. If she did wish to speak to Mr. Worthing, she could hardly do so with him locked away!
Mr. Bingley opened the door a few inches and peeked out. “Oh! Good evening, fair ladies! Unfortunately, I cannot allow you to enter.”
Kitty screwed up her face with contempt and annoyance. “What are you doing in there?”
“We are… crafting something. It is an extremely artistic pursuit; we cannot admit anybody while it is in progress.”
Kitty looked affronted, and stood up on her toes as if to see around him, into the parlor. “But I love art, and crafting!”
Elizabeth tugged on her arm and led her away. “If the gentlemen wish to paint pictures or embroider cushions while we still seethe with rage, there is little we can to do to tempt them to better sense.”
When they reached Kitty’s room, the two ladies were both stunned to find it filled with small bundles of wildflowers.
The little bouquets adorned the bed, the dressing table, the end tables, and the armoire.
Each had a small slip of folded paper tucked into it.
Kitty read the first one, and then a few more. “Oh! They are all compliments!”
Elizabeth picked one up and examined it with interest. “And they are all for you?”
“Oh! Well, they shall make little difference to me!” Kitty gathered up the bundles of flowers and began throwing them out the window, one by one – after reading the note attached to each.
“Well, some of these are quite good – he shall never know if I decide to keep a few. But it is horrid that there is no present or spectacle for you, Lizzy, and I cannot possibly allow myself to soften toward Mr. Bingley while you are still in despair over William’s deception. ”
“And I am sure it will take more than flowers and pretty words to win my forgiveness,” Elizabeth declared with as much spirit as she could muster. She would at least like Mr. Worthing to make some further attempt.
The two sisters came downstairs laughing together, and Miss Annesley waited for them.
Before they could depart, Mr. Worthing opened the parlor door and peeked out of it.
He looked positively ridiculous in such an indecorous pose, but Elizabeth managed to stifle her instinctive smile. “We are dining elsewhere, sir.”
“Ah. Very good. Perhaps when you return, Miss Elizabeth, I might have a word with you? We could take a turn in the garden.”
Kitty gave Elizabeth a bolstering nod, her lips tight. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at Mr. Worthing. “I shall consider it.”
He smiled feebly. “You cannot have come all this way to ignore me in my own home.”
“I have been vastly contented by coming to know my sister better.” Elizabeth’s resolve faltered as she took in his earnest expression. “Oh, very well. Whenever we return – though we may be so merry that it shall grow quite late.”
“So long as you do return.” Mr. Worthing brought her gloved hand to his lips, and Elizabeth allowed herself a moment to relish the kiss before she withdrew and allowed Miss Annesley to usher her and Kitty out the door.
They did not take a carriage; it had grown cool in the early evening, and they walked the short distance to the vicarage.
The walk was quite pleasant; the dinner that followed was rather dull.
Mr. Chasuble was animated in the company of his cousin Mr. Holland, but Mrs. Holland was calm and quiet, and Miss Annesley was far too interested in what Mr. Chasuble had to say to make any conversation with the ladies.
Kitty and Elizabeth whispered amongst themselves, finding enough humor in the way the vicar and the governess each flirted without seeming to realize the other was doing the same. This was their chief occupation, and it left Elizabeth with an aching desire to be reconciled with her lover.
Mr. Chasuble insisted upon walking the ladies home, for his cousins meant to retire early before continuing their journey to London in the morning.
The setting sun’s glow still lingered above the treetops, and Wildewood was cast in a dreamy pink light that could only appeal to Elizabeth’s romantic sensibilities.
She wondered what the gentlemen had been getting up to in the parlor, and cherished a secret hope that it might be some conciliatory gesture, like the flowers in Kitty’s room.
She had indeed not come all this way to be estranged from her beloved, and she was ready to be persuaded that all could be well between them.
Mrs. Lane seemed to be looking out for their return, and she informed Elizabeth and Kitty that the gentlemen were waiting for them in the back garden.
Miss Annesley insisted on accompanying them, and Mr. Chasuble was equally intent upon joining her.
They all went out the garden door, and stopped abruptly at the sight before them; Miss Annesley sniffed with disapproval, but Mr. Chasuble gave a cry of delight before resuming his dignity.
Elizabeth gasped as she took in the spectacle.
A rather old looking pianoforte had been brought down, and it was placed by the large fountain at the center of the garden.
Mr. Bingley began to play a jaunty tune, while Mr. Worthing sat atop the instrument, wearing a lurid costume.
He had found and donned clothing that must be two centuries out of fashion – garish crimson pantaloons and a loose, frilly white tunic – but he wore it well.
Even with a ruff about his neck, he was uncommonly handsome.
His person was not the only thing to be marveled at.
Strung about on braided twine were dozens of paper lanterns, which were obviously hand-made in haste, but still delightful for the ambiance they lent the garden as the evening light faded around them.
When Elizabeth took in what had been done to the fountain, she comprehended Mr. Worthing’s intentions – he had recreated Vauxhall.
In the fountain, a large silver tablecloth had been placed over a blue screen, and behind it were two footmen who took turns dumping buckets of water over it, a hasty and charmingly terrible reproduction of the Cascade.
Elizabeth brought her hands to her face as she gave a giddy laugh at the sight, knowing Mr. Worthing must have gone to great lengths to make such a whimsical display for her.
He sat up straighter, cleared his throat, and Elizabeth unconsciously took a few steps toward him as he spoke.
“Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, you have known me as Will Darcy, and, shockingly, William Worthing – but I present myself to you now as William Shakespeare, knowing your love of poetry, and sonnets in particular.”
He winked at her, and Elizabeth laughed as she recalled their conversation in London, where she had teased him into thinking she despised poetry.
She grinned up at him, ready to listen and be thoroughly won over.
He withdrew a piece of yellow paper from his pocket; it was made to look like an old parchment scroll, and he unrolled it with great flourish.
Mr. Bingley began to play a simpler tune as Mr. Worthing recited his sonnet.
“Elizabeth, your beauty, wit, and grace
In London daily made me well admire.
Fine eyes, beguiling smile, and cherub face,