Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Jane, you look magnificent!” It was not the primrose-coloured dress that made her look so perfect, nor the way her golden hair had been twisted and pinned just so. No. Jane glowed from within. Elizabeth hoped to find herself so in love, so content one day. If only Mr Darcy—
“I cannot believe my wedding is so near at last. Tomorrow morning, I shall be Mrs Bingley!” Jane clutched her cheeks and grinned.
Elizabeth thrilled at the sight of her sister’s happiness. “What a shame you had to wait so long.”
Jane nodded. “Though it gave us time to grow better acquainted. And more in love.” She blushed.
“How do you always see the positives in everything, dearest Jane?”
Elizabeth fanned herself, noting the warmth of the July air, and hoping not to perspire too badly in her new gown. Perhaps it would be milder on the morrow.
A knock at the door. “Lizzy! Jane!” called Kitty, brimming with her usual excitement, “the gentlemen and Miss Darcy are coming up the walk!”
Elizabeth called, “Tell Mama we shall come presently.” She took her sister’s hand and they scurried down the stairs.
They had not stopped at Mary’s door, as Mary had declared she would keep to her room whenever Mr Darcy was about.
It troubled everyone, but no one dared argue with her.
Mr Darcy had stayed away from Longbourn until this afternoon, having told Mr Bingley, who told Jane, who told Elizabeth, that he understood the sadness he brought Mrs Collins, and did not wish to imperil the life growing within her.
The evening after Lady Catherine’s funeral, Mr Darcy had sent a message of concern to the Parsonage, and Papa had replied that they would all return to Longbourn by coach the following day.
Mr Bingley then sent a message that he would depart with them so they might travel in his carriage.
The ride had been quiet, and all watched Mary closely.
Though she said little, her colour was improved.
Elizabeth had been terribly disappointed.
She desired to speak with Mr Darcy. She desired…
Mr Darcy. But she could not share her sentiments or her concerns with him, for plans in the best interest of Mary had been made.
Elizabeth did not begrudge her sister’s need to leave.
Not exactly. But wanting Mary’s safety and wanting Mr Darcy at the same time made for a discomfited mind.
Now in the sitting room of Longbourn on the day before the much-anticipated nuptials, Jane and Mr Bingley greeted one another more shyly than ever.
Elizabeth suspected that the reality of the impending wedding and wedding night was on their minds.
A wedding night. Elizabeth did not know all of the specifics, but thought it sounded exciting rather than frightening.
However, she was not certain if her feelings would change should the moment be upon her.
Miss Darcy curtseyed, eyes lowered. Colonel Fitzwilliam greeted all, and was received warmly.
Mr Darcy, stone-faced, bowed to Elizabeth, and she curtseyed.
He was as handsome as ever, but a distance had been created between them.
It was to be expected, she thought. Too much had transpired, so they would each find someone else and look back on their days of stolen kisses with wistfulness but nothing more.
“Miss Elizabeth,” said Miss Darcy, approaching with a shy smile. “I have been waiting ever so long to meet you!”
Elizabeth was taken aback. She had? Why? What had Mr Darcy told her?
Miss Darcy tugged absently at the skirt of her lovely white dress, behaving every bit the coltish girl that she was. “I understand that you enjoy walks and gardens, Miss Elizabeth. I should love to see the lands around Longbourn.”
Elizabeth replied, “They are nothing to Netherfield.”
“That is not true,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Your mother’s garden is a jewel, and the copse is lovely.”
At the mention of the copse, Elizabeth recalled Lady Catherine’s collapse and unease gripped her.
“Thank you, Colonel!” exclaimed Mama, blushing like a woman half her age. “The roses are at their peak now. You must see them.”
“Nothing would give me more pleasure,” he said, and she actually giggled.
Kitty and Lydia followed suit.
Elizabeth noted Mr Darcy’s eyebrows raise at her family’s display, so she searched for some way to interrupt, but before she could, Miss Darcy said, “Miss Elizabeth, I also hear you play the pianoforte.”
Elizabeth laughed. “It could not have been a complimentary mention.”
Miss Darcy’s face filled with earnest concern.
Elizabeth’s eyes met Mr Darcy’s, and her stomach flipped. Heavens, she had thought she was finished with this foolishness.
Miss Darcy said tentatively, “My brother can be a harsh critic, and I should like to find out for myself. Might we attempt a duet?”
“Perhaps after tea,” said Elizabeth, and as if it were planned, servants entered with tea trays.
To Elizabeth’s surprise, Miss Darcy sat next to her.
Elizabeth studied Mr Darcy’s sister, wondering which parent she favoured, for, while she had the same regal bearing of her brother, Miss Darcy’s colouring was quite different: hers light to his dark.
And though they were both tall, she was far more willowy, while he was solid and strong.
Yes, she knew the strength of his arms, and the solid broadness of his shoulders— She had to take hold of her senses!
They spoke easily about Pemberley and London, of Miss Darcy’s schooling, of Meryton, and of books.
Elizabeth thought the young woman innocent but sensible, and very pleasant company.
She promised to share some of her favourite books, and Miss Darcy swore to return them and send a few of her own most beloved novels for Elizabeth to enjoy.
More than once, Elizabeth caught Mr Darcy watching them converse, and noted a smile playing at his lips.
But then he registered her gaze and looked away.
Was he watching Elizabeth, or was he enjoying his sister’s interactions with an older woman, a sign of Miss Darcy’s maturation?
Perhaps both. She secretly hoped it was more than just the latter.
After tea they all went to the garden, and as they were milling about, Mr Darcy approached Elizabeth.
Her heart quickened, and she felt colour coming to her cheeks.
Elizabeth’s eyes flicked to her mother and father standing near the roses with Colonel Fitzwilliam, and to Jane sitting with Mr Bingley under the willow looking perfectly content.
She was pleased for the peace all around her, and hoped nothing she did in the next moments would disturb it.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said with a bow, and it was the most gallant, perfect bow she had ever seen.
She curtseyed, but unlike his smooth movements, her spinning mind affected her grace, and she began to topple to the side. He reached for her arm to steady her, and when their eyes met, it was as if lightning had passed through her.
He stood transfixed, and she felt she ought to say something. “Apologies, Mr Darcy. I do not know why I am so unsteady.”
He looked at his hand, still on her arm, and snatched it back, but not before looking at the others, likely to see if anyone had noticed.
“I,” he began, his voice hesitant, “have been ever so anxious to speak with you.”
“And I with you.”
“I—” they said simultaneously, and then laughed.
He nodded, so she said, “I was sorry we could not speak at Rosings.”
“Yes.”
“And I am sorry for running—”
A window above their heads slammed shut.
Her eyes darted up. It had been Mary’s window, which overlooked the garden.
Her stomach squeezed. Had Mary heard their brief conversation?
Perhaps not, but she had certainly seen them speaking together in a friendly manner.
Mary would not approve. Mary dreaded Mr Darcy.
Worse, she hated him. How could Elizabeth be with a man that her sister disliked so thoroughly?
Mr Darcy said, “Perhaps we could—” but he did not finish the sentence.
Still looking at the window, she shook her head and hurried away.