Chapter 3 #5
He explained being friends with Lewis Tessier, and his concerns over who would influence his young brother at the race meeting.
“There is much disorder and drunkenness, and excessive wagering,” he added.
“Tessier is awaiting the birth of a child and wanted someone to watch Mr Henry Tessier since his mother is lenient and his father has died.”
“Mr Henry needs a good example to follow, and he will find no better one than you,” she said. Her praise made a warmth spread through his chest. “You are a good friend to Mr Tessier. I knew it had to be something,” she added playfully.
“You cannot see me friends with a lax widow and an ungainly boy?”
“No more than you can see me friends with an ambitious, heartless woman,” she quipped. Then Elizabeth exhaled and dropped her eyes. “I should not have said that.”
“You can say the truth to me. You always have,” he said with a smile to show her he bore her no ill will.
“I have also been unduly rude,” she whispered. “You did not deserve the abuse I gave you.”
“I deserved some of it,” he said firmly. “But to prove we have both improved in civility, we will keep secret our opinions of our fellow inmates of Woodcote.”
She laughed a little. “I might give you a few expressive smiles if Sir John continues to admire me only when he cannot charm Miss Metcalfe.”
“And I might give you a commiserating sigh and lift my shoulders now and then, but only when Miss Metcalfe’s and Lady Metcalfe’s backs are turned.”
They had been walking through Woodcote’s park and now had a view of the house. It was a sprawling, ostentatious building. It was surrounded by a ring fence, enclosing the lands to a considerable extent and with trees crowding the house but without a shrubbery or an avenue.
Elizabeth looked at the house with a wrinkle between her eyebrows, and said, “I hate to criticise, but the situation of the house is dreadful, for it would not be an ill-looking place if it had a better approach.”
“Our opinions coincide.” He paused, wondering if that had ever happened before. “It is unfortunate the mansion is entirely secluded from view. If a few trees were removed,” he said, pointing, “the house would be visible, and add greatly to the beauty of the surrounding scenery.”
“Is Pemberley better situated?”
He smiled. “If you are trying to make me boast of my home only to call me excessively proud, I intend to overthrow your scheme and cheat you of your premeditated contempt.”
To his delight, this drew out another smile. “Indeed, I dare not. In fact, I think you may have no improper pride at all, so you need not fear describing your home.”
“Pemberley House is situated on the opposite side of a valley. It is a handsome stone building, standing well on rising ground, and backed by a ridge of high woody hills with a stream in front. The park contains a variety of ground.”
“That sounds delightful, Mr Darcy,” she said, and his heart again swelled at her approval. “I suppose it is not like Rosings?”
“There is nothing formal or falsely adorned in Pemberley’s style.
I think it has a more natural beauty than Rosings or Woodcote, both inside and out.
The park is ten miles round.” She seemed interested, so he described the various walks with views of the valley, the opposite hills, with the long range of woods, and parts of the stream.
“How charming,” she said when he was done. “I think I would enjoy wandering in Pemberley’s park.” She coloured and bit her lip. He supposed she feared her admiration might be misconstrued as a hope, or as flattery. Or mockery, since she refused to be Pemberley’s mistress.
“You would be very welcome at Pemberley, Miss Bennet,” he said, to show her he did not assume anything from her compliment. “I have a miniature of the house, if you would like to see it?” She nodded, and he shifted the topic back to the environs of Epsom and the park as they took another path.
It reminded him only a little of his walks with Elizabeth at Rosings.
Now, she was more attentive, like she took the trouble to draw him out.
At first he thought it was odd that they should be more at ease with each other after his failed proposal than before.
But then he realised how much she must have disliked his company on those walks.
She might not have known he went out in search of her.
It grew late, and they agreed to go back, but he did not want their walk to end.
He could find another time to talk with her this week, but what was the point?
She thought better of him, which was all he hoped for from the moment he saw her in the entrance hall yesterday.
Did he continue to talk to her this week or avoid her? Which one respected her feelings?
He could no longer lie to himself. Not only did he still love her, but he wanted to ask Elizabeth if her feelings for him could change. He was tolerably secure of her approval of him, but he was not confident that admiration or love came to her mind when she thought of him.
One moment he was convinced he would hazard nothing until he believed himself secure of Elizabeth’s affection, and the other was ready to just take her in his arms and kiss her, and then beg her to end his suffering.
If she gave him any encouragement, anything beyond wanting only friendship, he would ask her again to marry him.