Chapter Fifteen
Elizabeth would never confess, least of all to herself, that she awaited Mr. Darcy’s visits with any eagerness.
And she certainly would never admit it to Jane, who, of all people, had lately taken to gentle teasing.
Horrid, horrid girl! Only moments ago, Jane had cheerfully enquired how many carriages had rattled by within the past half an-hour.
Not that Elizabeth had been perched on the chaise longue, ears straining for the distant jangle of harnesses, or the whispered clip-clop of horseshoes on cobblestone.
Of course not. She also was not holding her breath, her embroidery slack between her fingers, the stitches she managed to produce looking utterly random against the linen.
Her head whipped around, and she began scanning the street, her shoulders slumping with untold relief when a black lacquered carriage rolled to a dignified stop in front of her uncle’s house. He had come.
“Breathe, Lizzy,” her sister said quietly, her voice gentle, not teasing. “We cannot have you swoon from lack of air the very instant Mr. Darcy crosses the threshold.”
“I will not swoon,” she returned primly. “I am not Mamma.”
“Mamma never swooned; she preferred fluttering fits and dramatic spasms. Waving a handkerchief is far more theatrical than collapsing to the floor in an inglorious heap.”
“Jane! You never before mentioned Mamma’s nerves.”
“Speaking of them did little good. It was not worth my time.”
“True enough.”
Their banter ceased as Lambert reappeared to announce Mr. Darcy.
Moments later, he entered, his dark gaze sweeping over the company until it rested on Elizabeth.
He gave Jane a brief nod of greeting, inclined his head to Aunt Madeline, then…
his eyes returned to Elizabeth, and a slow, almost reluctant smile curved his lips.
She admitted to herself that Mr. Darcy was a striking gentleman even when he was ill-tempered; but mercy, when he smiled, he was utterly captivating.
She had believed her knowledge of his accustomed expressions of pride, indifference, and mild disdain, was complete.
Yet in that instant, she saw only pure pleasure.
Pleasure caused by her. Elizabeth’s heart stuttered, and warmth blossomed in her breast, equal parts humbling and exhilarating.
Polished china was brought forth, and cups of steaming Twining were served, the air fragrant with freshly baked tea cakes. Conversation rippled with pleasantries until, after a quarter-hour of required politeness, Mr. Darcy shifted in his chair and looked directly at Elizabeth.
“Lady Elizabeth, it is such a beautiful day,” he said, his voice low and earnest, “and I wonder if I might persuade you to accompany me on a walk through the park.”
“Nothing would please me more, Mr. Darcy.” She turned to her sister, her cheeks warm with a soft flush, giving her sister more ammunition for future teasing. “Will you join us, Jane? I promise to set a more moderate pace.”
“I have no fear on that score. There are enough benches scattered around the park and by the pond, where I can pause if necessary.”
“Then let us depart at once, before the afternoon slips away entirely,” Elizabeth declared, rising and smoothing the soft folds of her gown.
Soon, the trio had crossed the street and entered the park. The midafternoon sunlight dappled through newly budding trees as they approached the pond, where Jane almost immediately declared she would rather observe the waterfowl and leave the two of them to their private conversation.
“Stay within sight, Lizzy,” she called after them in a teasing manner. “Do not make me chase after you.”
Elizabeth, her arm entwined with Mr. Darcy’s, half-turned and impishly extended her tongue, delighting in Jane’s resulting laughter that echoed down the path. Having indulged in a moment of Lydia-like mischief, she composed her features into a semblance of propriety and faced forward once more.
“Dare I ask what that sisterly exchange was all about?” Darcy asked, his deep voice warm with amusement, the corners of his usually stern mouth lifting slightly.
“Jane has recently discovered a capacity for playfulness.”
“Has she not engaged in such light-hearted banter with your family before?”
“As the eldest, Jane has always been our family’s mediator, serene and composed, frequently mending situations that Lydia and I have disrupted with our forthrightness.
However, since arriving in town and renewing her acquaintance with Mr. Morgan, her mild temperament has begun to transform.
Our gentle dove now displays the makings of a hawk. ”
“I consider that a positive development.” Mr. Darcy pressed her gloved hand gently against his arm, his fingers warm through the thin fabric.
“In our society, the meek are frequently overwhelmed. Sometimes one requires both sharpness of wit and strength of character to navigate these treacherous waters.”
Elizabeth canted her head to one side and regarded the customarily solemn gentleman with curiosity, her intelligent eyes searching his handsome face.
“You speak as one with experience in this matter,” she observed, noting the shadow that briefly darkened his countenance.
“Indeed,” he replied, his voice lowering to a confidential timbre.
“Last summer, my sister nearly succumbed to the silver-tongued persuasions of a former family friend, who convinced her to elope. Only by fortunate circumstance did I discover their plan mere days before their intended departure for the border of Scotland.”
“How dreadful! How is your sister? Has she fully recovered?”
He drew in a deliberate breath before replying, his voice steadier than his hesitation suggested.
“She is much better now. My aunt, Lady Matlock has taken her under her wing, and we have engaged a most compassionate companion for her.” He paused, his gaze momentarily distant.
“It was also of considerable comfort that she heard, straight from the cad’s own lips, that his motive for courting her affections lay solely in her fortune, which surpassed thirty thousand pounds. ”
“How perfectly awful,” Elizabeth murmured.
“No one wishes to be admired merely for their wealth.” She shook her head, recalling how her father insisted on keeping their fortune out of public gossip.
Then, with a curious lift of her brow, she met Darcy’s gaze.
“I imagine you have been plagued with the same malaise?”
“I must confess I have. It contributed greatly to my disagreeable demeanour that first evening in Meryton. Georgiana’s distress was still fresh in my mind when we entered the assembly hall, only to be greeted by whispers and calculations regarding Bingley’s wealth and my own, as though we were merely prizes to be claimed by whichever local family proved most strategic in their matchmaking. ”
Elizabeth’s lips curved in wry amusement. “Mr. Bingley’s fortune was a popular topic of conversation long before his arrival. As to your fortune, we learned all about it from Miss Bingley herself, who deemed it her duty to enlighten us poor country mice of your vast estate and illustrious lineage.”
Darcy inclined his head. “I had my suspicions. In any case, I behaved most poorly and came to regret my harsh words as the weeks wore on, and I came to know more of your character… and when I began, most unexpectedly, to admire your fine eyes.”
“Fine eyes?” Elizabeth half-laughed, her voice light with amusement.
“Forgive me, I must confess that while wandering the maze at Netherfield, I overheard Miss Bingley teasing you about those very fine eyes, and the portraits of aunts and uncles lining Pemberley’s gallery.
I never imagined I was the subject of her mockery. ”
“Miss Bingley is a spiteful cat. I suffered her company because of her brother, and indirectly Hurst.”
“She saw herself as the future mistress of your estate.”
“Am I the only one who failed to see this?”
“You did not know?” Elizabeth’s voice was gentle.
He shook his head. “My family pointed it out to me upon my return from Netherfield, and later it was confirmed in a conversation with Hurst.”
“Was this the same conversation in which you both agreed to apologise for your conduct in Hertfordshire?”
Darcy’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You know of that?”
“Mr. Hurst approached Jane and me at the Theatre Royal. He came alone, offered his apologies, and returned to his wife with little to no fanfare.”
“Hurst is a good man. He and his wife have shown admirable judgment in separating themselves from Bingley and his sister.”
“Most prudent, given what has come to light.” Elizabeth pressed her arm against his, a gentle reassurance of her growing regard. “I imagine the dissolution of such a longstanding friendship weighs heavily upon you.”
“It does indeed.” His voice carried a note of melancholy. “For many years, I believed Bingley to be genuine in character and intention, like clear glass through which one sees truth.”
“Until something altered your perception,” she prompted, watching birds dart between the budding branches overhead.
“Precisely.” Their pace slowed to a contemplative stroll as he gathered his thoughts.
“The transformation began shortly after the mourning for their parents concluded. Bingley sought my counsel regarding the purchase of horses. I recommended sturdy carriage horses suitable for town living, practical creatures with strong haunches and reliable temperaments. I explicitly cautioned against the extravagance of thoroughbreds.”
“He disregarded your counsel?”
“Entirely. He acquired not one but eight fine horses with pedigrees longer than their tails, necessitating a move to an excessively large Mayfair residence with adequate stabling. Miss Bingley, naturally, seized the opportunity to embark upon a most... distinctive redecoration.”
Elizabeth could not suppress a shudder at the mental image of Miss Bingley decorating anything.