17. 17 November 1811
DARCY
Another night of interrupted sleep passed.
Early the next morning, Darcy used the two lists he had written the night before to mark favourite poems in a slim volume of Wordsworth’s poetry.
He dressed, put the poetry book into his pocket, snatched up an apple for Atlas, and made his way to the stable.
He hoped he would encounter Elizabeth.
This time he discovered her far earlier in his ride. She waved, obviously delighted to have another opportunity to chat privately.
“I suppose this is very wrong for us to meet alone like this,” Darcy said.
“Well, we are not making arrangements to meet. Setting up times and places would make these assignations, but what is actually occurring is merely fortuitous encounters.”
“Fortuitous indeed. As a matter of fact, I have several important things to discuss this morning,” Darcy said as they briskly walked side by side, Atlas trailing behind. He could hear the apology in his tone.
Elizabeth simply nodded and waited.
“First, I wish to remind you that I hope to eventually marry you. And there is something I need to convey before I ask, so that you will not only know me, but you will know my circumstances, and you will make an informed choice.”
“Convey away, sir,” she said.
He shot a smile towards her. Then he told her of Georgiana’s aborted elopement.
He had mentioned it a few days earlier, but this time, he told many more details, including Wickham’s name and past relationship with the Darcy family, and, crucially, including the deaths of Wickham and Mrs Younge.
He explained Georgiana’s melancholy and his hopes that Elizabeth might agree to an acquaintance with his sister.
“I feel that she would immediately admire you, and that she would improve her view of the world from knowing you.”
“I would be delighted to make her acquaintance. However, I have a question: are you considering marrying only because such a change will benefit your sister?”
“I am not,” Darcy said. “When you came striding into Netherfield with your curls and your mud and your laughing eyes, I was definitely not thinking of my sister.”
“You did not seem to be thinking at all!” she claimed with a chuckle.
“Oh, believe me, I had thoughts.”
“Hmmm,” Elizabeth said. “Looking at your expression, I just now have had a few thoughts I should love to convey.”
“By all means,” Darcy said, “convey away.” They both chuckled as he copied her wordplay.
What ensued was an awkward conversation in which Elizabeth and Darcy discussed their ideas of marriage. They were both relieved that they not only intended to practice mutual respect, but that they also shared the goal of keeping their vows to adhere to marital fidelity.
After that conversation, they gladly walked in silence for a while, until Elizabeth indicated a rocky outcropping a few steps away. “That is the spot I hoped to show you. There is a very pleasing prospect to be seen.”
Darcy dropped the reins so that Atlas could continue nibbling on the lingering foliage on a hawthorn shrub. Elizabeth and Darcy stepped to the outcropping and enjoyed the sight of rolling fields cut with hedges, paths, and roads, and winding lines of trees flanking the local creek.
“Might we sit?” Darcy asked, waving his hand towards the flattest boulder.
“I always intended to.”
They sat, looking some more at the view, and when their eyes met, smiles broke across both faces. Then Darcy took the book out of his pocket. He said, “As I look out over these rolling fields, I am inspired to read a bit from The Lady of the Lake. I assume you have read it?”
Elizabeth nodded eagerly, and Darcy read for almost a quarter hour. Finding an excellent stopping point, he allowed silence to envelop them for a few minutes.
Finally she spoke: “You read aloud very well, sir. That was a pleasure.”
He said, “I made two new lists. One is short and serious. The other is a bit longer and seriously silly.”
“Serious first, please,” Elizabeth said. Her eyes twinkled, but when she saw the list of things to be accomplished before getting married, her face became solemn.
Darcy explained, “I just wished to show you how much I must accomplish before we can wed, so you can keep that in mind as we continue to get to know one another. If you ever signal your readiness, we can rapidly become engaged (Item Number 1), but it will take some time to accomplish Items Number 2 through 7 and actually marry.”
“’Tis a daunting list,” she murmured.
He shrugged. “And yet I remain undaunted. Whenever you are ready.… Well, just let me know.”
He took out the second list and handed it to his beloved. “Now for the serious-yet-silly list.”
She began to laugh even as she read the first item. “Oh, dear, all that mud,” she murmured. “I suppose mud and muck, mire and murk will take on great importance in our future marriage, since you say it brings you happy memories.”
“Perhaps so, but I shall steadfastly refuse to allow those four words to swell to such prominence that we name our four sons Mud, Muck, Mire, and Murk.”
Elizabeth chuckled and said, “By all means, we will not name our four sons thusly. Instead, those will be the names of our four daughters.”
Darcy swallowed the guffaw that rose in his throat and instead just beamed at his beloved, saying, “I always enjoy your teases, and especially now that we are teasing as if it is settled that we will soon marry and have at least eight children.”
“Nay! It is not at all settled, sir! As you have pointed out, seven tasks remain. It is not quite the level of Herculean labours, but it shall all take more than a week—perhaps as long as a fortnight—to accomplish.”
Laughing at each of the remaining items on the silly list, Elizabeth finished and said, “I will have you know, sir, that before I met you, I had heard many things about you from Mr Bingley and especially Miss Bingley. I had understood you to be a very serious sort of man, so high in social stature and so lofty in your wealth and connexions, I would never have dreamt you could be silly.”
“I feel certain that you also noticed that Miss Bingley might not be a credible source on…well, almost any topic.”
“Granted. Still, I wonder if you have ever shown your silly side to the Lady Patronesses who control access to Almack’s, to the dukes and earls of your acquaintance, to the various members of the ton.
“I believe it is safe to guarantee that I have not. As a matter of fact, although I do have relaxed relationships with Bingley and with my cousin Richard—and there certainly is some raillery between those gentlemen and myself—I rarely even use the word silly, let alone lower my reserve enough to act in such a way.”
“Why have you shown your silly side to me?”
“I little know. Lack of sleep, perhaps?”
“Lack of sleep?” Elizabeth sounded incredulous. Darcy turned to her, wondering how much he should explain about his nighttime bliss and torture, but she reached out one of her hands and gently touched the area under his left eye. “Ohhh, you do look different from the first time I saw you.”
He blushed, knowing that the change was not for the better. He could hardly stand to see his own face in the mirror and was very glad that his valet shaved him, to spare him the task of studying his own visage carefully each morning.
But Darcy also took advantage of Elizabeth’s bold touch, and he took her hand before she could retract it. He kissed it and then kept it within his own.
Elizabeth said, “I hope you did not feel insulted, sir. You still look very handsome, but just as I noticed the second morning of our acquaintance, you look….”
She seemed incapable of specifying how he looked. He chuckled and suggested, “…As if I had spent the night on a bed of thorns?”
She laughed a bubbly, infectious laugh. “I was not going to say thorns, sir. I was hoping it was merely a matter of a few lumps in the mattress! A few wrinkles in the snowy perfection of your fine linen sheets.”
“I am no Sybarite!” he said. “It is just that I have a new nightly routine of waking up seven to nine times per night in order to spend half of every hour in vigorous exercise.”
“Vigorous exercise?”
“Yes. Are you familiar with the sport of tossing? Or, perhaps, the related sport of turning?”
“Something causes you disquiet.”
“Someone causes me disquiet, actually.”
Elizabeth turned to look into Darcy’s eyes. She looked affronted; her eyes practically sparked in irritation. “You blame me?” she demanded.
“I do not blame you in the least. This is entirely my own doing. Instead of spending the hours in a sensible manner, resting and regrouping for the next day—something inside me insists on playing out in my mind many happy but also unhappy scenarios involving you. It is my fault—or perhaps Lord Byron had the right of it, and being in love is as filled with yearning and melancholy as it is with ecstasy.”
“Lord Byron writes of fleeting passion and broken promises.” Now Elizabeth’s voice was downright fiery.
“If that is the sort of love you anticipate, you should slink off, far away from me, and start your brooding. I seek constancy and—as I already clearly stated—vows that are kept, promises that are sacred.”
Darcy reached for her arm but thought better of his impulse.
He stopped, his hand still awkwardly grasping at air, and he hurried to say, “Miss Elizabeth, I implore you to listen with your heart as well as your ears.” He brought the hand down and gently stroked her gloved hand with the backs of his gloved fingers.
“Constancy, vows kept—that is exactly what I seek, as well. I have never been in love before, and I feel in my bones that I will never be in love again. I am perfectly certain that I offer constancy. However, I have not fooled myself into imagining that you are in love with me. Hence my tossing and turning.”
“Oh.”
Elizabeth looked embarrassed. There was quite a long silence, and she finally mumbled, “I am sorry.”