Chapter 28 Displeasure
After the Darcys departed, Elizabeth returned to her books and applied herself in earnest. She had spent much of the morning away and meant to make up the lost time.
At half past two, her aunt came for her. “Lizzy, Elena has set out a fine luncheon in the breakfast parlor. Come and eat.”
Elizabeth placed a marker in her book and closed it, then followed her aunt from the room.
“My dear, Edward tells me Mr. Darcy is taken with you.”
Elizabeth brightened.
Mrs. Gardiner laughed. “It appears to me that you suffer from the same condition.”
Elizabeth took her aunt’s hand. “Everything would be perfect if not for Lydia’s ruin. Mr. Darcy has a young sister who would also be tainted should Lydia’s fall ever become known. How could I do that to him or to his sister?”
“Lizzy, love is a powerful thing. When one loves deeply, much may be overcome. Give love a chance.”
* * *
That evening, after Elizabeth had taken tea, conversed with the family party, and played and sung at the request of Mr. and Mrs. Radcliff, she at last returned to the table in the corner. She carried a branch of candles with her and placed it near enough to cast its light upon her book.
She opened Brand with care. Already halfway through the volume, she had found no further accounts of mysterious disappearances. Would the book prove a waste of time? She had no choice but to finish every volume and record anything that might offer a key.
Did the veil truly thin on the eve of the winter solstice and allow one to pass into another time?
And if such a thing proved possible, how could she ensure she returned to the time when all had been right?
When Papa still lived and teased them. When Mamma harried poor Hill.
When all her sisters lived at home, innocent and hopeful.
She returned to her book and continued reading, making notations as she went. That night, when the others finished their game of whist and rose to retire, she did the same.
She consulted her watch. Eleven o’clock.
She would not read in bed, for she must sleep.
She meant to run in the morning and, if all went well, would go as far as Arbor Low, now that she knew the way.
The path seemed easy enough to follow, and there were no houses on that open moor.
No one should encounter her at the hour she intended to go, at sunrise, when the sun painted the sky in colors that defied description.
She followed the others upstairs, kissed her aunt and uncle, and retired to her chamber.
While Anna helped her prepare for the night, Elizabeth’s thoughts strayed to Mr. Darcy.
In a matter of days, he had come to mean nearly everything to her.
She felt as though she had known him all her life.
She was at ease in his company and, surprisingly, often wished he might touch her.
Kiss her. She had never desired such intimacies from any man.
Of course, he could not. She would not esteem him so highly had he attempted anything so improper. Beyond his beauty of face and form, she acknowledged that much of his appeal lay in his goodness and decency.
Still, she wished to know what it was to be kissed by Mr. Darcy, to be held in his arms, and to feel the warmth of his embrace.
Anna’s practical voice recalled her to the room. “Miss Elizabeth, the fire is banked. Is there anything else I can do for you before I retire?”
“No, thank you, Anna. I am going out for a walk tomorrow at dawn. You need not bring the hot water until eight o’clock. If I have not returned by then, leave the water and do not worry. It will only mean the beauties of Derbyshire have beguiled me.”
“Yes, miss.”
After Anna departed, Elizabeth extinguished the candle, slipped beneath the covers, and fell asleep within minutes.
The following morning, she rose at six, slipped into her trousers and blouse, twisted her hair into a chignon, and drew on an old pelisse shortened to allow greater freedom of movement. She slung a canvas bag over her shoulder and descended the servants’ stairs.
By a quarter past six, she had passed the kitchen gardens and entered the park. Beyond them, she found the narrow path, scarcely visible in the early light, which led toward the open moor and Arbor Low.
She glanced back. The house had disappeared from view, and no one occupied the gardens or the road beyond. She passed through the gate into the wilderness, removed her pelisse, tucked it into the canvas bag, and prepared to hang the bag upon a low branch.
Hawthorn. It was a hawthorn tree hung heavy with clusters of red haws.
Elizabeth recoiled, then mastered herself. With a laugh at her own foolishness, she said aloud, “It is all superstition, Lizzy. Never mind the hawthorn or the fairies.”
She hung the canvas bag from the branch and set off along the faint path in the first light of dawn. She hoped to reach the henge by sunrise.
Holding her watch in one hand, Elizabeth began to run at a moderate pace. When she finally ascended the bank of the henge, she was panting. She had time enough to reach the causeway and enter the circle before sunrise.
She ran along the bank, crossed the causeway, and continued to the center of the circle.
There she climbed onto the stone Mr. Darcy had helped her mount the day before.
The memory filled her with pleasure. He had been so attentive, so kind.
He had treated her as though she were something precious, something to be cherished and protected.
From atop the stone, she waited for the sunrise. Then the few clouds that were scattered across the sky were painted red, gold, and dark maroon as the sun broke over the horizon. A faint mist rose from the open heath, where low outcrops and loose limestone lay scattered among the grass.
The morning seemed magical. She would scarcely have been surprised to find a fairy or two dancing along the banks of the henge.
A low whinny startled her.
Elizabeth spun toward the sound, her heart pounding.
Mr. Darcy.
And then she was falling.
Rather than strike the stone, Elizabeth managed to throw her weight toward the edge. She cleared the limestone and struck the grass below, her hands taking the first impact. Tucking her chin, she rolled across the ground before coming to a stop upon her back.
For a moment, she lay staring at the sky.
Nothing hurt. She moved her head, then her arms and legs.
Finding no injury, Elizabeth sat up. By then, Mr. Darcy had reached the place where she lay, dismounted, and hurried toward her.
She was brushing the grass and dirt from her hands and forearms and suspected both had found their way into her hair.
He dropped beside her. “Miss Elizabeth, are you injured? Have you broken anything?”
His stricken expression compelled her to reassure him. “Sir, I am not injured.”
She held out her hands as proof. He took one and helped her to her feet.
As Elizabeth brushed the grass and dirt from her trousers, Darcy grew still. His gaze traveled over her clothing, and his expression changed to one of astonishment. Pain. Betrayal.
Her trousers.
She looked down. Had she torn them in the fall? No, her clothing was intact, so she continued brushing away the grass, hoping he would recover himself before she finished.
When she straightened, his brow remained deeply furrowed and his lips compressed.
“Mr. Darcy, are you well, sir? I have sustained no injury. I should return home before I am missed.”
His gaze left her unconventional costume and met hers. “Miss Elizabeth, such clothing is hardly proper where any man might come upon you. He might mistake you for a wanton, ma’am, and offer you insult or worse.”
Heat rose in her cheeks. She had not considered the danger.
“Sir, I assure you, I would never have come dressed thus had I not believed this place deserted at such an hour. I expected to be entirely alone and unseen.”
He made no answer, but the distress remained upon his face, so she continued.
“I run when I am at home, in the early morning along the wilds bordering my father’s estate. I have done so since I was fourteen and have never been discovered at it. Until today, sir. I meant only to run here, enjoy the sunrise, and return home to my studies.”
His expression remained troubled, almost accusing. What more could she say? She had come here alone, dressed in a manner no respectable woman would permit a gentleman to see. No explanation could alter that. The impulse to plead with him rose within her, but she restrained it and said nothing more.
He held her eyes a moment longer and then his brow relaxed. “I see.”
Elizabeth sighed, relieved as the change in his countenance eased the weight which dragged at her. Where was her watch? She searched the ground, then bent to retrieve it. At his questioning look, she opened her hand and showed him the timepiece.
“It is a quarter to eight, sir. I must leave, or I shall be late to breakfast.”
“Are you certain you can walk? You did not twist your ankle upon that stone?”
She rose onto her toes. “No, sir. I feel no pain. I must leave.”
She curtsied, he bowed, and she departed. She ran across the circle, through the causeway, and onto the path through the grass.
Elizabeth ran all the way back to the manor and did not look behind her, lest she find his displeasure following her. Her manner of dress had deeply offended him. He had warned her that a man might mistake her for a wanton.
A wanton like her little sister.
Elizabeth could not bear for Mr. Darcy to think the same of her. She had fallen in his estimation, and the thought distressed her. She determined not to wear her trousers again, or, if she did, she would keep her pelisse over her running clothes, unbuttoned so the fabric would not hinder her.
Perhaps he would not permit Georgiana to visit while the men went fishing. He might even cry off from the fishing excursion and make a complete break with her and her family.
Tears streamed down her face, though her distress left her insensible to them. She had embarrassed them both.
No, he believed it something far more serious. Her attire had breached the bounds of propriety and disregarded the conduct expected of a respectable woman.
He had even spoken of a wanton. What must he think of her now? Of her judgment? Her character? She had offended his sense of decorum, and now she might pay for it with the loss of his esteem and his society.
When she reached the gate, she retrieved her pelisse and slipped it on. She drew a deep breath. The morning air was fresh and sweet. How good it had been to run again. She had not done so since her arrival in London.
But at what cost?
Surely, she would never see him again.
She hurried through the gardens and up the back stairs. When she reached her bedchamber, it was empty. She blew her nose, but the tears had not stopped.
After completing her morning ablutions, she dressed for the day. By the time she entered the breakfast parlor to join her uncle and Mr. Radcliff, she had recovered from the mortification of having been caught in such attire by Mr. Darcy.
Almost. At least she no longer wept, which she counted as one consolation.