Chapter 29 Concession
Darcy rose early, saddled his horse, and rode toward Arbor Low. Since learning of Miss Elizabeth’s interest in the monument, the henge had acquired an importance in his mind it had never held before. Familiarity had made it commonplace. It had always formed part of the landscape of his youth.
As boys, he and his cousins had ridden there, and after Mr. Wickham became steward, George Wickham had joined in their exploits. They had played at war, built imaginary fortresses, and hidden among the earthworks.
Now Darcy viewed the place through the eyes of a stranger. A beautiful stranger who believed some mystery surrounded the stone circle and perhaps the entire landscape.
He wished to see it bathed in the early morning light, with mist rising from the ground. What would she think if she could see it thus?
As the earthworks came into view, he saw movement along the bank. It was too dark to be certain. Perhaps it was one of the fairies Miss Elizabeth was so fond of studying, he thought wryly.
He looked up. The darkness was beginning to lighten.
It was a beautiful morning. He brought Rowan to a halt at the end of the causeway when the sun broke over the horizon in brilliant glory.
The clouds caught the light and blazed red, gold, and purple across the sky.
For a time, the spectacle claimed his full attention.
When the colors faded, Darcy surveyed the bank and plateau to see who had come to the henge at such an early hour. He was startled when Rowan pranced backward and threw back his head with a neigh.
And then he saw her face. It was not a child; it was Elizabeth, and she was falling.
Darcy urged Rowan forward. As soon as he drew near, he dismounted and hurried to her, expecting to find her injured, perhaps unconscious.
She lay very still, but as he approached, her limbs moved.
By the time he knelt beside her, she had raised herself to a seated position and was brushing dirt and dead grass from her hands and forearms.
No blood. No apparent injury. Though bits of grass clung to her hair, she appeared miraculously unharmed.
“Miss Elizabeth, are you injured? Have you broken anything?”
She raised her beautiful eyes to his. “Sir, I am not injured.”
She held out her hands. He helped her to her feet. Relief swept through him when she stood without difficulty and began to brush the debris from her clothing.
Trousers. Darcy stared.
She wore narrow trousers fitted to her figure and a blouse reaching only to her hips. Had she no sense of decency? No shame? How could she bear to be discovered in such an indecent costume by a man, particularly one she scarcely knew?
She had been fortunate he had found her. Another man might mistake her for a woman of loose character and presume upon her in the worst manner.
His eyes narrowed. What was she doing here alone, dressed in such a fashion? Surely nothing improper had brought her to this place?
No, of course not. No tavern stood within three miles, and no tenant, servant, or gentleman had reason to come this way, for no public lane or footpath passed near the henge.
No, she had not come here seeking men. What then? Had she truly come only to see the sunrise? Extraordinary.
His distress must have shown in his face, for she asked, “Mr. Darcy, are you well, sir? I have sustained no injury. I should return home before I am missed.”
But he could not draw his gaze from her unconventional costume. Still offended, he met her eyes. “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.”
Even to his own ears, he sounded critical, accusing. The deep blush that rose from her neck into her cheeks did not surprise him. His tone and no doubt his manner had been harsh.
She hastened to assure him of her innocence, but he reasoned that even if she had expected to encounter no one at such an early hour, she had nevertheless ventured out alone and indecently dressed.
Worse, she appeared to feel no shame at having been discovered so.
Her embarrassment arose from his censure rather than from any sense that her conduct had been improper.
He had greatly misjudged her character, and the discovery pained him.
He had thought better of her than she deserved. The realization brought another, equally unwelcome. He held this woman in even higher esteem than he had Miss Ramsbury, and her conduct had wounded him more deeply than it ought after so short an acquaintance.
She explained more fully what had brought her, dressed so indecently, to this lonely moor at such an unearthly hour and entirely alone.
Darcy glanced around. No chaperone. No servant. No companion of any kind.
His eyes returned to hers. They were innocent, pleading, distressed.
His outrage began to recede.
She was merely a young woman who knew no better. No, scarcely more than a girl, with little experience of the cold, hard world or of men like Wickham, who would take advantage of such innocence without a second thought.
He must speak to her uncle. Miss Elizabeth clearly had no notion of the danger in which she placed herself by venturing out alone and unprotected. How could Gardiner permit it? Perhaps he did not know.
She was searching for something in the grass, for she bent and retrieved some object. His curiosity must have shown, for she now held out her bare hand. In her palm lay a dainty feminine watch.
Dainty and fragile, like her. She made her excuses, and then she left him.
He had upset her with his harsh, accusing tone. Had he called her a wanton? Surely not. What precisely had he said?
No. He had only meant to warn her. And if he had frightened her into greater caution, perhaps it was for the best. A man like Wickham would show her no mercy.
If this morning’s encounter taught her prudence and moved her to greater caution in the future, if his warning might save her from a far greater injury, then perhaps the distress he had caused her served some higher purpose.
For she had been distressed. Her eyes had shone suspiciously when she turned from him.
He whistled, and Rowan came to him. Darcy mounted and headed toward Pemberley.
As he rode, his thoughts remained with Elizabeth. Should he break off the acquaintance? Might her influence upon Georgiana prove detrimental?
Her face rose before him. Those dark eyes had held nothing but innocence.
No. She was an innocent who knew no better. Her fault had been one of judgment, not character. He would permit the acquaintance to continue.
Then he remembered. It could never be more than a passing acquaintance for him, a pleasurable idyll with a beautiful woman.
His family name was ruined. He had nothing to offer a genteel, innocent woman such as Elizabeth, any more than he had Miss Ramsbury.
The same was true for Georgiana. If she was with child, her condition could not remain concealed for long.
She would lose her friendship with Elizabeth.
How could his sister suffer another loss?
Despair settled over him, an emotion he had scarcely known before his family, his name, and everything he held dear had been brought so low.
* * *
Somehow, Elizabeth got through breakfast with her uncle and Mr. Radcliff. Uncle Edward scrutinized her face for a moment, but returned to his newspaper after she offered an excuse for her swollen eyelids.
“I have been missing Papa this morning, Uncle Edward. I shall be better once I bury myself in my books.”
She could hardly explain that her early morning encounter with Mr. Darcy had distressed her.
Neither her aunt nor her uncle knew of her early morning runs or of the trousers she wore.
Only Papa, Jane, and Hill had known. Papa had given his approval, along with strict instructions that she keep to secluded places.
Jane had helped her fashion her running garments and shorten an old pelisse enough to prevent the fabric from entangling her legs, while Hill had laundered the garments herself to prevent the servants from gossiping.
Elizabeth considered her encounter with Mr. Darcy. He had been absolutely scandalized.
And now, with the mortification of the morning behind her, she began to understand that any proper gentleman would likely have reacted in much the same manner.
Perhaps this was not merely an eccentricity she had indulged since girlhood. Perhaps it revealed a fault in her upbringing, and worse, in her own judgment and character.
Not only had Lydia been brought up without proper restraint, but so had they all, herself included. She too was a product of that lax upbringing.
In temperament, she and Lydia were not so very different.
Both were lively and curious, but Elizabeth possessed an inner compass and a measure of restraint that had generally kept her within the bounds of propriety.
Her youngest sister possessed neither in sufficient measure.
In that respect, Lydia was more like their mother.
Elizabeth wondered what else in her own character required amendment. What had been approved of, or merely tolerated, within the walls of Longbourn did not necessarily meet the standards expected in higher circles.
Her uncle’s voice interrupted her reflections.
“Lizzy, I am sorry you will miss the fishing this morning. Shall I come for you after you have spent an hour with Miss Darcy? I can take your rod with me.”
Elizabeth’s eyes brightened. “I should like that very much, Uncle. I shall ask Georgiana if she wishes to join us. We might even walk there together, if Mr. Radcliff would permit Anna to accompany us.”
Mr. Radcliff said, “I know Anna does not care for walking outdoors. I shall instruct the footmen before we leave. All you need do is ring when you are ready, and one of them will accompany you.”