Chapter 8
EIGHT
ELIZABETH BENNET
Some minutes later, busying herself with the service of tea, she said, “Mr Darcy, I feel I must apologise for shredding your character so abominably. I allowed my wounded pride to blind me to any suggestion of redeeming qualities on your part.”
“When did I trouble myself to display my better qualities in your presence? I am certain you saw in me little to indicate any particular concern for anything beyond myself and my own wishes,” he replied in a tone entirely free of offence.
“I expected that my probity, at least, would be taken for granted merely because I have a fine reputation, never stopping to think that the good people of Hertfordshire had no reason to have heard of it. I showed myself to be, as you said, selfish and unfeeling; it could be no great leap from there to believe me unscrupulous, particularly given the tales against me, told by a man who possesses every appearance of goodness.”
“Which was entirely false,” she added glumly. “I have certainly learnt something about depending too strongly upon first impressions.”
“And I have learnt something about creating them,” he said with a soft, wry smile. “No blame can attach to you for what you thought of me; I gave you no reason to think otherwise.”
“I think you did. Was there no goodness in your care for your sister, which was so apparent in every word you spoke of her, and in the way you forwent an evening’s entertainment to write to her?
Was there none in your attentiveness to your friend’s concerns, or your forbearance with his trying relations?
I did not wish to see it, but it was there.
If you gave me reason to think ill of you, it was not sufficient reason to deem you worse than any other young man who has been praised too much and thwarted too infrequently. ”
This surprised a bark of laughter from him. “There, you have now described me exactly,” he said, chuckling. “All misunderstanding must be at an end.”
“We have had misunderstandings enough between us to last a lifetime,” she agreed.
Hesitantly, she added, “This storm has been something of a boon. It is good that we have at last spoken openly with each other, and if events transpire as I hope with your friend and my sister, they will be delighted that we may meet cordially in future.”
“If Bingley ever speaks to me again once he knows how poorly I advised him,” Mr Darcy said drily.
“I shall be very surprised if he does not almost immediately find a reason to forgive you, should he become angry to begin with.”
“You are most likely correct,” he said. “The only time I have ever known him to discard a friendship entirely was... well, it was a case much worse than poor advice.” His expression was one of deep unease, and she deduced that the tale was not fit for a lady’s, or at least a maiden’s, ears.
“It speaks well of him that he is able to take a stand in matters of import,” she replied.
“You described your sister as immovable when she knows herself to be right. In that description I also recognised my friend. It is another commonality between them.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “And one that will serve them well, if they find their way back to each other.”
“I am more convinced by the moment that they will,” he said.
“You may very well arrive at your uncle’s home to find Bingley quite settled in the parlour and—” He stopped abruptly and looked as though he regretted what he had said.
It took Elizabeth a heartbeat or two to puzzle it out, and she laughed softly.
“Be easy, Mr Darcy. My uncle’s home does indeed possess a parlour, as well as a drawing-room and a dining room and everything my aunt requires to entertain visits from family, friends, and my uncle’s associates.
But even had she only a sitting room, I should not have quarrelled with your choice of words. ”
He smiled sheepishly. “I realised too late that I know nothing of your uncle’s business or situation, save that he is in trade.”
Elizabeth smiled and sipped her tea and then said offhandedly, “He is the owner of Lombard Street Importers.”
She had all the satisfaction of watching Mr Darcy’s eyes widen as he understood that his own London household was partly or wholly supplied with coffee, tea, and chocolate by her uncle’s business.
Mr Gardiner had made his name and fortune by offering great variety and reliable quality in the drinks so universally sought by those who could afford them, and many a canny Mayfair housekeeper would now shop nowhere else.
“I see,” he said after a pause. “Do you and your sister visit your uncle often?”
They spoke for a while of London and their usual activities there, until they noticed that the rain had tapered from a torrent to a heavy drizzle.
In silent accord, they went to the window and looked out, and were once again able to see the hedge and the lane—now a ribbon of mud—and the field across the way.
“The sun is already beginning to set, I think,” Mr Darcy said. “I should be on my way to Rosings while there is yet some light through the clouds.”
“I shall have Sally fetch a lantern and Mr Collins’s oilskin cloak for you,” Elizabeth said. Within minutes, Mr Darcy was as sheltered from the damp and the dark as she and Sally could make him, and they watched from the doorway as he began to pick his way along the rocky verge of the muddy lane.
She had hardly been settled back in the parlour for ten minutes when a knock sounded on the outer door.
She hurried into the passage in time to see Sally open the door to him once more.
“The great cypress along the way to Rosings has fallen, and the road is blocked,” he said, his eyes fixed on her as she crossed the little distance to the door.
“It was clearly the victim of that lightning strike we heard. I met Colonel Fitzwilliam there, coming to look for me. He has informed me that Mr and Mrs Collins and Miss Lucas will be forced to spend the night at Rosings, but ought to be able to return tomorrow, once the footpath has drained. He has gone back to my aunt’s house to dispatch a manservant to watch over the parsonage.
It is unlikely that anyone will be up to mischief on such a night, but we cannot in good conscience leave you and the female servants alone, Miss Bennet. ”
“Thank you, Mr Darcy. I am sure we shall all feel safer tonight with such protection. Run along and tell Cook, Sally. She will want to heat up a bowl of stew for the poor fellow who will shortly be tromping across the fields in all this muck to aid us.”
When the girl had gone, she turned to Mr Darcy. “You will be able to reach Rosings well enough, sir?”
“It is hard going, but not impossible. I thank you for your concern.” There was a clear hesitation, and then he said, “Miss Bennet, do I ask too much, or might it possible for you and I to... start anew? I might call with my friend when you are in London.”
The thought that he had affected her powerfully from the first moment of her acquaintance entered her mind, followed closely by the certainty that she would be a fool to refuse the opportunity to discover whether the force which seemed to always pull her attention towards him might be turned to more pleasant ends than they had heretofore achieved.
“I believe I would like the opportunity to know you without the interference of our prior misunderstandings,” she allowed diplomatically.
She would not encourage him in more than friendship until she knew him better.
The expression of delight which then overspread his features became him very well.
He bowed to her, an elegant gesture immediately rendered ridiculous as the capacious hood of Mr Collins’s oilskin fell over his entire head and quite blinded him.
He laughed at himself as he pulled the folds of damp fabric away, and she added that to the growing list of his more amiable traits.
“Good night, Miss Bennet,” he said.
“Good night, Mr Darcy,” she echoed, and watched until he vanished into the lowering twilight.