Chapter 6
SIX
“My uncle is a quiet man by day, but as you hear, he makes his presence known at night.”
“Um,” Darcy turned back to her. “Was his—is the noise created by his snoring what keeps you from sleep? I hope it is not worry for your sisters and parents. You were admirable in your attentions to Miss Bennet when she was ill. You felt it deeply.”
She sighed. “I recall when the Gouldings suffered from the same malady and wonder why no one has searched for and stomped on the remaining mushrooms, or otherwise ensured no other household would suffer. The distress is short-lived and I am happy to be free of it, but I am unhappy any are suffering, perhaps our housekeeper most of all, who must help care for Mama and listen to her complaints.”
Darcy shuddered, thinking of Lady Catherine in similar straits, and the merciless dressing-downs she would give to poor Dawson and the rest of Rosings’ servants.
“Those we employ to care for us deserve to be treated with the respect we demand from them.” Seeing Elizabeth’s astonished expression, he shrugged.
“We all have family. Lady Catherine is not the only one difficult to please.”
Elizabeth lifted her hand to her mouth as if to hide a smile but instead he realised she held a biscuit. Glancing down, he saw a plate of sliced apples and biscuits.
“Please have a biscuit, Mr Darcy. I saw that you enjoyed them earlier.” She held the plate towards him, and whispered, “My aunt is quite proud to claim them as her own, so please do not reveal the great secret that her tarts and rolls and biscuits are from Mr Culton’s bakery two doors away.”
“Telling tales on your aunt?” He moved from the chair, took a seat on the rug, and reached for a biscuit, frowning to see it sprinkled with seeds.
“Ginger biscuits with caraway not to your taste? You might not have seen one before, but they are local favourite.”
He took a bite and nodded his approval.
“Thank goodness! I have enjoyed your smiles today but I wonder, Mr Darcy, were you born with that disapproving frown on your face?”
“I am told I was born with the strongest pair of lungs yet heard in all of Derbyshire.”
“Well, of course you were,” she said in a playful manner. “Oddly, Miss Bingley has not included that intelligence with her many paeans to your character.”
Was it proper to be smiling so much at a lady, even if the light was so dim they could hardly see one another? To be enjoying himself so much in a dangerously tempting situation he had spent the past eight years avoiding? Darcy did not care. She had enjoyed his smiles.
“You must forgive Miss Bingley’s eagerness.
I believe settling into a new neighbourhood has inspired such behaviour.
She has spent little time in the country.
” He saw her eyebrows rise in challenge and recalled Miss Bingley’s boasts about his estate.
“She has twice visited Pemberley in the summer with her brother and even then preferred to remain within the house, inspecting the furnishings.”
She bit back a smile at his jest, and Darcy felt he had won a great prize. He took an apple slice from the plate she had clearly prepared for herself and imagined her stealing quietly into the kitchen and knowing exactly where to find her favourite treats.
“You and your sisters have spent much time here.”
“Oh yes. My aunt and uncle enjoy our company, even when we were young and silly. Or still are, in the case of my youngest sisters.”
“Liveliness is a quality to be admired, within reason.” She did not respond to his meaningful look, instead seeming vaguely uncomfortable, so Darcy asked about the miniatures in his room. “They are well done, as are the landscapes. A local painter?”
“My aunt Philips.”
He was astonished to hear it. “She is quite talented. Many ladies paint a table with skill but the works on the walls are astonishing.”
“She would be pleased to hear your praise. None of us can draw half so well as she, nor can I paint a table or net a purse like Jane or Kitty. I am told my talent lies in singing songs and telling stories.”
Darcy felt a disturbing eagerness to hear her sing.
Her laughter was so warm and melodious, he could but imagine how she would sound, her voice lifted in song.
Later, he told himself. “Those are commendable talents, and far more valuable than painting a table or netting a purse—though I admit, I have no notion of what ‘netting’ is. Does it involve attaching beads or pearls?”
“It is the art of creating a purse. I have been dependent on my sisters to supply me with pretty reticules and the like.”
He had no idea ladies made their own purses.
Certainly Georgiana had never done so. Did ladies in the ton do such things?
It mattered little. His future wife would have no need to net anything, and he would tell her so, soon.
He smiled warmly. “A minor limitation. I fish, but have no interest in learning to tie my own flies.”
Perhaps her face, hidden by shadows, held her response, for she remained silent. He attempted to compliment her.
“You would have been of great help to me when my sister was younger. As many books as I read, I have little imagination to invent stories of pirates and princesses and sea monsters.”
Her look of dismay, still discernible in the dim light, startled him. “It cannot surprise you that a man born with a pocket watch and a frown is lacking in fanciful ideas.”
“You are full of surprises, Mr Darcy,” she said, laughing.
“I will supply you with a few tales to take home to your sister, though she is likely too old to care for such stories now.” She touched his arm, the heat of it searing him through the folds of the robe, before quickly pulling away her hand.
“My aunt took up sketching and painting when it was certain she and my uncle would not be parents. After she nearly died in the childbed, they chose to remain here, near my mother’s growing family, rather than move to town, as she had hoped.”
After a moment’s pause, Darcy asked, “Will you? When you marry, will you wish to remain near family?”
“You wish me to marry Mr Collins so I may return as Longbourn’s mistress?”
“Good God, no! I have yet to meet the man, and yet without overt description of his looks or words, you have painted him as the worst of husbands for you. Much as I understand his role as heir makes him coveted by your mother, had I the power to order him back to Rosings, I would do so.”
Could he have declared himself any more fully?
And yet she said nothing, and he cursed the darkness that prevented him from seeing her expression.
Finally she said a quiet thank you and, hearing rustling, saw her shadowy figure move closer to the fire, better exposing her visage as she stared into the flames.
“Beyond my cousin, who is too ridiculous to ever consider, I have no suitors nor prospects,” she said quietly.
“I have never thought about marriage to a man that would take me beyond Hertfordshire, but I would like to travel and see a bit of the world. I enjoy London when I visit my aunt and uncle Gardiner. They live near his warehouses and are delightfully interesting people who enjoy the theatre and museums.”
“It is unusual, though pleasant, to hear such high praise for family, and as you show great discernment about people, they must be exceptional.” She turned towards him, looking taken aback by his words.
“Mr Gardiner has the same eye for beauty as your aunt and has supplied the fabrics for the robe you wear?”
“He does, as does his wife,” she replied, her voice showing her pleasure in his observation. “My own mother’s gift is a lesser one, perhaps, but you will never find a finer meal than one served at Longbourn or lovelier roses than those she grows in her cutting garden.”
“My mother grew roses as well. Pemberley’s grounds are in the natural way, English gardens and wild gardens.
My mother disliked the formality of the French with their lawns.
I would wish Georgiana to enjoy the roses, but after pricking her fingers on thorns two years ago and feeling too much pain to play her harp...
” He trailed off, shrugging, and turning his head to hide a yawn.
“Not all of my sisters enjoy the smell of the earth and the work a garden entails—even with a gardener to do the thorny work,” she said, teasingly. “You shall have to find an imperious wife, who will point and command Pemberley’s roses and gardeners to do as she wishes.”
“As my aunt does at Rosings, and oddly enough, none of the blooms care a whit for her commands.” Shaking away thoughts of Lady Catherine, he said, “But you would not stand at lofty heights.”
“Never. I would walk the paths of such a great estate in the mornings and spend the afternoons in the gardens. If the weather was truly awful, I would pace the halls until I was lost and follow the most horribly grim portraits to find my way back,” she said, giggling.
Darcy joined his laugh to hers, thrilled to be in the presence of one who so understood him.
This is what we could have every night, sharing thoughts and laughter and so much else.
Never had he felt such overwhelming tenderness and longing for attachment and intimacy.
He knew, at that moment, to be Elizabeth’s husband would be something wondrous indeed.