Chapter 6
SIX
Since the weather was fair, Lord Halsley suggested they take an excursion to a nearby scenic area where they could walk through the rolling hills of this part of Northamptonshire.
Darcy agreed at once, knowing it would amuse Elizabeth.
The only person who remained behind at Haelthorpe was Mrs Annesley.
The views were, indeed, lovely. Darcy had always liked springtime, especially once it was May, and he could watch the world wake up from its long winter sleep.
At this time of year, he was often required to be in town, or felt compelled to remain there, but he would prefer to be in the country.
His paternal relations had tried to convince him to partake of more of the Season during his brief time in London after leaving Kent, his two cousins—the sons of his uncle the Earl of Romsley—vowing to help him find a bride.
How Darcy wondered at Colonel Fitzwilliam’s ability to overlook his attraction to Elizabeth, or his sour mood when they had finally departed their aunt’s house!
But Darcy had been unable to bear being surrounded by people, and had decided he and Georgiana would go to Pemberley.
She had eagerly agreed, including to his suggestion that they extend their journey to Derbyshire by spending a week with Lord Halsley.
Darcy would be forever grateful that the notion had occurred to him and that his godfather had been willing to receive them, even though the arrangement had been made at the last minute.
I would not have said that six days ago, when we arrived and I saw her, he thought, glancing at Elizabeth, who strolled by his side.
But something has changed between us. I can feel it in my bones.
The sensation of the shift was deep, and had diffused throughout his body and mind.
His fear was that he was mistaken, that his yearning for her was making him see what he wanted to, not what was real.
But she does not avoid me, even seems pleased to speak to me.
And the expression in her eyes—oh, her wonderful eyes!
—has changed. If he was right, all he had to do was be patient, continue to allow her to know him, and perhaps, if he were extremely fortunate, he would no longer be the last man she would ever marry; he would become the man she most wanted to marry.
She took a deep breath of the crisp, clean air and released it on a happy sigh. Around the brim of her blue bonnet, he saw her lips gently turned upwards as she surveyed the countryside.
“It is pretty, is it not?” he said, thinking that she was far lovelier than anything nature could offer.
“It is. I believe this is my favourite time of the year, when everything is so new and fresh. It is like there is a world of possibility awaiting us as the summer approaches.” She chuckled. “You know me well enough to recognise when I am being fanciful.” Her cheeks were dusted with pink.
He smiled, although she did not see it. “You are seldom fanciful, which means that when you are, it is for good reason.” That did not make much sense, and he almost rolled his eyes at his awkwardness. To mask it, he went on quickly. “I was just thinking that this was my favourite time of year.”
She turned to him and stumbled, causing him to reach out a hand to steady her. Laughing, she said, “I am not usually so clumsy, but you surprised me. Is it?” He nodded, and she continued, once again looking ahead of her rather than at him. “What a delightful coincidence.”
A brief moment later, he said, “Has it ever struck you that our relationship has been marked by coincidences? That we met at all, that you heard my stupid comment at the assembly, Wickham being in Meryton, meeting in Kent, and now here.”
She nodded. “Many times. I wonder what accounts for it. Simple chance, I suppose.”
Fate, he silently responded, wishing she would say it.
Then again, if she did, he might proceed to beg her to think better of him, well enough to accept his proposal, vowing to do everything in his power to make her love him.
Given they were not alone—in addition to their party, there were several others nearby—it would be extremely embarrassing.
But for her, he would do it, if necessary.
In response, he made a vague noise of agreement.
Georgiana walked ahead of them, Lord Halsley and Mr Bennet at either side, and he watched his sister listen attentively to Elizabeth’s father, whose hands were clasped behind his back, and his shoulders bowed so that he did not tower over her.
Darcy did not know what the gentleman was saying, but once he finished, Georgiana replied animatedly.
“Your father is very good with her,” Darcy said.
He would not have expected it, but—as he had told Elizabeth—he had enjoyed spending time with him.
Mr Bennet was intelligent and, in his own way, caring.
It was evident that he loved Elizabeth dearly, and Darcy had even heard him speak of his other daughters with fondness.
But he seemed overwhelmed when it came to managing them.
Whether that was because it was too difficult to counter his wife’s ignorance, or because he subscribed to the belief that daughters were a mother’s concern, not a father’s, who was to say?
“He is. Miss Darcy is such a lovely girl, and I am glad we have been able to spend these last days together. This might sound insulting, but I promise it is not, as you will realise once I am finished. Your sister is easy. She is gentle and intelligent and interested in books and learning, which Papa sees and appreciates. Spending time with her is no hardship.” She paused, but before he could respond, she went on.
“I wish he understood that, if he tried—not once, but if he persisted—he would discover his younger daughters are more than silly creatures.”
He swallowed heavily before admitting, “I always wished my father would see Wickham for who he truly was. I tried to tell him, but…” She looked at him, her expression encouraging him to go on, but he sensed that if he did not, she would respect his privacy and not ask.
Of course she would, because she was the best of women.
“But Wickham amused him. He is charming, as you know, and can convince people that he is someone he is not, someone good who deserves their affection. I, on the other hand, have always been more reticent. So was my father, and since I have become friends with Bingley, I understand a little better what drew my father to Wickham, besides a sense of duty as his godfather.”
“Because Mr Bingley is comfortable in society?”
Darcy nodded once. “I knew the day we met that I wanted us to be friends. My cousins—Colonel Fitzwilliam and his brother—are similar in their demeanour, and, for whatever reason, they value my companionship as much as I do theirs. They, along with Bingley, are my dearest friends. I know my life would be poorer without them in it. All three of them make friends wherever they go, never once hesitating, because they always know what to say, they laugh and enjoy life; but they can also be serious when it is called for.” Looking at her, he dared to add, “You and they have that in common, I think.”
Her gaze was still on the path they were taking, but he noticed that she blushed, her cheeks as pink as he had ever seen them.
When she met his eyes a moment later, they were full of warmth—which he had never seen before—and she smiled broadly.
He was lost in her, completely, utterly, profoundly in love—even more than he had been when he seized the opportunity of her being alone at the parsonage to propose to her—and if she could not return his affection, he did not know how he would ever recover.