Chapter 6
SIX
Darcy could tell that Elizabeth was avoiding him after their walk.
It was both puzzling and annoying; he had nearly believed her to be the most interesting woman of his acquaintance.
She was also very quiet since that walk, which, from the way her eldest sister kept glancing over at her, was probably not a typical silence.
As for that elder sister, he had all but ruled her out entirely.
Her look and manners were open and cheerful, even engaging, but not only was there no symptom of regard, she actively strove—albeit subtly—to turn his attention towards Miss Elizabeth.
Obviously, she had no desire to become Mrs Darcy.
Probably, Miss Elizabeth did not either, and yet…
there had been those few moments when he had thought perhaps they might be attuned to each other.
Also, there was something about her which made his mind return to those moments again and again.
How he wished he had made this visit without announcing his intent! Nevertheless, it was too late for such regrets; he must deal with what was ‘now’.
As for Mr Bennet, they kept as far from each other as they could. In this, at least, he was satisfied. Mrs Bennet was silly, and he had a tendency to look upon the three younger sisters as equally so, but reminded himself they were all very young.
If only Miss Elizabeth would look at him! It was all he wanted.
After tea, Mrs Bennet suggested he read aloud to them; a novel was provided, one he very much had enjoyed the first time he had read it.
At least he had the gratification of seeing Elizabeth paying attention to him, finally, and he almost laughed at himself over the pleasure which a crumb of her attention gave.
Once he had completed a few chapters, he asked if they would not rather choose some other entertainment, but even Miss Lydia begged him to continue, and not until he felt his voice could do with a rest did he stop, promising he would continue the next day.
That led to plans for the following afternoon, to walk to Meryton, the nearest town, to seek out their aunt who lived there.
Miss Lydia and Miss Catherine’s purpose seemed chiefly to discover if some officer or another had returned from London, which quite alarmed him—especially when neither parent counselled the girls to remain cautious of seeking out redcoats.
When invited to join the party, once learning that Miss Elizabeth would accompany them, he very naturally agreed, and could not help but hope that he might have an opportunity to speak more privately to her, at some point in the day.
This, he was granted, when she appeared at his side and took the arm he offered. He could not help but slow his gait, just a little, so as to lag behind the others, granting them some privacy.
Once he had it, he could barely wait to speak. “You have been avoiding me,” he accused, and waited for her to deny it.
“Yes,” she admitted softly.
His heart plummeted, and he made himself ask a question with an answer he might have preferred to avoid. “Why?”
“You are here to hopefully find a wife. However, your choices are very few. Lydia, Kitty, and Mary are too young to interest you. Jane is—” she broke off abruptly.
“I realise that I hold no appeal for Miss Bennet,” he said.
“It is only that…there is another. She has no commitment yet—it is too early to say whether there ever will be. I am surprised Mama has not hinted as much to you.”
“I am sure your mother resents me, or at least, what I represent. It cannot be easy to feed and house the man who may, in an uncertain future, be the means of causing great distress.”
“It is not that—well, yes, I am sure, at times, it is exactly that. But not only. Mama is somewhat in awe of you, I can tell.”
He laughed. “I am but a humble vicar, a Darcy, no less, descendant of malt brewers. I am certain she feels no awe whatsoever.”
But Miss Elizabeth shook her head. “You hold yourself cheaply, sir. It is not just your great height, the tone of your voice, the air of authority you carry. There is something about you, an ingrained dignity, that commands her admiration. Papa, too, I think. He does not tease or joke with you, as is usual for him.”
“Oh, your father has much more than my dignity to put him off. When I was a lad of seven, my father decided to sell Portridge Manor, our family estate. To sell the land was the lowest form of stupidity, Mr Thomas Bennet informed us. Selling the land was the act of a barbarian who has no vision or care for the future.” Darcy had not meant to repeat those words aloud—something about her tended to unseal his deepest feelings.
“What? He could not have!”
He shrugged. “Perhaps he feared I might sell Longbourn land too easily. It certainly gave him no good opinion of my family, although it has been many years since he wrote, and I assume he felt, at the time, that he might yet be blessed with a male heir of the body.”
“I know that to sell the land must have been your only choice,” Elizabeth said. “I am sorry for it. I apologise for his callousness.”
Even a few weeks ago, he would have been glad to tell her that Bennet’s opinion on the sale of his boyhood home and land was only the smallest part of the icy resentment his family held for hers.
Now, however, seeing the distress in her eyes, he had no interest in causing her greater pain.
“It did seem the only way—even now, I am not sure what else my father could have done. Between unfortunate circumstances of the past, a series of terrible harvests, and some great need amongst our tenants, we were simply out of options. The money did give us a fresh start, and enabled him to pay for my education. The living I have now is just the security he hoped for me and my future family, and I think he would be happy, had he lived to know of it.”
“When did you lose him?” Her voice was gentle.
“Five years ago now. It was his heart—his generous, courageous heart. It had simply borne enough one day.” It was the day he learnt the Portridge Manor house had been torn down to make way for a granary.
The old place had fallen into too much disrepair to make it worth saving, and the new owners had easily dispensed with it.
But she squeezed his arm, and his own heart lightened.
“I cannot imagine how terrible it would be, losing one’s father. I am so very sorry.”
It struck him, then, that the man he had hated, sight unseen, for so many years was beloved by this person.
This woman whom he was beginning to care for, even to hope for, to want in all the ways a man wants a woman—loved, dearly, his bitterest enemy, the man who had represented a symbol of suffering and injustice all of his life. He could not imagine how to reply.
“I have been thinking,” she said, her voice now tentative and uncertain, “about your choices, your future. It does not seem right or reasonable to me, that I should be your only one, by default—almost forcing you to marry me.”