Nine
Hertfordshire
Darcy
Darcy had intended only to apologise to Elizabeth Bennet. Somehow, without ever consciously deciding to do so, one chance morning conversation had become two, then three, until their meetings upon Oakham Mount had settled quietly into the routine of their mornings.
Whatever resolution had governed him after leaving London had not failed in one dramatic moment. It had simply yielded, one quiet conversation at a time.
Fortunately, no private invitation had yet brought him and Elizabeth beneath the same roof in circumstances that required him to single her out in company.
Their acquaintance remained confined to the hillside, where neither had reason to think anything improper of two neighbours pausing to converse before continuing their walks.
Every meeting strengthened a truth he had become increasingly unable to deny.
He admired Elizabeth Bennet. What had begun as respect for her understanding had become an attachment he had neither sought nor resisted.
Each walk left him wishing it had lasted a little longer, and each parting made him impatient for the next.
In the fortnight since their acquaintance began, he had learned that she preferred walking to riding, though she rode tolerably well when the occasion demanded it.
He had learned that her father's library contained Fordyce's Sermons only because propriety required some appearance of moral instruction upon its shelves.
He had learned that she considered Cowper superior to Scott, defended the opinion with considerably more spirit than the subject perhaps deserved, and had never once, in one-and-twenty years, permitted anyone to conclude an argument whilst she remained persuaded herself to be in the right.
He found he could not properly account for how much he now knew of her, given how little of it had been offered deliberately.
She spoke with an ease that never appeared calculated, never pausing to consider whether her opinions might recommend her to him.
That very absence of design distinguished her from nearly every other young woman of his acquaintance, many of whom had once seemed always to measure their words against what they imagined he wished to hear, before the rumours of his ill fortune had rendered such efforts unnecessary.
Elizabeth Bennet, by contrast, appeared entirely indifferent to pleasing him in that way. He had discovered, somewhat to his surprise, that he preferred it.
Beyond that, they spoke often of their families. He told her of his aunt and uncle, of his cousins, and of Georgiana, whilst learning in return more of the Bennets than he could ever have expected from so short an acquaintance.
During one such conversation, Elizabeth said, "Your sister sounds like someone I should very much like to meet."
"She would like you a great deal, I think, though it might take her some weeks to say ten words to you unprompted.
" Darcy found himself smiling at the thought, an easy, unguarded smile he was not entirely accustomed to wearing.
"She is shy with strangers in a way I have never quite known how to remedy, though I confess I have not always tried very hard. I believe I prefer her as she is."
"Then I hope I may earn the ten words eventually." Elizabeth glanced at him, something warm in her expression that, these past weeks, he had come to anticipate without ever admitting as much to himself. "You speak of her very differently than you speak of anything else, sir. Softer, I think."
"She is the only immediate family I have left, and I fear I have not always done right by her.
" He spoke lightly, though something beneath the lightness was anything but.
Elizabeth, he noticed, did not press him.
She merely continued beside him in a companionable silence that asked nothing more than he had already chosen to give.
~
On the last day of October, the wind had turned colder than it had been all month. Darcy found Elizabeth already upon the ridge when he arrived, her cheeks touched with colour by the brisk air, her bonnet affording rather less protection than it ought.
"You will catch your death walking in weather such as this," he said by way of greeting. The words escaped before he had considered them, carrying an intimacy to which neither acquaintance nor propriety yet entitled him. Despite the chill, he felt warmth rise to his face.
"I have walked in far worse, sir, and lived to complain of it afterwards." Elizabeth fell into step beside him, seemingly unaware of his embarrassment.
He was relieved that she appeared not to have noticed the familiarity of his remark. Had she laughed, or even remarked upon it, he scarcely knew how he should have answered.
As so often happened between them, the awkwardness passed almost before it had settled.
They talked of indifferent subjects as they continued along the ridge until Elizabeth said, "Will you attend Sir William's ball in a fortnight?
The invitations arrived yesterday. I presume Netherfield has received one as well.
Sir William gives it every year to celebrate his birthday.
Half the county contrives to appear, whether they receive an invitation or not. "
"Bingley has already accepted on our behalf. I gather my wishes were never consulted."
"Then you are quite without choice." There was laughter in her voice. "I shall hope to see you dance, Mr. Darcy."
Darcy swallowed hard, realising the implication of her remark. "I fear I must disappoint you."
"You do not intend to stand up?" Elizabeth grimaced.
"I do not."
She regarded him curiously. "That is a singular resolution. Dancing is hardly so severe an exertion."
Darcy did not answer at once. His gaze drifted over the valley below, as though the familiar fields might furnish a reply where his own thoughts could not.
"There are circumstances," Darcy said at length, "which oblige me to avoid singling out any particular lady to dance with."
"Circumstances?" She stopped, compelling him to do the same. "Are they the same circumstances which kept you from dancing at the Meryton assembly?"
He lowered his eyes for a moment before answering.
"They are."
"Then tell me what they are. Properly, sir." Her voice softened, though her gaze remained steady. "I have walked with you these past weeks, Mr. Darcy, and I consider you a friend, just as I believe you consider me one. I would rather know the truth about my friend than be left to imagine it."
He was silent for several moments. How much ought he to reveal? He had resolved, from the first, to draw no one into the unhappy business. Yet Elizabeth had never sought his confidence from idle curiosity. If she asked, it was because she wished to understand.
He would have invited her to sit, for the whole of it would take some telling, but the cold discouraged any delay, and he found, in the end, that walking better suited such a conversation.
It gave him somewhere to direct his eyes besides her face and occupied the silences between one part of his account and the next.
"It began not long after my father died," he said at last. "Five years ago now, though I did not understand for a long while that anything had begun at all.
A barn burned upon one of my tenant farms that first winter.
My steward declared a lantern had been carelessly left amongst the hay, and I had no reason then to think otherwise.
The tenant was an elderly man with no sons to assist him in rebuilding.
He surrendered his lease within the year, and two neighbouring tenants, unsettled by the loss, sought holdings elsewhere before I properly understood what had disturbed them. "
"Those seem ordinary events, sir. What have they to do with dancing?"
"I am only just beginning my story, ma'am."
Elizabeth nodded, urging him to continue.
"It was only the first of several such occurrences, each perfectly capable of explanation when viewed alone.
" He kept his eyes upon the frost-silvered grass before them.
"A grain store burned the following year, and a perfectly reasonable explanation was given and accepted, though I ordered every precaution doubled afterwards, more from uneasiness than conviction.
The following autumn, fifty sheep, the finest flock upon the estate, sickened and died within a week.
No man summoned to examine them could determine the cause.
Whatever illness had taken hold of them spread too swiftly for any remedy to avail.
That same year, three more tenants relinquished their leases.
"Those events are connected with my estates only.
" Though his tone remained even, something beneath it hardened.
"Before his death, my father acquired interests in several ventures beyond the estates.
Those interests passed to me with the rest of his affairs.
They have proved a source of continual difficulty and considerable financial loss.
One partner withdrew, then another, each pleading difficulties entirely his own, though I have long suspected someone found it worthwhile to persuade them otherwise.
More recently, a vessel in which I held a considerable interest was taken by pirates, by men who should not, by any honest reckoning, have known where she was to sail. "
Elizabeth walked beside him without speaking, her expression one of growing astonishment. Darcy found, having begun, that he could not stop before the whole had been said.
"Then there were other personal affairs.
" He spoke more quietly than before and felt her attention sharpen beside him.
"Over the past few years, I showed a marked preference for two young women whom I believed I might one day marry.
In quick succession, a malicious rumour compelled one to leave town, and the other was hurriedly married without any satisfactory explanation to me.
I have never discovered whether my attentions occasioned it, but recently I have begun to fear that they did. "
Elizabeth drew a slow breath.
"I cannot imagine such a succession of misfortunes."
"One of my closest confidants and I concluded that there is a powerful force determined to undo whatever reputation I have built over the years. The rumours that began spreading in London about what they call 'the misfortune of dealing with a Darcy' only confirm that belief."
"That, sir," Elizabeth said after Darcy had been quiet for a while, "is a heavy burden to bear alone."
"I have not borne it entirely alone. My cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, knows the whole of it, and Bingley a considerable part.
" He looked at her then. "But because of these fears, I resolved before I came to Hertfordshire not to involve anyone else.
To care for someone, only to watch the same misfortune overtake her, is a hazard I cannot willingly invite again. "
Elizabeth remained silent for some moments, weighing all he had told her with the same careful consideration she brought to every subject.
"Have you then discovered who it is that seeks to ruin you, sir?"
"I have turned the matter over in my mind until it gives me a headache, yet I have not been able to fix upon a single name I genuinely believe capable of such a scheme.
There are one or two who have crossed my mind, but either they do not accord with the sequence of events, or they lack the means or the motive. "
"That is indeed disturbing."
"My cousin continues to investigate the latest occurrence. As for myself, I needed time and quiet to think, which is why I agreed to accompany Bingley to Hertfordshire." Darcy sighed.
"May I make an observation?" Elizabeth said as they drew near the path where they usually parted.
"You may."
"You seek to avoid notice by refusing every dance."
"I do."
"Yet I suspect you accomplish precisely the opposite.
A gentleman who dances with no one is remarked upon far more readily than one who dances with everyone.
Had you stood up with as many ladies as possible, no one would have imagined your attentions fixed upon any particular lady.
They would merely have concluded that Mr. Darcy enjoys a country ball as much as his friend. "
Darcy considered her argument. "There is one difficulty. From what I have heard, Bingley's attentions to your sister have already become the subject of the whole neighbourhood."
"Indeed, they have," Elizabeth replied. "But that is because he singled her out and danced with her twice at the assembly. Since then, he has called at Longbourn almost every day. I think those circumstances alone are enough to satisfy the neighbourhood's curiosity."
He looked at her thoughtfully.
She continued, "You, however, would do precisely the opposite. If you danced with every lady who would stand up with you, you would distinguish no one. Your conduct would become entirely ordinary, and ordinary conduct seldom attracts remark."
Darcy remained silent.
The simplicity of the suggestion astonished him more than the whole of everything he had just confessed.
He had spent months attempting to protect others by withdrawing from society's expectations altogether, and Miss Elizabeth had perceived, in the course of a single walk, what had escaped him throughout that time.
His caution had made him remarkable when his sole object had been to appear ordinary.
"I believe," he said at last, a reluctant smile touching his mouth, "you have shown me that I have been approaching the matter from entirely the wrong direction."