Seven Days With Mr Darcy
Page 92
“I am that much of a conundrum, am I?” she teased when he remained silent but her smile slipped.
“Forgive me,” he rasped. Desire still coursed through him. “I do not dare guess what you will do next. Your path is unmappable by any but you. However, I would like to show you something, if you will follow.”
Elizabeth tilted her head; insatiable curiosity lit her eyes. The image of her looking up at him thusly from where she lay on his bed jolted to the front of his mind.
“This way,” he motioned to a narrow path off the main grove while cursing his dishonourable thoughts.
They walked in silence and Darcy mourned the loss of her hand on his arm as the lane was too narrow to allow them to walk side by side. After nearly a quarter of a mile, the route curved sharply and then opened to a grassy area filled with newly blooming meadows, a pond, and the foundation and one ivy-covered wall of an old church. Coming up next to him, Elizabeth gasped.
“How did you find this place?” she asked when she recovered.
“I spent many visits of my youth escaping Rosings’ stuffy drawing rooms. I still do,” he admitted.
“It is stunning,” she said reverently and walked forward to gain a better view.
“You may have guessed, Rosings was built during my uncle’s lifetime. His father was the first baronet and tore down a crumbling structure from Henry VIII’s time. The church your cousin now uses was built then as well. Records state this church is from even earlier, Edward III’s reign.”
“How sad,” Elizabeth muttered and approached the wall. “Did you know the Perpendicular Gothic came to prominence during his reign — after the Black Death ravaged the country?” She ran a hand lovingly over the stone.
“I did not,” Darcy answered. “Is that what appeals to you about the style?”
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth said as she began to move around the structure to examine it from all sides. “It denotes a certain amount of strength in humanity to achieve such vaunted heights. After so much death, they still cared about culture and beauty.”
Darcy trailed behind her, and she continued speaking. “It is not the fashion at all now. Instead, we’re told to favour buildings with the straight lines of ancient Greece. Stone upon stone must be secured. Every piece doing its part, never out of place.” She shook her head. “The Gothic embraces nature, rather than trying to conquer it.”
Elizabeth pointed at the empty Tudor arch which would have housed a window or door. “Do you see the shape? Curved and graceful?”
As she talked, Darcy believed she may have well described herself. Eyes lingering on her form, he reverently said, “Beautiful.”
“It is, is it, not?” She stood still and appreciated the view she now saw with the sun shining through the empty frame illuminating overgrown vegetation. With no regard for her gown, she sat and opened her sketchpad.
Darcy allowed her the quiet he believed such concentration required. Her hands moved swiftly and gracefully. She drew without the sort of labour that comes from self-consciousness or a desire to impress. She simply unleashed a passion she felt, and finely-honed skill. As much as she might deride her skills on the pianoforte, she apparently had put her time to greater use.
As she drew, Darcy imagined the lives the place had seen. The ones who built a place of worship after so much devastation. The family who provided the funds but eventually sold the estate. Their family name did not appear in the roster of current peers. Likely, they had no sons left to inherit and had kept the property away from their daughters. The next owners fared no better. The family sold it after two or three generations to Sir Lewis de Bourgh’s father to cover a debt. Through the passage of time, this area stood largely neglected and ignored, unnoticed by those who inhabited the space just outside it. However, Darcy could not mourn its neglect. The sheltered alcove he now sat in remained unspoilt by following generations attempting to conquer nature and shape it into formal gardens and hedges. Even more, it allowed him this morning of peace with Elizabeth.
When she finished, Elizabeth looked up and blushed. “Forgive me, I had not meant to ignore you,” she said and bit her lower lip.
“Think nothing of it. I enjoyed the companionable silence and watching you work. Your passion should never be hidden. May I see?”
Shyly, she handed the sketchbook to him. He could see from a distance Elizabeth had great skill. Upon closer viewing, it was clear that she saw through a true architect’s eye. There were no exaggerated and idealised views. She had imagined the church as it once might have looked, but it seemed far more real than any portrait he had seen. Acquainted as he was with blueprints for new structures, he saw her natural skill. She was not a gentlewoman dabbling in art or design. If she were a man, she would find sufficient income putting her talents to use.
“This is quite good,” he said in wonder, hating the insipidness of his words.
“Do you really think so?” Elizabeth asked with an insecurity he had never heard before. “I know it is nothing compared to what Mr. Dance could do, but I have so few opportunities—”
He silenced her with a finger to her lips, all the while hating his gloves. “You have great skill, Elizabeth.” He triumphed when she did not rebuke him. “Far greater than any person that I have seen.”
“Do not exaggerate,” she sounded offended and grabbed the notebook from his hands. “You must have studied architecture at school and University. You have seen far grander places than I ever have.”
“It is true,” he responded slowly, “that I had the occasion to view magnificent buildings. During the Peace of Amiens, Father and I journeyed to Vienna. At Cambridge, I sat and attempted to draw the Octagon Lantern in Ely Cathedral. But not one of my classmates had the sheer talent or passion you do.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“I am sorry my praise is inadequate to what you deserve. I do not know the correct terminology, despite my classes, but it is near brilliant.”
Elizabeth shook her head, unwilling to accept his compliments. She stood and shook out her skirt. “Can you tell me about Vienna?”
Darcy stood as well and smiled. “It is very different from England. There was a reverie, a joy for life. In London, the people only care about their appearance and politics. In Vienna, there was laughter. Art and music were everywhere.”
She sighed a little and hugged herself. “It sounds wonderful.”
“It was unforgettable. I would love to make the journey again. Georgiana would flourish there.”
He hummed the tune of a waltz he had heard long ago in a crowded ballroom. His father had teased him for not asking any of the ladies to dance, and at the time all he could think of was how uncomfortable he felt. What he did not know was that he was waiting to have the right partner; the one he would do far more than discomfort himself for.
“What do you hum? I do not recognise the rhythm.”
“It is called a waltz. It is very different from our English dances.”
“Show me,” Elizabeth said, curiosity once again lighting her features.
Darcy chuckled. “I am not sure I remember.”
“I will never know any better,” she laughed with him.
“Very well.” He held one arm to his side and the other at the height of her shoulder. “Now, you step forward. You place one hand in mine and the other on my shoulder.”
Elizabeth’s eyes went round. “Surely not!”
“Indeed,” he said with amusement. She remained still, and he could see the indecision warring in her eyes. “I had thought you unafraid of anything.”
With the raising of her chin, she stepped into his arms. Immediately, thought escaped him. This had been a bloody terrible idea! How had it escaped his notice that he would be practically embracing Elizabeth?
“Mr. Darcy?” She asked and lightly tapped his shoulder.
The pressure sent a thrill of pleasure coursing through his body, and he bit back a groan. “Yes?”
“The dance?”
His song ended, and their movements ceased. Elizabeth’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and Darcy believed, in every fibre of his being, she was as affected as he. With his hands still on her, he leant forward, needing to taste her lips. A bird called in the tree above them, tearing Elizabeth’s gaze away from his.
“We should return,” she said nonchalantly, although her face burned red.
Offering his arm to her, they left their hidden glen of discoveries. As they walked toward the parsonage and all the rules of Society, Darcy talked about Knole Park and “his” belief that if she befriended Anne, an invitation would follow.
When he reached the gate, he bowed low over Elizabeth’s hand and brought it to his lips. It would have to do as he had been deprived of her mouth, and he had never hated leather more in his life. “Until tonight, Elizabeth.”
*****
“Cousin Elizabeth, where have you been? How can you dress properly for dinner with Lady Catherine in such a short time?”
Elizabeth was just about to explain she could be no later than some of Lady Catherine’s own party as she had been walking with Mr. Darcy when she thought better of it.
“My dear, Mr. Collins, Lady Catherine prefers to have the distinction of rank preserved. Eliza will suit admirably.”
Elizabeth shot her friend a grateful glance and quickly saw to her toilette. The others were finished quite early and nervously fretted in the sitting room. She could hardly account for the Collinses’ behaviour as they had dined many times with her ladyship by now, but then she was not disposed to think well of the sense of either.
Gathering to leave, Charlotte looked over her friend. “Eliza, you look very well indeed. All these walks are giving you a very healthy bloom.”
Elizabeth nodded in acquiescence, but her friend continued speaking.
“I have heard her ladyship often say her nephews enjoy walking the park as well. Have you ever seen them?”
Elizabeth pursed her lips at her friend’s attempt at slyness. “I have seen Mr. Darcy a few times on the paths. You can imagine how awkward conversation is with such a man.” She hoped she did not give too much away in her countenance or tone.
Before Charlotte could say more Mr. Collins called her to his side and Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief.
Dinner was the usual affair with Lady Catherine. She held court and extolled her opinions on all things no matter how little she could understand of them. By her account, the War Office should consult her even on how to handle Napoleon, and she briefly bemoaned her worries for Colonel Fitzwilliam. Elizabeth had to contain her delight when she was asked to perform.
She was hopeful her efforts at entertainment would exclude her from having to converse with the entire party. She could not dislike Mr. Darcy as before, but neither were her thoughts at all settled over his declarations. Yet, under the guise of querying her on some musical matter for his sister, he found his way to her and offered to turn her pages.
“You play very well this evening,” he said.
This did not seem quite his usual fashion so Elizabeth arched her brow, preparing for whatever he might muster. “You flatter me, sir.” Something flashed in his eyes, and it confused her. “Well, you see I am taking your aunt’s advice and practising, and you seem to believe I am improving.”
“You mean to suggest there is merit in her argument?”
“I believe I said there was merit in her argument several days ago.”
“Am I not practising? Have I not been taking the trouble to converse over these last few days, Miss Elizabeth?”
She blushed at his use of her name although he dropped his voice as it was not strictly proper to call her such without her elder sister present. “I shall make you a bargain. While I improve my skills, you must improve yours. Now, you cannot become a victim of country society. Certainly, we are a small party, but I believe we are quite varied. Your skills will improve even more if you speak to the others as well.”
Darcy glanced to the adjoined room. “Who do you propose I speak with next?”
“I am shocked that you would consider allowing another to order anything about you.”
“You still believe I prefer my own way?”
“I speak as I find.”
“And how do you suppose I am able to order my life when others cannot?”
“You easily arrange things just as you please because you are so rich and others are poor.”
Growing serious he calmly replied, “I cannot order all things as I would like. There are many things my wealth cannot buy, Miss Elizabeth.”
She despised herself for it, but she shivered just the same.
“I have a firm opinion that the greatest things in life are not for sale and cannot be influenced by money,” he continued.
“You mean family name and prominence.”
“No, I mean affection and familial love. Your father’s estate is entailed, and supposing you had a brother, your family might be in a better position. Now, what if you must trade one of your sisters for that unknown brother?”
Elizabeth’s eyes misted. “I could never choose. Some of them might be quite silly and ridiculous, but I dearly love them all.”
“You would rather face the unknown when your father dies, with Mr. Collins inheriting, than sacrifice the love of your family?”
“I have already chosen to face the unknown when Mr. Collins inherits.” She gasped as she realised her admission. She glanced at him and saw his smirk. “That was very cruel of you, sir, getting me to confess such a thing.”
“It was not my intention at all, I assure you, but I am pleased to know my suppositions were correct.”
“That I rejected my cousin and selfishly chose my happiness over ensuring my family’s survival? What a foolish thing you must think me!”
“No, I thought you valued more than money in marital harmony. You desire respect and affection.”
“What made you so confident he had offered for me?”
“It, amongst other things, was quite the gossip at Bingley’s ball. His attentions to you were very marked and yet you visit his home as a friend to his wife and are not its mistress.”
“Not every man who pays attention to a lady means to offer matrimony, sir.” She was thinking of his friend.
“Do you think so little of the male sex?”
“I have seen little constancy from them. Even the best of them might be mistaken and confuse companionship and love with infatuation and attraction.”
“Earlier I meant that I might be able to order things as I like due to my wealth, but it is only because I am master of my own affairs. I assure you I would much rather have less freedom in my choices and less money at my disposal and be merely the heir than the master of all of England with all its burdens.”
He spoke passionately, and Elizabeth could feel the weight of his loss. For so young a man to be left with the responsibility of so much was a difficult thing for her to consider. More than that, she was pleased to see the emotion his words evoked in him. Her sketch of him may never be complete, but there was more than the stoniness she first believed in Hertfordshire.
Seeking to console him, she spoke. “I had not considered that, sir. How old were you when your father passed?”
For just a moment he looked vulnerable, as he recalled his misery, but soon he recovered. “Mother died first when I was eleven. She had not recovered from Georgiana’s birth. Father died suddenly when I was two and twenty.”
She had not realised he was an orphan, or that he had been the master for so long. Caring for a sister at such an age!
“I am sorry for your pain.”
He gave her a tight smile. “I thank you, but I am ce
rtain you had little to do to cause the demise of either.”
“Of course not, sir.”
He seemed on the verge of speaking something inexpressibly painful but thought better of it. They passed a few moments in silence before she sought to cheer him.
“You must hold up your share of the bargain, sir. Why not speak with your cousin, Miss de Bourgh? She seems very lonely.”
Darcy started. “She likely is. I confess I do not pay her much attention on my visits, lest my aunt make too much of it.”
“What is it she can do? She cannot ask or demand you marry her daughter. She cannot put words in your own mouth. Your cousin might not even desire the match, should you ask.”
Elizabeth glanced away as jealousy gnawed in her belly. Why should she care if Miss de Bourgh did wish to marry Darcy? And why should it bother her if he might now think it a prudent choice? “Would it not be better to know of her hopes? You may fear for nought. Or if she does have them you might explain your feelings.”
She grew silent as she recalled her sister being left hoping for Bingley’s proposal. “Imagine being left hoping for a man’s addresses all these years.”
Darcy’s thoughts might have turned similarly for he nodded his head in understanding.
“I believe you are correct.” He leaned his head closer to her, his breath tickling her ear. “Never fear. You shall not be rid of me to her clutches.”
Elizabeth fought the smile forming on her lips. “No?”
“We had a very frank conversation not too many days ago and it seems although I never would have asked, she will not have me either.” He let out a sigh of feigned despair. “It must be the sign of an intelligent woman.”
Elizabeth remained mute for she had not seen any signs that Miss de Bourgh had much of a brain.
“Did you have another suggestion for my conversation partner?”