by Leenie Brown
Elizabeth wiped at the offending tear. Her mind returned to her original question. “So you are not betrothed to Mr. Darcy?”
Anne smiled and picked up her notebook. “He has never asked, and I have never accepted.”
“Would you?” the question escaped Elizabeth before she could think better of it. Why she felt compelled to know this bit of information, she did not know. Curiosity, she supposed. She had always been a curious creature.
Anne shook her head. “No. He has homes in London and in Derbyshire. Neither is close to Rosings.” She took a pencil out of her reticule. “And I do not love him. I would prefer a love match.”
Elizabeth did not know what to think. The world seemed to be standing on its head. Mr. Wickham was a scoundrel who had used Darcy poorly. Miss de Bourgh was not betrothed to Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy seemed genuinely concerned with Jane’s well-being. None of these things supported any of her previous suppositions. “It is most startling,” she muttered as Miss de Bourgh looked at her surreptitiously.
“I suppose it is.” Anne turned her focus back to the view in front of her and applied herself to her drawing.
Elizabeth sighed, her shoulders drooping under the weight of these new revelations and what they said about her ability to judge character. Most often, her evaluation of a person was accurate. Had she not deemed Mr. Walters a cad and a gambler, and had he not proven to be such? Had she not declared Miss Palmer to be the only lady worthy of the parish rector’s affections, and had she not turned out to be precisely the best woman to fill the position of parson’s wife? Was Miss Palmer not now the most compassionate person to all those who called at the parsonage with a need? So why was Elizabeth now stumbling so seriously in her abilities to decipher character?
It was humiliating, really, to be so very wrong. Elizabeth refused to ponder it further, for if she were to start by admitting that she had been incorrect about Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham, she would then have to evaluate her actions towards each gentleman. And if being wrong in one’s estimation of another’s character was humiliating, viewing your poor behaviour based on that estimation was thoroughly shameful.
Elizabeth remained silently on the bench next to Miss de Bourgh for a full five more uneasy minutes before excusing herself and beginning her walk back to the parsonage. As she rounded a turn in the grove, she came to a full stop. Miss de Bourgh had not said everything Mr. Wickham said was to be discounted. Surely, there must be some small portion of truth in what Mr. Wickham said that made his story plausible.
As she continued walking, she reviewed all that Mr. Wickham had told her. Mr. Wickham had claimed Mr. Darcy to be both proud in his actions toward others and cruel in withholding a living. Now she wondered if perhaps the living had been withheld because of whatever had happened between them. Not that such a fact did Mr. Darcy any credit. A vengeful spirit was not complimentary to a gentleman, but it was possible that Mr. Darcy had given the living to another as a reprisal for whatever wrong Mr. Wickham had committed.
Next, she considered the greeting she had observed between the two gentlemen when they had met in Hertfordshire. It had been unpleasant at best. In fact, it had seemed rather filled with loathing. And she, herself, knew from that first assembly that Mr. Darcy could be very haughty and even rude. These facts were also not credits to Mr. Darcy’s character.
She paused before exiting the grove and returning to the parsonage. It must be the general disagreeableness of Mr. Darcy’s personality and his unwillingness to restore a person to favour once his good opinion had been lost on which the whole of Mr. Wickham’s story was built. If it were not true that Mr. Darcy was arrogant and had Mr. Darcy’s actions in Hertfordshire been more unpretentious, not a word of Mr. Wickham’s story would be believable.
She smiled, relieved that she had finally deciphered something about the man from Derbyshire and that she had not been entirely wrong in her assessment of him. He was proud and arrogant. That remained true.
She bit her lip as a pang of something stabbed at her heart. It did remain true, did it not? She shook her head. It would not do to be so wavering. She would leave room to shift her opinion if it became obvious that it was not correct, but for now, she would hold to her assessment — Mr. Darcy was proud and arrogant. This was, after all, based not only on the words of Mr. Wickham but also on Mr. Darcy’s actions. Had he not slighted her most grievously? Had he not worn a disdainful look frequently? Yes, she told herself, rubbing softly at her heart, it must be true.
Chapter 4
Darcy turned his horse toward the stables. He had thought to walk in the grove this morning with the hope of finding Elizabeth there, but having seen her smile and laugh at his cousin last night, coupled with the comments Richard had made this morning regarding Elizabeth, Darcy had decided a long, hard ride would be better.
Of course, Darcy knew Elizabeth’s eyes were expressive and captivating. He did not need his cousin to point that out. Nor did he need Richard to alert him to the fact that Elizabeth was witty and charming. Darcy knew these things. She was blasted enchanting for heaven’s sake! That is why he was considering asking her to marry him. She had captivated his heart and mind, and he could not remove her from either — no matter how hard he had tried to do just that.
He slowed his horse. He had no desire yet to see Richard. A brief time in the garden or near the folly might ease his mind a bit more. It would do no good to be agitated in his aunt’s presence, for she would badger him until he said something unflattering or told her the very thing that was bothering him. He sighed.
Lady Catherine was not horrid — she just was not always pleasant. He chuckled to himself. He was not certain many would agree with him. The woman was demanding and imperious, but she had also taken both him and his sister in for a few months after their mother’s death to give their father time to grieve in private. She had been mostly understanding.
He swung down off his horse and took a seat on the second step to the folly. Lady Catherine had not once said negative things about boys not crying or keeping a stiff upper lip. She had allowed Darcy to express his grief and had even held him in a firm, if somewhat rigid, embrace while he had wept for his mother. No, she was not horrid.
It was also here that had been a safe haven for Georgiana after her ordeal at Ramsgate. Lady Catherine had limited herself to only one small lecture on propriety before seeing Georgiana set on a path to recover her spirits. In fact, Mrs. Annesley, one of Mrs. Jenkinson’s nieces, had been employed as Georgiana’s companion on Lady Catherine’s recommendation. He shook his head. At times, his aunt could be very helpful and caring. It was unfortunate that she chose to hide such qualities most times in favour of meddling in the affairs of others and arranging them in what she considered a better fashion.
Darcy squinted, peering toward the bottom of the garden. Anne was there per her normal habit, but she was not alone. He smiled. Perhaps, he would be fortunate enough to see Elizabeth after all.
He rose and began leading his horse toward the garden. He would find a gardener to see his mount returned to the stables. If Darcy were quick enough, he might be allowed the privilege of walking Elizabeth back to the parsonage. Such a walk would afford him the chance to see if his addresses might be welcomed.
Fortunately, he was able to locate a gardener, who was willing to put aside his work for a few moments to return a horse to the stables. Darcy slowly approached the bench where his cousin sat. It was not fear or nerves that caused him to be unhurried. No, he was enjoying the view of Elizabeth with her bonnet in her lap and her cheeks glowing from activity. It was captivating. He stopped a short distance away so that he might just admire her for a moment.
There was something wrong. Her head was lowered, and she occasionally brushed at her eye as if drying a tear. He began walking toward her again, but she stood and with a hasty curtsey, began walking away toward the grove. She had looked his direction and fled. His heart sank, and turning, he returned to the house to seek solace in the librar
y.
He was just finishing a third chapter in his book when Richard gave a loud rap at the door and allowed himself entry before Darcy could either grant or refuse it.
“Aunt Catherine requires our presence for tea.” He plopped into a chair next to Darcy. “The ladies from the parsonage are expected.”
Darcy glanced up from his book and gave a quick smile of acknowledgement. “I will attend her when I have finished what I was about.”
Richard’s brows rose. Darcy was supposed to be eager to see Miss Elizabeth. He was certain that Darcy had flown off on a ride in a fit of jealousy this morning.
“I am certain you can entertain the ladies until I arrive.” Darcy lifted a not entirely amused brow. “You did a capable job of it last night.”
Richard smiled. Ah, his cousin was jealous. “It was not so hard. They seemed eager for some lively discussion, and there were no other gentlemen willing to provide it.”
Darcy rolled his eyes. “You know I am not so comfortable in social settings as you are.”
Richard shrugged. “You seemed at ease when we visited the parsonage. I had almost imagined you were interested in Miss Elizabeth.” He studied Darcy’s face for the telltale flinch of his jaw muscle that always told Richard when he had hit upon the truth of a matter that Darcy was trying to conceal. There. Just then. Was that not a flinch? Richard was almost certain it was.
Darcy returned his eyes to his book. “I had almost expected a proposal from you last night. Your advances were not subtle.”
Richard bit back a smile. Darcy was more than jealous. He was provoked. The thought should not have pleased Richard so much as it did. However, Darcy was not easily riled, so it was a sort of accomplishment. “She is lovely,” he said thoughtfully, steepling his fingers and resting his chin on them as if considering the lady.
“She is not for you,” said Darcy.
“And why not?” asked Richard, purposefully knocking his foot against Darcy’s leg as he extended his feet and crossed them.
“Your father would not approve.” Darcy snapped his book closed and glowered at Richard. Why must his cousin carry on as if he was actually considering Elizabeth as a potential bride. Had Richard not always claimed a lady’s first and most important qualifying asset be her dowry? Surely, he knew Miss Elizabeth was not an heiress. “Nor would you.”
Richard chuckled. “And, pray tell, what makes Miss Elizabeth unacceptable?”
Upon hearing her name, Elizabeth froze outside the half-open door to the library. Charlotte gave her a quizzical look. Elizabeth held a finger to her lips.
“Her portion is not ideal.” Darcy refused to comment on the size of it in particular, for to him and many a gentleman with a good inheritance, it was not beyond consideration. However, to Richard, who claimed to wish for an heiress to allow him to live in a style to which he was accustomed, it was not enough.
“A small matter,” said Richard, struggling to keep from smiling at the narrowing of Darcy’s brows. Clearly, his cousin was smitten.
“Her family has ties to trade.” He lifted an eyebrow at Richard. Lord Matlock was not backwards in his thinking, but some of his trusted political allies were.
“That should not be an issue unless running for parliament, and even then it is not insurmountable,” Richard retorted with a shrug.
Darcy lowered his voice. The only other reason he could think of to use to dissuade his cousin was not a flattering one, and he did not wish to have anyone overhear him say it. However, his voice was not quite low enough for Elizabeth’s keen sense of hearing.
“Her family — her mother, in particular, tends toward the ridiculous in a loud and tactless fashion. Her younger sisters are ill-behaved, and her father does naught to stop them. I believe he finds humor in their antics.” Darcy’s heart raced as he spoke the words. Though true, they were cruel.
Elizabeth closed her eyes against the pain of his words. She was right. He was proud, arrogant, and heartless.
“Come,” whispered Charlotte. “Lady Catherine will be wondering what has caused our delay.”
Elizabeth nodded and followed her friend.
“You do not know the context of the conversation, ” Charlotte cautioned as they entered the sitting room. “Withhold judgment until you do.”
“There is no context in which such a conversation is acceptable,” muttered Elizabeth.
“Ah, finally, you have arrived,” Lady Catherine motioned for them to join her. “Miss Maria thought you had run off and left her on her own.” Her tone was slightly teasing, a fact that would have startled Elizabeth as much as her companions if she had been listening. However, Elizabeth’s mind was still in the hall outside the library door.
“Elizabeth had a pebble in her shoe,” said Charlotte, tugging Elizabeth by the arm and leading her to a chair. “She is a bit out of sorts. I think her walk was a bit too long this morning.” Charlotte gave Elizabeth a pleading look.
Elizabeth smiled. “Indeed, I am a trifle fatigued today. It is most unusual.”
“Did you sleep well?” Lady Catherine questioned. “It is not unusual to sleep ill when not in your own bed although I do believe the beds at the parsonage are as comfortable as any in a proper house.”
“Oh, they are, my lady, ” Maria assured Lady Catherine. “I have slept very well. Better than when I am at home, in fact.”
“They are most comfortable,” Elizabeth assured Lady Catherine. “I do not recall sleeping poorly, but it might have happened that my sleep was lighter than it is usually wont to be.”
Lady Catherine tilted her head. “Tomorrow, you should not walk. You should apply yourself to something of beauty that is not a walk.” Her eyes narrowed a moment. “The piano. You said you lack technique due to negligence in practice.”
“Oh, I am certain I will be well tomorrow,” Elizabeth protested.
“Even if you are,” Lady Catherine said with a stern look, “I will expect you at half eleven to practice. There is a piano in an empty room upstairs that you may use without being disturbed or in anyone’s way.”
Elizabeth knew that to protest was of little use. Lady Catherine looked determined, and even Elizabeth’s courage was not strong enough to protest such a look over something as simple as practising. “Thank you, my lady.”
“Anne,” Lady Catherine continued, “you will inform Mrs. Jenkinson that Georgiana’s music is to be left on the piano.” She turned to Elizabeth. “Mrs. Jenkinson has a piano in her room, you see, and she has been using the music. Anne attempted to learn the instrument, but alas, it was not in the talents the Lord gave her. You, on the other hand, show potential. There is expression in your playing that cannot be denied. If you were not so overcome today, I would have greatly liked to hear you play.”
Elizabeth accepted the compliment and then turned her full attention to her tea and a discussion that Maria was having with Miss de Bourgh when the gentlemen entered the room. She dared not look at him, for she was certain that either her face would display her loathing or her tumultuous emotions would spill down her cheeks.
Darcy watched her. There was indeed something amiss. In all the time he had spent in Elizabeth’s presence, he never once remembered her adding so little to a conversation. And she would not lift her eyes to him except for the briefest of moments. Richard, however, seemed worthy of a smile and a tease. It was enough to send Darcy from the room before it was entirely proper.
He paced his room when he reached it. Richard could complete the yearly reviews and tours without him. Darcy would stay one more day, but then he would find a reason to escape. He could not remain where he was forced to watch her attachment to another grow. He sank down on the edge of his bed. One more day. Surely, he could endure one more day.
Chapter 5
Lady Catherine motioned for Richard to take a seat next to her at the table. “You have his key?”
Richard shook his head. “Not yet, but I will as soon as he has returned and his man has made his bath ready.”
Lady Catherine raised a brow at him as she took a sip of her tea.
“I will have it,” Richard assured her. He knew a thing or two about Darcy, and one of those things was that the key to Darcy’s room never left his sight unless he was taking a bath. It was likely due to the fact that ladies such as Miss Bingley were actively trying to ensnare his fortune. To have taken the key this morning or even last evening when he had been in Darcy’s room would have alerted his cousin that something was afoot. And that would not do.
“Was he still in high dudgeon this morning?” Lady Catherine placed her empty cup on the table.
Richard nodded. “I could barely draw more than a dozen words from him, and the majority of those words were not at all nice or proper.”
“Did you have to flirt with her so much?” Lady Catherine gave him a mildly disapproving look. It was not the first time she had questioned her decision to involve Richard in her plan. He was so much like his father.
How many times had she and her sister endured their brother’s merciless teasing until one or the other quit the room in a huff or succumbed to tears. It was as if he could not or would not read the signs that he had pushed too far. He was always repentant, however, and after he had married, he had finally learned the acceptable bounds between being mildly annoying and utterly provoking. She credited Lady Matlock with that accomplishment. Richard did seem able to reign his pestering on most occasions and especially with the fairer sex, but when it came to his brother or Darcy, he occasionally overstepped his bounds. From the way Darcy had left the room yesterday and been silent and disagreeable the rest of the day, Lady Catherine was certain Richard had indeed pushed Darcy well past any tolerable limit.
“It was what you said to do!” And it had been a pleasant enough task. Miss Elizabeth was delightful and being a burr under Darcy’s saddle was always good for a smile or two. However, he did have to admit, he had never seen Darcy quite as put out as he currently was — at least not by something Richard had done. Wickham — well, there was a man who could cause as much consternation as Darcy presently displayed. Perhaps, Richard had gone a bit too far in his game. The purpose of the attack was, after all, to provoke not decimate.
