by Riana Everly
The tall man nodded his head most gravely. He thought for a moment before replying, “Yes, yes, I see what you mean. But… I am uncertain, Miss Bennet. Can it be done?” There was, fleetingly, a look of desperation on the proud man’s face that brought Elizabeth almost to tears. For how many years had this man suffered an affliction that none could see or understand, one that made life so difficult for him? For how many years had he forced himself behind his protective battlements, leaving behind for the world to see only a veneer of pride and aloofness? And how dearly did he wish to be able to enjoy the life he saw others engage in, to laugh and joke and converse easily in company?
Carefully, slowly, aware of the consequences of what she was doing, she stopped and turned to Mr. Darcy. Charlotte and the colonel were a fair distance back and around a corner in the laneway, leaving Elizabeth and Darcy unobserved for a moment. Looking him in the eye, capturing his gaze with her own, she removed her hand from where it rested so lightly on his elbow and placed it more firmly on his forearm, close to his hand. Using her eyes and the physical connexion to force a new rapport with him, she replied in a calm and direct voice, “I make no promises, sir, but if you are prepared to make the effort, then so am I.”
They walked on in silence, but it was not the silence of discomfort. Rather, Elizabeth sensed that Mr. Darcy had come to accept her as a presence in his life, for the time being at any rate. He had not flinched at the gentle but insistent pressure of her hand upon his arm and had accepted her direct gaze without turning aside his eyes. He was a most clever man, that she was certain, and unlike her young cousin, who had not understood why he was being subjected to these strange lessons by his nurse and his beloved cousin, Mr. Darcy was a willing participant in her schemes. He might never be completely at ease in company, but he could surely become more confident. His obvious comfort in her presence could only help them achieve their goals.
As they neared the village where they proposed to await their companions, Elizabeth also realised that her hand still rested on her companion’s arm, and that—somewhat alarmingly, for she had hardly noticed when it occurred—he had tucked it slightly around and brought his arm closer to his body, so her hand was nestled between his arm and his side. It was not an unpleasant sensation, and not wishing to call attention to something which might cause distress, she made no mention of it.
How different this man was now from the one who had turned from her so abruptly only days ago, and even more so, from the one who been so cold and uncivil in Meryton not so many months before. His demeanour seemed to change at the tread of a foot, but it was not true incivility that underlay his icy facade, but rather, real discomfort and anxiety. His reactions to unknown and unexpected circumstances were unusual, perhaps, but not unique, and they could almost certainly be tempered into something more acceptable to society. With every word he uttered and every new glimpse into the true essence of the man, Elizabeth discovered new aspects to him. Perhaps his cousin was right, and he was, indeed, a very good man, lost in a world he did not quite understand.
Now she believed once again that he was certainly not the haughty and arrogant man she had initially supposed him to be! How every notion of him had been upended, how every prejudice had been quashed! She hoped her current assessment was the correct one.
Within moments, Charlotte and the colonel had caught up with them, and almost immediately upon turning back for the parsonage, Mr. Collins had espied them and called Charlotte over to visit with poor Mrs. Blake who was sickly. They waved Charlotte off and the three continued back to the parsonage. Darcy and his cousin now fell into a discussion about some horses their aunt wished to purchase, leaving Elizabeth to think over all she had been learning.
She thought back to one of their earliest encounters. What had Mr. Darcy said that evening all those months before in the drawing room, when Jane was ill at Netherfield? She had accused him of believing himself without defect, of having every aspect of his life under regulation. But he had countered this, saying, “I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for.—It is I believe too little yielding—certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor their offences against myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move them.”
Recalling each word he had uttered, Elizabeth now realised that he had as much as confessed to her his inability to yield to the whims of others, of his lack of skill at adapting to changing circumstances and capricious moods and tempers. Not being able to determine the motivations behind the actions of others without great thought and attention, each quirk of behaviour, each unannounced change in plan must assault him with the ferocity and incomprehensibility of a storm at sea. She had, once on a holiday, observed the punishing, crushing waves brought on by a summer storm at the seaside, and had heard tales from navy men of the awesome and gut-wrenching power of such a storm on the open ocean. Sammy had described to her his sensations, when a planned outing was suddenly changed to something quite different, in similar language to the old navy officers she had listened to. He described both torment of the mind as well as a real physical pain in his midsection.
And how would a sensitive man like Mr. Darcy react to those who knew him but took no care to accommodate his difficulties? He had confessed that as well. “My temper,” he had explained, “would perhaps be called resentful.—My good opinion once lost is lost forever.”
But instead of understanding the truth behind these words, these painful confessions from a man whose pride made admitting his failings most difficult, she had scoffed at him. Instead of compassion, she had cried, “That is a failing indeed! Implacable resentment is a shade in a character. But you have chosen your fault well.—I really cannot laugh at it; you are safe from me.”
Had his voice been sad when he responded? “There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil, a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome.” She sought desperately to recall his gestures and as well as his speeches, but she had been too lost in her own sense of importance. She had quite missed his explanation that even the education, which had given him the skills to read and write and manage his estate, as well as to bow and eat politely and dance well, had failed to help him learn the skills he needed to move smoothly in the whirlwind of a social universe he imperfectly comprehended.
Instead, rather than offering the friendship she now believed he craved, she had insulted him, replying, “And your defect is a propensity to hate every body.”
“And yours,” he had replied with a sad smile, “is wilfully to misunderstand them.”
Oh, how this last remark had seared itself onto her memory, and how its remembrance now was bitter, bringing shame. For he was correct. She had not taken the time to understand what he was saying. Caught up in her notion that he found nothing but fault, she had failed to see the man for who and what he was.
They were now about halfway back to the house, and the gentlemen were discussing livestock, comparing what their aunt possessed to Mr. Darcy’s herds and flocks at his own estate in Derbyshire. The mention of this estate brought to mind, quite suddenly, another conversation she once had relating to Mr. Darcy.
This conversation was not with Mr. Darcy himself, but another who had known him all his life. Mr. Wickham, a dashing young man recently associated with the militia stationed in Meryton, had claimed to have grown up with Mr. Darcy at the estate in Derbyshire. They had played together as children and had enjoyed a great friendship. But at some point a breach had occurred, leaving the two men at odds with each other. Mr. Wickham, now a lieutenant, had alleged that Mr. Darcy had grown too proud to maintain a friendship with the mere son of a steward, and had denied him the living he had been promised by Mr. Darcy’s father.
But perhaps something else had occurred. Mr. Darcy, if he were anything like Lizzy’s cousin Samuel, would be most conscientious about follow
ing rules and adhering to expected strictures. Denying a man his legacy lawfully granted would be as easy for a man like Mr. Darcy as would cutting off his own hand: possible under the most extreme of duress, but most unlikely under normal circumstances.
Assuming Lieutenant Wickham had been telling no falsehoods, what on earth might have moved Mr. Darcy to act thus? Was it merely implacable resentment, an irrevocably lost good opinion? Even for such a stiff and disagreeable man as Mr. Darcy this seemed doubtful. Had, perhaps, Mr. Wickham made the same mistake she, Elizabeth, had made, in judging the man without full awareness of his difficulties with social discourse? Improbable, since the two had grown up together, but perhaps Mr. Wickham’s recollections bore the rosy glow of idealised childhood, and were unable to adapt to the realities of the grown man.
Or perhaps it was Mr. Darcy who had misjudged his friend’s intentions. Surely Mr. Darcy had misunderstood his old childhood friend’s request, due to ambiguities in wording or the loss of subtle language and gesture to his awareness, and had responded to the request he thought had been made, rather than the one that actually was. A misunderstanding could well have escalated from that point.
Yes, thought Elizabeth, this must be the case. Mr. Wickham had such an openness to him, such an air of congeniality and truth, that he must merely have misunderstood, and been misunderstood in turn. If I am able to gain Mr. Darcy’s trust, Elizabeth thought, I shall attempt to speak of this to him. Perhaps I may be successful in smoothing this long-standing grievance to everyone’s benefit. Perhaps Mr. Wickham did misjudge his friend as badly as I did myself!
Now, glancing at his face, half in the shadow of his tall hat as he talked with his cousin, she felt herself blush in remorse. And yet, she realised, she was most fortunate too, for she had the opportunity now to atone for her wrongs, and perhaps even repair a friendship gone bad. She had come to understand what she had missed before, and she promised herself that she would do what she could to pay recompense for her earlier lapses in understanding. She turned her head away to hide her pink cheeks, and in doing do, caught the gentleman’s attention.
He cleared his throat and observed that they had nearly achieved their destination. Relieved at the direction of the conversation, Lizzy turned back to him and smiled. She could not invite the gentlemen inside, for the lady of the house was in the village with her husband, and so the three sat for several minutes on a bench in the garden.
“I find myself wondering, what has become of your young cousin? Have your efforts met with much success?” Darcy asked her. “I spoke of him to Richard,” he indicated towards the colonel, “and he too was most interested in the lad and his progress. I am finding I wish an introduction to this young man, should circumstance ever allow it, but I also wish to know what to expect.”
Lizzy smiled in satisfaction. “You will be pleased to know that Samuel has made great progress, sir. He attends a fine school in London, for my aunt and uncle have the means to support his tuition there, and he is, by all accounts, an excellent student. He is quite gifted in areas of mathematics and languages, and his tutors are all quite pleased with him. He retains some unconventional behaviours, I will grant you, and will most likely always be something of an eccentric, but he is happy and capable, and he has made some good friends. He will grow to be a successful man, able to make his way in the world.”
“Your story encourages me,” Mr. Darcy conceded. “But please, tell me, Miss Elizabeth, how this might relate to myself? I have managed well in life. I do not require the same guidance that so helped your cousin, for I have achieved what he strives for.”
“Your capabilities, sir, have never been in doubt; it would seem that whatever so challenged my young cousin has touched you but lightly. Yet I might still help you to be easier in society, and to enjoy it more.”
“Even should I agree,” Darcy frowned, “I am late to these lessons, and am not some youngster to learn so quickly.”
“Look at my face, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth ordered. “Examine my expression. Tell me what you see.”
As his cousin looked on in fascination, Darcy peered intently at her, his eyes perhaps lingering longer than a mere examination of facial nuance might necessitate. His remarkable green eyes traced her jaw, her mouth, then her nose, eyes, brows and forehead, before repeating their path in reverse. Eventually he spoke. “Your head is held in such a way that your face inclines upwards a small degree. Your chin, therefore, seems to protrude ever so slightly, although this might be a consequence of your head’s position. Your mouth is fairly straight, although I see the corners tending upwards marginally. It is not a smile, quite, but I cannot say exactly what it is. Your nose, as I said before, is perfect. Your eyelids are somewhat closed, which again may be a result of your head’s inclination upwards, and I see your eyebrows raised slightly on your forehead, which is smooth and not furrowed.” He paused. “Shall I describe your ears now?”
“No, no, that will not be necessary. What do you find this collection of facial nuances to mean, do you know?”
He stood thinking for a moment. “I do not see any signs of tension in your face, so I will deduce that you are not angry, for anger creates tension. Nor do I see a smile, which denotes mirth. The whole effect is pleasant, but more than that I cannot say.” Whilst unable to read her expression, his own spoke volumes, with its tales of curiosity, confusion and delight at this new game.
Elizabeth now allowed herself to smile fully. “I believe it is an expression of confident satisfaction, Mr. Darcy. Yes, I am certain that there is hope for you! I must confess, sir, that my challenge here is much less than with Samuel. By every measure of a man, you have attained success. You have gone to school, attended university and achieved a degree, you manage a large estate most competently, and you have friends, if your cousin the colonel and Mr. Bingley are anything by which to judge. And one need only glance at Miss Bingley to see that, should you wish it, you might easily find a bride should you wish to marry.” At this, Mr. Darcy’s expression clouded over briefly, but returned to its former state too quickly for Elizabeth to interpret his thoughts.
She hoped her smile was reassuring and then wondered if he would recognise it as such. His cousin would, to be certain. “You have managed to achieve by your own efforts what Samuel can hope for only with the diligence of his governess and myself. I may flatter myself and overstate the importance of our efforts with him, but I most sincerely believe that without Miss Pierce’s excellent programme and our combined toil, Samuel would not be nearly as capable as he is. I fear he might even have ended up in an institution for the mentally unsound as his father and mother so dreaded. That is a fate that never threatened you.”
“No, that would not be allowed the grandson of an earl; even the most feeble-minded have the care of a devoted servant and nurse. But I gather your meaning; this was never my lot, even should I have been the son of a labourer. My friends, whilst few in number, were great in devotion, and they eased my way with my peers. If you have the means to help me ease my own way, I should be willing to make the attempt.” He pursed his lips and gave a decisive nod. “You have convinced me. I am most encouraged by your report of your cousin and am anxious to begin. How shall we start?”
With a smirk, Lizzy replied, “Perhaps we already have! But come, let us make a plan. Do you intend to tell your relatives of our endeavour?”
A horrified look came over Darcy’s fine features. “Lady Catherine would likely forbid it. She does not take well to any suggestion that her family is not perfect. Even her own daughter’s frailties and illness she sees as evidence of nobility and delicacy rather than a physical weakness. What think you, Richard?
“I concur: Lady Catherine should know nothing of this. But in all, I believe it is a fine course of action, Darcy. It will be a diversion if nothing else, and if it helps at all, it will be time well spent. Would you permit me to join your lessons, as an observer, Miss Bennet? Perhaps Anne would care to join as well, for she needs some reason to e
scape her mother’s house.”
Lizzy returned this request with a wide grin. “Indeed, colonel. You and Miss de Bourgh would be most welcome. But then we must not meet at Rosings.” She frowned. “Your aunt would certainly discover us.” She turned to Darcy. “The folly on the hillock where we encountered each other several days ago seems a pleasant spot to meet and sit. The colonel knows exactly what place I mean. It affords us some privacy and will shelter us from both sun and rain. Will this suffice, Mr. Darcy?”
“I was about to suggest it, Miss Elizabeth. I walk or ride every morning and come there to rest outside of the notice of my aunt. I can be found there every morning at the exact time you happened upon me. I am,” he confessed, “somewhat of a creature of habit.”
Very seriously, Elizabeth returned, “I should be quite amazed, sir, were you not.”
Chapter Five
The Lessons
And thus the lessons began. Each morning, at the same hour, Elizabeth would meet with Mr. Darcy at the folly. If the weather was pleasant, both would walk or ride; if threatening rain, Mr. Darcy would drive by in Anne’s phaeton, which had a canopy to protect the occupants from the sun or rain. Should the phaeton be needed, Colonel Fitzwilliam was always in attendance as well; on other occasions, he would join the lessons or not at his will, for it seemed he had other concerns that often kept him occupied of a morning. After the first few days, Elizabeth was charmed to see that Mr. Darcy had arranged for one of his aunt’s servants to bring a basket to the folly, whereof they could partake of biscuits and a cool drink when they grew hungry.
“You are not a hopeless case at all, Mr. Darcy,” Lizzy had teased the first time she noticed the basket. “This is a gesture of the height of social grace and ability. It shows that you are most able to think about the needs and comfort of others and that you are able to act the gallant gentleman you are born to be. I think you shall do quite well!” And her student had beamed at her praise.
