by J Dawn King
She did as well, and the parchment sank to the ground. All four pages written in a tight script, folded, addressed, and sealed with the Darcy family crest describing his reasons for separating Bingley from the eldest Miss Bennet and the history of George Wickham and the Darcy family, landed in the grass midway between the two of them. As he started to kneel to retrieve it from the dampness, she stopped him.
“Pray, leave it.”
Darcy stood and watched her as she stepped to his side and peered down at the words on the back. They were his final words, his parting thoughts. In the end, he had not wanted her to think ill of him, so he had closed his lengthy dissertation with, ‘I will only add, God bless you. Fitzwilliam Darcy.’
“God bless me?” Elizabeth looked genuinely perplexed. “Yes, your words last night evoked my ire. Nonetheless, I realised soon after you left Hunsford that my response to you had been inordinately harsh and my manner was combative. It was not my finest hour, sir. Yet, you desire a blessing for me? Me?”
“The fault was solely mine.” He put his hands to his face, covering his eyes, exhaling slowly. Dropping his hands, he continued. “I had incorrectly assumed that our lively exchanges were your way of letting me know my attentions to you would be welcomed. Pardon me for my error. Apparently, I misread your intent.”
“I believe we both carry the weight of guilt.” Elizabeth again dropped her eyes to the letter. She spoke softly, though he had no trouble hearing her in the silence of the glen. “When I reconsidered both your comments and mine, I realised I had not thanked you for your proposal. Though it was, and is, not something I had desired, it was an honour to be asked.”
He sucked in a breath. Despite the fact that the words hurt, it was more than he had expected from her. Darcy knew then that he would always carry her in his heart. He would now have to marry out of duty, but he would never forget the woman standing alongside him.
Elizabeth turned away from him, her back stiff and her head bent.
“I also accept the validity of many of your claims against my family.” She inhaled deeply and her shoulders quivered as her chin dropped even lower.
“I should not have thrown their conduct against you,” Darcy interrupted. “Just as I cannot control my aunt’s vulgar outbursts, you can do nothing to temper the conduct of others— whether they are family or not. As I mentioned at Hunsford, though I said I would not restate the offensive words from last night, the conduct of you and Miss Bennet is above reproach.”
“My sister, I believe, is, in fact, much like you, Mr. Darcy.”
He was surprised at her comment and wondered how she could think so.
“Like you, she is a private person who rarely invites anyone into her innermost confidence. Rather than being held up for scorn or ridicule, she guards her emotions most carefully. The bolder my youngest sister becomes, the more reticent Jane is. Yet, the emotions of her heart run deeply.”
“Like me?” Upon reflection, he discerned two points. First, that he and Miss Bennet most likely were similar in holding their feelings close. And, secondly, that Elizabeth had spent enough time thinking of him that she had figured this out on her own. For some reason, the thought gave him a sliver of hope.
“Apparently so, sir.” Again, she squared her shoulders. “I am not at liberty to share Jane’s private conversations with you, Mr. Darcy. However, I will state for your ears only that she continues to be heartbroken over the loss of Mr. Bingley.”
“I do not believe you need to reveal any more, Miss Elizabeth. Your chastisement of my decision to encourage Bingley to leave Netherfield Park was clear enough. Once my initial anger passed, I understood my actions to have brought pain of heart to both your sister and my friend. As a result, prior to walking out this morning, I sent an express to him admitting my error. The cost of his friendship is the penance I must accept.”
Darcy appreciated her relief as her shoulders relaxed. Her next words startled him.
“Might we walk, sir?” Before he could reply, she stepped forward.
He bent to pick up the letter and put it in his pocket as he quickly moved alongside her.
“Mr. Wickham?”
“What I wrote in the letter and what I will tell you now can be confirmed by my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. He shares guardianship of Georgiana and spent much time in Wickham’s company during our school years. Richard is privy to all the unsavoury details from then until now.”
Immediately she spoke.
“Then I do not need to know those details. In fact, I do not want to know.” Without thought, her hand had brushed his arm as she spoke. “When I return to Longbourn, I will speak with my father.”
“Miss Elizabeth, pray know that I trust you with this. My sister…she is changed. Gone is her ready smile and pleasant demeanor. In its place is a cautious countenance and a constant berating of herself. I cannot seem to help her move past the disappointment she feels with herself.”
“How old is she?”
“Just turned sixteen.”
“Lydia’s age.”
“Yes.”
They walked a short distance before she again spoke.
“Mr. Wickham has caught Lydia’s attention, and she is enamored.” He heard the frustration in her tone. “Mayhaps the better course is to write to Papa rather than wait the three weeks until I return to Hertfordshire. I will be careful how I word my information so I do not have to reveal Miss Darcy’s involvement, sir.”
“I had no concern you would do so.” A small branch from one of the trees had fallen to the ground and he kicked it away from their path.
“I am sorry for your sister and I hope she discovers a means of recovery.”
“Thank you. I hope so as well.” Darcy paused as he wondered how much to reveal. In truth, he had nothing to lose. “I had long thought exposure to your kindness would have benefited her, though it is not to be.” He again kicked at a branch. “My intention when I left Rosings this morning was to leave Kent as soon as I gave you the letter. I did not plan to ever inflict my company upon you again.”
Even he could hear the agony with each word spoken. The thought of never seeing her again threatened to break his heart into a million pieces.
She glanced sideways at him, stopping in place. Without taking her eyes from his, she inhaled slowly. He saw resolution on her face and did not know whether or not he wanted to hear what she had to say. What if she was pleased he was leaving? What if she still wanted him to go? But, what if he had given her enough food for thought that she was now looking at him differently? He wanted to double over and grab his knees to keep himself upright at the thought. He remained still.
“I wish you would not.”
Five words, simply said. Yet they infused life and breath, hope and joy into his soul so he wanted to throw his arms up, spin, and laugh like she had done earlier. He refrained.
He had to sit down! A fallen log at the edge of the forest beckoned him to find relief for the weakness attacking his knees at her words. She followed him, and gratitude filled him from his head to his toes. Elizabeth sat next to him, though not close enough to touch.
It took a while before his breathing returned to normal.
“You wish I would not go?” Darcy felt stupid repeating her words, but he suddenly feared he had not heard her correctly.
“I wish you to stay, Mr. Darcy.”
His mind swirled with conflicting thoughts, and he was afraid if he opened his mouth, his confusion would shock her into leaving. It was the last thing he wanted. Pulling the letter from his pocket, he again offered it to her.
Elizabeth put her hand up, her palm facing him, and shook her head, “No.”
His confusion grew. Why would she not read it? Why?
Darcy had no clue he had asked the question aloud until Elizabeth offered her answer.
“Sir, neither of our behaviours last night was a credit to our upbringing. In the clear light of day, I see not only our faults, but our commonalities. In considerati
on of the facts, we, the both of us, have reason for embarrassment with our families, we are protective and willing to defend those we love, and we have tempers which are easily stirred and shared without reserve when our loved ones are threatened. Do you not agree?”
“Very much so.”
Darcy’s nature was to contemplate a solution as soon as a problem was brought to his attention. He wanted to take charge; to fix things. Under this situation, it simply would not do. He owed it to her to give his full attention to her words.
“My father prides himself on having raised his second daughter to be a studier of character who is possessed of a quick mind based on reason.”
“I agree with Mr. Bennet.” Elizabeth’s intelligence and wit was what had held his attention. Her fine eyes were what had caught it in the first place.
“While I thank you, Mr. Darcy, the simple truth is I allowed my prejudices to colour not only my opinion of you, but Mr. Wickham as well.” She exhaled loudly. “Not until now have I understood how foolish I have been to display pride in my ability to quickly discern the truth of a matter. I am wretched at what I have learned about my own character since my arrival in Kent.”
He hurried to disabuse her of that notion.
“Pray do not feel that way, Miss Elizabeth.” Darcy wanted to pull her to him and comfort her. He heard her pain and agonized with her misery. “Pray recall what started us down this rocky road. Had I not insulted you at the Meryton assembly, surely you would not have been so quick to…”
Hurt flashed across her face and he wanted to stuff his boot in his mouth. Why had he brought that up? It was like rubbing salt on an open wound.
“Pardon me, I pray you.” Darcy could not recall ever offering so many apologies to a single person in such a short period of time. In his desperation to gain her favour, he realised he would do it over and over again if necessary. In spite of the fact that he wanted to pour his heart out to her, he vowed to remain quiet until she spoke.
Her own silence tested his self-control. Finally, she shifted on the log, and began. It almost broke his heart more than the night before.
Her chuckle was disparaging— a discordant note in the beauty of the landscape. “The one flaw in your character that I found most abhorrent was your pride, Mr. Darcy. Outside of your hearing, I would tease and revile you for your arrogance and selfish disdain for others. As an unpleasant reminder, I mentioned it directly to you last evening, if you recall. Yet, I now see how my own attitude reflected the same pride of which I was accusing you. It was like I was looking in a mirror and finally realised who and what I am.”
He could no longer keep silent and wanted to bite his tongue as soon as he spoke.
“Miss Elizabeth, do you not understand how I grew to love you anyway? As I poorly endeavoured to explain, I gave careful attention to both our disparities and our agreements, our differences and our similarities. I still feel from the depths of my soul that we could have a marriage based on two intelligent minds who recognize the benefits of affection and respect in the home. While I continue to hold those feelings for you, I now beg you for the honour of allowing me to demonstrate to you my fidelity, loyalty, and all the other positive aspects of my character as I strive to become a better man— one deserving of your own affection and respect.”
She groaned aloud, and it caused him immediate concern.
“Are you in pain? Can I assist you?” He surveyed her from the ground to her bonnet and saw no evidence of physical discomfort, and thus assumed it was an internal struggle causing her outburst.
“You have been blatantly unfair, sir.”
When she lifted her gaze to him, he saw the twinkle in her eyes as the corner of her mouth lifted. The relief was impressive.
“Should I apologise?” His words were sincere.
“Not at all.” Elizabeth huffed into the air. “To a female of my temperament, those are magical words that I never expected to hear from your mouth. Ever!”
She stood and walked out into the sunshine. He followed.
“Then what words do you want to hear?” It was not his intention to flirt as he had little practise in the art. He followed it with a smile, to good effect it seemed. She smiled back.
“I believe I am done with deep conversation.” Her smile grew as she beckoned him to walk alongside her again. “Let us speak of the number of plants or the configuration of the gardens, or whether or not your aunt knows of this wonderful place.”
He chuckled.
In one final attempt to place the letter in her hands, he said, “I worked all night to write this. Pray will you not read it?” He wanted there to be no more confusion between them, no more reasons for her to believe he meant her harm.
She took the letter from him and placed it in the pocket of her skirt. Then she confessed, “I will not do so now, nor do I plan to do so in the future.”
She took his arm when he offered, and he felt like jumping up and clicking his heels.
“Nevertheless, in appreciation for your efforts to bring understanding between us, I shall look upon your letter as a peace offering or, rather, as a foundation for when our friendship took a turn for the better.”
“A friendship?”
“Yes. A friendship.”
He would have to be satisfied with her limits for now. The woman he adored was walking alongside him, the sun was shining, and the skirmish was over. His mind moved rapidly towards successive meetings as he planned out the remaining three weeks of her stay at Hunsford. He, too, would stay. Then he would follow her back to Hertfordshire with a quick stop in London to plead for forgiveness with Bingley.
“Miss Elizabeth, might I draw your attention to the abundance of daisies by the stream? They are my sister’s favourite flower. She calls them ‘friendly’.”
He loved the sound of her laughter as they moved towards that part of the glen. Before they left Rosings, he would propose to her there in the exact spot.
She stopped and looked at him quizzically. Could she have read his thoughts? Impossible! Or was it?
He shook his head to clear it and decided the course of wisdom was to enjoy one glorious spring day at a time in her company. However, within seconds, his heart planned the many springs until they reached the winter of their lives together. Would he ever learn? He prayed so. Were other men as insistent on planning and scheming as he? Surely not!
He chuckled under his breath as he admitted that instead of Elizabeth needing to learn so much from his lengthy letter, it was he who had so much to learn. If it kept her at his side, he promised himself he would write her as many letters as she would be unwilling to read. A lifetime of them, if necessary.
The following day, as Darcy covered the distance from Rosings to the parsonage, he felt the need to hum the melody of the tune from his dance with Miss Elizabeth at the ball Bingley had held at Netherfield Park. He easily recalled the touch of her fingers each time the steps brought them together. He smiled at the memory. In spite of the ball being held the prior autumn, it felt to him as if it had been quite recent.
“Did you get a pebble in your shoe? You have no limp. Did you turn your ankle?”
His cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, had been an unwelcome addition to his stroll. Richard was far too perceptive, though he had apparently failed to realise the attraction Darcy felt for Miss Elizabeth.
“I did not. Why do you ask?”
“I heard you moaning, and thought I saw a look of pain flash across your face. It could not possibly have been a smile. The almighty Fitzwilliam Darcy does not deign to smile.”
Darcy’s instinct was to punch Richard’s arm, a common gesture from their childhood. His humming stopped instantly. Moaning?
“Your powers of observation are flawed, cousin. Your normally sharp intellect has failed you. In actuality, I am quite content.” Darcy could not help smiling at his closest friend and relative. They were evenly matched in height and stature, though Richard was older by a mere six months. When they were young
er, it had been enough justification for his cousin to lord it over him— that half a year difference. Now that they were both in their twenty-eighth year, the desire to be the eldest had waned.
Richard’s brows raised, and his mouth gaped open. “You?” Incredulity burst from him. “Since when? We are in Kent. At Rosings. With our fearsome aunt and our timid-as-a-titmouse cousin. You spend your mornings riding an estate you do not admire and your afternoons pouring over books that are, as usual, in deplorable condition. Aunt Catherine pressures you to marry her daughter every time we are in her presence, and you told me only two nights ago that you were fed up with her schemes. What planet did you wake up on this morning that you would walk out of the front door and feel pleasure? Is it because we are departing for London after we say our goodbyes to the parsonage? Is that why I spied a smile on that ugly face of yours?”
“I have changed my mind. I believe we should remain at Rosings a few weeks longer.”
His comment stopped the colonel in his tracks.
“What on earth?” Richard moved closer, reaching up to feel his cousin’s forehead for a severe fever. “Are you ill? Truly?”
“I am not.” With a smirk, Darcy continued walking.
The colonel caught up with him and, grabbing his arm, pulled him to a stop.
“Pray, tell me you are not feeling the relief of having determined your future is with Anne. She would never last as mistress of Pemberley. Darcy!” Richard released his arm and turned away from him. Planting his fists at his sides, he spun back around. “Do not do this. Do not allow Aunt Catherine to wear you down. Her claims of your mother agreeing to this betrothal since your infancy are pure fictitious, and you know it to be so.”
As Darcy stood in silence, a grin on his face, his cousin threw his hands into the air.
“Can you not imagine the silence at Pemberley? To avoid a wife you do not love, you would spend all your time secluded in your study or library while Anne sat wrapped in dozens of blankets staring out of a window looking at who knows what!”
