Ardently

by Caitlin Williams

  “I feel a little odd. I might go out into the hallway for some air.”

  Her new friend was alarmed. “You are unwell? Might I get your aunt for you?”

  Elizabeth squeezed Sophy’s hand. “I am fine. I will be back presently.” Never having been so glad to quit a room, she found her way to the hall, where she gripped the stair rail and took a deep breath, berating herself, feeling ridiculous. ‘Why do you care, Lizzy, what does it matter? Go back in and make a joke of it. Repeat it back to him, make him embarrassed. Tease him. That is what you might have once done’.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Mr Yorke. “Miss Bennet, I saw you leave the table. Is all well?”

  She found a smile for him and drew herself straighter. “I am fine. Forgive me. I am not usually so dramatic. I became a little warm.”

  He stepped closer and brushed his hand down her arm. Feeling lost and hurt she found herself strangely grateful for it. At least he still admired her. She could not be so horrific looking.

  “I think I know what has upset you. All this talk of us, the rumours, I should not have teased you earlier. Indeed, I ought to have been more circumspect altogether, more discreet in showing my attentions when we are in the company of others. I apologise. I curse myself to think how I have hurt you.”

  “I confess, it has unnerved me, but I feel a little ridiculous now, to be causing such fuss and concern. I am fine, shall we go back in?” She motioned to the drawing room.

  He clasped at her hand and held her fingers. “By all means, but while we have a moment of privacy, I wish you to know that although I regret any embarrassment I have caused you, I am delighted at the talk. I am yours for the taking. You might only say the word. I have been yours since the first night I saw you, on the stairs at the operetta. I have never been so enchanted by a woman. Elizabeth, I have no hesitation but that I feel your hesitation.”

  She was taken aback at his familiar use of her first name and looked properly up at him. He was handsome, witty, a very good match in every way. Was there something wrong with her that she could not just welcome his love? Perhaps a leap of faith was required. Maybe the all-consuming passion she longed to feel would come later. “Are you proposing?”

  “Do you wish me to?”

  For some reason she could not say yes. The word would not form on her lips. She was not in love! Whatever she was supposed to feel, she did not, not yet. “I think I need a little time. We have not known each other long.”

  “Of course, I have been hurrying you. You must take as long as you wish.” He leaned even closer, until she felt his breath on her forehead and then he placed a lingering kiss to her temple. He pulled away slightly to smile at her and looked down at her lips, his own slightly parted. His intention to kiss her became clear. While her heart certainly quickened at the thought, she was not sure whether it was from fear or desire. Should she let him? Other ladies she knew allowed far more, and with much less of a promise than Mr Yorke had given.

  The sound of footsteps spared her the trouble of making a decision and they jumped apart. Mr Darcy was suddenly in the hallway with them, his gaze studiously averted towards his highly polished shoes. He looked as embarrassed as Elizabeth felt.

  “Forgive my interruption,” he began. “Your aunt sent me to find you when she heard you were indisposed.”

  “I am not indisposed,” she said coldly. “I am very well, thank you, Mr Darcy. Come, Mr Yorke.” Sheb made a great show of taking his hand. “The interminable business of cards will be arranged soon and if we are quick we might get seated at the same table and ease one others suffering.” She brushed past Mr Darcy with a quick angry look, pulling Mr Yorke after her.

  Fifteen

  “So, Elizabeth, did you have a pleasant evening?” Mrs Mountford asked.

  “The more I see of the world, the more I am disappointed in it.”

  “Such heavy thoughts, my dear girl, are you not supposed to be full of love and happiness at the present time?”

  Elizabeth looked a little ashamed and pulled her wrap more tightly around her. The carriage had only just left Lady Winslow’s and she was still chilly from having been stood in the night air waiting to board it.

  “Perhaps you are a little disappointed in yourself, rather than the world in general. Do not trifle with the young man, Elizabeth. If you have no intention of ever accepting Mr Yorke, you should not encourage his suit. I would expect better of you. You have a generous nature.”

  “Who says I will not accept him?” she answered, raising her chin. “I have not yet decided.”

  “Has he asked the question?”

  “He made his intention to do so very clear.” Elizabeth had spent the rest of the evening encouraging, rather than discouraging, Frederick Yorke. She had laughed gaily, spoken only to him and showered him with her smiles. It had been bad of her, when she was still so unsure, and it had all been a performance for Mr Darcy’s benefit; to show him that at least one man still found her desirable. She had left her maturity behind and behaved with great foolishness. For the thousandth time since he had arrived, she wished Mr Darcy would just go back to Pemberley and his old, proud ways and leave her be. His presence was all too confusing.

  “Hmm, well, Mr Yorke is very pleasant I suppose.” Mrs Mountford replied vaguely, inclining her head to the side.

  “He is pleasant. Though, I know you do not approve of his sisters.”

  “Elizabeth, I told you, I thought them perfectly fine girls. I am not one to dissemble. I mean what I say. I cannot say I care for the patriarch of the family. I would not like to see you as a daughter to such an odious man, but all families have their crosses to bear. If Mr Yorke is your choice, well, I will not try to convince you otherwise. His manners are all they should be and he is amusing, his temper appears calm.”

  “But do you not think…” Elizabeth leaned forward in the carriage. “Is there perhaps some lack of depth? He is all that he seems to be, I am sure, but I would like to see some spark of feeling, some great passion; a sign that he is capable of deep thought or consideration…“

  She trailed off when she saw the smirk on Mrs Mountford’s face, realising her aunt had tricked her into saying more than she had intended to and made her verbalise, and formulate her own thoughts and reasons for hesitation into order. “You are a wicked old woman.”

  “You have been a treasure to me these last few years, Elizabeth. Your company has kept me going. After I lost Mr Mountford, I was very low and you have restored my spirits. You are capable of boundless love; please do not bestow it on someone unworthy of receiving it. Your future is secure, do not feel under any pressure to marry. I confess, for my own selfish reasons, I would be quite content if you never do.” She reached across and patted her niece’s hand.

  Elizabeth thanked her for her kind words and the carriage fell silent for a few moments before she spoke again. “Do you know Miss Bingley expects Mr Darcy to make her an offer?”

  Mrs Mountford threw back her head and began to laugh and did not stop laughing until they reached home.

  Elizabeth braided her own hair and slipped into her nightgown without assistance. She sat on the edge of the bed, her knees drawn up and sipped her wine and warm water. Before they had retired, Mrs Mountford had expressed a wish that tomorrow be a quiet day indoors, in order that she might rest and catch up on estate business and correspondence. Elizabeth had readily agreed. Bath suddenly seemed too busy, too overwhelming.

  She had, however, found herself included on a planned trip out of Bath. Colonel Fitzwilliam had spoken to Mr Yorke of his disappointment at being denied such a jaunt recently and before she had time to think of a single objection or excuse that might exclude her, it had been arranged, and everybody from Georgiana Darcy to the Yorke sisters, and even Miss Bingley had talked of their joy at her being part of the excursion. They were to go on Friday and everybody had talked excitedly of picnics, gigs, curricles and Claverton Down, which she was then given to understand was a local beauty spot
with a commanding view. Elizabeth, who was normally fond of adventure and new places, thought nothing of the trip, except if it were anything like the evening she had just endured, and why would it not be, for the characters were just the same, then it would do nothing but bring on a headache. She put down her glass, lay back on the bed and gave the pillow a resounding thump.

  Sixteen

  It had often been remarked on by others that Elizabeth was of a disposition to laugh herself out of ill humour, and so she did. With a few calm days of no company but Mrs Mountford’s, and books and music and a trip to the tea shop, she was beginning to feel quite herself again. By the time Friday came, she found herself dressing eagerly for the trip up Claverton Down - keen to be out in the fresh air of the countryside and to see trees and fields again.

  The previous morning had brought a note from Mr Darcy to say his carriage would accompany the gigs and curricles, should either of the ladies of Laura Place prefer to travel a little more comfortably. Elizabeth knew not what to make of this piece of civility, but Mrs Mountford, who had previously been of a mind not to go, suddenly declared she would – ‘to see the young people at play!’

  It was only a few minutes past the appointed hour when the sounds of two gigs and a curricle were heard in the street outside, together with the low rumble of Mr Darcy’s stately and luxurious coach. Elizabeth tied her new hat upon her head and they walked out onto the street to greet the whole party

  Mr Yorke jumped down from his gig. “Miss Bennet, your chariot awaits. What a splendid hat that is, very fetching.” He bowed low then held out his hand with the intention of helping her up into the seat beside him.

  Mr Darcy strode purposefully up the street and without a ‘hello’ or ‘how are you’ addressed Mr Yorke. “This is yours, Yorke?” He looked over the gig distastefully and poked his riding crop at the wheel.

  “Well, no, but it’s mine in so much as I rented it for the day for a shilling.”

  “I wouldn’t pay a shilling to buy it,” Mr Darcy snapped disparagingly. “You are not seriously expecting Miss Bennet to ride in such a disaster? She had better go in the carriage.”

  Elizabeth rankled against his high-handedness. “Miss Bennet will be fine and is quite able to make up her own mind about where she would like to travel.” She gave her hand to Frederick Yorke and thanked him, but practically leapt into the gig herself she was so affronted.

  From her new position on the bench seat, she heard Mr Darcy utter a word under his breath which she thought might have been ‘obstinate’. He then walked Mrs Mountford down the street and handed her into the carriage, before taking a seat in his other vehicle, a curricle which was parked behind Mr Yorke’s gig. This rather studier looking equipage contained Miss Bingley, who was gamely trying to look pleased to be perched atop, but Elizabeth noticed how she frowned at the way the wind blew and the horses shrieked and pulled on the reins. Behind Darcy sat a gig driven by Colonel Fitzwilliam who had Sophy Yorke for company. They waved gaily at her. Elizabeth supposed Harriet Yorke and Georgiana had chosen to ride in the carriage. She took time to envy them - her relationship with horses had never been a good one and the tiny gig she was sat on did admittedly look a little worn. Every movement they made caused a creak and a groan from one or another of its parts. Mr Darcy’s carriage looked extremely inviting and she supposed there was plenty of opportunity, before they set off, to change her mind. However, she had equal amounts of courage and stubbornness, so kept to her seat.

  The horses were eager to be exercised and Mr Yorke whipped them into a great speed. They flew out of Laura Place and onto the main road out of Bath, scaring pedestrians onto the pavements and causing all manner of carriages and riders to swerve. Elizabeth overheard an oath or two directed at them.

  As the houses faded away and the lush fields of spring, decorated with wildflowers, began to spread out before them, Elizabeth tugged on Mr Yorke’s arm. The noise of the wind and the rattle of the gig prevented proper conversation, but she shouted out to him that wouldn’t it be better if they were to slow down a little to enjoy the scenery. He shook his head and smiled at her. Whether he had not heard her, or just chose to ignore her wishes, she couldn’t say. Instead she was forced to hang on, one hand gripping the brim of her hat and the other the rail around the bench of the gig. She looked behind and to her dismay, saw no sight of the others.

  As they tore on, she looked back several times more and after twenty minutes or so was rewarded with the strangely comforting, very welcome sight, of Mr Darcy’s curricle, moving at a furious pace to catch them up. As he drew closer, Mr Yorke, hearing the noise of another set of horses, looked around and set about whipping his own again, driving them on. Then Elizabeth had a dreadful moment of genuine fear, when one wheel of the gig hit a rut in the road at high speed. She was bounced violently, almost out of her seat and the gig, thrown off course, came perilously close to a stone wall that bordered the way. There was an awful screeching sound when the wood and metal of the gig scraped against the wall and for a moment Elizabeth thought the vehicle was sure to break apart and they would both be thrown to the ground. She braced herself for the impact but it fortunately never came. Somehow, miraculously, the gig bounced off the wall and back onto the road again without great calamity. The horses, now skittish with alarm, reared up and danced. Mr Yorke used the reins to bring them back under control and Elizabeth breathed easily again, but to her disbelief, once they had calmed, he looked eager to urge them on again.

  Mr Darcy however, was now very close behind them and at a wider patch of the road, increased his speed, manoeuvred expertly around Mr Yorke and positioned his curricle full in the middle of the way so he could not be passed. He then slowed to a far more sedate pace, forcing Mr Yorke to slow down also.

  “Darcy, what do you think you’re doing? If you are going to go so slow, you should make way.” Mr Yorke yelled at him.

  Mr Darcy turned and Elizabeth gasped at the look on his face. He was so extremely angry. If she had thought him cross after she had turned down his proposal at Hunsford, it was nothing to the pure rage that appeared to consume him now. He looked fit for murder.

  This was enough to silence Mr Yorke, who gave her a taut grin and relaxed back into his seat. “Well, Miss Bennet, I am afraid that is our sport done.”

  “I can assure you, Mr Yorke, I have had more than enough excitement for one day. This will do me very well indeed.”

  When they reached Claverton Down, Mr Yorke jumped from the gig and marched across to Mr Darcy’s curricle, clearly with the intention of taking umbrage with him for blocking his way and forcing him to go slowly. Darcy was already handing Miss Bingley down to the ground. There then followed an exchange of words between the gentlemen, low but heated, which Elizabeth could not hear from where she still sat, but whatever was said caused Miss Bingley’s eyebrows to raise. Frederick Yorke had seemingly forgotten about her and he stomped off into a thick set of trees. Elizabeth was about to clamber down from the gig herself. She was half standing when Mr Darcy strode over and without a word, picked her up about the waist and set her on the ground. The shock of such unexpected contact - the ease with which he had lifted her, and the feel of his strong hands upon her – all combined to make her a little breathless.

  His face showed concern. “Are you unharmed?”

  “Completely, thank you.”

  He nodded curtly. “Good. I don’t know how I should have explained it to your father if anything had befallen you.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam’s curricle was now pulling up behind them, along with the carriage and Darcy went to greet them, leaving Elizabeth to wonder why on earth he thought it would have been his duty to explain such a thing to her father? What an odd, complex man he was. Caroline Bingley came up behind her. “Did you enjoy the ride, Miss Eliza?”

  “I cannot say I did, Miss Bingley.” Elizabeth admitted.

  “It was at times a little fast. Although of course, Mr Darcy took exceedingly good care of me and he is
such an excellent driver. I was not frightened in the least.”

  Elizabeth looked down at Miss Bingley’s shaking hands and felt a sudden and unexpected burst of sympathy for her, and she, took them between her own and patted them. Miss Bingley looked exceedingly grateful and, for an awful moment, Elizabeth thought she might burst into a sob. “Perhaps we shall be lucky and it will begin to rain before we are due to head back. We might both claim the use of the carriage for the return journey.”

  A completely unguarded and genuine smile brightened Caroline Bingley’s face and they shared a look of understanding. It was a brief moment of companionship and a truce which could not possibly be maintained. Indeed, Elizabeth would have gambled on it not outlasting lunch.

  Mr Yorke joined them again after a few minutes, his usual broad smile having reappeared. He offered one arm to Elizabeth and the other to Caroline Bingley and off they walked towards the top of the hill in order to admire the view. Elizabeth looked over her shoulder several times to see Mr Darcy seeing to the comfort of Mr Yorke’s sisters and Mrs Mountford, before directing his servants in the setting up of their picnic.