The Portrait of Elizabeth

by Jane Angwin

  "Here we are, boy," he said aloud. "Now what do we do?" he voiced. Omega's head bobbed up and down and he softly whinnied, as if he was trying to communicate something important. "Where is Mr. Raymond when I need him?" he laughed. "Mr. Raymond would know what you are telling me. OK, my friend. I'm in your hands. Take me where you will." Without a tug on the reins or a kick with his boot, the horse turned into the fence opening and slowly walked along the path leading to the river where Darcy had come upon Elizabeth. Even though it was now dawn and not as dark as it was when they started out, he knew that it was still too early for her to be awake and fortunately, there was no chance of meeting her this time. He reached up and rubbed his stubbled chin again, wondering what she would think if she saw him in his disheveled state.

  Nearing the edge of the river, Omega suddenly stopped and turned his head toward something he had heard. Darcy also heard the sound and turned, peering into the trees. He couldn't see anything in the dim light, but he instantly knew that Elizabeth was coming toward him. "Good Lord, no," he whispered. "I didn't want to see her like this." His instinct was to flick the reins and turn and run, but it was too late. Instead, he sat still, his heart beating out of his chest, waiting for her to walk into the open. It was now or never.

  Elizabeth had not been able to sleep. The tumultuous events of the day before had been a trial, and her nighttime thoughts bounced from the horrid proposal of marriage by Mr. Collins, to the uncomfortable encounter with Mr. Wickham, and Mr. Collins' bizarre proposal to her sister Mary. And then there was the embarrassing dinner with her family. It was all a jumble in her head, and none of it made much sense, but what was entirely clear to her - and the one thing that did make sense to her was the sudden realization that she had met the perfect man for her. As she had watched Mr. Darcy turn and look at her as he boarded his carriage after dinner, she knew beyond a doubt that she could love this complicated man, but she was also well aware that it was an impossible fantasy. Yes, they had met in the woods and there was that moment when he held her hand a little too long. And he had so desperately wanted to apologize to her for his poor manners, but why was that so important to him? And why had he absent mindedly placed his hand on top of hers when they walked together. That just isn't done unless a couple is formally courting. And the looks they shared seemed almost intimate. What did all this mean? Elizabeth knew that she was just a simple girl from the country who had nothing to offer a man such as Mr. Darcy. He was a man of high society and great wealth, and he had his pick of women of the ton. Hadn't he even told her that himself? And hadn't she learned from Mr. Wickham that he had an understanding with his cousin in Kent? But was Mr. Wickham telling the truth?

  At last, she bolted up in her bed, and firmly shook her head to try and stop the questions. She knew that she had to clear her head somehow to stop this ridiculous fantasy, so perhaps if she got outside in the fresh air and took a brisk walk, she could come back clearheaded and try to sleep a few hours before the noise of the household woke her up.

  It was still an hour before dawn, but there was no hope of sleeping with all these thoughts rolling around in her head, so she got out of bed and got dressed. She quietly descended the stairs, carefully stepping where she knew the old wooden steps wouldn't creak. She went to the kitchen, and grabbed an apple from the fruit basket on the counter, grateful that Mrs. Simpson wasn't up yet getting breakfast ready, and then grabbed her pelisse off the front hall coat rack and left the house.

  It was quite dark outside, and going to all the way to Oakham Mount was not a prudent choice, so she decided to walk the familiar path through the woods to the river. Sitting on the river edge, listening to the rippling sound of the water hitting the rocks was where she found total peace and felt the closest to nature. It was there that she could sort out the feelings she was having and come to terms with what could never be. Perhaps all of this was nothing more than reading too many romance novels and letting her wild imagination play tricks on her.

  After a walk of about fifteen minutes, she came through the trees into the opening at the river. It was still fairly dark, but she was so familiar with the spot she wasn't worried about tripping and quickly found her favorite log to sit down and think.

  Darcy sat transfixed, watching Elizabeth in the darkness. He knew she couldn't see him, and he was afraid that he would frighten her if he spoke, but he wasn't sure how to make his presence known. Omega, who had been the force behind this chance predawn meeting, had his own idea, however, and he made a soft whinny sound and lightly brushed his hoof on the ground.

  Elizabeth gasped and whipped her head around to see where the sound had come from, and made out the large shape of a horse and rider slowly walking toward her. She stood up and nervously confronted the unknown rider. "Who goes there?" she said, backing away from the stranger. "Who are you?" She gripped the apple and raised it up to throw it at the intruder.

  Darcy swing down from the horse and gently replied, "It is Fitzwilliam Darcy, Miss Elizabeth. Please do not be alarmed. I am very sorry I frightened you." He closed the space between them, and she could finally see his face, pleading for forgiveness. "Be assured that I did not intend to find your here at this early hour, but we had ridden for several miles, and Omega has become quite fond of drinking from the river here on your property, so here we are, I'm afraid. I am nothing more than a common trespasser. If you feel the need to call the Constable and have me arrested, I am your prisoner, and I will not resist." He hoped that would lighten the mood and hopefully make her laugh.

  Elizabeth was both livid at him for frightening her in the darkness and overjoyed to see him. "I don't know whether to scream for help or laugh at your ridiculous joke, Mr. Darcy. I doubt if anyone would hear me screaming so far from home, so I will choose to laugh instead, but may I ask what you are doing riding in the darkness, Sir? Isn't that rather dangerous?"

  "I think a rather tall gentleman with a pistol sitting atop a massive and incredibly swift horse is far safer in the darkness than a daunting young lady with an apple for protection." He smiled at her showing his deep dimples, and Elizabeth thought he could probably hear her heart beating wildly.

  "Yes, well the next time I take a walk in the woods, I will come armed with my father's rifle. Imagine if I had it today, Mr. Darcy. I'm afraid it would have been a rather unpleasant end to our friendship." She tried to keep a straight face, but it was too difficult to maintain. "But I am very good at protecting myself from big and frightening beasts with an apple." Darcy looked puzzled at her comment, but she walked over to Omega and presented the apple to him. Omega was a high spirited horse and normally only allowed Darcy and Mr. Raymond to get close to him, but he gently took the apple from Elizabeth's hand and nodded his head up and down, as if to thank her.

  "I am all amazement," Darcy said as he watched her interaction with Omega in awe. "I have never seen him react to anyone in a friendly way, let alone so gently! And did you not tell me that you are afraid of horses, Miss Elizabeth?"

  "Something that you may not know about me, Mr. Darcy, is that I do not back down in the face of a challenge or adversity, however, this sweet animal is hardly a threat to me." She reached up and petted Omega's nose, and the horse rubbed his head against her hand. "I believe I have a new friend, do I not Boy?"

  Darcy couldn't take his eyes off the way Elizabeth had charmed his cantankerous horse. He knew that it was another sign pointing him toward this amazing woman, and it was time for him to tell her how he felt. "I realize it is improper for us to be here alone in the darkness, Miss Elizabeth, but I wonder if you would be so kind as to give me a few moments of your time. I would like to tell you a story that you may find hard to believe, but it is important for me to do so." He gestured toward the log she had been sitting on, and she obliged him by sitting down. "May I join you?" he asked.

  She moved over to allow him to sit with her, leaving a decent amount of space between them. "I have a few more moments for you, Mr. Darcy, but in a short time I will be m
issed at home, and I will have to return or my mother will have the entire village out searching for me. You know how she feels about my wandering about the countryside!" She chuckled, and glanced up at him, noticing that he had a very serious look on his face and hadn't heard what she said. "What is it you wish to tell me, Sir? I am listening."

  Darcy cleared his throat and pulled on the cravat at his neck that felt as if it was strangling him. "This is not an easy tale to tell, Miss Elizabeth, as it requires believing in something beyond our rational understanding. I pray that you will not think me quite ill in my mind when I have finished." He closed his eyes and began his story.

  "My life has been a gifted one, having been born into great wealth and comfort. My parents were kind and loving parents, and they were the rare example of a couple who loved each other instead of having their marriage arranged as is the norm in my sphere. They supported each other in all things, and my father respected my mother's intelligence and decisions, quite unlike the typical marriages in our society. They adored each other, and I knew that when I became of age, I would want the same type of relationship for myself." He shrugged his shoulders and quietly laughed. "Unfortunately, the rest of my family - and society in general - believe quite the opposite."

  Elizabeth noticed that Darcy's words were now coming much faster and it was clear he had a lot to say. She wondered where this was going and why he felt it necessary to speak to her in this way, but she was enthralled with listening to him share such intimate details, and she couldn't take her eyes off his expressive face as he continued.

  "I greatly admired my father, and he taught me a great deal about being a man. He taught me how to ride and hunt, and he showed me how to run our large estate." He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "But for many reasons, I was much closer to my mother. She was the one who taught me about the value of honor, integrity, and kindness. She stressed the importance of respect by treating our servants and tenants with dignity and not with an iron hand. She taught me about books and art and music, and we talked about life and love and happiness." He sighed, and looked down at his boots, closing his eyes once again. "Sadly, my mother died when I was only fifteen years old." Elizabeth noticed that his voice trembled slightly when he said this. "I was devastated."

  Now Elizabeth could see the emotion on his face and the slight glint of tears forming in his eyes. Whatever he wanted to share was causing him great distress. She reached across the space between them and placed her hand gently on his arm. "Do you wish to stop, Mr. Darcy?" she whispered.

  He looked down at her hand on his arm, and it gave him the courage to go on. "No, I am fine, thank you. It is indeed a sad memory for me, but it is important to speak of it to make what I have to say next make some sort of sense." He placed his hand on her hand, holding it in place as he shifted on the log and faced her. "In the hours before her death, I sat alone with my mother and she begged me to follow my heart in my life and not conform to the rules and strictures of our social order. She said that her fondest wish for me was to find a woman who would love me for myself and not for my wealth or possessions. She told me to marry only for love, and to not allow my relatives to tell me that I must marry someone of their choice. But it was her final words to me were the most meaningful and perhaps what has brought me here to Hertfordshire." For better or worse, this was the moment he was going to share the mysterious tale of the portrait with her, and he knew that he might be making a huge mistake, but he continued on nevertheless.

  "Her exact words were that she would always be with me, watching over me, and if it was in her power, even in the afterlife, she would guide me toward the happiness she felt that I deserve. I accepted those words as the wish of a dying woman who loved her son very much, but lately very strange things have been happening, and I cannot dismiss them as coincidences anymore. I have been visited by a very strong force that I cannot deny any longer."

  "What kind of things, Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth politely asked. Perhaps this would explain some of the strange ways he had been acting since he arrived in Hertfordshire, but she still could not fathom why he was telling her these personal facts. Was he trying to tell her of his admiration of her?

  "Well, the first such occurrence was several weeks ago at my home in Derbyshire. I was hosting a longtime friend of the family, a well known artist in London who has been painting my sister's portrait for the Pemberley gallery. My mother was a very skilled artist herself and an avid lover of art and she had admired his budding talent and helped to launch his career in London many years ago. So, when she realized that I had some artistic talent at a very young age, she asked him to be my teacher, and I excelled enough to share my mother's studio with her where we painted together almost every day for many years."

  "So you are an artist, Mr. Darcy?" This new information added to her admiration of him.

  "Well, not exactly Miss Elizabeth. I did have a modicum of talent and enjoyed it very much, but to be honest, I stopped painting when my mother died. It was my favorite memory of her, and it was too painful to paint alone, so I put away my brushes and paint and locked the door to the studio we had shared." He glanced at her to see her reaction thus far in order to gather courage to continue with the strange occurrences he had referred to. "One night, after discussing many things with my guest over a late night cognac, he asked me if I had considered painting again, and I responded that I had not. As we said goodnight, and I was getting ready to retire for the night, I noticed a light coming from underneath a door at the end of a long corridor, and I went to inspect who was there. As I approached the door, I realized that it was, in fact, the art studio that I had avoided for many years, and as I had instructed the staff to always keep it locked, I was puzzled by someone using it. I opened the unlocked door and found no one there, except there was a small candle burning on a table and an easel holding a large canvas that was set up with brushes and a palette of paint. It was clear that someone had been there and had failed to extinguish the candle. The only thought I had was that perhaps it was my houseguest who had hoped that I would find it in my heart to visit the studio that night, but it still didn't explain the candle burning since we had been together for hours, and he would not have been able to light it. Nevertheless, as I went to blow out the candle, I felt a breath of air pass by my face and the candle extinguished by itself. At the same time, I also detected a faint scent of lavender, which had been my mother's favorite perfume, and it occurred to me that I had felt the same sensation when I had been drawn to our family portrait gallery several weeks earlier. Oddly, there had been candles burning in that unused wing as well, and when standing in front of the empty space where my future wife's portrait would someday hang, I felt a slight breeze touch my face, and I had smelled the aroma of lavender then too."

  "Has it happened to you again?" Elizabeth asked, remembering that he had asked her if she was wearing a lavender cologne the previous day.

  "Good Lord, yes" he exclaimed. "It happens so frequently now that it has become almost a comfort to me. It is as if I am being led by my mother somehow." He looked at her carefully to see if she was shocked by his statement. "Do you find this unfathomable?" he inquired.

  "Well, no, Mr. Darcy. God works in mysterious ways, and perhaps that is what is happening to you. I am a firm believer in listening to the universe myself, hoping for divine guidance, but I must say that I have not felt the physical reactions you have." She tilted her head, and said "But please excuse me for wondering how all this has brought you to Hertfordshire."

  "Yes, I am getting to that. I am sorry this has taken so much time to relate, but there is more to this story. The following morning after I had found the candle burning in the art studio, I returned before anyone was awake. I noticed that there was actually a sketch on the canvas that I had not noticed the night before. It was the outline of a petite woman, perhaps something that my mother had started before she died, or maybe Monsieur Charron had given me a head start, although that was doubtful because he
knew that I mainly painted landscapes and I never painted portraits."

  "Was Monsieur Charron your houseguest?" Elizabeth queried.

  "Yes, I apologize. That is his name. When I met with him later that day, assuming that it was his plot, I told him that I had found his handiwork, but he firmly denied having been anywhere near the studio. He jokingly said that perhaps it was a sign that I should take the suggestion and paint again. "

  "And did you?" Elizabeth asked.

  "Yes, actually I did. I felt strangely drawn to the room and to the canvas, and for some unknown reason, I used the sketch on the canvas and for the first time, rather than painting the usual landscape, I began painting a portrait. When I was finished, I was stunned that I had painted the likeness of the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." He stopped momentarily, and looked at Elizabeth. "The woman that I wish to marry." He stared into Elizabeth's eyes, drowning in their beautiful depth and specks of gold, and he was just about to tell her that the painting was of her when from somewhere deep in the woods they could hear someone calling Elizabeth's name.

  "Lizzy! Oh, Lizzy! Yoo-Hoo! Where are you?" It was Lydia's voice, and they both bolted up off the log. Darcy quickly ran and mounted Omega to appear as if he had just arrived. Kitty then yelled out, "Elizabeth! Mother is frantic looking for you! Can you hear me?"

  Looking at Mr. Darcy with apologetic eyes, Elizabeth answered back to the voices of her two youngest sisters. "I am here by the river!" she said. "I'm coming!" Looking at Mr. Darcy, she said, "You should probably go quickly. It would not do to be found alone with you here." Darcy nodded and snapped the reins, turning Omega down the path back to the opening in the fence. He turned his head around in time to see her watching him as he left, wondering if she now understood that he was falling in love with her. He hadn't finished his story, but he felt confident that the next time they were alone together, he would disclose the identity of the mystery woman in the painting, and he would finally declare his feelings for her. He had come so close.