In Search of Happiness

by Nicky Roth

  So I must conclude this letter now for my candle has almost burnt out and I did promise Bingley to also send him a missive, I will close with the information on how to reach me: Just send the letters to William Hawthorn addressed to the Inn at Meryton where I can easily pick them up for Meryton is barely a mile from where I am staying at present.

  And with that, I will remain for the moment -

  Yours etc.

  Fitzwilliam Darcy

  The letter to Bingley he had saved for last. It was, after all the least important of the three, not meaning that it was unimportant, of course, just that it could technically wait in case the candle had burnt down, which it shortly would. He would have to be brief and even quicker in writing. The letter to his sister was written in his usual neat style, the one to his cousin was already less meticulous with a few blots of ink here and there and a couple of words crossed out, where his quill had slipped as the paper had slid down the book he used as a desk.

  Dear friend,

  hopefully, this letter finds you well, though I have little reason to doubt it. You always enjoy the diversions of London, so I dare say I will hardly be missed. No, I am not repining my loss of elegant society, quite the contrary, I am merely pointing out the obvious.

  I have arrived in safety, have found employment and a roof over my head as well as a comfortable bed to sleep in and food that is more than just palatable, in short, everything is just as I had hoped it would be – or rather even better.

  As you can clearly see from my manner of writing, or rather the almost indistinguishable scrawl I have adopted in this missive, this letter is a very rushed one, for I have to make do with just the last flicker of my candle to write these lines to you and as shorty the flame will die completely, I better tell you now how I am to be reached: I am staying at a place called Longbourn House in Hertfordshire, but obviously your letters cannot be sent here. The Inn at Meryton which is but a mile from here will serve for that purpose and is where I will be able to pick up my correspondence without too much trouble and without raising suspicion about my true identity. Well, that is, as long as you address them to one William Hawthorn, which is the pseudonym I currently live under.

  Yours etc.

  Fitzwilliam Darcy

  Just as the candle flickered out, Darcy had finished the last lines, folded the last two letters in complete darkness and put them aside to seal and post them the next day before curling up and going to sleep.

  Chapter 9

  Chaperones don't enforce morality; they force immorality to be discreet.

  - Judith Martin

  It was not difficult to get permission to go to Meryton since he was promptly charged to run some errands for Smith saving her having to go herself to make her orders. Besides, there was little to do around the garden that morning but tend to the seedlings, rake the driveway and the flowerbed in front of the house. As soon as he was done and he had completed his tasks with both speed and thoroughness to the full satisfaction of Peters, he was on his way whistling a cheerful tune as he marched along the unfamiliar path. He had not gone half-way and just rounded a corner when he perceived four young ladies ahead of him, and it did take little guessing who they were. Miss Lydia's skipping was unmistakable as was Miss Bennet's graceful walk. But it was Miss Elizabeth's effortless stride that had caught his eyes first and which pointed her out as the one out of the four sisters who was most accustomed to walking as well as being the one to take the most joy in the activity. With firm yet springy steps she walked mainly beside her older sister, occasionally stopping to glance at what he guessed was a flower or bird before catching up with her siblings once again with a quickness that showed that her usual gait was not quite as slow as their current pace.

  At first, he was unsure whether to keep his own pace and overtake them or to slow down and stay behind before he collected and scolded himself for being so silly. He was a servant on an errand and in all likeliness they might not even recognise him here where he was not expected let alone greet him if they did. It was thus decided, Darcy carried on as he had done before.

  It was by the bridge that he overtook them shortly tapping his hat and bowing before turning again to hasten on.

  'Oh, good morning William, how are you?' Elizabeth Bennet inquired much to his surprise.

  So she had recognised him despite him being out of context so to speak and if he was honest, it quite pleased him. Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she looked up at him and then suddenly averted them to glance into the distance.

  'Very well, Miss Elizabeth, I thank you,' he bowed again, also acknowledging her sisters, whom all smiled back at him.

  'Are you running errands now as well?' Lydia piped in, taking another step and stopping right in front of him.

  'It would appear that way, Miss Lydia,' he smiled.

  'And where are you going?' the young girl dug deeper, all curious eagerness.

  'Lydia, stop being nosy,' Catherine whispered audibly enough to have him chuckle.

  'It is no secret, Miss Catherine, I am just on my way to the fishmonger to pass on Smith's orders and then I'll be posting some letters, nothing more.'

  With some consciousness he realised that Elizabeth Bennet had returned her gaze towards him, looking at him curiously.

  'But did John not take care of the mail already? Has something happened?'

  Oh no! He had not considered that many lower servants were all but illiterate... - and from her expression, it was obvious that she did not really believe that since the time they left the house that something serious had occurred.

  'No, nothing has happened,' he stammered, feeling himself blush under her scrutiny. 'I... - I have just written to my sister.'

  'You have a sister?' Lydia again asked unabashedly.

  'Yes, I have.'

  'Have you any brothers, too?'

  'No, only one sister and a handful of cousins.'

  'Are they living very far away?'

  This time it had been Miss Bennet who had asked, her face compassionate as she probably thought of him being so far away from his relations.

  'Some are in London, some are in Kent and Derbyshire and my sister is in Bath.'

  They had slowly begun to walk on, a group oddly mismatched and yet comfortable enough with the arrangement to not think it necessary to part just yet and even as they entered town no one seemed to wonder at the Miss Bennets being accompanied by one of their servants as if it was the most normal thing in the world. And it probably was. After all, many a male servant was charged to watch out for his mistress when out walking, though they usually lagged behind.

  'So you have learned how to write?' Miss Elizabeth dug a little deeper when her younger sisters were conveniently occupied staring into the window of the milliner's shop.

  'Yes. I had a very liberal master who had pride in having all of his servants educated well enough to know their alphabet,' Darcy thought fondly of his father as he spoke.

  And again it was nothing but the truth. While many a master did not like the thought of educating the lower classes, his father had never agreed with this sentiment and neither did he. The small school at Pemberley was by now a fixed establishment and there to stay.

  'And who was this liberal and wise man?'

  'Mr Darcy, Miss.'

  She obviously tried to recall the name but then slightly shook her head: 'I have to admit that I have never heard that name before, but then again, I assume he lives in London?'

  'Part of the time, Miss Elizabeth, the other he spends on his estate in Derbyshire,' he replied cautiously, not much liking the road their conversation went down.

  It was not so much that he did not want to tell her about Pemberley, it was more that he did not like that with every question it became more likely that half-truths would no longer be sufficient and he would have to resort to actual lying and deception which was something he did not like doing at all, only when it could not be avoided. It reminded him too much of his former childhood friend who h
ad done so habitually and disgustingly naturally.

  'You seem to think a great deal of the man,' she remarked archly. 'Is there a reason why you are no longer employed by him?'

  'There always is, Miss Elizabeth, I would venture to say. In my case, it was a personal matter that had nothing to do with my master nor my employment.'

  'Ha, you were unlucky in love!' Lydia Bennet had sneaked up on them again unexpectedly, unabashedly threading her arm through his though in a manner that was still so childish that it was impossible to take offence. 'You poor one! She must have been very daft then if she did not want a man as handsome as you.'

  'Lydia!' her three sisters cried in unison, shocked by her brazenness.

  And so was he at first. His face promptly turned a deeper shade of red from sheer embarrassment before the silliness of the situation took over and he started to laugh. Yes, actually laugh. No two ways about it, Lydia Bennet's behaviour was shocking, but it was also refreshingly open. And at any rate, his reaction had a soothing effect on the others who had begun to smile again, though their faces were still flushed charmingly from their initial mortification.

  Chapter 10

  Gravitation is not responsible for people falling in love.

  - Albert Einstein

  Was there anything more vexing than to think about something one had decided not to think about? Probably not and yet, here she sat once again on the stile where she had first met him: William. It was beyond her why it unsettled her slightly and why she shifted uncomfortably with her own confused conscience before leaning back again against the higher step of her seat letting her thoughts stray down a dangerous road, knowing that she would regret pondering on something as futile as this as soon as she was back home. But right now, it could not be helped. Her mind was in turmoil and thus Elizabeth Bennet gave in to the inevitable and let her thoughts wander.

  It had been on an impulse that she had suggested he should try his luck and ask for employment at Longbourn. With the sun to his back, she had not been able to make out his features properly then, well, almost not at all, but she had liked his voice. It was calm and gentle and had a pleasant lilt to it that had recommended him and watching him plough on with his duties, he most certainly was a hard worker. Polite he was, too, and he had wit, which was rather unexpected. That he could also read and write had astonished her, and she would have almost called him gentlemanly if it were not such a ridiculous notion to proclaim an under-gardener as such. Yet he had poise and also manners, there was little doubt about that. When he spoke it was, despite his thick, yet oh so pleasant Derbyshire-accent, in a way she had never heard any other servant ever use and he was well able to match her quickness and argue his point.

  In a sense, she agreed with Lydia. What a fool that woman, whoever she was, must have been to reject him. He was handsome, almost painfully so with his dark curly hair that always looked a little unruly, but charmingly so. His eyes were the deepest blue she had ever perceived in a human being and sparkling with intelligence. His nose was rather prominent, almost aristocratic, his chin showed a certain amount of stubbornness or more like a firmness of character while his mouth revealed humour and sensitivity and his smile was disarming, to say the least. When he laughed it was a warm joyous sound sending shivers down her spine despite herself, and she caught herself wishing to hear it more often.

  Then another thought struck her. What if that silly woman had been of society? What if it had been a scandal in the making? He did hold an attraction that made it possible, and yet, could she really believe that of him? He was not a flirt, as many a footman was. He never crossed the lines of decency, never turned familiar, other than Lydia - but perhaps he had once before, led by his heart...

  Vexing man! Even more vexing was that there was a hint of jealousy creeping up on her. It was ridiculous! He was nothing but a gardener. But the most handsome of his kind she had ever seen. No, he actually was the handsomest man she had ever laid eyes upon and his calm friendliness and kindness, for what else could it be called to not take offence over her youngest sister's brazenness but laugh instead, were so very pleasant.

  Yes, vexing man, indeed!

  But there was nothing to it, she longed to know more about him, though it was impossible to ask him directly. It was none of her business, to begin with, and it might raise suspicions as to her true feelings. What were those feelings anyway?

  She did not quite know, or rather did not dare to know. It was too close to affection for comfort. If she did not take care she would lose her heart and that was plain silly. She had too much sense to give in to her irrational feelings! Everyone expected it of her, she knew that very well. Yet, the heart was a treacherous thing to have... - And a more treacherous thing to lose.

  With a sigh Elizabeth Bennet rose from her perch and with an exasperated shrug of her shoulders began walking again with zeal and purpose, the latter being to direct her attention towards physical exercise and away from him. From William. William Hawthorne.

  But it was not to be, for no sooner had she stepped back onto Longbourn's grounds when her eyes fell on him as he gathered a couple of dry branches together he had just cut off a hawthorn bush. How befitting! He wore a leather apron, leather cuffs to protect his coat from the long thorns of the shrub, and gloves of the same material, an attire that hid his physique well. At least that was some consolation, for his figure beneath his clothes surely must be impressive. It was even so in the ragged clothes he always wore. He was tall, the tallest of the fellows working for them; his shoulders were broad and his arms surely strong, just as capable of holding a girl in an embrace as carrying a bundle of dead twigs.

  Again her heart ached at knowing that it could never be.

  'Silly goose!' she scolded herself, at first not realising she had spoken the words out loud.

  It was only when he turned that she realised her mistake.

  'Oh, Miss Elizabeth, I did not see you there,' he smiled, bowing as best as he could without dropping the bundle in his arms.

  Blast the man!

  'I have only just arrived. I was rambling about a little,' Elizabeth replied in a rather forced tone.

  'You sound vexed, if I may say so. Is something the matter?'

  'No. I just... - I just stumbled, that is all.'

  'Have you injured yourself?'

  'No, not at all, thank you, William.'

  He bowed again before returning to his work and leaving her to wander on. No, he would never approach a lady, he very obviously knew his place too well. Not even their accidental meeting on their walk to Meryton had made him any more familiar than was proper and if it had not been for them, he would have continued along the road on his own. But truthfully, as often as they had accompanied John or their maids, or even Peters when he went to visit his niece, she had then thought absolutely nothing of it. Now her opinion had changed. She had put herself in harm’s way. Not physical harm, but emotional. Harm not from him, but herself. Yes, very vexing man! Downright infuriating even.

  Chapter 11

  You have to walk carefully in the beginning of love; the running across fields into your lover's arms can only come later when you're sure they won't laugh if you trip.

  - Jonathan Carroll

  Still angry at herself for being so silly as to be in serious danger of falling for their new gardener's charms; charms he seemingly was completely unaware of and which made him all the more attractive due to that fact, Elizabeth rounded the corner of the house and almost ran into Jane.

  'Ah, there you are Lizzy! I have just come out looking for you in the hopes you had returned already. Mother is all excitement, for we have just received an invitation to another ball at the Assembly Hall,' Jane remarked in as dry a manner as she with all her natural goodness could muster, though she did roll her eyes for emphasis.

  Elizabeth appreciated the warning since it was always the same reaction her mother displayed at such news and it was, in general, better to be prepared before stepping into the house
and be caught wrong-footed.

  There was a ball in Meryton every month and each and every time their mother acted as if it was the most special occasion in the world and not a regular occurrence at all. The balls were pleasant enough at any rate, though there was little diversity in them. The society in and around Meryton was rather limited, and as of yet she had not met with a man she could seriously consider marrying. Yet to find husbands for her five daughters was the very reason their mother always worked herself up into quite a fit despite the fact that none of her daughters considered any of the men as more than a partner for the next dance.

  Frank Lucas was about Lizzy’s own age, but as immature at times as if he were twelve; Thomas Harris was only interested in wine and cards; Peter Ratcliffe was much the same, though he added being a decided rake to his other vices; and William Goulding the younger was far too devoid of humour and conversation to be borne for any length of time beyond a set. At least he was a good dancer who posed no danger to one's slippers. The other young men usually attending were the sons of merchants and reasonably wealthy farmers, not worth their consideration in any particular way according to their mother, although Philip Jones, the apothecary's son, was a nice enough chap. Dancing with him, usually was the highlight of Elizabeth's evening at a ball at the Assembly Hall.