Darcy’s gaze fell to his booted feet. Yes, Elizabeth was as delightful as he had tried to forget.
‘Brother?’ Darcy looked up. ‘Your intentions towards Miss Latimer...’
‘Remain unaltered.’
‘I see.’
Darcy frowned. ‘I am not blind to your uneasiness at how little acquainted you are with Miss Latimer, but that will lessen once she arrives and you begin to spend time together.’
‘Yes, of course; but...’ Georgiana bit her lip.
‘But?’
‘I fear showing disrespect.’
‘You could never be disrespectful, my dear.’
‘So be it.’ She leaned over and took one of his hands in hers. ‘When you informed me of... of Miss Bennet and what happened, you spoke of her in such terms...’
‘Go on.’
Georgiana’s countenance was troubled. ‘There was such warmth in your words and manner, despite the despair over the failure of your intentions. You spoke passionately of a young lady full of life, vivacity and possessing an agile, intelligent mind, and I saw nothing to the contrary this morning. You speak so rarely of Miss Latimer, and then only in terms of her suitability.’
There was truth in this; how else was he to respond?
‘Forgive me, Brother.’ Georgiana laid her other hand upon his arm and squeezed it gently. ‘I have no desire to bring you pain.’
‘I am quite well.’ Darcy smiled reassuringly as his sister settled back into her seat. ‘The admiration I once felt for Miss Bennet was never reciprocated, as you know. Besides, it is not possible to compare the ladies, nor should we do so. Miss Bennet is part of the past. Let us think only of the future.’
‘But Fitz, the lady is not indifferent to you.’
‘Georgiana!’
Heeding his warning tone, his sister cast him an apologetic glance, and Darcy turned to stare out of the window at the passing hedgerows. He must firmly quash this tentative resurgence of feelings; the sooner his party of guests arrived and distraction prevailed the better!
Chapter Seventeen
When Elizabeth returned to the drawing room, Jane turned from the window, and though her countenance was free of guile, there was a sparkle in her eye.
‘Did Mr Darcy forget something?’
Elizabeth, still struggling to understand why she was so affected by her brief interaction with the gentleman, shrugged lightly and walked over to her usual seat.
‘Nothing of consequence. Alice wished me to return his neck cloth from the other night.’
The humour in Jane’s eye was still apparent, and Elizabeth grabbed Kitty’s letter from the side table and waved it at her sister. ‘Did you read Kitty’s latest? They seem so happy. She is asking if our cook has a receipt for flummery. It seems the school, as well as grooming them in the finer accomplishments, is not forsaking the practical either.’
Jane took the seat opposite. ‘You read it to me in its entirety only yesterday. Do you not recall?’
Elizabeth dropped the letter back on the table. ‘Oh! Yes, of course. Well, shall we resume our flower gathering?’
‘Why are you so out of sorts?’
Elizabeth got to her feet, then sat again. ‘I know not what you mean.’
‘Dear Lizzy!’ Jane stood up and held out her hand. ‘Come; let us take a turn about the garden. Perchance the fresh air will aid your understanding.’
Neither of them spoke for a while as they strolled arm in arm about the charming garden. Though it was now the first days of September and the leaves on the trees were beginning to turn, there was still plenty of colour, with trailing roses on the walls, and Michaelmas daisies and late-blooming anemones in the flower beds.
Despite the pleasant scene, Elizabeth blew out a frustrated breath. ‘Tiresome man. Why must he be calling so often?’
Jane squeezed her sister’s arm gently. ‘You know his purpose; Miss Darcy wished to be introduced to our acquaintance, and he acceded. And his sister seemed perfectly charming, though I spoke so little with her.’
This, Elizabeth could not deny. ‘Indeed, she is. A little shyness exists, but she became quietly confident when put at her ease.’ Then, she frowned. ‘I can still recall Wickham’s words, how he described her as extremely proud and how he claimed he wished he could call her amiable. Is it not unfathomable?’
‘You once considered her brother excessively proud and far from amiable.’
‘Yes, but that was before... I mean, that was... I...’ Elizabeth threw her sister a helpless glance. ‘What do I mean, Jane?’
Jane turned her sister to face her. ‘I think you know perfectly well; you are afraid of uttering the words.’
‘Then let us speak of other matters. You were in earnest conversation with Mr Darcy. Did you discover what it was he wished to speak of yesterday?’
‘I did. It was as I thought—Mr Bingley is coming to Pemberley.’
Elizabeth’s brow rose. ‘Why could he not have said so in general conversation?’
Jane turned to continue walking and Elizabeth fell into step beside her.
‘I know you do not wish to give Mr Darcy credit for anything, but unless I am vastly mistaken, I believe he wished to impart the intelligence without an audience—as best he could.’
‘And pray, what did Mr Darcy have to say of his elusive friend?’
Jane smiled. ‘Mr Bingley will arrive on the morrow for a fortnight.’
‘And his sisters? Does Miss Bingley, or even Mrs Hurst, accompany him?’
‘I know not; he spoke only of Mr Bingley.’
An impish smile touched Elizabeth’s lips. ‘It was a long conversation for such a short declaration!’
‘That was not all. He—he has told me everything.’
Elizabeth blinked. ‘Everything?’
‘Do not assume so innocent a look, Lizzy. You know to what I refer, though you did not choose to confide all in me.’
Turning to stare across the neat lawns, Elizabeth struggled to suppress her surprise and, truth be told, gratitude towards the gentleman for his honesty. Then, suddenly she shuddered as her skin prickled, overcome with the sensation of being watched, and she glanced quickly around.
‘Lizzy?’
‘Forgive me, Jane.’ Elizabeth turned back to meet her sister’s enquiring gaze as they continued along the gravelled walk. ‘Let me understand you; Mr Darcy told you he knowingly separated you from his friend?’
‘He did.’
‘How singular, and in such a setting! What could he mean by it? Was it not too uncomfortable?’
‘He did not make it so; I was a little taken aback, but then became quite at ease. Besides, how else could he impart something, which seemed of high importance to him to reveal? I suspect his seizing the chance this morning was due to his friend’s imminent arrival.’
‘Then you know it all; he had the temerity to allow his conviction of your indifference to be sound, and his words carried weight with Mr Bingley.’
‘You cannot lay all the blame at Mr Darcy’s feet, Lizzy. I am not overt with my affections. Can it be a surprise a total stranger does not detect where my heart may lie? And think, Lizzy! What of the other person in all of this.’
‘Yes,’ Elizabeth sighed. ‘I have had plenty of time to reflect upon it. Mr Bingley should not have been so easily persuaded.’
‘Perhaps if he was so, then his inclination was not as strong as you believed. And to be fair, Lizzy, you did try to convince me of the depth of his feelings, of his being in love with me despite Miss Bingley’s insinuations to the contrary. We are all guilty, not just one of us. If you must place blame, then place it in four equal shares.’
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. ‘You forget my suspicions over that woman! I do not consider her an innocent in all of this.’
‘No, I know you do not, but you have no proof, whereas Mr Darcy has owned his interference and his belief in my indifference; I acknowledge I did not openly display my interest; Mr Bingley was persuaded away from an
y interest he may have had and you tried to convince me he felt more than perhaps he did.’
‘Why are you so reasonable?’ Elizabeth let out a rueful laugh. ‘Dear Jane, all I can do is apologise for my share in any distress you were caused.’
‘Do not think on it. It is all in the past.’
‘But I still do not believe Mr Darcy free of all culpability in our present circumstances.’
‘No, dear Lizzy,’ Jane smiled gently at her sister. ‘You would not.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You cannot forgive him for keeping his counsel and the subsequent repercussions; you wish still to lay blame for all that has happened at his door.’ Jane hesitated. ‘Mr Darcy did speak of him.’
‘Wickham? Good heavens; how so?’
‘He was most discreet, but he wished to understand whether or not Wickham was the Militia man who persuaded Lydia to elope.’
Jane drew Elizabeth to a halt and turned to face her. ‘I must own, I always liked Mr Darcy, and nothing has altered.’
‘Why can you think ill of no one, dear Jane? Especially Mr Darcy, after all that has transpired?’
‘Because I do not. As for Mr Darcy, I prefer to see the good in him, and you see it too. You just do not wish to.’
Elizabeth walked on to the corner of the house and stared down the drive to where the Darcy carriage had stood. Her sister was unfailingly accurate.
‘Lizzy?’
Turning about, Elizabeth smiled weakly. ‘You see all my faults.’
Jane hurried to her side and took her hands. ‘These are not faults! I am trying to help you!’
With a quick squeeze of her sister’s hands, Elizabeth turned them both about, and they began to retrace their steps. ‘Then tell me; what is it you think I wish but will not own?’
‘Mr Darcy offended your pride, yet he has repaid the debt ten-fold by falling in love with you and then being rejected—soundly.’ Elizabeth bit her lip as Jane continued. ‘You told me of Mr Darcy’s letter, though I know now you did not reveal all.’
‘What would you have had me do? I did not wish to pain you further by confirming the depth of Mr Bingley’s regard for you.’
‘And I respect your choice, Lizzy. But that letter revealed much to you, did it not, about the gentleman you had misunderstood and the one you had mistakenly admired?’
‘A lesson hard learned; and I promise you, I have learned from it.’
‘Yet you will not allow Mr Darcy to be the gentleman you know him to be. With all the evidence before you now you live in his neighbourhood, on his estate, still you resist.’
Elizabeth could not help but smile. ‘And you, dear Jane, will now enlighten me?’
‘It is my belief you hold the blame you insist on laying upon Mr Darcy for Wickham’s deeds and their repercussions as a barrier between you. It is your defence, for you like him; you like the gentleman quite well enough.’
Wrapping her arms about her middle, Elizabeth was conscious of her own culpability. ‘Why is the truth so bearable unless it relates to oneself?’ She smiled ruefully, but then they both turned about as a voice hailed them from behind, and Mr Wentworth came towards them from the driveway.
‘Miss Bennet; Miss Elizabeth.’ They exchanged acknowledgements before he turned to address Jane. ‘Could I presume upon your kindness? Thatcher is in a bad way. I have sent for the apothecary, though I fear little is to be done, but his wife’s confinement means she cannot assist. I have the curricle waiting if you are able to oblige?’
‘I shall be with you directly.’ Jane hurried away, and Elizabeth walked with Mr Wentworth towards the rear of the house to await her return.
‘If there is anything I can do to assist, sir, please give me an occupation.’
‘You are kind, ma’am. If it is not too much to ask, would you be able to get a message up to the House?’
‘The house?’
‘Pemberley, ma’am. If you could notify Rivers, he will ensure Mr Darcy is informed.’
Elizabeth frowned. ‘But Mr Darcy is gone for the day; to Matlock.’
‘He will still wish to have the earliest knowledge, even if it awaits his return this evening.’
‘Then I will deliver the message to Mr Rivers myself.’ Excusing herself and leaving Mr Wentworth to await Jane, Elizabeth walked towards the back of the house. Recalling the sudden sensation of being watched, she glanced towards the bushes across the lawn. There was nothing to see; no movement came, and with a dismissive shrug, she turned to enter the house.
~o0o~
It rained hard in the night, but Darcy awoke early to sunlight filtering through the drapes. Though he had slept, he did not feel rested, his night peppered with incomplete dreams and long periods of wakefulness, a stream of interminable thoughts flowing through his mind.
‘Did you not see it? The lady is not indifferent to you!’
Why could he not dismiss Georgiana’s words? Why did they haunt him so, teasing him with whispers of that foolish word: hope?
Over and over, as he lay through the early hours, Darcy had dwelled upon Elizabeth. Yes, he had detected some sort of consciousness in her the previous morning—but what of it? Not only had he proved his ineptness at reading a lady’s air and countenance over Jane Bennet, but had he not also shown himself to be the most witless simpleton of all, in believing Elizabeth to be expecting—nay, welcoming—his addresses at Rosings last year?
He was none the wiser now in reading the lady’s wishes. Not indifferent? Darcy had almost laughed aloud. To be certain, the lady was far from indifferent when she rejected him! He would be better served in turning his attention to more pressing matters than dwelling upon his foolish, disappointed hopes.
Returning from Matlock in the midst of a rainstorm to intelligence of Thatcher’s demise had further disturbed his slumber. Accidents on the estate were rare, yet Darcy felt personally responsible whenever they occurred. His priority this morning must be a call upon the family.
Once bathed, and dressed to Thornton’s satisfaction, Darcy walked over to one of the windows of his chamber. It looked out over the River Derwent as it snaked under the stone bridge leading up to the stables, and he quickly noted the brisk wind sending clouds gambolling across the sky and drying out the sodden ground. He would take his mount for a gallop across the fields, and call at Thatcher’s cottage on the way.
~o0o~
‘Jane, where is Lizzy?’
Looking up from her needlework, Jane smiled at her father. ‘Gone walking, Papa.’
Mr Bennet frowned. ‘What is she thinking? She knows full well we are to call at Pemberley. Miss Darcy’s attention merits a swift return of the compliment.’
Jane did her best to assume innocence. ‘Oh dear; perhaps she has forgotten.’
With a resigned air, Mr Bennet shook his head. ‘My dear, I understand you passed a long day yesterday, but I doubt very much you will have forgotten how hotly your sister and I debated the matter over supper.’
Putting her needlework aside, Jane got to her feet and joined her father by the door.
‘I am sure she will return directly, Papa. You know how she hates to give up her morning walk.’
Mr Bennet patted his daughter gently on the shoulder. ‘Always so reasonable, my dear. You are quite right.’ He glanced over at the long case clock in the corner. ‘Should she return within a half hour, we may still have time to go.’
He left the room and Jane sighed wearily as she resumed her seat. It had indeed been a long day yesterday, and a sad one. Further, her sister had made it plain she did not wish to call at Pemberley, and it was highly unlikely Elizabeth would return to The Grange until she knew the acceptable hour for doing so was safely passed.
Chapter Eighteen
Elizabeth had restricted her customary brisk pace, determined to ensure her walk lasted longer than usual. She understood the inevitability of having to call at Pemberley; indeed, her father would brook no refusal on the morrow, she was certain.
/> Yet how she wished she did not have to go. The house held a significant place in Elizabeth’s memory, one she had clung to through all the difficult weeks last year. Mr Darcy’s letter may have opened her eyes, revealing how deeply she had misunderstood his character; yet visiting his home, listening to his housekeeper’s favourable account of him as a master and a brother, had resulted in a tumult of emotion as Elizabeth toured the house, one which might once have become her home.
Her pace slowed further as the lane began to border woodland. She cherished the memory of that visit, or more precisely, the moment. It had been a day of pleasure the like of which she had never seen follow, with news of Lydia’s elopement coming so soon after.
Would it not supplant it entirely, to enter Mr Darcy’s home as a tenant on his estate rather than a passing visitor, bent upon enjoyment? Jane had tried to persuade her otherwise. They were still the daughters of a gentleman, after all, and though their own estate was let to another, it remained in her father’s ownership, and thus their family home. Yet Elizabeth felt things her sister could not understand, her connection to Mr Darcy being so different.
She frowned as she walked on. Jane was full of wisdom—did her sister have the right of it in this, as in other things? And was she using her disapproval of Mr Darcy, the culpability she laid yet at his door, as protection? But against what?
Before she could speculate further, Elizabeth stopped, then strained to listen. Yes—she had heard something, a high-pitched whining, and turning about, she followed the bridleway she had just passed up into the woods, soon coming upon the source.
‘You poor thing!’ she exclaimed as she cautiously approached a worn looking hound, its rear legs sunk into a muddy bog which had formed beneath the overhanging branches. The hound’s tired yelps had become a whimper, and feeling bolder, Elizabeth edged nearer, and then she noticed the piece of string about his neck. A makeshift lead, perhaps? Whatever its purpose, it had become entangled with the branches, fixing the poor creature in its present dilemma.
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