“Sir, being married has not been easy for either of us, I am sure, especially considering our . . . special circumstances. My mind has been preoccupied with a particular problem. I find this difficult to address but I must beg of you to answer a question.”
“Anything.”
She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. It was not in her nature to mince words. “Why did you marry me?”
He took a step backward almost out of instinct. He had not been expecting that kind of question. Didn’t she know? How could she not see the depth that he felt for her? He had time after time found himself gazing at her longingly, he sought opportunities to be near her both emotionally and physically, he looked for ways to give her all that he had. Was that not enough? Could she really not know that I ardently love and admire her? If not, why not? What was stopping her from seeing his complete devotion? A chill ran through him. What was she really asking? Was she asking his motives in marrying her or was she asking him to explain why he didn’t allow Wickham to marry her?
Bile rose to his throat as he thought of the sight he had seen that night at Netherfield: that scoundrel with his arms around Elizabeth, kissing her in a way that declared nothing but filthy intent. If Wickham’s advances had been welcomed, then that could only mean Elizabeth admired Wickham and not him. His stomach tightened. He needed more time to change her mind and fall in love with him. He needed to allow her enough time to forget Wickham’s charms. Time, it just takes time. It was a thought which seemed to repeat itself quite frequently these days. She needs more time to learn to love me. “I promise to tell you, but not now. We must be getting back.”
“More promises? Give me at least a little insight into your reasoning, for I will not move an inch unless you do so.” She brought her hands to her hips once again. This time she would not let him escape her questions by making a vague promise. It had taken great courage to ask such a bold question and she expected an answer in return.
He stepped forward and lifted her left hand off her hip and examined it. It was so feminine: the fine white palm, the beautiful slim fingers, and the half-moons of her nails. He turned it over and looked at the ring he had placed on that very hand, his fingers absently caressing the back of the hand as he did so. He brought it to his lips and kissed the back of her hand, before he looked at her and then kissed the inside of her wrist. He had promised to tell her later, yet she demanded a little insight into his reasoning. She hadn’t specified that it had to be a verbal insight. He continued in silence as he took that hand and tucked it into his arm before starting to guide her back down the hill. Surprisingly she came willingly and silently. Was that enough insight for you? hewondered. Because I would be more than happy to attempt to be more insightful on your lips!
*****
True to her word, she always let someone know when and where she would be walking. She tried to avoid telling Mr. Darcy directly but he always seemed to unearth her plans, as well as to find the time to accompany her. By the fourth day in a row she started suspecting that the servants were under strict orders to notify Mr. Darcy whenever she would go out walking. She was surprised to find that she didn’t mind this as much as she thought she would. He was pleasant company, as well as very knowledgeable about his land and the surrounding villages. It became natural to accept his offered arm and guiding hand on the back of her elbow as they walked over more difficult terrain. It was usually easy conversation as well. It had been a week since they had come to Pemberley and Georgiana was due to join them today. Because of this, Elizabeth decided to tell Mr. Darcy directly of her plans to see the stables and barn, knowing he would accompany her, thus allowing him to be nearer to the house than their usual walks so he could watch for Georgiana’s arrival. He had been working with his steward all morning but he dismissed him as soon as Elizabeth entered the room.
“I understand you keep chickens,” she said as soon as his steward, Livingston, had left the room. Some part of her laughed at the plan she was about to carry out.
He looked at her quizzically. “Yes, they are out by the barn on the south side. Why do you ask?”
“I thought I would feed them some scraps the cook saved from yesterday,” she paused. “I thought perhaps you might like to join me.”
He did not know if she realized the import of it, but this was the first time she had invited him on any of her adventures. Usually she just informed him of her plans— or he was informed of them— and he would offer to accompany her. His heart skipped a beat. Did this mean they were making progress? “I honestly do not think I have ever fed the chickens myself. I believe I must see how it is done.” He closed his estate book and took up his greatcoat. He reached for her arm out of habit, but realized after a moment that her hands were holding a soiled linen bundle. He looked at the bundle with puzzlement.
She smiled and arched an eyebrow at him. “Your eyes are asking a question for you, Mr. Darcy. Perhaps you should let your lips relieve their curiosity.”
“Forgive me, but what are you holding? It is filthy!”
She let out a laugh. “I did warn you we would be feeding the chicken scraps! Do you doubt my honesty? Do not worry, for I assure you the very proper Mr. Darcy will not need to get his hands dirty. I know my way around chickens.”
He raised his eyebrow in return, but followed her out the door. Rain clouds threatened dark and heavy above them. He followed her until her pace slowed, and then caught up to her. He couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer, “May I ask how you know your way around chickens? I thought I married a gentleman’s daughter.” He smiled at her teasingly.
She pursed her lips together and “shushed” him. “Listen! Do you hear that?” She watched him halt and lean his head forward in silent contemplation. He then looked at her suspiciously, as if suspecting that she was only working to make a fool of him. She whispered, “Scratch scratch, peck peck. Scratch scratch, peck peck. Is it not amazing?”
What was amazing was how those lips looked so adorable as she shushed me! He could hear the chickens, but what made them so interesting? She must have seen his confusion, for she took his hand in hers before pulling him closer. He could see them now. He watched as she took his hand and maneuvered his fingers into a pointing gesture before she aimed it right at a black and white speckled chicken.
“That one, see how it found something in the ground? It is very determined to get what it wants. Hard work and fortitude eventually pays off,” she said.
Hard work and fortitude? Wasn’t that his personal motto he used in his own life? He was struck with a memory of using those exact words while he was riding Calypso at Netherfield. He watched her as she started calling out to the hens.
“Here chick-chick-chick! Here chick-chick-chick!”
Her voice was high and clipped, which made it sound more like a bird call than human words. He was amazed when all the chickens’ heads perked up and the scratching at the ground stopped. She called them again and they started running towards her. She opened the soiled linen and he saw pieces of meat, carrot shavings, potatoes, and cracked egg shells. “You are going to feed them egg shells? Is that not somewhat morbid?”
“Not at all,” Elizabeth said briskly. “They love it. It makes their shells stronger if you let them eat them. Watch, this is the part I love.” Elizabeth tossed the scraps out into the pen. She watched them peck at the food and shells, the rhythm of the eating calming her like it always did back home. She listened to the cooing of the hens and the occasional flap of the wings as a rooster threw its head back and displayed its colors and size for all to see. “See the rooster there?” She pointed him out to Darcy. “He is very proud and protective of his hens and sees you as a threat.”
“Me? Why me? Why aren’t you the threatening one?” he teased.
She turned her head towards him, surprise startling her out of her focus on the chickens. Is Mr. Darcy teasing me? Does he have a sense of humor underneath that stiff exterior? But then his kindness and generosity had taken h
er by surprise as well. “Because, sir, you are the Master of Pemberley. I have never known such a man who would stoop low enough to throw his chickens food and shells.” She smiled brightly at him. She no longer believed he was that proud man she had first met; however, it still didn’t surprise her that he had never fed the chickens before, not even as a child. “Or do you dare attempt such a task?”
“I would, but you seem to have thrown them all the food already.” He so enjoyed watching her tease him. The mirth in her eyes and mouth was balm to his battered heart. He was then not surprised when she challenged him.
“Fair enough,” she said with a smile at the corner of her mouth. “Come with me. The corn is in the barn and we shall see Fitzwilliam Darcy feed his chickens.” She took his hand to lead him into the barn.
“You obviously know the way,” Darcy said, amused at her confident direction. “How long have you been coming out here?”
“Every day, really.” She glanced back at him. “A few times a day. Do not fret, I can see the house from here and I did not get lost once!”
“Well, that explains why they know your . . . what would you call the sound you make when you call them?” He teased further.
“Oh no,” she said, “you shall not divert the attention to me, sir. This is your time to prove you can get your hands dirty. Here, pull out a handful of the corn and bring it over.” She waited for him to follow her command before she brought him to the gate and then inside. She laughed inwardly as he gingerly picked his way around in favor of clean portions of the ground. “Now bend over and hold your hand out.”
“Will they bite?”
“If they do, I would not worry, for my bite is worse than theirs.” She smiled saucily at him.
Was she openly flirting with him in the middle of a chicken pen? Who knew that chickens could be so interesting! Perhaps it is not the chickens that have got my attention! He saw she was waiting for him to do as he was told. He stretched out his hand to the nearest chicken but nothing happened. “I would wager it is you they love after all. They do not seem to like me.”
“You have to call to them.” She gave him the most sober expression she could muster. Would he take the bait and call to the chickens?
“Do be serious.” He saw her mischievous eyes and took a deep breath. Fair enough, I can do this. He made his deep voice mockingly rise to a falsetto pitch. “Here chick-chick-chick!”
She let out a hearty laugh then, wrapping her arms around her stomach in an attempt to contain it. All the chickens scurried over towards them. Mr. Darcy took a hasty step back. She reached out for him. “No, no, put your hand out and feed them, do not back down now! They are expecting food!” She spoke in between fits of laughter.
Darcy leaned over and put his hand out, watching in amazement as the chickens started pecking at the corn in his hand. Most of it was knocked from his palm and fell to the dirt. Soon the chickens were ignoring his hand and pecking at the dirt below it. He looked at Elizabeth and smiled. Never before had he felt so comfortable with her; he was having quite a bit of fun. She was watching the chickens intensely. Then she looked at him with all seriousness.
“I find it relaxing to come out here. It is mesmerizing.” She turned her gaze back at the chickens.
“Yes, it is.” Mr. Darcy said. His gaze, however, was fixed on Elizabeth, watching the curve of her delicate cheek as she smiled.
“I want to show you one other thing.” She reached for his hand again, not caring in the slightest that it was covered in corn dust. She led him into the barn again and lifted up a small nest box door.
“Are we harvesting eggs now, Mrs. Darcy?” He couldn’t believe how alive this made him feel. He could roll around in the muck with her by his side and he would still be this happy.
“Oh no! Not these eggs,” she whispered.
She shushed him again with her perfectly plump lips. He found it difficult to focus on the task at hand, chickens or none. He lowered his voice to match hers. “Then what are we doing looking in a nest box?” She pointed inside the nest box and he could see a yellow hen sitting placidly. She then reached in and lifted the hen up, just enough to let Darcy see that there were about half a dozen eggs nestled under her. Elizabeth carefully lowered the hen back down on the eggs and closed the nest box door.
She walked a few feet away before she spoke in normal tones. “She is broody and does not leave the nest box except two or three times a day and even then only for very short periods of time. There are seven eggs.”
Darcy could feel the moment coming to an end. She had shown him everything. They had laughed, and teased, and flirted, and he had learned about something that was precious to her. He did not want it to stop, but could hardly think of what to say. “I was under the impression that chicks hatch in the spring. It is nearing late autumn.”
Her smile faded slightly. “You are correct, but that hen in there wants to raise chicks right now. It is an instinct that cannot be stopped. Nature has guided her to this place, and her own convenience or the fact that it has happened not on her timetable does not matter. She is literally forced to sit on those eggs until they hatch. The real question you are asking is, can baby chicks survive the winter?” She watched as he silently shrugged his shoulders. “The answer is yes, but only if they get their feathers before the winter storms hit.”
She looked at him intensely. He had the feeling that they were no longer discussing chickens. If they weren’t, then what were they talking about? He felt like he had missed some crucial moment. Sure enough, the moment had concluded and he watched as Elizabeth turned to head back to the house. Her head was down slightly and she was silent. He turned over the last things she had said, but none of it made any sense to him, except directly relating to the hen and the chicks. He calculated how long they had until the winter snows came. It was probably less than two months. He wished he could ask her more about the chicks but the moment had passed, and she was well on her way back to the house. What else could she have been talking about?
*****
The rains came hard and fast that afternoon. Mr. Darcy stood in his library, pondering the education on his own chickens, the enigma that was his wife, and the upcoming arrival of his sister. After some time, he walked to the window, feeling a twinge of worry at how hard the rain was coming down. Georgiana was on the road but how early they left he did not know. These kind of rains, he knew, slowed travel quite a bit. It was getting dark outside and he briefly considered heading towards town to make sure everyone was safe, but that wouldn’t help anyone. It would only mean there would be two carriages rolling through the mud.
A knock came at the door, interrupting his anxious thoughts. “Enter.”
His butler came in and bowed. “The carriage has been spotted, sir, and it should be here shortly.”
“Thank you, Reynolds,” Darcy said, glad for an excuse to close the book he had been attempting to read. He pulled on his jacket and fastened it as he walked to the front door that Reynolds already held open. He had about two yards of covered porch to stand under or he would be fairly drenched. He could see the carriage now as it wobbled from side to side significantly under the influence of the rain, but the driver guided it away from the more difficult areas of the road. At last it pulled up to the front. The groomsman sprang into action with an umbrella to shield Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley. Darcy waited anxiously as she came up the steps.
Georgiana looked up at him. She had never been so relieved to be home. “Brother!” It was as if her arms had a mind of their own, for it was barely two seconds later that she flung them around his neck. She clung to him as if he was the only thing that mattered in the world. He was! Her shoulders started to shake and her chest hurt as the tears burst forth. She was home, and now he would make everything right. She was sure of it.
“Georgie, I have missed you as well,” he said soothingly, but as she continued to sob, he frowned. “But we have not been apart much more than three weeks! Why all the tears?” He w
rapped his arms around her. Would he ever understand the mind of a lady? It seemed Elizabeth spoke in nothing but confusing riddles, while Georgiana said nothing at all! He heard the front door open again.
Elizabeth pulled her shawl around her shoulders. “Welcome home, Georgiana!” Why were they standing out in the rain? After a moment she recognized the intensity of Georgiana’s distress, and she met Mr. Darcy’s eyes questioningly. His expression looked just as bewildered as Elizabeth felt. She stood by and watched silently as Fitzwilliam held Georgiana close and brushed her hair away from her tearstained face, then murmured kind words and reassurances into her ear. She could almost hear Georgiana’s breathing slow and become calmer. Were all the homecomings this emotionally charged? After a few moments, the wind changed direction slightly, sending fat raindrops to angle in on the brother and sister. Fitzwilliam began to coax her towards the door, all the while eyeing Elizabeth pleadingly. She looked back mutely at him. What do you want me to do? She just needs her brother, not her new sister!
“Come Georgie, we held dinner until you arrived,” he said soothingly, before trying to lighten her mood. “Are you going to make me go hungry? You know how I get when I get hungry.” He brought her into the dining room. Georgiana reluctantly sat down, but her hands refused to let go of his waistcoat. It was only when he reached in his pocket and took out his handkerchief that her hand finally released him. She held the handkerchief tightly in her hands as her tears continued to roll down her face.
She looked up at Elizabeth and offered her a weak smile. “I am so sorry, Elizabeth. I do not mean to be such a watering pot! You must not think too ill of me. My brother has often seen me in this state, but I am afraid you have not and I am terribly embarrassed.”
Elizabeth put a hand on her shoulder. “The road must have been terrible on that last stretch, for it has been raining this hard here for over an hour.” Elizabeth took off her shawl and placed it on Georgiana’s shoulders, bringing it together under her bowed chin. She used this opportunity to lift the sad face and look at it. Georgiana’s eyes had dark bags under them and she was pale. She looked like she had not eaten well nor slept well and the usual shine in her eyes held only the gloss of tears, not true happiness. What has happened? Elizabeth became quite concerned the more she evaluated her face. New tears slipped out of the corner of Georgiana’s eyes. Elizabeth took the handkerchief out of her hand and dabbed at her cheeks with Mr. Darcy’s handkerchief. She suddenly remembered Mr. Darcy doing the same thing to her just a few weeks ago. Had her emotions been so intense on the day of her wedding that she didn’t recognize what such a kind and loving gesture it was? She looked at Fitzwilliam. For a moment their eyes met and she was overcome with an urge to tell him thank you for his sensitivity during such a dark moment in her life. Oh, how he must think I hate him! She promised herself that she would express her gratitude in the next possible moment.
Mr. Darcy's Promise Page 15
