Elizabeth awoke the next morning to the same thoughts and meditations, which had at length closed her eyes. She could not yet recover from the surprise of what happened; it was impossible to think of anything else, and, totally indisposed for employment, she resolved soon after breakfast to indulge herself in air and exercise.
She was proceeding directly to her favorite walk, when the recollection of Mr. Darcy’s sometimes coming there stopped her, and instead of entering the park, she turned up the lane that led her farther from the turnpike road. The park paling was still the boundary on one side, and she soon passed one of the gates into the ground.
After walking two or three times along that part of the lane, the pleasantness of the morning tempted her to stop at the gates and look into the park. The five weeks she passed in Kent made a great difference in the country, and every day added to the verdure of the early trees. She was on the point of continuing her walk, when she caught a glimpse of a gentleman within the sort of grove that edged the park; he was moving her way; and fearful of its being Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth directly retreated. But the person who advanced was now near enough to see her, and stepping forward with eagerness, pronounced her name.
Elizabeth turned away, but on hearing herself called, though in a voice which proved it to be Mr. Darcy, she moved again towards the gate.
He had by that time reached it also, and holding out a letter, which she instinctively took, said with a look of haughty composure, “I have been walking in the grove some time in the hope of meeting you. Will you do me the honor of reading that letter?”
And then, with a slight bow, he turned again into the plantation and was soon from sight.
With no expectation of pleasure, but with the strongest curiosity, Elizabeth opened the letter, and, to her still increasing wonder, perceived an envelope containing several sheets of letter paper, written quite through in a very close hand. Pursuing her way along the lane, she began her reading.
* * *
It was all Darcy could do to walk away from Elizabeth Bennet. All his hopes of knowing happiness rested in the woman. Certainly he would claim another to wife for Darcy owed his family name an heir for Pemberley, but another would never claim more than his name. As he took his chosen mate to bed to beget a son, Darcy would close his eyes and imagine Elizabeth beneath him. His actions would not speak well of him, and Darcy would regret them, but he knew it would be so.
In emotional disturbance, he stumbled upon the path, and for a moment Darcy thought to seek Miss Elizabeth out and beg her to reconsider. He lifted his eyes to the new day, but it would not prove fair for him. Darcy would return to the loneliness that haunted him for years. The blood still rushed through his veins, but no life sprung from his chest. Darcy thought Elizabeth a treasure to cherish, but he erred.
The realization was more than he could bear. Darcy wished to rail at the world. To cry for his loss. To pray for a different outcome. Yet, as a man of many responsibilities, such luxury of self-indulgence was not afforded to his ilk.
* * *
If Elizabeth, when Mr. Darcy gave her the letter, did not expect it to contain a renewal of his offers, she formed no expectation at all of its contents. But such as they were, it may well be supposed how eagerly she went through the missive, and what a contrariety of emotions the man’s words excited. Her feelings as she read were scarcely to be defined.
“How dare he?” Elizabeth murmured more than once.
She read with an unexplained eagerness, which hardly left her power of comprehension; and, from impatience of knowing what the next sentence might bring; she was incapable of attending to the sense of the one before her eyes. Mr. Darcy expressed no regret for what he did to Jane and Mr. Bingley, and his words smacked of pride and insolence; yet, Elizabeth’s feelings remained more acutely painful and more difficult to define. Astonishment. Apprehension. Wonder. And even horror. She wished to discredit Mr. Darcy’s words entirely, but a part of her claimed his recital as worthy.
Flustered by the honesty with which the gentleman spoke, Elizabeth placed the letter in a pocket.
“I shan’t look upon it again,” she declared. “I will not regard it. When the opportunity arrives, I shall burn it.”
In a perturbed state of mind, with thoughts that could rest on nothing, Elizabeth walked on, but it would not do. In half a minute, she retrieved the letter from its hiding place. Collecting herself as well as she could, she read Mr. Darcy’s letter again.
Elizabeth was struck by the impropriety of what the letter held in regards to her appraisal of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham. Elizabeth wondered how the feelings of both men escaped her previously. She noted the indelicacy of putting himself forward as Mr. Darcy did–of the means by which the gentleman described the anguish of the betrayal in which she unconsciously participated. The inconsistencies of the conduct of all concerned screamed her name.
That as proud and repulsive as were Mr. Darcy’s manners, Elizabeth never in the whole course of their acquaintance–an acquaintance which latterly brought them much together and which gave her a sort of intimacy with his ways–saw anything that betrayed Mr. Darcy to be unprincipled or unjust–that among his connections he was esteemed and valued.
Although Mr. Darcy’s letter shocked her, Elizabeth could not help but to place the blame of the gentleman’s despair upon her shoulders.
After wandering along the lane for two hours, giving way to every variety of thought, reconsidering events, determining probabilities, and reconciling herself, as well as she could, to a change of sudden and so important, fatigue and a recollection of her long absence made Elizabeth, at length, return to Hunsford Cottage.
She entered the house with the wish of appearing cheerful as usual and the resolution of repressing such reflections as must make her unfit for conversation.
“Lizzy, I worried for you,” Charlotte said in concern. “I thought to send Mr. Collins to search you out.”
“Forgive me, Charlotte. I discovered a beautiful meadow filled with a variety of the most exquisite wildflowers,” Elizabeth stated boldly. “I could not resist their appeal.”
Elizabeth’s remark was not a complete fabrication. Only last week, Mr. Darcy shared the meadow his mother once claimed as a favorite at Rosings. Elizabeth’s thoughts drifted again to the enigma known as “Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
“I forgot the time,” she finished on a rush.
“You shall be sorry,” Maria Lucas chastised, “for Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam called to offer their farewells.”
“Farewells?”
Elizabeth found a frown of disappointment claiming her forehead. She held no desire to encounter Mr. Darcy again so soon, but Elizabeth could not shove away the feeling of regret creeping into her chest.
“I did not know the gentlemen meant to depart so soon.”
Charlotte took up her sister’s tale.
“Mr. Darcy remained only for a few minutes before he took his leave, but the colonel tarried for nearly an hour, hoping for your return.”
“The colonel expressed a desire to walk after you,” Maria said in awe. “Imagine engendering the attentions of an earl’s son.”
Elizabeth’s thoughts were not of Lord Matlock’s son, but rather his nephew.
“I am sorry to miss them,” she declared, and despite her dread of another meeting with Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth meant her words.
Elizabeth possessed no idea of how she could look Mr. Darcy in the eye after reading his letter; yet, she did not like the idea of never knowing the gentleman again.
“if you will pardon me, I shall place my cloak in my room and then rejoin you so we might continue the sampler Charlotte wishes to send to Lady Lucas,” Elizabeth said with practiced courtesy.
“Why do you not leave your cloak on the peg by the door?” Maria observed.
“Because I mean to brush the dust from the hem once the morning dew dries,” Elizabeth countered.
She hurried away before Maria could lodge another objectio
n.
Inside the small bedroom, Elizabeth fished Mr. Darcy’s letter from where she concealed it beneath her arm. Her cloak hid all traces of the cream-colored paper against her brown day dress. She slid Mr. Darcy’s missive between layers of her unmentionables. She would make an excuse to return to the room later to secure the letter and perhaps read it again. The wonder of it all mortified her while making Elizabeth quite giddy.
Chapter Two
The moment Elizabeth opened the door to the room and spotted the pale countenance of Maria Lucas, she knew her world tilted upon its points. Maria held Mr. Darcy’s letter in her hands.
“What are you about?” she demanded as she attempted to conjure up an appropriate excuse for the letter’s presence in her belongings.
Maria jumped in surprise. A flush of color spread across the girl’s cheeks.
“Oh, Lizzy, I am so sorry. I searched for the green ribbon you borrowed two nights prior.”
The letter fluttered in the air as Maria gestured to the dresser they shared. As foolish as it would sound to others, Elizabeth prayed Maria’s handling of the letter did not damage it.
“I did not mean to intrude,” the girl pleaded.
Elizabeth closed the door behind her.
“Yet, you did intrude on my privacy.”
Maria glanced to the still open drawer containing Elizabeth’s intimate wear.
“This letter,” the girl whispered through her bewilderment. “It is from Mr. Darcy.”
Elizabeth fought the urge to groan.
“It is,” she said simply.
Maria lifted the pages as if to read from them.
“Who would think stuffy old Mr. Darcy could write such a letter?” Maria declared in awe.
Elizabeth crossed the short space to snatch the pages from the girl’s fingers.
“Still waters carve a deep path to reach the river,” she snapped.
Elizabeth had no idea why she defended the man, but she strongly disliked the idea of anyone calling Mr. Darcy “stuffy,” but her.
“Mr. Darcy is in love,” Maria continued as if Elizabeth offered no response.
“Perhaps,” she said enigmatically as she unconsciously smoothed the pages to refold them.
“No perhaps about it,” Maria protested. “Mr. Darcy is violently in love with…”
Maria gasped for air, and Elizabeth braced her shoulders against the accusation. She had not had time enough to analyze Mr. Darcy’s professions of affections.
“In love with…Miss Bennet. With your sister Jane. Did Mr. Darcy ask you to serve as courier? Is that the reason you always disclaim the gentleman’s worth?”
The girl’s words stunned Elizabeth, and it took several elongated seconds before she drew her wits about her.
“I assure you, Maria, that Mr. Darcy does not speak of Jane,” she said evenly.
“But the letter is addressed to Miss Bennet, and it speaks of another man not your sister’s equal. Surely Mr. Darcy speaks of Mr. Bingley’s connections to trade,” Maria reasoned. “I never thought of Mr. Bingley’s wealth still being a detriment to his attentions to Miss Bennet, but now I understand Mr. Bingley’s quick withdrawal from Netherfield after his ball.”
Elizabeth shook her head in the negative before sighing heavily in resignation.
“While in Kent, I am Miss Bennet to Lady Catherine and her household,” Elizabeth argued. “Without doubt, you heard Her Ladyship address me as such.”
Maria’s gaze ran over Elizabeth’s dowdy appearance.
“Why would Mr. Darcy write such a passionate letter to you?”
“Ask your sister,” Elizabeth said testily. “Charlotte remarked more than once of late upon the gentleman’s growing regard for me.”
“Which you denied,” Maria said suspiciously.
“I did not recognize Mr. Darcy’s regard,” Elizabeth said honestly.
“What will you do about Mr. Darcy’s ardor?” Maria demanded. “Unless you mean to marry him–unless there is an understanding, Mr. Darcy should not speak to you with so much familiarity.”
Elizabeth replaced the letter in the drawer and closed it. She cursed herself for being so lackadaisical in regards to the letter’s security.
“Is there any hope you could forget you saw the letter?” she asked cautiously.
Maria’s frown lines deepened.
“It is not proper, Lizzy. A gentleman should not take such liberties. You are a gentleman’s daughter, not a woman the man means to make his mistress.”
Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed.
“Would you permit me to speak to Charlotte before anyone learns of this letter, especially my cousin? Mr. Collins would take umbrage with my drawing Mr. Darcy’s regard from Miss De Bourgh. This situation must be treated with discretion.”
“Mr. Darcy must be made to speak an honest proposal, Lizzy,” the girl asserted.
Elizabeth thought of last evening’s confrontation with the gentleman.
“Trust me, Maria. Mr. Darcy did exactly that.”
* * *
Two days later, over Lady Catherine’s instructions that a proper young lady would not act so foolishly, Elizabeth took the public coach to London. Her Uncle Gardiner would have sent his carriage for her, but there was no time for the luxury of a private coach. Charlotte agreed that Elizabeth must speak to Mr. Darcy as quickly as possible, and so Elizabeth and her long time friend constructed a tale of Mrs. Gardiner taking ill and requiring Elizabeth’s assistance.
Thankfully, Mr. Collins did not recall that Jane remained at Gracechurch Street, and Elizabeth could be spared if there were a true need for a caretaker.
“I shall write to Mama to say I mean to keep Maria with me an extra sennight,” Charlotte assured. “That should provide you time to convince Mr. Darcy to renew his affections.”
Elizabeth was not so certain. She provided Charlotte an abbreviated version of the gentleman’s proposal, but at much as Elizabeth wished for a second opportunity to know Mr. Darcy better, she doubted the gentleman would be so inclined. Who would believe that the always-practical Elizabeth Bennet would succumb to Mr. Darcy’s pretty words of devotion?
Her family welcomed her with surprised exclamations, but they readily accepted her excuse of Sir William’s upcoming return to Kent as the reason for Elizabeth’s early departure.
“I could not subject Charlotte to another banishment to Mr. Collins’ quarters,” she said with a mischievous shutter. “This way, Maria can move in with Charlotte, and Sir William may have the smaller bedroom.”
“You should have sent word,” her Uncle Gardiner chastised.
“I did, but we received word of a seat available on the mail coach, and I took advantage of it.”
If all went as planned, her uncle would receive the hastily written post later that very day.
Jane hugged Elizabeth affectionately.
“You are always so adventurous; I wish I possessed your mettle.”
Elizabeth did not feel adventurous; the possibility of another confrontation with Mr. Darcy frightened her. Yet, she knew it would be only a matter of time before Maria Lucas carried the tale of a ‘lascivious’ letter to the Meryton neighborhood.
Elizabeth’s keeping the letter announced her complete ruin. Even so, she could not think upon the man’s words without a now more familiar warmth claiming her cheeks. She knew she should curse the fates that prevented her from burying Mr. Darcy’s letter before returning to Hunsford Cottage, but Elizabeth’s pride at engendering such a passion in a man of Mr. Darcy’s stature had her acting without reason–acting very much of the nature of her two youngest sisters.
Over supper, she laid the plan.
“I did not tell you, Jane,” Elizabeth said with casual practice, “that Mr. Darcy and his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, joined Lady Catherine’s household perhaps a fortnight prior. The gentlemen attend to Her Ladyship’s affairs at the quarter day.”
“Were you much in Mr. Darcy’s company?” her aunt asked more in an
afterthought, rather than a question requiring a response. “I wonder if he resembles his late father.”
Elizabeth’s Aunt Margaret came from Lambton, a village near the Pemberley estate. Mrs. Gardiner knew something of the Darcy family.
“Her Ladyship invited Mr. Collins’ household to tea quite often and to cards upon occasion,” Elizabeth confided. “Periodically our paths crossed when walking the parkland.”
She offered no more information as her aunt appeared content to speak at length upon the Darcys and the family’s connections to the Fitzwilliam family of Matlock.
Only once did Elizabeth experience regret at her manipulations. It was when Jane made a private inquiry of Mr. Bingley. Her sister’s crestfallen countenance had Elizabeth modifying her plan to contact Mr. Darcy. She would use the opportunity to foster a reunion between Jane and Mr. Bingley.
* * *
“A letter, Sir.”
Darcy glanced up from his ledger to meet his butler’s scowling expression.
“Did not the post arrive earlier?” Darcy inquired.
A shiver of anticipation ran up Darcy’s spine. He returned to London four days prior, but the ghost of Elizabeth Bennet still haunted his days and his nights.
“This one came from a young servant at a house in Cheapside,” Mr. Thacker said in distaste.
“Thank you, Thacker,” Darcy murmured as he examined the flourish of his name upon the paper. It was a feminine hand that wrote his directions upon the folded over page. The realization had Darcy swallowing hard. Did his letter change the lady’s mind? Did Miss Elizabeth forgive him?
Darcy wished it were not so early. If so, he would pour himself a stiff drink to bolster his resolve before he broke the wax seal.
“Fool,” he grumbled. “The woman is a devious chit. Miss Elizabeth likely means to insult your pride again, saying all the things of which she wishes to accuse me.”
Darcy used a penknife to cut away the wax and unfolded the single page. His eyes scanned it to know its purpose.
Mr. Darcy,
As you are likely to recognize, I rejoined my family in London yesterday. As such, it would please me to accept your call at Gracechurch Street during the customary receiving hours.
Elizabeth Bennet's Excellent Adventure: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary Page 2
