by Iris Lim
An unexpected tumble sent her words and limbs rolling off a steep incline. The moans and groans she emitted at the bottom of her valley echoed her pain, physical and otherwise. She shoved herself upwards to a seat. A few exploring touches indicated to her that her hair was beyond rescue, though at least her dress hid her bruises.
“What a horrible, dastardly day it is!” Elizabeth whined loudly, ready to settle the score with God Himself. The fact that Charles was a weakling of a man was little turmoil in comparison to his utterly grotesque sister. Where was her dear Georgiana when she needed her?
“Elizabeth!”
She looked up sharply at the call. Did the woods themselves speak?
The tall man and worried face that greeted her eyes might as well have been a tree. She at last found the heart to be ashamed of her horrid appearance.
“Fitzwilliam,” she responded instinctively and moved towards her feet.
“Please, let me assist. You – you fell?” His voice hinted at true concern and compassion. His hands reached her arm.
“Quite unceremoniously,” she replied with a wince. Despite her current upright stance, her foot would, by every chance, remain swollen for another three days. It was fortunate, indeed, that Mr. Darcy was present to assist. “Thank you.”
“Not at all.” His fingers lingered slightly even after she found her feet – sending threads of warmth towards her chest. He let go before the sensations reached her stomach.
Both parties spent time fidgeting, looking about, and sighing like very bored children in their grandmother's drawing room.
“Mr. Darcy –”
“Miss Elizabeth –”
Their coinciding words resulted in laughter – and much more relaxed smiles.
“I see you love the woods,” Fitzwilliam said first, eyes twinkling.
It was overwhelming to be reminded of how truly handsome he was. Elizabeth smiled. “I have made no secret of the fact.”
“Yes.” He nodded, gallant as ever. His coat was tailored perfectly for his body. “I had not thought you would tire of Brigham Park's grounds so soon.”
“Soon?” His words did not hold meaning – until a moment later. Elizabeth almost blushed as she herself pronounced, “I am upon Pemberley's grounds.”
The master of Pemberley nodded, seemingly not minding at all. His welcome was, after a long and tiring morning, an incredible relief.
Elizabeth smiled again. “Forgive me for my trespassing, sir.”
“There is little to forgive, please. You have called these grounds home as much as I have.” The words flowed freely from him. He was far more loquacious than he had been at first marriage.
The pang of sadness was inevitable as Elizabeth realized how the change must, inevitably, be linked to Jane.
“How fares my – sister?” The words pained her to ask, despite a calm exterior.
His eyes frowned at her question. He stepped back – and she longed to reach for him.
“She is – fine,” he quipped curtly. The eyes that had gazed into hers but a moment earlier now glared in hardened stares towards the ground.
“Mr. Darcy –” He flinched at her touch – and she quickly removed her hand. The rejection in her heart felt like a sword through her flesh. She lowered her eyes, ashamed. Married though they both be, she still felt horrendously unchaperoned. She hid her pain when she gathered her skirts and turned. “Forgive me for imposing. I truly ought not to tarry upon lands that are not –”
“Elizabeth!” His sudden, passionate call stilled her. The feeling of his hand upon her elbow lit her skin.
“Elizabeth,” he said again, when she would not respond – and his voice leaned heavily towards a plea.
She turned gingerly, careful not to trip upon the uneven ground once more. She lifted her eyes slowly towards him. “Sir?”
“Your scratches and bruises – let us clean them. There is a lake a mere twenty paces away.” The monotony of his words was usurped by the concern in his voice and eyes.
Swallowing deeply, Elizabeth nodded.
• • •
The wind’s rustling of her skirt mirrored the wild beating of her heart. Every step had her drifting closer to her unexpected companion – yet also closer to Pemberley's inevitable imposition.
“The color becomes you,” Mr. Bingley said beside her. She lifted her eyes to his handsome face and basked in the comfort of his smile. “The – gown, I meant to say, of course.”
Her own smile came naturally. “Thank you, sir. The blue suits you as well.”
The way his smiled turned shy was everything good and lovely.
Jane felt her heart constrict at the sad realization that her current groom would never smile this way. She – and, in turn, they – fell silent for another ten paces. The carriage she had taken into Lambton had long been dispatched to return. Walking alone with a gentleman across the fields of Derbyshire was the most scandalous thing Jane Bennet had ever undertaken in her young life.
Yet, even then, she found she cared little of being found.
The guilty thought caused her to frown.
“Jane, are you well? Do I offend?” Her caring companion was quick to ask. His hand hovered dangerously close to her arm. “I – I simply speak my heart at every turn. I did not think that such honest words would –”
“No, sir – you never offend me,” came her frank reply. Her eyes threatened to water at his display of concern. Why could Mr. Darcy not –
Jane bit her lip, heart oscillating between remorse and truth.
The repeated sight of a thoughtful Mr. Bingley, leaning close to watch her, compelled her to trade her frown for a smile. “You need not tread so carefully in conversation, sir. I am hardly a frivolous child with heightened sensitivities.”
“I apologize,” he quickly said, slight bow in tow. The bright smile that returned to his face vastly warmed her chest. “I am afraid I have been accustomed to less ease and find myself having forgotten how one ought to take action when welcomed.”
The sadness of his words seemed not to match with his happy countenance.
“I cannot imagine you not welcome in your own home, Mr. Bingley,” Jane said softly. Her heart compelled her to ignore the constantly growing view of Pemberley's facade.
“I – I am welcome, I suppose,” Mr. Bingley said sadly, sighing. His hands swung about his sides. “It is simply – difficult to be so easily credited as the source of strife.”
“Credited? I – I know my sister is not one to place blame so hastily.” Jane spoke with frank innocence.
She hung her head immediately afterwards, pained by her own carelessness. When her companion ceased his walking, she dutifully halted hers.
“Sir, I apologize heartily. I had not thought – “ She found herself unable to articulate for what she apologized. The sense of guilt was clear – while the reason for it was not.
“It is not your sister that instigates the quarrels, I am afraid,” Bingley spoke with a heavy tone and a long face. Jane longed to soothe the creases from his brow. “Though, I must admit, she partakes of them quite readily.”
“Charles –” Her hands threatened to reach for him, nearly breaking free of her volition. “Please – know.”
He watched her pleadingly, a broken man.
“Your happiness is of great importance to me.” She smiled sadly. “Please – make certain of its existence.”
• • •
“It is not as if I choose to be ungrateful.” Elizabeth's voice felt heavy, unlike the smooth rocks she sent so effortlessly across the surface of the lake. If he had not practiced so often with Fitzwilliam and Wickham as a child, he would have easily lost to her.
“The Bingleys have kindly opened their home to me, despite the unusual circumstances,” she continued. Her presence beside him, with the grass as their seats, warmed him where her words could not. “It sounds horrifically petty to complain.”
Her voice faded near the end – sounding very uncertain.
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“I understand.” Darcy smiled sadly before lowering his head, heart suddenly heavy. When he had finished assisting Elizabeth with the cuts on her elbows, hands, and knees a mere half hour ago, he had come dangerously close to speaking his heart. Every complaint about Jane's dullness, Georgiana's boredom, and his own overwhelming frustration had lingered precariously upon the precipice of his tongue. Who better was there to understand his woes than the only other woman in Derbyshire who was acquainted with all three individuals?
“Mr. Bingley tries to be kind,” Elizabeth muttered on. Her hands stayed primly folded on her lap now, pebbles absent from all around her. The vibrant spirit she had possessed when dancing about Pemberley's halls now seemed to exist only in her eyes. Had Brigham Park altered her so thoroughly? “He insists that we three break fast together each morning. I – I wait, naturally.”
Darcy was no stranger to Elizabeth's early hours – hours he shared himself. It was almost infuriating to imagine her so neglected and oppressed.
He had no chance to rue his harsh thoughts before Elizabeth continued, “Of course, as I said – it seems quite ungrateful of me to complain. It is not as if they do not – try.”
“Try,” Darcy echoed, a small scoff on his lips. He turned to look at her – at the pink cheeks, tousled hair, and eloquent eyes. The bewitching woman he remembered as his bride seemed to grow ever more bewitching by the day.
He smiled, elbows perched on his propped knees. “The attempt, surely, must be commended – even if the result cannot be.”
She returned his gaze quickly, with a flash of kindred knowledge. The vigor he knew she possessed shone freely from her eyes now, threatening to overflow. It took everything he had not to draw his hand towards her cheek.
“I try – also,” she mumbled hesitantly. “I – you – Brigham Park –”
She paused and swallowed visibly. He watched her, entranced.
Her cheeks grew redder when she spoke again. “Brigham Park is – different.”
He nodded silently, her implications too vivid to warrant further words. The silence around them felt both burning hot and bitterly cold.
Darcy envied the birds for their harmonious songs then.
He inhaled deeply and offered a tender smile.
“Georgiana misses you,” he said, eyes conveying what his words could not.
Elizabeth's eyes watered almost instantly. She blinked excessively; Darcy knew he himself did as well.
“I miss her dearly,” she whispered back, smiling and blinking.
“Yes.” Darcy allowed himself another smile before turning away.
Eyes on their respective laps, they sat in charged yet companionable silence.
Darcy spoke first, moments later, “Pemberley is quiet. I – I mean, Georgiana – we mourn the loss of your company.”
He watched her carefully, suddenly uncertain if he had chosen his words right.
Elizabeth's mournful smile seemed to indicate that he had. “I am fairly certain the inhabitants of Brigham Park think of Jane quite the same way.”
“They do?” Darcy almost felt guilty for having forgotten his new bride's existence at all for quite a while.
“Never a day goes by without Caroline reminding me that I am not worth the ground upon which Jane treads.”
“But you are!” Darcy was anxious to assure – before her raised eyebrow informed him of how his words could have been misconstrued. He faltered, then scrambled: “I mean, of course, you are – you – you are worth far, far more than anything your sister could possess. You are – exquisite, intelligent, and kind. You are –”
He stopped himself short of declaring the true emotions in his heart, raging though they be in his chest. Darcy swallowed, suddenly overwhelmed by their solitude. Elizabeth reckoned him back with equal intensity, their heartbeats almost audibly intertwined.
“Fitzwilliam,” she called him, voice hollow. His name on her lips drove him to madness.
“Elizabeth,” his tongue barely obeyed.
She smiled at him then, melancholically. He was almost shocked to his feet when her bare fingers landed upon the hand he had dropped to the ground. His heartbeat dashed, flew.
“Thank you,” she whispered softly. The clouds that passed over the sun seemed to yield to her moods.
Darcy blinked his eyes, swallowed, and nodded.
Then, unable to resist any longer, he curled his large fingers around her slender ones – and lifted them to his lips.
She, at last, smiled.
Chapter 6
Dear Jane,
A piece of work Caroline Bingley truly is. I am at my wits' end. How does one get along with such a shrew?
If you should begin to mourn the end of my sanity and propriety, dear Jane, then I heartily give you leave to do so. Her verbal attacks and childish schemes plague me day after day. Your boundless kindness might have allowed you to forbear her multitude of wrongs. I feign no such skill. Her company is most bearable only when I am not compelled to share it. It is inevitable, I suppose, that I wander the grounds more often than I do the house.
Delightful Georgiana must suit you well. Care well for her wounded soul. I know not what Darcy has told you, but I am certain that you are in confidence of Georgiana's struggles. I wish you eternal happiness.
Your devoted sister,
Elizabeth
Jane's sniff at the end of her sister's letter reflected but a trifle of the sadness in her soul. She knew not what confidence Elizabeth alluded to, and she was fairly sure her reclusive groom would never care to share it. Mr. Bingley's joyful company when she had wandered into town two days prior had illumined her day to no end, and the return to Pemberley had been drudgery itself. Georgiana and her sorrows, whatever they may be, did not make conversation with the quiet young girl any easier at all.
How could Elizabeth complain when she already had the better man and better life?
Again, Jane sniffed, plagued by her own guilty conscience. As sisters, she and Elizabeth had always shared every hope and dream. When they had been invited to be paired with two friends in Derbyshire, the rejoicing had been mutual. These marriages promised what no other pairings could – that they would still be allowed to share their lives as beloved family.
Today, at this very moment, however – Jane found herself feeling farther from her sister than she had ever been in life.
“Mrs. Darcy, your stationery.” Her handmaid – or, rather, Mrs. Darcy's – appeared with the items she had been commissioned to procure.
Jane shared her thanks gracefully, unwilling to give hint of her unhappiness. It would not do for rumors to reach Brigham Park.
At the handmaid's retreat into the shadows, Jane reviewed Elizabeth's missive yet again. Her vivacious sister had made no secret of her intense dislike for Caroline, though Jane found the stately lady merely prickly. Silly, Caroline was at times; vicious, she was not.
The descriptions of Georgiana, as well as Elizabeth's ridiculous notion that Miss Darcy and Jane would 'suit,' baffled Jane quite thoroughly. While pretty as a picture, Georgiana was a woman of little else, in Jane's mind. The young girl played perfectly, studied patiently. A friend, however, she would never be.
Hesitantly, Jane dipped her pen in her ink.
Dear Elizabeth,
It warms my heart to hear snippets of Brigham Park under your pen. Your luscious home and its grounds must bring you joy. I assure you that Mr. and Miss Darcy are everything kind.
Jane paused with her third sentence, at a loss for what to say. The Darcys had been kind, at the least, even if absent and aloof. While she herself found Georgiana withdrawn, she at least did not quarrel with her new sister as Elizabeth seemed to do often with Caroline.
Pray, tolerate Caroline for the sake of her brother. Mr. Bingley is everything that is good and kind. You, Elizabeth, are a blessed woman indeed.
The confession, sincerely meant, caused Jane's eyes to sting. Deep breath in tow, she braved the rest of the letter.
Your loving sister,
Jane
• • •
She did not think of where to go when she first set foot in the woods this morning. The dawn had beckoned early, yet she had tolerated the indoor rooms until all members of the Bingley household had broken their fast before breaking out into the glories of nature. Now, alone, free from the obligations of what society dictated as bridely behavior, Elizabeth found peace.
The well-sought peace filled her lungs with every breath of fresh air. The solace she had found by Pemberley's lake earlier this week had sustained her 'til today, providing strength where she had none.
Determined to rediscover the source of that strength – and, after all, in possession of an open invitation from Pemberley's master to visit his grounds whenever she preferred – Elizabeth instinctively marched down the now-familiar path.
Three treks down this trail in recent days had armed her with careful cognizance of each danger and curve. While she no longer tripped or fell, she still never ventured far. There had always been a reason – either a call or a meeting or a visit – that compelled her to return to Brigham Park much earlier in the day than she would have preferred.
Today, however, Elizabeth decided she had ventured out early enough, and found bravery enough, to defy their expectations and to dash towards her beloved lake.
The jagged ground could not deter her; and she soon flew happily, arms wide open, towards her irrefutable solace. The grass whispered gladly by her feet.
“Elizabeth!”
She pulled quickly to a stop and looked up abruptly. Skirts in her hands, ankles muddy, and hair wild – she knew she must look almost frightening.
“Mr. – Darcy,” she panted between words. His smiling glance towards the rest of her prompted her to drop the fabric in her hands as quickly as she could. She almost blushed. “I – I did not think – I had not –”
“Would you not prefer my company?” he asked, face dwindling between an expression of sincerity and sadness. “I could take my leave immediately. I believe your sister and mine to both be occupied. I could therefore slip into my study quite well all on my own. I –”
