by Gail McEwen
“You look very nice yourself, my dear,” she said, “and since you know I have an aptitude for understatement you may take that as an admission that, in my eyes at least, you are in danger of upstaging the brides.”
Holly gave her mother a look, but she thought silently to herself she had made the best of things and that she could at least take comfort in the fact that she had nothing to be ashamed of in her appearance in front of the more fashionable part of the family.
She held out her hand to her mother, and sooner than she could have expected, they were watching the Bennet carriage carry the brides and their parents down the lane to the church and then they too were on their way in Mr Darcy’s carriage. The big day had arrived.
TO HIS GREAT ANNOYANCE, WEDDINGS in the country did not seem the quiet family affair one would expect. It was uncertain how many of the spectators would actually have the audacity to claim a seat inside the church for the ceremony, but a great many of them appeared to be perfectly happy standing around the churchyard to catch a glimpse of the bridal party.
“It was only to be expected,” Darcy said calmly as Bingley accepted a few words of congratulations from some forward villagers and Baugham frowned.
It was a fine day. Cold and crisp, but it did seem as if the sun was going to honour the proceedings now that she had been persuaded to rise above the rooftops to spread her pale and cold light. Baugham wondered which force would have won out with the inhabitants of Meryton had they been forced to contend with both the spectacle of local girls marrying wealthy, handsome young men and the icy fog that had kept most of them firmly indoors yesterday. The attraction of the Bennet wedding was not to be tested today, however. The brides were blessed with weather that, as was the general consensus of the onlookers, was only rivalled by their own beauty.
Baugham positioned himself by the door after Darcy extracted Bingley from another matronly well-wisher and watched the grooms disappear inside the small church. Soon enough, he was able to greet the rest of the Netherfield party. Just as Miss Bingley let her hand leave his sleeve after begging him not to tarry outside in this cold weather, Baugham spotted two carriages draw up.
And then there she was. After his heart had settled in his chest again, his focus was suddenly clear — so much clearer than it had ever been sitting in a chair or pacing around Netherfield. The party made their way up the slope, Mrs Bennet in a flurry behind her husband escorting his daughters and Mrs Tournier leading the younger cousins, leaving her daughter to the rear carrying her older cousins’ effects.
The sight of the brides sweeping past him made him smile. He executed an elaborate bow and congratulated Mr and Mrs Bennet. Mrs Bennet was about to offer him a comment before she noticed Jane’s train was askew and needed immediate attention. Mrs Tournier greeted him silently and led the even more silent girls inside. But just as Miss Tournier was about to enter, he stepped forward and lightly laid his hand on her elbow.
“Miss Tournier.”
She hesitated, but did not pull away directly even though she stayed looking down at his hand.
“I must speak to you,” he said almost brusquely, aware he had only a few seconds.
She gave him a look that was hard to interpret.
“Please?” he added, his voice softer.
Holly stared at him. This handsome, impeccably dressed man with piercing blue eyes boring into her and holding onto her arm just as she was about to step into church and witness her cousins’ wedding, was begging her for a meeting in a soft voice. She felt confused.
“Now?” she asked hesitantly. “We really must be getting inside.”
“After church,” he went on. “Can we — ”
“No,” she said. His heart sank. “The wedding breakfast,” she added. “After that, I suppose. But — ”
Before she could finish, he broke out into a smile and stepped back.
“Thank you. The willows? Where we walked last?”
How could she say anything when being smiled at like that? When blue eyes full of sparkle and cool fire looked into her own and willed her to consent? She nodded hastily and, with her heart beating in her throat, hurried away from him. She must get away from him.
HOW SHE FOUND THE PEW where her mother was sitting, Holly did not know, but she was grateful that there was no time for questions, for the ceremony was just about to begin. A small rustling sounded behind her and she knew that he had come in and was taking a place on the other side of the room; she could feel him there. For a moment, the fog of her thoughts cleared and her whole attention was taken up by the two couples taking their place at the front of the church. Elizabeth and Jane were beautiful. Jane radiated a peaceful joy, quiet and deep while Elizabeth sparkled with delight, bright and dazzling, and the sight of them took her breath away.
But, as they turned to face the reverend and the ceremony began, Holly could not keep her thoughts on the proceedings. A picture flashed in her mind, she felt again the touch on her elbow:
I must speak to you . . .
It’s just because he will be leaving, Holly, she told herself. It’s one more apology before he goes . . . just like all the others before it. That’s all.
His face fell when she had said, “No,” and his voice as he said, “Please?” So soft. Vulnerable even.
You both behaved badly, and he just . . . His smile when she agreed . . . Stop!
She forced her mind away from those thoughts just at the moment when both couples turned and were introduced to the congregation. She smiled and hoped that the tears that sprang to her eyes would be taken as a sign of joy and pride.
THE DINING ROOM AND PARLOUR of Longbourn were filled with the sounds of clinking silver, low and not so low conversations, laughter, tears and good wishes and hovered between very full and crowded. Holly found herself wandering around the rooms in the midst of the talking and eating, making new acquaintances and renewing old ones and very determinedly not paying attention to the whereabouts of Lord Baugham. If he was standing alone near the fireplace, she paid no mind. Likewise when he filled his plate and took a seat at the dining table near to Mr Phillips. Nor did she note the duration of his short conversation with Mr Bingley. He was very difficult to ignore, however, because she seemed to always be able to sense where he was in the rooms, but as his request for a word with her was certainly nothing more than his need to deliver another apology she did not care to hear, she was firm in her resolve to succeed. The morning passed slowly, excruciatingly slowly, as Holly watched the newly-wed couples greet their guests and accept well-wishes and suddenly Holly realised that she no longer could feel his lordship’s presence in order to disregard it.
She turned and scanned the rooms, but she could see nothing. He was not there! She knew he was not there and she had a sinking feeling that he had grown tired of waiting and changed his mind. Before she had a chance to admit her disappointment to herself, the sound of a voice behind her made her jump.
“Lose something, Holly?”
“Oh!” Holly shrieked before recognising the voice. “Oh, Elizabeth, it’s you. Or, should I say Mrs Darcy?”
Her cousin’s smile was brilliant, “Oh, by all means, say Mrs Darcy — I don’t believe I will ever grow tired of the sound of it.
“But, Holly, you are standing here looking positively distressed. Is something wrong?”
“Oh, it’s nothing . . . ” Holly said, taking a breath and forcing herself to relax. “It’s just that Lord Baugham mentioned that he wanted to speak to me and . . . well, I suppose he has thought better of it. Wise decision, I should think, we wouldn’t want to ruin your morning with another quarrel.” She laughed weakly at her joke.
Elizabeth’s eyebrows drew together. “He asked to speak with you? Here?”
Although she tried to keep her attention on her cousin, Holly really could not help but continue to scan the clusters of chatting guests.
“Well . . . no . . . ” she admitted casually, or so she thought. “He asked if I would meet him .
. . ”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up. “Meet him? Where?”
Holly’s eyes darted to Elizabeth’s face. “The willow grove.”
Elizabeth was suddenly very much in danger of losing her composure.
“The willow grove! Holly! Why are you not there?”
“This is your wedding breakfast, Eliza. I would never forgive myself if I were not here to see you off.”
“I would!” Mrs Darcy quickly retorted, before taking her cousin by the shoulders and propelling her through the crowd and down the hallway, “Go!”
“Elizabeth, I’m sure it is nothing important. It can wait.” Her protests fell on deaf ears. She tried again, “But what about Jane . . . ”
“I will make your excuses to Jane. She will understand.”
Holly found herself at the door, where her cousin threw her cloak over her shoulders and quickly tied her bonnet under her chin. Elizabeth fixed her with an intent look and kissed her cheek.
“Holly. Trust this. Go!” The last was punctuated by a stamp of her foot.
After a moment’s pause, with the smallest gleam of hope lighting her eyes, Holly decided.
“I will!”
And with that she was out the door.
HE LOOKED AT THE WATER slowly flowing past the barren banks and naked trees. A few leaves were still clinging on the branches, but they looked very forlorn and would soon have to give up to another heavy storm or even the first real snow.
As he watched, one leaf gave up its struggle against the inevitability of time and, though no breeze or movement had disturbed the stillness of the air, it released its hold on the safety of the branch and softly fluttered down to the surface of the water. He followed it until it floated out of sight. In truth, he felt a kinship to it, like he had been carried to this point by an innocent, bubbly mountain stream and before he knew how, he was now quickly being drawn through the rough and wild river current towards the waterfall. There was nothing else to do, the banks were too far away and held no real rescue; he had to take that plunge over the edge. He only hoped the water would carry him and give him some strength and purpose before he was either thrown on the rocks underneath or into unknown and dangerous waters.
Absentmindedly he snapped off another twig from the willow. He fiddled with his watch and wondered if the breakfast was anywhere near its end. He should have stayed, but it had been impossible, and now he found that even if waiting in a calmer location might not be as perilous to the sensibilities of the guests in the bridal party, it certainly did nothing for his own sense of peace. After having taken a few turns to pass the time, he had no desire to continue giving in to this restlessness, but concentrated on the faint sound of the rippling water and prodded the tufts of wilted grass with his cane.
Thus she saw him standing on the side of the path. As he noticed her approach, he lifted his head; a flush of excitement, then nervousness, rose within him and gripped his stomach and his face broke out in a curious mix of a smile and a frown.
She stopped a good ten feet away from him and he greeted her softly.
“Thank you for meeting me here, Miss Tournier. You can have no doubt . . . ” He stopped himself and smiled sheepishly at her. “That is, I hope you can have no doubt of my need to speak to you alone.”
While rushing to the river bank, Holly had been trying to keep her thoughts and questions, hopes and fears under control — but what did he wish to say to her? What if he was not there? Why did he pick the willow grove? What on earth would she do if he insisted on continuing that infuriating line of argument and questioning from the last time they had spoken? She did not know the answers to any of these questions, but she refused to give in to wishful thinking.
At least that is what she kept telling herself.
She took a moment to steady herself and her breathing — ruthlessly suppressing the spark of hope that his words gave rise to in her heart — before she could answer him.
“My lord, when it comes to you and your purposes, I must confess I am often in doubt.”
He studied the ground in front of him as he smiled.
“Yes, I am certain that is a very fair estimate of my faults and trespasses against you.”
He took a step closer and met her eyes. He was hoping to find encouragement and some clue of how to begin there, but she returned his look with a puzzled and wary expression.
He sighed and decided that in order not to enforce her rightful objections to his conduct towards her, he now quickly needed to change tactics and try straightforwardness at the expense of diplomacy.
“My need to speak to you alone is actually a consequence of trying to rectify the many instances in which I have erred against you, but also against myself. The most blatant example of that being that day in your mother’s garden. I hope you will forgive me and show patience with me for bringing that up again, but it is of crucial importance that I start by putting that . . . incident in its rightful perspective.”
A look of pain flashed across her face and he was momentarily taken aback.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “the memory of it causes you discomfort, I know. I am not willingly trying to be selfish in my defence here. I . . . I need to say something.”
“Oh . . . ” She said faintly and looked out over the riverbank. “If you have brought me all the way out here to offer another apology, my lord, it was not necessary.”
“No, that is not why I . . . I have offered too many empty apologies of late, but I have come to realise that the only way for me to put right what I have wronged is to give you something of greater value. And the most precious and rare thing I have to give to anyone — to you — is the truth. I must be truthful. To you and also to myself. And you must do with it as you will.
“I pride myself on being a rational and reasonable man, Miss Tournier. But that day I was far from it. Had I been rational and reasonable, I should have realised my true offence. For you see, in truth, I very much wanted to kiss you that day. I think I had wanted to do so for a very long time, and I was a fool when I did not realise it was not so much a spontaneous outburst rather than the quite rational expression of a more long-standing need . . . ”
She coloured and her eyes darted here and there, looking everywhere but at him, her breath coming rapidly. It was obvious that she was embarrassed and bewildered, but he pressed forward, afraid to stop once he had begun. It must out. All of it needed to be said to leave no doubt either in her mind or his. Not anymore.
“Pardon me, I do ramble on,” he said more quietly. “I think I must offend you. I know I did so then. In so many ways. I was so dishonest and such a coward, I can very well understand if you should never forgive me. All I can say is that I am honest — painfully so — now.”
He tried to meet her eyes, but she continued to look flustered and turn away.
“My heart, you see, is a new-found companion to me,” he went on, smiling a little, apologetic smile. “It has been a stranger to me until now. Until you. And now it has taken me over and speaks with my voice. It says to me that you are essential to my happiness. That my life, in truth, already circles around you and it needs you to feel complete. All else is pretence and rationalisation. And the urge to kiss you was just a desperate expression of that hitherto suppressed need.”
She lifted her eyes in one hasty movement and looked at him. Encouraged by the fact that she looked more bewildered than disgusted, he decided to push on.
“So, my heart says, ever since that day, I have in truth wanted to do it again. But that is a trifle difficult since I did promise not to. Do it again. But now, I thought, in view of what I now know . . . hope . . . if I might ask . . . very politely . . . Do you think . . . ? Would I . . . could I kiss you again, Miss Tournier?”
HOLLY COULD NOT BELIEVE WHAT she was hearing. She looked into his eyes, they were brilliantly blue and open and sincere — no masks. It seemed an eternity without sound, just the world spinning around her and his words echoing in her ears. That and
the faint realisation that he was laying his feelings — his honest feelings — before her. Was her mind playing tricks on her? He wanted to kiss her? She grasped for words but none came out. Only a small whimpering, desperate sob.
His eyes had not let go of her. They were still watching her, steadily, with hope and fear and desperation in them that belied all the casual eloquence of the simple question he had just put to her. Hardly trusting her voice, she gave a hasty smile that dissolved into an incredulous look.
“You want to kiss me?”
“I do. More than anything. May I, you think?”
“Why?” was the unexpected answer. “Why now?”
“Because . . . ” he smiled nervously, looking down and fidgeting with his hands again. “Forgive me. I’m a fool.” He took a breath and smiled again. “Miss Tournier. I am so sorry but I . . . I love you. That is why I kissed you then, and that is why I want to kiss you now.”
After swallowing hard she gave a quick bob with her head and his face broke out into a relieved smile.
“Really? You mean . . . ?”
“I . . . ” She shook her head, “I don’t know, but right now . . . yes. Oh yes!” And then she looked up into those blue eyes, wondering if her heart had been put into an empty barrel and was rolling down a steep and bumpy hill, while she waited with a fluttering stomach and a tiny bit of terror as he leaned in toward her.
Just before he was close enough for her to feel his breath on her face, he drew back a little, reaching out his hand. She took it slowly, as if uncertain whether her actions would shatter the moment, but when he closed his fingers around hers all she could hear was the sound of her heart beating. He held on to her tightly and opened his other hand, palm up. In it lay a twig of willow, twisted and braided, soft and supple from the work and moulded into a ring.
“No. I should ask you something else first. Something even more important,” he smiled hesitantly. “Will you marry me . . . Miss — Holly . . . please?”
