by Leenie Brown
“Yes,” was her only response.
Darcy waited to see if she would say anything further on the subject, but after a minute or two of listening only to their footfalls on the path, he pushed on.
“Why has Bingley’s departure affected her so?” It was a rather forward and prying question, he knew, and he attempted to ask it as gently as he could. However, he needed to know how much damage his actions might have caused.
“Because she is heartbroken, sir,” Elizabeth’s reply was barely above a whisper, and though the thought of her sister’s unhappiness pierced her heart, to Elizabeth’s surprise, she felt no anger.
“So she had formed an attachment to my friend?” It was as Bingley had claimed, and Darcy had refused to accept. Silently, he rebuked himself for his arrogant assumption that Bingley was merely caught in a moment of infatuation and thus unable to see the situation for what it was.
Elizabeth nodded. “A deep one, I fear, though she has not admitted such. My sister, you see, does not show her feelings openly. There are many times that not even I know what they are. However, at present, she is incapable of concealing her hurt, and that is why she is in London. In town, she may grieve without question.”
Darcy shook his head. How excruciatingly wrong he had been! “I did not know. If I had known, I would have never…” His voice trailed off, and he looked away.
“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth laid a hand lightly on his arm, “I am not justifying whatever part you have played in my sister’s present sorrow. However, I can understand it, for I am fairly confident I would have done the same thing if I suspected that Jane or some other friend was in danger of being hurt.”
“You are not angry?” Darcy asked in bewilderment.
“You seemed angry yesterday,” added Richard.
Elizabeth laughed. “I was angry.” She looked at him sheepishly. “You did not truly believe I had developed a headache from overexertion, did you?”
“No,” Richard admitted. “I suspected it was what I had said about Darcy’s friend that overset you, but I did not know why.”
“I am a terrible liar,” said Elizabeth. “I am also deplorable at holding my tongue when put out, so I thank you for not pressing me for the truth yesterday.”
“Why are you not angry now?” asked Darcy. He had not known many females who did not cling tightly to an offense. Richard’s sister would grumble on and on for days about some slight or another, and then, months or even years later, it would be dragged out again for a renewed evaluation. Miss Bingley was much the same, as was Mrs. Hurst. Georgiana was less given to such bitterness of spirit, but then she was more gentle in nature than many, and she was yet a girl. Even he, himself, was given to resentment when injured by another. Consequently, the fact that Elizabeth could speak of the harm he had done to her sister with such composure so soon after learning of the injurious act was startling to him.
“Colonel, you may wish to teach your cousin not to poke the hornet’s nest,” Elizabeth replied, causing Richard to chuckle. She turned towards Darcy. “Well, Mr. Darcy, my cousin, as odious and obnoxious as he can be, married a very wise woman, who happens to be my dear friend. After allowing me to wallow in my emotions privately in my room yesterday — which consisted mostly of tears and cursing you –, she made me talk to her about it — not that I wished to do so. However, Charlotte is persistent, and I knew she would not stop until she had the full story. So, I told her how evil you were to separate my beloved sister from the object of her affection and how arrogant you were to criticize my family. She made me admit that I would have done the same thing to protect a friend. Then, she made me realize that your criticism of my family only made me angry because it was true. They are ridiculous at times. They even embarrass me — especially my mother and Lydia. However, they are my family, and I love them. What family does not have its share of embarrassing relatives?” Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and gave him a significant look. Then she laughed lightly. “Perhaps that is where my wealth lies — in having an abundance of silly relatives.” Turning serious again, she said, “I am still not happy about the situation, but I am no longer angry.”
Darcy felt his shame and did nothing to conceal it from her. “I was wrong — dreadfully, horribly wrong. I should not have spoken so.”
“No, you should not have,” Elizabeth agreed. “However, you are forgiven.”
The three had turned back toward the parsonage, and for a few moments, their conversation lapsed once again into silence. It was not, however, a strained silence but rather one of respite, giving each time to contemplate all that had occurred. It was Darcy who at last spoke first.
“Miss Elizabeth, you travel to London the day after next, do you not?”
“Yes, Maria and I will be meeting her father in London on Monday. She will proceed to Hertfordshire straightaway, and I will remain with Jane at my aunt and uncle’s home for a fortnight before returning home.”
“I was wondering if perhaps you and Miss Lucas would allow Colonel Fitzwilliam and me the privilege of escorting you back to town so that you do not need to ride post.”
Elizabeth blinked in surprise at the offer. “While that is a most generous offer, my uncle will be sending servants to accompany us, and I do not wish for him to do so without cause.”
“An express can be sent today,” Darcy argued. “It would arrive in time to forestall the departure of your uncle’s servants.”
“Please, Miss Bennett, riding in Darcy’s carriage would be much more pleasant for me if I had more company than just him. Take pity on a poor, old soldier and say you will join us,” pleaded Richard.
“You, sir, are not old, nor do I suspect you are truly poor,” Elizabeth said with a laugh, “but, if the servants’ departure can be prevented, I will take pity on you and not decline the offer.”
“It is settled then,” said Darcy. “I will return to Rosings directly and dispatch an express. Do you wish to include anything with it? I can have the rider stop by the parsonage on his way.”
“That is very thoughtful.” Indeed, this offer also surprised her. “I am certain my uncle would be happy to hear from me. The directions for the express are 18 Gracechurch Street.” She observed his face carefully as she gave the address to a residence in the trade district of London. If she had expected him to raise a critical brow or curl his lips in disgust, she was to be disappointed.
“18 Gracechurch Street,” he repeated, committing it to memory. “I know that district well. I do business with some men in that area. I will send the rider to you in about half an hour. Would that be long enough?”
“Yes, that should be plenty of time.” She looked at Darcy with some bewilderment as he and the colonel took their leave of her. She had expected a more critical response, not the praise that he gave. He continued to surprise her at every turn, and she wondered anew if she had correctly interpreted anything about his character. She shook her head and tucked these thoughts away to dwell on later, for, at this moment, she had some missives to write — one to her sister and a second to her aunt and uncle. After that, she had some information about a particular scoundrel to share with her friend. She sighed. And she would also likely have some speculations to endure from Charlotte once she told her about the new travel arrangements. However, it could not be helped. Riding in a carriage with the surprising Mr. Darcy was a far superior prospect than travelling post — and not merely for the comfort it would afford, but in a greater measure for the company it would provide.
Chapter 6
Early Monday morning, shortly after Elizabeth and Maria had finished breakfast, Darcy’s carriage arrived at the parsonage. A sense of anticipation had settled in Elizabeth’s stomach as soon as she had risen this morning, and now, seeing Mr. Darcy climbing out of such an elegant vehicle and knowing that she would spend the next several hours riding in it with him, her anticipation grew to a flutter of excitement.
She stopped at the mirror in the hall before she exited the parsonage and pretended
to fix her hat. However, in reality, she wished to see for herself that she was indeed herself, for she had not felt herself since Friday evening at Rosings. It was an odd feeling of unease that had gripped her heart. The feeling was not unpleasant or something that one might wish away. No, this was a flutter of nerves that brought a smile to a lady’s lips and caused one’s feet to pace the length of one’s bedroom as if waiting for some important and pleasurable event to take place. However, there were no soirees or fetes to be attended.
It must be the anticipation of seeing Jane, Elizabeth had reasoned, until this moment when that flutter of nerves had risen in her chest as it often did before stepping into a ballroom. But Jane was not here. Mr. Darcy was. She shook her head. Quite logically, these strange sensations were caused by the thought of soon being with Jane. The arrival of the carriage signalled the beginning of her journey and, therefore, was also the impetus of her eager anticipation. Satisfied that she had deciphered the cause of her delight, she picked up Mr. Darcy’s book from the table in front of the mirror and proceeded outside where everyone else had gathered to wait as trunks were made secure.
Darcy stood in such a way that he could both watch the carriage as it was made ready and the door to the parsonage as his cousin ushered Mr. Collins around the carriage, speaking of the horses and the fittings as well as the length of time the driver had been employed by the Darcy family.
Mrs. Collins whispered final instructions to her younger sister and glanced nervously toward the door of the house. “I am certain Elizabeth will be along shortly, Mr. Darcy,” she assured him twice before the very person for which each had been eagerly waiting appeared.
Darcy turned from the carriage. His men would see that all was well.
“That shade of blue is becoming on her, is it not?” Charlotte asked Mr. Darcy with a knowing smile.
The comment caught Darcy somewhat by surprise, but today, having determined over the last two days that Elizabeth was indeed the lady he would marry, no matter how long it took for him to convince her of his worth, he was not willing to be cowed by a bit of teasing. “It is,” he agreed, “as was the green she wore on Saturday and the yellow she wore to church yesterday.”
Charlotte’s smile grew.
He nodded to her and gave her a wink. “Not a word to your husband, if you would be so kind. My aunt…”
“Not a word,” whispered Charlotte as Elizabeth approached. “I thought you had decided to stay,” Charlotte teased her friend as she gave her a warm hug. “I would not be sorry if you did, but I dare say Jane would not be pleased.” She whispered a few lovely words of gratitude for Elizabeth’s having visited and how she would be missed. This was followed by the promise from each lady to write faithfully, and then, Charlotte relinquished her hold on Elizabeth.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy held out a hand to her in offer of helping her into the carriage. “I see you have come prepared to entertain yourself with poetry if my cousin and I do not provide a proper diversion.”
“I have not yet finished reading it,” she explained, “and I thought there might be a moment or two for reading.”
“There is no need to rush. You may keep it as long as you would like.” Her hand felt good in his, and he wished he did not have to release it once she was in the carriage. However, release it he did, so that she might make herself comfortable.
“We do not move in the same circles; our paths may not cross often,” she cautioned.
Darcy stopped and held her gaze before climbing into the carriage and taking his seat next to Colonel Fitzwilliam. “That will not be a problem,” he assured her. “Netherfield is still next to Longbourn, is it not?” he asked as he entered and took his place.
“Is Mr. Bingley going to return?” Maria asked excitedly.
“I cannot say for certain, but he may,” Darcy replied.
“Oh, it would be so nice to have him return,” said Maria. “The area seems so much less entertaining with Netherfield standing there lonely in its park. It is so much nicer to see activity at a fine house than to see it vacant. Even if he must bring his sisters.” She added the last part softly.
“Yes, that is a drawback, is it not?” Darcy muttered.
Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing. Thankfully, Maria had turned to look out the window as she was speaking and likely did not hear the comment.
Darcy shrugged in response to Elizabeth’s look. “She is a friend’s sister and naught else.”
The colonel leaned toward Elizabeth and whispered, “No matter how much she might wish for the else.”
Elizabeth laughed softly as she tipped her head toward Maria and shook her head.
“Right,” said the colonel. “No more of that.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth whispered.
The discussion shifted to the weather and the scenery and various other mundane topics before drifting into a natural lull. Elizabeth settled back and took out her book of poems.
“May I?” Darcy asked.
Elizabeth nodded and handed him his book.
“You have surpassed me,” he said with a smile when he saw where she was in the book. Smoothing the page, he began to read.
Behold her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.
The rich tones and the natural rise and fall of Darcy’s voice made the poem come alive as Elizabeth listened. She leaned her head against the back side of the carriage but did not close her eyes as Maria was doing. There was little chance she would be able to fall asleep listening to Mr. Darcy read. His brows furrowed at parts, and his lips curved upwards in other places. It was evident that he did not just read the words but surrounded himself with their emotion and meaning.
Whate’er the theme, the Maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o’er the sickle bending;–
I listened, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill,
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.[1]
He paused for a long moment after he completed the last line. “I wonder what she sang?”
“Likely something by Burns,” replied Richard.
“My Heart is in the Highlands?” Elizabeth suggested.
“A very good choice.” Richard straightened himself and began to sing.
“My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart’s in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer;
Chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe –
My heart’s in the Highlands, wherever I go!”[2]
He paused, a playful smile on his lips, and a twinkle in his eye. “Come now, Miss Bennet, Darcy says you sing.”
“Oh, she does!” cried Maria.
“Please?” Darcy prodded.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I will sing if you all promise to join me on the chorus.”
There were no dissenters, and so she sang. And as she did, Darcy knew that though he sang the words “my heart is not here” when he joined in on the chorus, it was not true. His heart was most certainly here, perched on the bench across from him and singing of the forests and wild-hanging woods of the Highlands.
“Have you ever been to the highlands?” Maria asked when the song had drawn to a close.
“Indeed, I have,” said Richard. “Beautiful, rugged country.”
Maria sighed. “I should like to travel to the north one day.”
“My aunt and uncle are going to the peak district this summer,” said Elizabeth.
Maria sighed again. “And taking you with them. I never get to travel anywhere excit
ing.”
“You will pass through Derbyshire?” Darcy asked.
“I do not know the route we intend to take, but since my aunt is from Derbyshire, I would expect we will,” replied Elizabeth.
“Your aunt is from Derbyshire?” Darcy asked in surprise.
Elizabeth nodded. “Lambton.”
“Lambton?” Darcy’s eyes grew wide, and he smiled. “Then you will have to visit Pemberley, for it is not far from Lambton.”
“Truly?” It was Elizabeth’s turn to be surprised. She had not considered how close her travels might take her to Mr. Darcy’s home. But then, she had not cared to know where his home was before this.
Maria sighed a third time. “I wish I could visit Pemberley.”
Richard chuckled at the girl’s wistful tone. “Perhaps one day you may.”
“No,” she said in a most forlorn voice. “I shall never travel farther than Kent or London.”
“Oh, come now,” Richard cajoled, “you may meet a handsome Scottish laird and be whisked away on his noble steed.”
Maria propped her head on her hand and leaned against the window. “If only it were possible.” She then was lost to the conversation. The others continued their discussion of Derbyshire, Pemberley, and Matlock until Maria popped up from her woeful watching of the road.
“Lizzy!” She grabbed Elizabeth’s hand and pulled her toward the window. “Is that Lydia?”
“Lydia?” Surely it must be someone who looked like Lydia. Lydia was at home in Meryton, not wandering along the London Road, thought Elizabeth as she leaned toward the window and looked where Maria had pointed. She gasped. “It is! But what is she doing here?”
