Elizabeth wore a pale pink walking gown with leaves and vines printed on cotton and her ankle boots. She had a large reticule with tools for gathering wildflowers for her aunt. It was a warm day; her spencer was lightweight and her bonnet a simple straw affair with green satin ribbons. She could see from his every expression that Darcy was pleased with her.
Elizabeth settled on a mossy log at the edge of the stream whilst the men dawdled over their tackle and lines. The water was flowing so rapidly that Elizabeth could not hear their conversation.
“The fishing here must be excellent, Darcy, for you seem in hopeful spirits.” Mr Gardiner smiled as he selected a lure for his line.
“Hopeful spirits,” Darcy repeated the older man’s words. “Yes, indeed. I have something I must tell you, and I believe it will please you. We have had a response from Longbourn to the express Bingley sent Saturday. It arrived last evening with good news.”
Mr Gardiner smiled. “I am not at all surprised, except that my brother Bennet was prevailed upon to make a suitably hasty reply. He is usually a desultory correspondent.”
“He may have been prompt because there was more to respond to than you presently know. Along with Bingley’s request to court Miss Bennet, I sent a request of my own to court Miss Elizabeth.” Darcy was facing away from her lest she should look up the bank and see his irrepressible joy. “Mr Bennet does us the honour of allowing both our suits.”
Mr Gardiner was startled into delighted laughter and clapped Darcy on the back. Darcy’s voice dropped. “I would rather she not know about my intentions until matters are settled with Bingley and Miss Bennet. But I want you, and Mrs Gardiner, too, to know I love your niece and want nothing more than to share Pemberley with her for the rest of my life.”
Mr Gardiner whispered, “Madeleine and I believed something like this might be afoot. My advice to you, sir, is not to wait too long to declare your intentions to Lizzy. She is not known for her patience. She does not expect you to renew your addresses, you know. But neither will she refuse you.”
Darcy shook his head. “I feel I should wait until Miss Bennet and Bingley are a settled thing. It is my fault they are not already married, and Miss Elizabeth will think better of me when they are betrothed. Then I shall not hold back in any way.”
Both men turned and looked back at Elizabeth. She had drawn her legs up on the broad log, and her arms were wrapped around her knees. She was watching a wren hopping over her head and whistling to it.
Mr Gardiner smiled with approval as Darcy whispered, “See? She looks like she belongs here.”
Elizabeth moved her gaze to her uncle and Darcy. “You are both jolly fellows!” she exclaimed.
“It is Bingley’s news to tell, but I cannot wait,” Darcy said to Mr Gardiner and then called out to Elizabeth, “We have had word from your father. He has given Charles leave to court your sister.”
“Oh!” Elizabeth’s joy propelled her off the log and up to her uncle and Darcy. “What happy, happy news! No wonder you seem so full of yourself today, Mr Darcy!” The men were standing close enough together that she made to embrace them both at once, but her uncle bore the brunt of her exuberance as she threw an arm around him and kissed his cheek. Her other hand grasped Darcy’s arm, and just as quickly as she touched him, she realised the impropriety of her action and pulled away. “Excuse me, sir! I am too happy.”
Darcy reached for the hand that had so briefly caressed his upper arm, squeezed it and let it go. “You may be as happy as you like, Miss Elizabeth. I do not think your uncle will mind in such circumstances.”
Elizabeth blushed. Darcy’s touch warmed all of her, and she glanced nervously at her uncle. His smile was indulgent.
* * *
Wednesday, 29 July
At ten o’clock the following morning, the Darcy barouche with its hood down — for the weather was as fine as all had anticipated — pulled to a stop in front of the Rose and Raindrop Inn in Lambton. The townspeople watched with undisguised interest as Fitzwilliam Darcy alighted. Within a moment of his entering the inn, he came out again, followed by the Gardiners and their niece. Mr Gardiner handed his wife into the carriage and climbed in, leaving Darcy to see to Elizabeth before boarding the carriage, and away they went.
Georgiana carried a parasol and used it to shield herself as best she could from the well-meaning curiosity of onlookers. Darcy would have shown more reserve, but having received an express to say Jane was on her way with the Gardiner children and would arrive on Friday, he had every reason to be happy and no reason to hide it. Merriment illuminated his countenance, and he looked as amiable as the other two gentlemen in the party. He gazed on Elizabeth with a contented expression, proud of himself for finessing her ten days in Lambton into an entire month at Pemberley. Their eyes met, and hers questioned his obvious levity.
As soon as the carriage left High Street and was on the road to Bakewell, Darcy answered Elizabeth’s unspoken query. “Miss Elizabeth, Mrs Gardiner, we have had word from Longbourn. Miss Bennet and the children are on their way to us. We are to expect them Friday.”
Elizabeth leaned a little forward, the better to see Bingley. He was beaming.
“Miss Elizabeth, I shall want your advice,” he began when he noticed she was watching him, “and Miss Darcy, too. What are Miss Bennet’s favourite flowers? Which flowers represent apology? And gratitude? I shall shower her with petals of gratitude as soon as she arrives.”
The ladies laughed. “You will overwhelm her, Mr Bingley,” Mrs Gardiner said, smiling.
“Yes. Precisely. She shall never have reason to doubt my affection again.”
When Mr and Mrs Gardiner had questions about the countryside as the carriage travelled beyond Bakewell and turned south at Monyash, Georgiana, who was now more used to their company, answered as best she could. Elizabeth and Darcy gazed at each other, unabashedly oblivious to their company and the surroundings.
The carriage drew up to the broad field in which the Arbor Low was situated. Elizabeth was surprised to enter it from between its surrounding berms and a little disappointed to see the stones were lying down with no imposing height or massive lintels as at Stonehenge. The men stood about, admiring the effort that had brought the stones to the place and positioned them for marking each solstice. The ladies scampered around, with Mrs Gardiner and Georgiana making rubbings of the rock surfaces using charcoal and paper from Mrs Gardiner’s satchel of art supplies. The field was scattered with thistle and church-steeples, making a random violet and yellow tapestry in the pasture grass.
“Mr Darcy?” Elizabeth beckoned.
He walked over to her. “Miss Elizabeth?”
“Why are the stones not standing? Were they knocked down by misguided religious zealots during the reformation? Or by the Romans?”
“No, Miss Elizabeth. To anyone’s certain knowledge, they have never stood upright.”
“So perhaps Arbor Low was left unfinished?”
“Perhaps.” Darcy was amused by her curiosity and that she expected him to have all the knowledge of a tour guide.
“Do the Druids still come?”
“Yes, at each solstice and equinox. We still have a few wild folk about in Derbyshire.”
She walked by him closely, looked at him appraisingly and murmured for his ears only, “That much I knew.”
He laughed. I believe she is flirting with me!
Mrs Gardiner called for Elizabeth’s attention and bid her sit on one of the stones. Within a few minutes, she had drawn her niece’s likeness, sitting amidst Arbor Low with the thistles and church-steeples against her skirts.
Georgiana watched and admired the quick sure strokes of the pencils. “How clever you are, Mrs Gardiner. I wish I could draw.”
“It is my one lady-like accomplishment, Miss Darcy, since I do not play music as you do. I can scarce plunk out a tune on our pianoforte, although my daughters have started lessons.”
“How delightful! May I give them a lesson or two while
they visit here? You would not think me interfering?”
“Far from it. I am certain Alyse and Louise will enjoy it.” Mrs Gardiner smiled at Georgiana’s burgeoning confidence.
The men approached, led by Darcy, to see Mrs Gardiner’s drawing. “There!” she said. “Now that I have the outlines, I might add some tints or perhaps just some shading with charcoal or pen and ink.”
“It is lovely as it is.” Georgiana was enthusiastic.
Elizabeth stood, and the admirers parted so she could see her aunt’s work. “Oh!” She blushed and wondered if she were truly as appealing as her aunt made her appear.
“You have captured Miss Elizabeth’s smile remarkably well,” Bingley commented.
Darcy looked over Bingley’s shoulder, raised his eyebrows and turned away. Clearly, Mrs Gardiner had talent. If I owned that drawing, I would never get a wink of sleep again. He noticed the subject of the sketch had wandered away and was atop one arc of the Arbor Low barrows.
“Mr Darcy?” she asked as he approached, “What is that distinct rise of ground just beyond the next field?”
“You must be seeing Gib Hill. It is an easy walk. Shall we?” He held out his arm and turned to the rest of the party. “Miss Elizabeth and I will walk to Gib Hill. Who will join us?”
Bingley answered with a knowing look. “I shall be along in a moment. You two start.”
“I shall go along with Mr Bingley,” Georgiana added, hoping to slow Bingley’s pace.
Elizabeth came down from the berm and carefully tucked her gloved hand into Darcy’s elbow.
“Miss Elizabeth, what do you think of your likeness? You seemed unsettled by it.” He spoke in a low voice when they were a little distance from Arbor Low.
“I am always surprised at how my aunt renders me.”
“How so?”
Elizabeth looked away with a rueful smile and then shook her head, “It is not for me to direct how others perceive me. I am what I am, and others see what they will. I fear she tends to heighten what few attractions I have.”
“Why do you always disparage your looks, Elizabeth?” Darcy spoke without thinking. He drew in his breath. He had used her given name as if he were speaking to her in one of his dreams. “Excuse me, Miss Elizabeth.”
She did not meet his eyes but nodded. “No offense is taken, Mr Darcy.”
“I thank you.” There was a pause. “But my question stands unanswered.”
The corners of her mouth twitched up, and she turned away from him, the brim of her bonnet hiding her face. “So it does.” She let go of his arm and increased her stride. Darcy knew she would have sprinted the distance had she been alone.
They reached the top of Gib Hill and looked at the view all around and back toward Arbor Low. They could see that Bingley and Georgiana were halfway to them. Darcy stepped away from Elizabeth and admired her as she admired the view.
“You called this a tumulus, Mr Darcy. As in a tomb?”
“That is the local assumption, Miss Elizabeth, but no one has gone digging for bones. I hope dancing on someone’s grave does not make you uneasy.”
I am more uneasy being here with a living man than with dead ones, she mused, turning partly away as if to regard a different prospect. “Indeed, Mr Darcy, you will not find me superstitious. Those buried here have such beauty around them; I cannot think them spiteful. If only there were music, I would have my dance of you, sir.”
Darcy stepped closer and would have taken her in his arms for a waltz had Bingley not called, “Darcy, Miss Elizabeth! You will never guess. Georgiana brought her herbal, and we found the flower of forgiveness growing all around us here! The church-steeples!”
Elizabeth saw Darcy lifting his arms with an odd look in his eyes and became breathless. However, he immediately recovered himself when Bingley climbed the rise and joined him to look at the pages of the herbal, which explained that the botanical name of church-steeples was agrimony.
Elizabeth descended the hill alone. Something had been about to happen, but she was not certain what. Did he take my jest seriously? Was he going to dance with me? Where everyone could see?
Darcy was discomfited by his near breach of conduct. He was certain, from the glimpse she had into his unguarded eyes, that she had read his thoughtless impulse. How in God’s name shall I get through a month with her under my roof?
* * *
When she was back on the roadside of Arbor Low, Elizabeth saw Mr Gardiner lifting a picnic hamper from the carriage. She returned to help her aunt set out the midday repast. A blanket was laid on the ground, but when the others returned, no one was inclined to sit.
For his part, Darcy pursued Mrs Gardiner, who had found a tree stump in the shade. “Mrs Gardiner, I am intrigued with your portrait of your niece. What is your intention for it?”
“It is the second in a series of three. I took a likeness of Lizzy along the banks of your trout stream yesterday.”
“And the third?”
Mrs Gardiner became enigmatic. “I do have an idea for it, sir, but more I will not say.”
Darcy was fixed with a desire to obtain the drawings but it would be an insult to Mrs Gardiner to offer for their purchase, and he suspected she would judge him both condescending and improper. Indeed, he saw himself so, but he coveted them nonetheless.
Mrs Gardiner watched Darcy with a keen interpretation of his thoughts. She took pity on him a little. “I have not really answered your home question, have I, Mr Darcy? Because Elizabeth and I shall be at Pemberley for your sister’s birthday, we have decided to give her the triptych if you will direct me to a framer when the works are ready. I have until the seventeenth of the month?”
“Yes, madam, that is correct. I can supply you with the name of an excellent craftsman just outside Lambton. He is a young man but quite adept — keeps the trumpery to a minimum.”
“I thank you, sir.” Mrs Gardiner nodded as Darcy turned away. She smiled to herself. If the brother wheedled one of the pictures from the sister, it was no concern of hers.
The party grew drowsy as they returned to Pemberley with full bellies and their minds occupied with ancient ceremonies and rituals imagined at Arbor Low. They were assorted in the carriage in an order different than they had entered it, and although Darcy and Elizabeth were again seated opposite each other, they were away from the door side of the box. Darcy stretched his long legs as far as he could as he fell into a doze. His crossed ankles tucked amongst Elizabeth’s boots. She was already nodding and did not consciously notice the intimacy.
Mr Gardiner awoke as the carriage made the wide turn onto the Pemberley carriage road. It was he who first noticed the position of Darcy’s ankles against those of his niece. He leaned across a slightly snoring Bingley — with stems of agrimony in his lap — and lightly tapped Darcy upon his knee. Darcy started and opened his eyes, which happened to be positioned at the precise angle to see immediately where his feet were. He then glanced at Mr Gardiner, blushed, and set about untangling his feet from Elizabeth’s. The toes of his boots caught in her hem and she awoke to a tugging of the petticoat under her gown. There was coolness on her calves as a mortified Darcy struggled to pull his feet back and sit up straight. He had a pleasing glimpse of pale pink stockings and looked shyly at her.
Mr Gardiner chuckled silently. Darcy leaned to give him a look of apology. The awakened Elizabeth kept her eyes turned towards the woods. The warm impression of Darcy’s ankles against hers remained for several minutes after the offending appendages were removed. Her heart was thundering in her chest, and she found that, once again, he had stolen her breath. How shall I survive a month here? It is too much folly. Even his most accidental touch burns me. Why does he not acknowledge my statement of love with the flowers? It is surely because he cannot propose again and will not give me false hope. Nothing makes sense between us.
* * *
The carriage arrived at Pemberley’s front door. Evening clothes had been delivered for the Gardiners and Elizabeth from
the inn, and the ladies were shown the rooms they would inhabit when they arrived the next day. Georgiana’s maid entered to help Elizabeth dress for dinner. Bingley and Georgiana went outside to search for more agrimony now that they knew what it signified. Assuming the ladies would rest and dress, Darcy went to the stables to see the two colts born the week before.
Elizabeth’s hair was being styled when she heard a tap at the door. It was her aunt, who had not yet donned her evening gown. “Lizzy, I have had it from the housekeeper that we are two hours from dinner. We are meant to be resting because we are dainty.” Her eyes danced with mischief. “I have a very particular idea for your last portrait and I would steal you away when you are ready.”
The maid stepped away from the dressing table, revealing Elizabeth’s hair beautifully dressed with fresh flowers — tufts of honeysuckle the maid used under orders from Georgiana — with three glossy ringlets left loose that bounced as she turned to her aunt. Elizabeth seemed aglow, almost bridal in her radiance.
“Lizzy, child! I have never seen you lovelier. Hold that expression if ever you can!”
Mrs Gardiner led her niece to the portrait gallery. There she positioned Elizabeth turned at profile toward the picture of Darcy.
“Aunt, might I hold some flowers?” Elizabeth asked when she saw what Mrs Gardiner was about.
“That is a happy thought, my love. You know a little of the gardens here. What would suit you?”
“Red chrysanthemums. They are in the cutting garden. Mrs Reynolds will know where.” I will try once more.
Mrs Gardiner disappeared, giving Elizabeth the opportunity to picture Darcy’s reaction to seeing so explicit an expression of the depth of her regard when the portrait was unwrapped. This exceeds dignity, but what else am I to do? This will be a most artless work of art. Her aunt returned, having encountered Grayson who would pass the request to Mrs Reynolds.
A quarter of an hour later, when Mrs Reynolds took the half dozen stems to the gallery, she found Mrs Gardiner seated on one of the tufted benches with her drawing board upon her knee. Before her stood Elizabeth in her pale yellow evening gown, perfectly still and lost in admiration of the painting labelled Fitzwilliam George Darcy, 1805. The flowers were handed to Elizabeth, who unselfconsciously brought them to her bosom. Mrs Reynolds looked over Mrs Gardiner’s shoulder.
The Red Chrysanthemum Page 13
