The gallery landing above the entrance hall, gave access to a series of guest rooms on the right and to the family’s private wing on the left. Elizabeth’s room, which was closest to the steps, was intimidatingly large but the soft green wallpaper, high ceilings and a series of elegant windows looking out over an expanse of lawn gave it an airy feel. The view itself stretched right up to woodland that had been sufficiently cleared of undergrowth to make it look like a delightful place to wander - but that was for tomorrow. This evening she must ready herself for dinner and for another encounter with the master of the house.
This was to occur sooner than she had thought, for as she crossed the landing to the stairs, the door accessing the family wing opened and Mr. Darcy came out. He had obviously just finished dressing for he was still shrugging his shoulders inside his close-fitting jacket and tugging at his shirt cuffs.
“Miss Bennet.” He stopped and smiled. “I thought to be first downstairs to welcome my guests but you have beaten me to it.”
“My apologies, Mr. Darcy. I have never had good timing. At home I am usually late for everything; but of course, I have nothing to distract me while on holiday,” she said, responding in the same pleasant manner.
They stood at the top of the staircase. “Miss Bennet?” he said, offering her his arm.
Elizabeth took it a little reluctantly. Closer to, she felt his warmth and breathed in the tangy freshness of his cologne. It had a lemon top note she thought distractedly, but there was something warm and woody at its base that she could not identify.
“You are rather quiet, Miss Bennet,” he said as they reached the bottom step in silence.
“Er… Yes, I was trying to identify the elements that make up your rather pleasant cologne, sir.”
He laughed and coloured at the compliment. “I’m afraid that you will have to ask my valet about that. Are you still distilling perfumes?”
“Unfortunately not. But once one acquires the habit, it is very difficult not to try to analyse an unfamiliar fragrance. If you cast your mind back you might remember that our groom, John had a wife who was making potpourri sachets?”
“Yes, as I remember, we walked into Meryton to look at them in a shop window.”
“That’s right,” confirmed Elizabeth with raised brows. “Well, Mary has graduated to making fragrances now. My father gave her permission to use our distillery and I was thinking of describing your cologne to her. Perhaps she could replicate it. She is already well-known in the area for her ladies’ perfumes. This could open up a whole new market.”
“Since you are still interested in the pastime, why is it that you no longer distil fragrances yourself?”
“I don’t really have the time, sir. There is a great deal of parish work to be done.”
“Surely that would be the task of the parson’s wife?”
For a moment Elizabeth was robbed of her poise. She had not considered revealing the details of her courtship to anyone while she was away. After all, courtship was essentially a personal arrangement: a precursor to the engagement which was publically announced later. After a brief internal debate she prudently decided to restrict herself to the bare bones of the truth.
“Unfortunately, the need in our parish is great and our vicar is as yet unmarried.”
At a gesture from her companion, the butler standing across the entrance hall from them moved forward and opened a door. Darcy stood aside as Elizabeth stepped over the threshold into what was the largest library she had ever seen. What Papa would give to have such a room, was her first thought as she looked around her.
She was unfamiliar with the house and so had anticipated entering the dining room or perhaps a parlour where they would wait for the others; she had certainly not expected the intimacy of this long room, so softly lit that the ceiling disappeared into darkness. Warmth emanated from rich, red walls and shining, mahogany floors, and, at the far end, two chairs were arranged before a fire which crackled merrily in the grate. All around them, row upon row of books in their rich, leather bindings rose into the shadows above.
There is no way of guessing how many books this room houses, she thought as Darcy walked ahead of her and stopped next to a desk that stood in an alcove formed by three bookshelves.
“I thought to show you this while we wait for the others, Miss Bennet. You, I think, will be particularly interested,” he said, his hand next to an open book that looked to be of great antiquity.
She moved forward, her eyes falling on the open page before her.
“Quaeris, quot mihi basiationes
tuae, Lesbia, sint satis superque.
quam magnus numerus Libyssae harenae
lasarpiciferis iacet Cyrenis”
she read silently and then looked up enquiringly at the man facing her.
“Catullus,” she said. But this looks to be a very old book, sir?”
“Yes. This particular edition is some three hundred years old, I believe. So you are familiar with the poem? Do you have a favourite line?”
“His image of quiet nights and the millions of stars that watch over men is the one that I love most in this poem. The idea seems so true, so eternal.”
A small smile curved the corner of Darcy’s mouth. “It is mine too,” he said simply. “Are you acquainted with much of his poetry?”
“Only those poems that my father considered suitable for a young woman’s eyes, sir.”
“Ah! Yes, of course…” He turned aside to a nearby table. “Can I offer you a glass of madeira or a sherry perhaps?” he said, indicating the decanters that stood sparkling in the lamplight.
“A very small sherry, thank you.”
His hands were well-shaped and manicured and his movements deft, but as Darcy lifted the stopper of the decanter standing closest to the lamp, Elizabeth noticed a thin white scar that ran across the top of his hand to end between his thumb and forefinger.
“You have a scar, Mr. Darcy?”
“Yes. From bringing in the harvest when I was much younger. Just after my parent’s death, in fact. I was inexperienced at wielding a scythe in those days: a danger to myself and everyone else. I was lucky not to lose my thumb.”
“Do your people often injure themselves?”
“It happens. Usually it’s the youngsters, but injuries are few and mostly light. A lot of the work is actually done by travelling labourers who are quite expert at harvesting. We have one such group on the estate at the moment. I will be in the fields with them and the people of Pemberley for the end of the harvest tomorrow. Georgiana usually brings me lunch on the last day. Perhaps you would like to accompany her?” he asked, watching her closely.
Something new was in the air and Elizabeth’s mind skittered in alarmed confusion. “I… Yes certainly. That would be pleasant. We are to visit the village school first, I believe, but just after that, perhaps?”
“I will look forward to it,” said Darcy, so pleasantly that she felt that she might have imagined the tension in his voice earlier.
She drained her glass, returning it to the tray.
“Come, Miss Bennet,” he stepped forward to place his glass next to hers and she felt a warm hand in the small of her back. “The others will be down by now. We should join them.”
_________________________________
Outwardly Darcy looked calm as he sat at the head of the dining table with Elizabeth on his right. It was an arrangement that had initially seemed to disconcert her, but as no one appeared surprise, she had since relaxed into her chair. She now seemed to be reasonably at ease. However, his body had not relaxed from the strict control he had set over it during their encounter in the library.
As he watched her talk to his sister, he reflected on just what it was that made her so essential to his happiness. He had been fascinated by her from their very first meeting; although he had put another interpretation on his reaction at the time. But, as he had subsequently admitted more than once to himself, he had been incapable of truly loving anyone then
. The man he was had been preoccupied with issues of status and power and so self-absorbed that he had been incapable of moving beyond himself: of merging with another sufficiently to see their vision of reality. True compassion and love had been beyond him.
Yes, as a youth he had been taught the right thing to do, but his brand of morality had been superficial: merely a set of rules to follow. It was because he had lived such a shallow existence, that it had been easy for him to believe that he had all the answers. Since then, life had made him look more deeply into situations and people. Yet, even as blind as he had been at the time of their first meeting, he had recognised in Elizabeth a real humanity and dedication to the truth. Thankfully, she had never been perfect: she was too mischievous and proud for that. But the fact that she had been innately more caring than he, had challenged him - made him reassess himself. It was the goodness he saw in her that had helped him to aspire to be a better person.
He felt as if he had been wandering in search of something all his life and was finally ready to move beyond himself. He was not sure of her sentiments but he desperately wanted to have her: wanted them to discover together what it was to lose their individual selves and look into the future as one. He couldn’t envisage attempting the journey with anyone else. He was well aware of his many faults but not only was Elizabeth intelligent enough to understand and challenge him, but there was lightness to her being that balanced the heaviness in his. His parents had been incapable of real love; but together, he was certain that he and Elizabeth would find it.
“Brother, you know the Reverend Collins: the vicar at Rosings, do you not?” It was Georgiana drawing him out of his reverie.
“I do. Why do you ask?”
“Merely that Miss Bennet and I were discussing the estate. She has visited her sister there once or twice in the past and was there last April; yet you never mentioned having met her.”
“Our visits could not have coincided then. Either that, or I was unaware that she was at the vicarage.”
“You were probably unaware, sir. I went to assist my sister, who was delivered of a little girl. It was a difficult birth and I did not get out much at the time,” said Elizabeth.
“Yes, I do remember the child’s birth being remarked on by my aunt. She didn’t mention your presence though.”
“No. I should have been surprised if she had. From all she has ever said, she prefers the differences between herself and those at the parsonage to be observed.”
“You have spoken to my aunt then?”
“My sister and her husband are invited to dinner at Rosings now and again; though never when guests are expected. Lady Catherine and I have conversed on those occasions.”
Darcy smiled. “I should have liked to be a fly on the wall on then, Miss Bennet. I know my aunt’s arrogance and I’m sure you gave every bit as good as you got.”
Elizabeth’s smile conveyed a world of meaning. “You mistake me, sir. I’m not one to argue with my betters,” she said, the sparkle in her eye telling him a different story.
“So, you acknowledge having betters, do you, Miss Bennet?” said Darcy innocently. “I wouldn’t have thought it.”
She chuckled. “If you are referring to our past history; your manners were no better than mine at the time, Mr. Darcy.”
He smiled and nodded. “And I venture to say now that they were probably a good deal worse.”
“Certainly a lot more disagreeable,” she laughed charmingly and offered him the platter of sweetmeats.
__________________________________
The dinner party was over and as the others crossed the hall to the stairs, Darcy came out of the dining room and saw Elizabeth looking down into a glass display case that stood against the far wall, containing fragments of Greek and Roman statuary. He moved up behind her as the others began climbing the stairs.
Her concentration was such that she gave a start when he said, “Those were brought back from the continent by my grandfather. He collected them as a young man on his grand tour. I believe he acquired that small head there from a street peddler in Rome,” he said, pointing to a piece of stone frieze on which a man’s face had been carved: the flowers and grapes in his wildly curling hair being rendered in exquisite detail. Beside it on the blue velvet lining, a remarkably beautiful marble hand lay curled in the relaxed position of sleep.
“Your grandfather was a man of discernment. These are small but quite exquisite,” said Elizabeth, looking up at him, sincere appreciation shining from the depths of her liquid eyes.
Suddenly, all Darcy’s well-constructed defenses were down. It seemed as if his hand moved of its own volition as he lightly raised her chin and then lowered his head to caress her mouth with his own. A sensation delicious beyond belief overwhelmed him and he stepped back, shocked at his action, but just in time to see a delightful blush colour her cheeks as she lowered her eyes in confusion.
“I won’t say that I am sorry to have done that, Miss Bennet. I have been longing to all evening. But I will apologise if I have upset you. Could we talk?”
Elizabeth raised troubled eyes to meet his. Her expression was reproachful as she shook her head and, without another word, turned to the stairs and began running lightly up them. He stood at the bottom gazing up, but she never once looked back.
Chapter 30
“The feel of the spade in the hand is no different
for all our talk:
good seasons and bad follow each other as of old”
W.B. Yeats
Elizabeth ducked in order to avoid a branch overhanging one side of the narrow lane. She had been told by her cousin that Georgiana was a neck-or-nothing rider. If her driving was anything to go by, Elizabeth could well believe it.
“I’m sorry, Elizabeth. Am I driving a little too fast?” Georgiana said, frowning and looking straight ahead as the rear of the light pony cart rumbled and skidded sideways over a section of smooth rock forming the surface of that part of the road.
“Just a touch, Georgiana. Don’t mind me. I have never been comfortable with any form of transportation other than my own two feet.”
“Truly?” said her young companion, reining in her horses to a slow trot. “You should have said. Richard once told me that I style myself after Letty Lade. I’m not sure who she may be, but I am certain that he means that I am reckless, for he refuses to let me take the reins when he drives out with me.”
“I have yet to meet a man who believes that any woman is safe behind a pair of horses. My closest friend at home, Charlotte Lucas, is an excellent driver - better than most of the men in the district - yet her father lives in fear of her overturning her vehicle. The irony of it all is that the only family member to have had an accident was her oldest brother, who fancies himself to be something of a Corinthian. But then that is only his opinion. I have heard his younger brother, calling him cow-handed once or twice.”
“And you have never tried to drive?”
“I haven’t. My father is not a man with a great deal of patience. He taught those of my sisters who showed an aptitude to both ride and drive, but if he has to work too hard at something then he loses interest and I think that I posed too much of a challenge when he tried to teach me.”
“My brother taught me to ride at a very young age. Driving was something that I picked up during his absences.”
“Does he go away much?”
“He used to. But his visits to town have become less frequent over the past few years. I think that he has come to prefer the countryside. He is a very conscientious landlord, as you must have gathered when we visited the village school.”
“To tell the truth, I was most impressed with what I saw there. The school is well run and it is unusual to see such an emphasis put on educating girls. Has your brother always held enlightened views on women?”
“Well, I can’t say, but we are close and he has always encouraged me. And then, when he opened the school two years ago, he was very careful to find a school master
who held progressive views. As I’ve got older, it seems to me that he has become more aware of the difficulties that women face; but perhaps it is just that he discusses these things with me now. He might always have thought that way and I just wasn’t aware of it.”
They moved out from under the trees into the glare of the sun and both immediately fell silent as they looked around at the expanse of harvested lands laying both on their left and their right. There was a murmured exchange between herself and Georgiana, agreeing at the staggering amount of work that had been done and then Elizabeth’s mind was free once again to worry at the edges of the more personal dilemma that had been occupying her all morning.
She felt an urgency to leave Pemberley after last night; yet she was unable to move matters forward on her own. Her cousins had made the arrangements and as uncertain as she was of what might happen next between herself and Darcy, she was committed to remain until tomorrow.
Last night, as she lay in bed, she had acknowledged that Darcy’s kiss had had a powerful effect on her. There was a sound he had made while kissing her: a soft groan that had come from somewhere low in his throat that had made the hairs on her arms stand on end and had warned her that even though he had been gentle, even though his mouth and hands had been tender and adoring as they caressed her, this man wanted her badly and could make her want him just as much. It was a terrifying yet thrilling idea and one that she had immediately avoided thinking about. Instead she turned her mind to Darcy’s flaws, as if they could somehow cure this new fascination, but she knew too little about what actually drove him.
All Darcy’s misdeeds appeared to stem from the same source: he was basically a good man who was a little too used to having his own way. Nothing about him seemed hidden: nothing dark, yet he called to something deep within her that her mind was grappling to understand. Whatever the connection was, it resisted analysis; yet at the same time there was recognition at some fundamental level. A phrase from the bible about seeing through a glass darkly kept rising to the surface of her mind. It went some way towards describing this disturbing sense of opacity that she felt.
The Golden Apples of the Sun Page 25
