Elizabeth shook her head to say no, and Darcy began the story, exulting inside when he managed to make Elizabeth laugh. Elizabeth soon relaxed, and entered the conversation with all her usual liveliness, but Darcy could see in her words, and gestures that she wished to make her affection for him clear.
After they had walked for two hours, they decided it was time to separate, but they planned to meet again the next day. Each day after they walked together in the morning, except once when it rained too hard to venture out.
* * * * *
Most mornings Elizabeth met Darcy with a bright smile. So he worried when a week after he returned to Hertfordshire she stomped towards him with a scowl. Had he unknowingly offended her the previous day? When Elizabeth reached him, she roughly grabbed his extended arm and said with fake cheer, “Is it not a wonderful morning?”
After Darcy’s reply Elizabeth fell silent. Most days she chose their topics of conversation, and as they quietly walked towards the path decided upon the previous day. Darcy searched his memory for something wrong he may have done.
When nothing came to mind he cautiously asked, “Is something the matter?”
Darcy’s apprehension was relieved as she burst out, “Oh! Mama makes me so angry at times. How can she still say such things? Hasn’t she already seen the harm her obsession can cause?”
When Elizabeth paused Darcy hesitantly asked, “What —ah, what exactly is it that she said?”
Elizabeth’s eyes blazed as she turned her face towards him, “Jane, dear,” she mimicked her mother’s voice, “once you’ve married Bingley, you must be sure to throw your sisters in the way of other rich men.”
Elizabeth growled and turned forward to walk rapidly along the pathway shaded by trees whose spring leaves were half grown in. Darcy needed to lengthen his stride to keep up with her. “Affection, and the well-being of those you care for is what matters. We already have all the money needed to live comfortably, no matter who my sisters marry. She only wishes us to marry well so she can brag to Lady Lucas, and Mrs. Long, and Aunt Gardiner and every other woman who knows of her existence. She is happy Jane marries Bingley, not because they care for each other, and not because their temperaments match and they should be very happy together — no, she is happy because it is such a great triumph for her daughter to marry a man with four thousand a year.”
Darcy agreed with Elizabeth, and thought quite as poorly of her mother as she did, but while he hoped Elizabeth gained some value in him listening to her complain about her mother, he felt it best not to add his own insults. Instead he pulled her to a slower pace and paid close attention.
Elizabeth calmed, as they walked more slowly. They were surrounded by the wonderful smells of spring, and birds finishing their morning songs. A brightly colored butterfly flapped its way across the path. Elizabeth then said, “The problem has always been that Jane is too persuadable. You know of one time. I think you could’ve guessed at another, remember when Jane became ill and had to stay at Netherfield — that was Mama’s doing, she convinced Jane to take the horse, instead of the carriage, so she would not be able to return when it rained. And she became happy when Jane was sick, since people do not die of trifling colds. Except sometimes they do.”
“At least I have convinced her to not say such things in public,” Elizabeth ended with a sigh, “she would when my father was alive.”
Even as he spoke Darcy was sure his words were a mistake, “I believe you are only successful in causing her not to say such things when you are in earshot. The second night we met, at a party Sir William held, she rather loudly told Lady Lucas, even though she saw me standing nearby, that she had ordered Jane to use any means at her disposal to attach Bingley. I confess the conversation had led me to worry until you spoke to me about Jane’s feelings.”
“She said that? While you stood close?” Elizabeth said in a low dangerous voice. She stopped walking, and pulled her arm away from his and clenched her gloved hand into a tight fist. Her face was red, and Darcy almost heard her teeth grind.
He did not know what to do, so Darcy took her hand, and slowly rubbed it. After a minute Elizabeth relaxed her fist, and her breathing steadied. She took his arm again. They walked some distance before Elizabeth said “I don’t like when I hate her — and I do, I sometimes hate her.”
Elizabeth caught Darcy’s eye, “I am a woman who sometimes hates her mother. I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. It is not proper to dislike my mother so. I — when Mr. Collins first died, I threatened to throw her out, and we did not speak for a year. I should not have done that. Even now, when we argue about expenses, I constantly say no to her. I sometimes derive a joy from her disappointment.”
Tears appeared in Elizabeth’s eyes as she continued, “I am a horrible daughter. Papa would not have been happy to see me treat her so. I do now mostly show the respect due her position, but there is no love in it. And my attitude is not fair — she does wish to appear well before our neighbors, but there is nothing really wrong with that, and she also cares for us. She acts as she does because she is anxious and foolish. I should not disdain her for that. She is who she is, why can I not accept her for it?”
Darcy thought Elizabeth’s dislike of her mother was perfectly reasonable, but he knew she could not. He also remembered how he felt when Colonel Fitzwilliam told him he was not to blame after Georgiana’s near elopement. Words would not relieve Elizabeth’s distress, and in any case Darcy was not a man given to speaking empty platitudes.
With a blush at his own forwardness, Darcy brushed the tears off her cheeks and kissed Elizabeth’s forehead. When he pulled back, their eyes met and he said, “You are as you ought to be.”
Their gaze held, and Elizabeth gave him a smile — it was not one of her arch smiles as she laughed at some bit of cleverness, or the happy smile she had when she greeted him, it was a soft, warm and slightly sad smile. Elizabeth grabbed Darcy’s arm again, and nestled closer to him and they walked down the green shaded country lane again.
“No matter what you say, I should be more accepting of my mother. Though I’m glad it has not destroyed your esteem for my character that I am not.”
“I cannot blame you for your sentiments, I am only impressed that you should desire them to be different.”
Elizabeth gave a short laugh at that response, “I daresay she appears poorly to you as well.”
Darcy replied dryly, “That might be so, but it hardly seems proper for me to say it.” Elizabeth smiled at that response, and Darcy added, “You are not the only one with unpleasant relatives, you must meet my Aunt Catherine. I think you shall like her a great deal, she is famous for her frankness and advice.”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, “I shall look forward to the occasion.”
The implication in Elizabeth’s response that she expected to meet the rest of his family could not help but please Darcy. The two strolled amiably along, mostly in silence only pointing out the occasional bird or squirrel running across the path, or a particularly pretty bit of scenery.
Elizabeth had told him something she disliked about herself. She had been unguarded with him, and showed her inner feelings. It made Darcy desire to reveal himself to her in a like manner. He ought to tell her what happened to Georgiana last summer. However, as he searched for the words, Darcy found he really did not wish to speak about it. He had failed to protect his sister. How would that seem to a woman who would do anything to protect her own?
Elizabeth noted his discomfort, and squeezing his arm softly asked, “What is it?”
Darcy began hesitantly, “Do you remember Mr. Wickham?”
“The charming snake? I do.” Her tone was light, but Elizabeth’s eyes were serious.
“The charming snake? An apt description.”
“Perhaps you recall a conversation we had about Milton, when you said there was a man you know, who, while he showed every appearance of goodness, was a snake underneath — Mr. Wickham had a very charming exterior, but clearly
was deficient inside, so I believed he was the person you referred to.”
“He was.”
In a serious voice Darcy narrated how Wickham convinced Georgiana to elope with him. Darcy dwelled on each point in the story where he ought to have acted differently — he should have checked Mrs. Younge’s background more thoroughly; he should have sent trusted servants from Pemberley with Georgiana, instead of hiring the staff in Ramsgate; perhaps he should not have allowed his sister to be alone at all — though she had dearly wished the opportunity. Maybe even, instead of ignoring Wickham when he asked for the living he should have paid the man off again, so he would not wish revenge.
Elizabeth kept her large sympathetic eyes on him, and squeezed his arm whenever he became particularly distressed during the narration. Darcy had never spoken at length about this; Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mrs. Annesley were the only persons he had told the full story to. He could not freely describe how he felt about his failures to another man, even one as close and involved as Colonel Fitzwilliam.
As he saw Elizabeth accept his words it felt as if the burden he’d held since last summer lightened. When Darcy finished speaking Elizabeth was silent for a few minutes, at last she said “Well, it was a very good thing he did not enroll in them regiment here. I’m glad to see Georgiana and Lydia get along so well, they seem good for each other.”
“I agree. You do not blame me then for failing to protect Georgiana?”
“No, never.” Elizabeth peered more closely at Darcy, “I daresay it is each person’s particular duty to feel their own failings more seriously than anyone else will. It is the duty of their friends to tell them they are excellent people nonetheless.”
For a moment Darcy wished to push Elizabeth to reassure him further, but he silenced himself and instead took Elizabeth’s hand and briefly squeezed it in thanks. After they had walked on a bit Darcy thought it best to lighten the conversation, and said “I have done my particular duty, I believe it is your turn.”
It took Elizabeth a second to parse his meaning, and then she laughed merrily, “Certainly — you are a most excellent creature; tall, which I am certain you know any gentleman should be if he can arrange it; rich — which any gentleman also should be if they can; very handsome, which possibly is a gentleman’s most important accomplishment.”
Darcy smiled back, “I believe I meant you to speak on the excellence of my character, not my person and situation.”
“Oh! And I had not yet mentioned that you are the grandson of an Earl. Let me see, you are scrupulously honest, except when you wish to provoke an argument. You show all the humility to be desired from a man who is so poor that he can point to at least a hundred gentlemen with greater income, and you do have a delightful smile — no, wait, I believe that is a reference to your person, not your character. You do not smile often enough in company — but that is not a praise.”
Elizabeth shook her head with an arch smile, “I fear that I am not at all qualified to praise you properly, and now that I have castigated myself, it is your turn.”
Darcy replied in like manner, and laughing the two passed the remainder of their morning walk.
* * * * *
A few days before Jane’s wedding, Elizabeth peeked her head out the door as she prepared to set out on her morning walk. It was gray. Very gray. She made an unhappy face at the clouds, it seemed certain to rain.
Well… Maybe not certain. If it were to rain, would it not have started already? And the ground was muddy, perhaps the clouds had emptied themselves over the night. And even if it did rain, if she took a heavy wool coat, large umbrella, and thick shawl it might not be so bad.
Elizabeth acquired those articles, and set off to meet Darcy — certain he would think like she had. She was being a bit irresponsible, but it was not so bad. And over the past week and a half, the mornings which were their best opportunity to speak privately had become Elizabeth’s favorite part of the day.
Sure enough, when she reached the secluded grove of trees slightly off the main road where they had planned to meet, Darcy was there in a handsome green overcoat. Elizabeth now reveled in the pleasure the view of his tall straight form gave her. She always liked Darcy’s appearance well enough, but now that she knew she loved him it was different.
His hair — the way it fell over his ears, the thin lines around his knuckles, the way he had a hint of stubble at supper time, his mannerisms, the angle at which he would hold his saucer while drinking tea, the steady way he paused before he spoke when he desired to be serious. Elizabeth felt an astonishingly strong rush of tenderness when she thought about any of these, or many other quirks of Mr. Darcy. She was surprised that she could feel so sentimental about such small things, but was wise enough to enjoy her silliness.
Elizabeth was now pleased Darcy had not spoken again that first morning they had met after the assembly ball. She had been sure after her first dance with Darcy that night — or, to be honest with herself, she had been certain after she spoke to Jane the afternoon Darcy left Netherfield at the end of November. But, that certainty had been an uncomfortable thing. She knew she wished to marry Darcy, but despite that her own attempt to speak showed there was still much anxiety attached to the idea.
But over the past mornings, as Darcy listened to her and comforted her, and told her of his failures, and emotions, as she had grown to love him more and understand him better, Elizabeth stopped feeling tense when she imagined herself committed to be near him always. She would not be entirely comfortable with the idea of marriage until the vows were said and the license signed, but she now felt mostly comfortable.
The smile Darcy gave upon seeing her, the way his face lit up and let her see the affection in his eyes, made Elizabeth feel warm and fluttery inside. His greeting as he bowed gallantly, and kissed her hand with a flourish made Elizabeth giggle and blush.
“I fear we ought not have ventured out this morning,” Darcy opened the conversation.
Elizabeth laughed, “I am certain of it — though we brought umbrellas, and are very warmly dressed. However, I would not have left you out here alone for all the rain in England.”
The way Darcy’s countenance filled with added pleasure and pride at her declaration made Elizabeth happily squeeze the arm he had given her more tightly. Darcy chose to tease Elizabeth, “Where were you then Tuesday last when I waited out for you in a really drenching rain.”
“Shame on you, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth smiled. “Shame. I have on the authority of no less a personage than your sister Georgiana, that you breakfasted with the Netherfield party that morning and had a frighteningly ferocious scowl. I had thought deceit to be your abhorrence. Perhaps I ought to ask where were you when I stood out in the rain?”
Darcy’s reply was interrupted by the first large cold drops of rain as the sky which had been threatening now delivered. Darcy immediately pulled open his large black umbrella, and pulled Elizabeth closer to him as he held it over them. The rain quickly became intense, and the wind blew sprays of frigid water under the umbrella. “I ought to walk you back to Longbourn,” Darcy said.
Elizabeth shook her head, “It is above a mile, and the rain is very heavy.” She pointed, “Behind that cluster of trees is a small Grecian temple Mr. Goulding set up. It is covered, and there is some seating.”
With Elizabeth in the lead, the two quickly ran, and got under the shelter of the marble building while laughing together. It was reasonably dry under its cover, and neither had gotten particularly wet. Though Elizabeth thought the damp strands of hair which stuck to Darcy’s forehead appeared particularly fetching.
With that thought she splashed a bit of water from one of the waterfalls pouring off of the temple’s roof at Darcy. He laughed, and may have replied in kind, but a cold gust of wind made Elizabeth shiver as the wind penetrated her layers of clothing.
Darcy pulled her towards a more sheltered spot, and a minute later the two were seated on the floor against one of the large pillars which held the st
ructure up, looking out at the pouring gray rain. Elizabeth’s shawl had been rearranged to keep both of them slightly covered and Darcy’s warm arm had pulled her against his side.
Now that she was no longer moving Elizabeth began to feel drowsy, she had stayed up late many of the previous nights talking to Jane, and then woke early in the morning to meet Darcy. She laid her head against Darcy’s shoulder, and said, “Tell me more about spring in Pemberley.”
Darcy responded with stories about planting, and rainstorms, and the beauty of the landscape as green proliferated, and his comforting warm voice combined with the patter of rain lulled her quickly to sleep.
Elizabeth was startled awake when Darcy shook her. It no longer rained, and the wet ground was bathed in sunlight. She looked around in confusion, her head had been on Darcy’s chest, and she saw a wet spot where she suspected she had drooled onto his greatcoat.
Elizabeth felt her face heat with embarrassment, but when she met Darcy’s eyes he looked at her with a deep tenderness. As their eyes held Elizabeth felt the now familiar flutters in her stomach explode more intensely than they ever had before. “Elizabeth, I —”
Darcy paused to swallow. Elizabeth’s nerves tightened anxiously. Was it to be this moment?
Darcy must have seen her anxiety, for something in his eyes changed, and instead of speaking further he brushed at Elizabeth’s cheek with his hand, and then leaned in, as he had the day she complained about her mother, and kissed her on the forehead. Elizabeth shivered with emotion and longing at the touch and closed her eyes.
Then Darcy stood with a groan and offered his hand to pull her up as well. “Come we must return.”
Elizabeth nodded, and took Darcy’s arm, and as they walked towards where their roads parted she felt an intense rush of disappointment. Why couldn’t he see that she did want him to ask?
Mr Darcy and Mr Collins's Widow Page 16
