by Robin Helm
She moved to go.
“I, too, was just leaving. May I walk with you?”
She tried to make her sigh as quiet as possible. She could not think of a way to refuse without being rude. So much for her pleasant stroll. “Of course.”
He walked away from her — oh! His horse was here, behind the holly bush. He grabbed the reins and led it toward the path. They did not speak again until they reached the wider path, the horse trailing behind them.
“How do you find Kent?” he asked.
“I arrived only a day before you did, but seeing my friend, Charlotte, so pleased with her situation, I could not but enjoy my stay thus far.”
The silence was uncomfortable, and she sought to fill it. “Do you visit your aunt often?”
“Once a year, usually at Easter, but Richard anticipates being sent abroad about that time, so we came early.”
Though his horse made some noises now and then, again there was only uneasy silence between the humans.
“The Park is lovely here,” she said.
“Yes, Rosings offers many scenic paths. Do you ride, Miss Bennet? I am sure my aunt would lend you a horse if you so desire.”
“I confess I do not. I had a handful of lessons as a child, but it seemed the horse did not like it any better than I did, throwing herself onto the ground and rolling about, apparently with the design of ridding herself of me as well as the saddle. After being confined to the house for several weeks with a broken leg, I never dared try it again. I do not like being indoors for too long.”
“It sounds as if someone chose the wrong horse.”
Was he suggesting some negligence on the part of her father? “The fault was mine. We had only two mares and my sister Jane was already learning on the gentler one. I insisted on being taught at the same time. It matters not; I am not one to go round and round in circles. I would much rather walk out and explore nature on the ground rather than to view it from way up on top of a horse.”
“Riding in circles is only the very beginning of learning to ride. If you tried again, with a proper mount this time, you might like it.”
“Maybe someday.” Probably never.
They fell quiet once more.
At length, Mr. Darcy said, “How long will you be staying at Hunsford Cottage?”
“Charles and Jane will send their carriage for me the first week of February.”
Mr. Darcy seemed lost in his thoughts for a while this time.
She could stand the silence no longer and cleared her throat.
He startled as if he forgot she was there. “What books do you read, Miss Elizabeth?”
Remembering their conversation at the Netherfield ball, she tried not to laugh, truly she did, but she did not succeed.
“You said you did not wish to speak of serious matters in a ballroom, but I thought the subject might be permitted in this setting.”
She offered the title of the book she was currently reading, and as it was one he had read in the past, they discussed it, moving on to the one he was reading currently. To her surprise, it turned into a stimulating deliberation, with his stance always opposite to her own.
Mr. Darcy halted. Elizabeth was surprised to find herself standing at the gate to the short path leading to Hunsford.
He smiled. “Actually, Miss Bennet, I agree with you on all counts.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Really! I never would have guessed.”
“It made for a more interesting conversation to take up the opposite stance, did it not?” His smile broadened, dazzling her.
Goodness! He needed to stop smiling like that. The awkward silences were much preferable to an interesting conversation with him, as well. It was such an inconvenience to find the man whom she was determined to hate agreeable in any way.
She blinked to ground herself. “Were you on the debate team at school?”
“Former captain of the Oxford Debating Society, at your service, madam.” He tipped his hat. “I must say that had I not already agreed with you, you would have persuaded me. You are quite good at finding the strongest argument to defend your point.”
Impossibly, his smile widened further, and a dimple appeared on his cheek.
Again, she was left blinking, this time in astonishment. Had Mr. Darcy really complimented her? After a few moments, she remembered herself. “Thank you, sir.”
She reached for the latch to the gate, but he got to it before her, dropped his horse’s reins, and stepped through to hold it open as she passed.
“Good day to you, Miss Bennet. I have never enjoyed a stroll, nor a debate, more.” He bowed.
She curtsied — an automatic response — and then she walked on. At the turn to the short path that led to the door, she paused and looked back. He was still watching her!
A confusing sense of pleasure coursed through her, but then guilt dampened the emotion. She continued into the cottage.
Whilst removing her bonnet, she heard Charlotte’s voice from the parlour. “Lizzy? Is that you?”
“I will be with you in a moment, Charlotte.”
Mr. Darcy’s conversation had been so animated of late, as if he were a different person than the one she had met in Hertfordshire. Did Mr. Darcy have an identical twin, like the Misses Nash near home?
She had seen a hint of this man in the drawing room at Netherfield once while she had been staying there nursing her sister. If Charles had not put an end to their discussion at that time, saying that it sounded too much like an argument for his tastes, would Mr. Darcy have transformed into this man instead of the haughty, arrogant one she had come to expect?
Sally came to help with her outerwear. Elizabeth thanked her, and the girl disappeared up the stairs.
Elizabeth reminded herself not only of what Mr. Darcy had done to Lieutenant Wickham, but also what that gentleman had said: Mr. Darcy could please where he wanted, but it was all an act. She also could not forget that he had snubbed her sister and Charles.
As she pushed open the door to join Charlotte, the memory of Charles’s wounded expression when he scrutinized the faces of the guests seated in the church before the minister began the wedding service flashed into her mind’s eye.
What kind of game was Mr. Darcy playing?
Resentment rose in her chest.
There! That was much better.
⸟ﻬ⸞ﻬ⸟
Darcy watched Elizabeth enter the cottage. He felt re-energized, in a way that had been lost to him for a very long time. Invigorated. Alive!
Once mounted on his horse, the beast pawed the ground, most likely bored from having to walk slowly behind Elizabeth and himself for such a distance.
A good run seemed in order before returning him to the stables.
What a remarkable day!
⸟ﻬ⸞ﻬ⸟
~Tuesday, January 7, 1812
The next morning, Darcy found his way to Anne’s sitting room, where the cousins usually met before any meal so they could go down together. In the morning, since all three were early risers and Lady Catherine was not, they waited together until the hour Lady Catherine had long ago decided was reasonable before breaking their fast.
When Darcy knocked, Richard opened the door once again. Was the man spending all his time here with Anne?
As he entered he saw Anne’s arm was in a sling.
He raised his eyebrows. “What is wrong?”
“Just a slight sprain.” Anne blushed.
“How did this happen?”
Anne’s eyes widened. “I was… ah… in my dressing room… alone and… I, uh… tripped.”
Darcy raised an eyebrow. He looked at Mrs. Jenkinson, who nodded vigorously. But why was she not fussing over Anne the way she usually did when her charge was hurt or even had the slightest case of the sniffles? He crossed the room towards Anne.
“Did Georgiana show you what she sent to me?” Anne asked too loudly.
Something was not right here.
Darcy shook his head. “She did not.”
Anne
said, “Please, both of you come here and sit down. I have something to tell you, and given that you are here, I would wish for your assistance to convince Mother that what I have in mind is the right course. Also, now that I have hurt my arm, I will need a favour from you, Darcy.”
Both gentlemen took a seat.
“What can we help you with, Anne?” Richard asked.
Anne took a deep breath, as if to brace herself. She glanced at Mrs. Jenkinson as if to gain courage.
The companion nodded.
“I am in love and wish to marry.”
Darcy opened his eyes wide, probably as amply as Richard’s were.
“Who?” Darcy asked. Anne went out so infrequently that she had little opportunity to meet unmarried gentlemen, though her mother did invite people in to dine.
“It is my physician, Mr. Gibbs, whose treatments are the reason my health has improved so greatly.”
Darcy could vouch for that fact. Even in the two weeks he had been here, she had grown much stronger, but that was no reason to marry the doctor.
She smiled. “Oh, I know, you both are thinking he might be taking advantage of me. Though I appreciate your protectiveness, I assure you, he is not. Mr. Gibbs is the fourth son of the Earl of Eltham. His uncle, who was childless, has recently left him a small fortune along with the estate adjoining Rosings to the east, which is profitable. He is quite comfortable and does not need to marry for money.”
“But what if he is trying to gain your land to add to his own?” Richard asked.
Anne shook her head. “Once we marry, Mother will remain at Rosings, though we will manage both estates. We will keep them separate so that our children will inherit Rosings and a younger child can inherit his estate. If we are not so blessed, a younger son of one of his siblings, will inherit. Also, you must know that Mr. Gibbs has every intention of continuing to practice medicine here in Kent. It is his calling. Neither of us would wish for him to give it up.”
“You and Mr. Gibbs have this well planned, Anne,” said Richard. “But still, we would like speak to him about this very soon.”
“With what do you need assistance?” Darcy asked.
“Mother, for one. Although I have repeatedly told her I will not marry you, Darcy, she pays no attention to what she does not want to hear.” Anne dabbed at her nose with a handkerchief. “And I would like you to help me send Mr. Gibbs some valentine poems.”
“Valentines? But…”
“Yes, I know it is still a month away, but I hear it is in fashion this year to begin sending the notes at least a week or so before Saint Valentine’s Day to give the other person time to respond if they would like. I have never had a Valentine, and I would like to take full advantage of the tradition. Georgiana drew some pretty flowered frames on paper for me. I was going to write the poems I had chosen, but now with my hand the way it is, I cannot. You know how slowly I heal; though I am stronger, I do not know if I will be well enough to write by then. In view of the fact that Mrs. Jenkinson has rheumatism in her hands, I was hoping you could write them for me.” She gestured towards Darcy. “I certainly will not ask my mother!”
“Why not press Richard into service?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Have you never received a letter from Richard?”
She was correct, Richard’s penmanship was atrocious. Darcy laughed. “Yes, I have. He writes almost as badly as my friend Bingley.”
Richard frowned, “I resent that! I have seen Bingley’s writing.”
“I did not mean to offend you, Richard,” Anne said, “but I do believe Darcy would be the better choice.”
Why had she put such an emphasis on his name?
“Now that you mention it, my general has directed me to have my batman write up my orders or official correspondence, so all the details will be fully understood, with no room for question.” He chuckled.
“Mrs. Jenkinson, will you give Darcy the package Georgiana sent, along with the books, please?”
“Books?” Darcy asked.
Mrs. Jenkinson seemed to have everything she needed immediately at hand. She handed him a stack of papers tied in a brown wrapper along with two thin volumes. Every Lady’s Own Valentine Writer, in Prose and Verse was the first. The other was The Complete Valentine Writer: or, the Young Men and Maidens Best Assistant: Containing: A Variety of Pleasing Verses Calculated to Crown with Mirth and Good Humour the Happy Day which is St. Valentine.
“I had no idea something like this existed.”
“I did,” said Richard. “My sister.” He rolled his eyes.
Darcy sat, templed his fingers, and looked from one cousin to the other. “All right, Anne. I will help you with the valentines, but I will refrain from agreeing to assist you in convincing my aunt that you should marry the gentleman until we have had a chance to speak to him about your marriage. Which will be very soon, I assume, in light of the condition of your hand.”
Anne’s face brightened. “Thank you so very much!” She turned to her companion. “Mrs. Jenkinson, please send for Mr. Gibbs. Tell him there is no rush. Any time before tea time will do nicely.” She regarded her cousins. “That way mother will invite him to stay for tea.”
Mrs. Jenkinson bustled over to Anne’s writing desk.
Darcy opened to a random page in one of the booklets and read aloud:
My fairest love pray grant to me,
The favours that I ask of thee,
Thou art my Valentine ’tis true,
Then let’s wed without more ado.
He laughed loudly, remembering something Elizabeth had said at Netherfield. “A friend once told me if there was already a fine, stout, healthy love in place, poetry would nourish it, but if it be only a thin sort of inclination, a good sonnet would starve it away.”
“That poem would surely cause the recipient to think twice about its sender,” Richard agreed.
“Mr. Gibbs and I share a love that is stout and healthy, and I have every confidence it would not starve it away.” Anne blushed. “However, that particular piece is not one that I would have you transcribe. Page through it, for I have marked the passages I would like you to reproduce. Use your discretion; if you feel anything I have indicated would sound ridiculous, please tell me. I would rather find another to replace it.”
“Agreed,” Darcy said and flipped to the pages she had marked and skimmed through. “You have chosen some of the better ones, I think.”
His eye caught on the word nymph. Because yesterday, when he first saw Elizabeth in the meadow, that word had sprung to mind, he stopped to read that one, silently this time.
Sweetest nymph that trips the green,
Brightest I have ever seen;
If my passion you approve,
Grateful I would be to love,
Ever fond of thee.
Could’st thou, would’st thou fancy me;
Trust then to this sighing swain,
And in pity ease my pain.
His heart ached. It reminded him of Elizabeth. Should he send it to her?
No, he definitely should not!
After the delightful time he had with Elizabeth yesterday, he knew he was in more danger than ever. Last night, his dreams of the lady were even more numerous than before.
He must rid himself of her once and for all.
“Thank you.”
Darcy turned his head. “Hmm?”
“Thank you for agreeing to help,” Anne said.
He nodded.
Mrs. Jenkinson finished her note and crossed the room to the bell-pull. He imagined she would have brought it down herself if he and Richard had not been there, but she would never leave the gentlemen alone with her charge.
He hoped his sister’s companion was as diligent. Perhaps he and Richard should have consulted Mrs. Jenkinson when they were searching for someone for Georgiana.
The thought made Darcy restless. He stood to leave. He needed exercise.
Knowing Elizabeth’s habit of walking out every morning and now aw
are of her route, he had every intention of avoiding her by seeking out a different path — in the opposite direction. “I will see you later.”
“Again you go without breaking your fast?” Anne seemed worried.
“I had something in my rooms.”
Anne nodded, looking satisfied.
Richard made to rise from his chair. Whenever they were staying here, other than going over the ledgers, they usually did most things together. But Darcy needed to think of a way to remove Elizabeth from his heart, and his cousins had been no help in the endeavour.
Darcy raised his brows. “Sorry, cousin. I require solitude again this morning.” He headed for the door.
Richard relaxed against the back of the chair. “By all means, Darcy. Whatever it was you did yesterday, I suggest you repeat it today.”
Darcy halted and turned, “What do you mean?”
“We could use a break from your grumbling all the time. Yesterday, you were in much better spirits than usual after you returned from your ride, and it lasted for the rest of the day.”
⸟ﻬ⸞ﻬ⸟
After her walk the day before, Elizabeth had been even more troubled than she was previously, and she had again slept poorly. Realizing it was probably Mr. Darcy’s fault, for she did enjoy their debate and felt guilty for it, she set out to explore the wilderness once again. Since she met Mr. Darcy along the path to the east yesterday, she decided to head west. At a fork in the path, she took the way that led through an apple tree grove.
She had not taken more than a few steps before she heard hoof beats coming from the other fork in the path. An odd sense of eagerness rose within her, and she assumed she was hoping to meet with Colonel Fitzwilliam this morning.
The rider came into view — Mr. Darcy. He slowed his horse and stopped quite a few yards away from her, tipping his hat. She thought he was readying to leave, but then he dismounted and walked towards her.
A sense of relief swept over her.
Goodness, she was not starting to like the man, was she? She steeled herself to him as he approached and removed his hat.
“Good morning, Miss Bennet.”
“Good morning, Mr. Darcy.”
He took a deep breath and looked around, seemingly confused. Her mind hoped he would bid her goodbye and ride away, but something within her was almost desperate with anticipation, hoping he would join her.
