I Met Mr Darcy Via Luton

by Fredrica Edward

  Darcy accepted her redirection of the conversation, pushing his cut-up hopes to the side.

  "How goes Dr Gregory's search for a patron?" he asked.

  "He has managed to open a small hospital in Meryton, but it is only sufficient to cope with acute cases. He is still searching for funding for a larger hospital to house veterans from the war and other invalids."

  "A noble aim," replied Darcy.

  They had almost completed the circuit of the lake and returned to the laggards who hadn't yet started. The colonel was amusing Georgiana by pretending to be a duck. Bingley had gone red in the face laughing at his antics. Jane was all smiles.

  "Mr Darcy, I'm sorry I lost my temper earlier. I really need to learn to let bygones be bygones. I appreciate your efforts to be civil. Indeed, I wish, in the light of my sister's hopes, that we might still be friends. Perhaps we should renegotiate our truce?"

  Darcy turned away quickly to hide the expression upon his face. With his eyebrows drawn together, he looked as if he might burst out crying. But then he composed himself and, adopting his mask once more, turned back to her.

  "Truce," he replied.

  Chapter 38: The loft

  When they arrived back at the picnic rug, Mr Gardiner had woken from his nap and was sitting, holding his wife's hand. He rose to greet his host.

  "You must come to fish as often as you like while you remain in the area," Darcy assured Mr Gardiner. "Tomorrow, if you wish."

  "Thank you so much for your hospitality, Mr Darcy. That small amount of fishing has set me up nicely. I am sure I will dream on it for a twelve month. Unfortunately, I received word this morning that my ship has docked a little earlier than expected, so we must curtail our tour and return to London. As I apprised my nieces this morning, we must leave tomorrow. I fear I am not in their good books."

  Here he glanced at Jane, who blushed and turned to look at Mr Bingley.

  Bingley was disappointed that his angel was to depart so precipitously, but could only be glad of renewing the connection. He promised to return to Netherfield soon. Jane seemed not to doubt his word, while Elizabeth could only hope that he would be more constant in the future.

  "Then nothing remains," said Darcy rather stiffly, "than for me to wish you bon voyage."

  After they repaired to the driveway, Bingley handed Jane into the carriage and stood on the drive as the carriage drew away. Jane stared, smiling, from the window, hoping to draw out the last glimpse of her favourite for as long as possible.

  Mr Darcy had not stepped forward to hand Elizabeth into the carriage as he had done previously, giving Mrs Gardiner much to think about. Clearly, Elizabeth was more than a passing acquaintance of Mr Darcy. That they had met in Hertfordshire; that Mr Darcy had deigned to dance with Lizzy twice at the Netherfield Ball–Mrs Gardiner had been apprised of thanks to Jane's communication. Lizzy had not been forthcoming and had denied any significance to the event. Lizzy had written to Jane in London of meeting Mr Darcy again in Kent and also of his droll cousin, the colonel, whom she was much taken with. Indeed, her letters had been full of the colonel: his antics, his witticisms, with hardly a mention of Mr Darcy. Then she had not written during her last week in Kent and had arrived back at Gracechurch Street strangely subdued. Mrs Gardiner's suspicions were also pricked by the way Mr Darcy looked at Lizzy: the sort of soulful stare a dog might give while waiting under the dining table for scraps. She knew her independently minded niece had the odd kick in her gallop. It seemed likely that Mr Darcy had made an offer of marriage to Lizzy during her time in Kent, which Lizzy had refused. It also seemed that he had not discontinued his attentions in Derbyshire, but that Lizzy was spurning him.

  What could cause her niece to act so foolishly? Particularly so, in the light of the family's future should anything happen to her brother-in-law.

  Mrs Gardiner knew that Lizzy had some strange aspirations to work. From an early age, she had expressed a wish to be a governess based on a youthful friendship with the much older Lisa Fairfax, governess to the Lucases. When Lizzy was told that it was not appropriate for a gentleman's daughter to become a governess, she had hotly defended Miss Fairfax's character. Indeed, Lisa's case had been a sad one, which had happily been remedied when she married a distant cousin when he returned from India. Instead, Lizzy had then declared she would become governess to Jane's children and not be paid.

  Mrs Gardiner had thought that her niece's difficult phase had long passed until she was told of Lizzy's work at the infirmary during Jane's recent sojourn in London. Madeleine Gardiner had almost put pen to paper immediately to advise her niece against continuing this behaviour. But Jane had begged her not to betray her confidence; told her that Mrs Bennet was quite aware of how Lizzy was spending her time and secretly approved, hoping that she might snare the eligible Dr Gregory. Jane had further revealed that she had extracted a promise from Lizzy never to serve in the shop front. Mrs Gardiner had breathed a sigh of relief when Jane received Lizzy's letter advising of her forced retirement.

  She sighed. Now this. Mrs Gardiner watched her two nieces sitting on the rear-facing seat as the Darcy carriage trotted towards Lambton. Each stared out the nearest window: Jane in happy distraction, no doubt thinking of her adorable Mr Bingley, and Lizzy in blank abstraction. She did not look happy, and silently, her aunt vowed to get to the bottom of it.

  After the carriage departed, Darcy walked back to the lake to watch the sunset. The picnic paraphernalia had been cleared away, and he sat down on the crushed grass left beneath the imprint of one of the rugs. The real Elizabeth was gone, and only the phantom Elizabeth remained, sitting there next to him as he held her hand. She wasn't wearing the crimson ball gown anymore, but the green sprigged muslin day dress she had appeared in today. This, he decided, would be her dress outdoors. He could almost see her when he looked out of the corner of his eye.

  The sunset was a beautiful sight that left him strangely untouched. As the darkness descended and cloaked him, she became more corporeal. He turned to stroke her face and, touching emptiness, dropped his hand to his side. Then he rose and returned to the house.

  Early in the morning, he came downstairs to find Bingley sitting fully-dressed at the breakfast table. Begging Darcy's pardon, Charles announced his decision to leave early–he'd had the happy notion of offering to escort the Miss Bennets back to Hertfordshire. He was to be off soon to Lambton, to arrive before their projected departure at nine.

  After breakfast, Darcy headed to the stables and climbed into the hayloft. He had played there often as a child. The head groom had kept him occupied brushing and currying the horses, and helping to muck out the stalls. He had climbed amongst the hay, finding eggs that wayward chickens had laid. After his parents had died, he'd felt less lonely surrounded by the hay, and he had imagined that the chickens did too, making their nests up in the loft in hidey-holes they hollowed out. He hadn't been up there in years. His dog, Argos, had followed him to the stables, and finding his way barred by the ladder, lay down at its base, as if guarding it.

  Darcy had felt strangely empty since Miss Elizabeth's departure the previous day and was at a loss to pinpoint the source of this feeling, which represented a new low for him, worse than the melancholia he had experienced during the months he had spent in Derbyshire after his return from Kent.

  He sat there in the hayloft, reminiscing on all the things they'd said and done, from his encounter with Mr Bennet's goat at Longbourn, to the infamous incident of the carpet beater in Kent, to their waltz at Netherfield. At some point he had realised the ironic symbolism of the rose he'd selected from Aunt Catherine's garden for his proposal at the Parsonage. It had been coral, representing lust.

  Meanwhile, another part of his brain had been trying to understand why he had plunged into new depths of despair. After all, his current state was just the continuation of what was, essentially, the status quo for his relationship, or lack thereof, with Miss Elizabeth.

  Darcy realised now that it was the
Pemberley factor. At least in Kent, he had the consolation of knowing that his rejection had come from his poor offer to Elizabeth. Now he had rectified that offer; she had seen all his worldly goods, which were substantial; and she was still not interested. Thus it all boiled down to one thing: him. He knew he was not so charming as his cousin Richard or so affable as his friend Bingley, but he had never before felt so personally deficient. Not even one of the best estates in England was sufficient to render him attractive to the woman of his dreams.

  Mrs Reynolds noticed when he didn't return for lunch and sent Richard out to search for him. When Darcy spied Richard climbing into the loft, he told him in no uncertain terms to go away.

  "Common, Darce," cajoled Richard, "you've missed lunch. Mrs Reynolds is worried about you."

  "I'm not about to expire because I've missed one meal."

  "Still, I think you have better things to do than sit in the hayloft sulking, so be a good boy and come down."

  "I'm not sulking."

  Richard flopped down on the hay beside Darcy. "Look, Darce, I'll be blunt with you. I know you like Miss Bennet, I mean Miss Elizabeth; but I think you kind of stuffed it in Kent. Maybe she's of a resentful nature, I don't know; but if Pemberley's not going to sway her, nothing will."

  "Don't you think I know that, Richard!" Darcy bellowed.

  Down below, all the stable-hands looked up. They had never heard the master raise his voice before.

  "Well, then, I'm glad we're in agreement. There are plenty more fish in the ocean."

  Darcy turned his back on his cousin.

  Richard shrugged and made his way back down the ladder. When he got to the bottom, Argos sank his teeth into one of his top-boots.

  "You cur!" he said, shaking the dog off.

  Argos let go and wagged his tail to let the colonel know there were no hard feelings. Then he turned in a circle and lay down once more at the bottom of the ladder to prevent further incursions.

  When Darcy had not come in by five, Georgiana decided enough was enough.

  After querying Richard on the nature of their previous interaction, she sighed and rolled her eyes. "Sometimes, Richard, I wonder if you have a heart to give," she said.

  "What a nasty thing to say!" protested Richard. "What happened to my sweet little cousin?"

  "She fell in love with the wrong fellow and had some trouble getting over it," she replied tartly.

  "What! you don't mean George…"

  "Say his name," interjected Georgiana icily, "and I will poison your tea."

  Richard's mouth snapped shut.

  Darcy had just decided that he needed to get on with the rest of his life when Georgiana's head appeared at the top of the ladder.

  "Georgiana!" cried Darcy, "what are you doing!"

  "Are you going to help?" she said, trying to negotiate herself from the ladder to the loft, "or do I have to climb up by myself?"

  He rushed forward to assist her, then gasped as he landed her like a fish on the platform.

  "You're wearing breeches!"

  "You would prefer that I break my neck trying to climb up in one of my gowns?"

  "Are those mine?"

  "Of course not. I can't fit into your breeches. They belong to Fitz."

  "And where is he?"

  "I'm holding the bloody ladder!" came a voice from below.

  "Language!" bawled Darcy in return.

  Richard's head appeared at the top of the ladder. "Can I join the party?"

  As Richard climbed into the loft, Darcy smirked.

  "What's so funny?" asked the colonel.

  "Well, given Georgiana is in your breeches, I half-expected you to appear in your smalls."

  "Ha! Darcy said 'smalls' in front of his sister!" jeered Richard.

  "Who are you to talk?" sneered Darcy back. "You loaned her your breeches!"

  "Actually, these are rather comfortable," said Georgie. "I think I'll wear them riding."

  "I need them!" protested Richard.

  Half an hour later, they all climbed down to find Argos chewing on a knucklebone.

  "I wonder where he got that," said Darcy in passing.

  Chapter 39: The Gardiners return

  When the Gardiner's post-chaise arrived at Longbourn, there was much excitement, along with gambolling children. Mr Bennet had been truly glad to see his eldest daughters return, especially his Lizzy, who was the only one who could be relied on for some intelligent conversation.

  Mrs Bennet made more of Mr Bingley's return to Longbourn, fussing over him excessively. Her husband was less than overjoyed by the return of the prodigal lover. He had not been happy about the state his Jane had been left in by Bingley's careless departure after the Netherfield Ball and went off muttering that they should kill a fatted calf.

  Following dinner, Mrs Gardiner surprised her husband by expressing a wish to stay in Hertfordshire another week, particularly because he knew his wife found his sister's company taxing. They did not actively dislike each other; they were just worlds apart. The trouble was neither of Mr Gardiner's sisters' educations had gone beyond the rudimentary. His father had deplored bluestockings and considered educating women a waste of everyone's time and money. Edward Gardiner could only thank his lucky stars that he had ended up with two sensible brothers-in-law. Fortunately both of his sisters had been well looking: Fanny had even been considered a great beauty. He shuddered to think what their lot in life would have been if they had had neither beauty nor accomplishment.

  For his part, Mr Gardiner had been determined to have a wife of sense and education, if for no other reason than to give his sons an edge in life. In Madeleine Gardiner, he had found much more. The daughter of an actor, she had led rather a Bohemian lifestyle growing up on the Continent with her three older brothers. Although only her father and brothers performed, she could declaim Shakespeare and played several musical instruments. Her mother had been an English gentlewoman, a daughter of the Rector of Lambton, who had eloped with her dashing father when he came through the village as part of a travelling troupe. She had died abroad in Madeleine's youth, leaving the young woman to keep house while the males of the family earned their bread. Her father had retreated to his homeland when war broke out on the Continent.

  Edward had met his wife on the docks where she was handing out flyers advertising a play. Along with other artistic refugees from the Continent, Madeleine's family had been living a hand-to-mouth existence. They lived in an old gypsy caravan near the docks. Of course, Madeleine's grandfather had disowned her mother, so no succour was to be found in Lambton. Indeed, only the rector's death several years ago had made their recent Lambton visit possible. Madeleine's aunt had never married and now shared a house with another spinster.

  As an up-and-coming clerk in a famous trading house, Edward might have looked higher than Madeleine Beaumaris, but he was charmed by her European sophistication, and as his father had passed, was his own man.

  As luck would have it, a more senior clerk who had inherited a substantial sum took Edward into partnership in a new business venture on the strength of his trading nous and bookkeeping skills. The business had blossomed, allowing Edward to offer for Madeleine two years after they met. Now ten years later, they owned a house on Gracechurch Street, had four energetic children, and could command the elegancies of life.

  Of course, Madeleine Gardiner's request to prolong her stay in Hertfordshire had less to do with a wish to extend her holiday than a desire to get to the bottom of her niece's troubles.

  The Gardiner children, however, couldn't have been happier. There had been many undutiful sighs once they got over the initial excitement of seeing their parents. They did not wish to return to London yet, as they were having so much fun with their cousins: collecting frogs with Lydia and drinking Kitty's ginger beer.

  Fortified by their kisses, their father departed early in the morning on one of his horses, which had been stabled at Longbourn. He would return in a week for his family and his carriage. />
  After breakfast, Jane and Mr Bingley had set off on a ride together while Madeleine joined Lizzy in her morning ramble. As they left the environs of Longbourn for the track leading to Oakham Mount, Mrs Gardiner made her sally.

  "Lizzy, I couldn't help noticing there is something between you and Mr Darcy."

  Under her tan, Lizzy paled.

  "There is nothing, Aunt," she denied.

  "He seems to be very taken with you."

  "I cannot imagine why," said Lizzy bitterly, drawing further ahead on the narrow track through the trees.

  They continued to walk in silence until the path broadened sufficiently to allow Mrs Gardiner to draw abreast with her niece.

  "You are not being straight with me, Lizzy. Did Mr Darcy offer for you in Kent?"

  "Aunt, please don't question me. I cannot speak of it."

  They had reached Oakham Mount. In the field below, Lizzy could see Mr Bingley and Jane riding side-by-side, a groom from Longbourn following at a discreet distance.

  "Lizzy, I think it would do you good to get it off your chest. I gather you have not even told Jane what occurred, and I am at a loss to understand why. Are you unwilling to marry and worried that your mother might force you to accept his offer if she discovers it? Give me your confidence, dear. I will not betray it."

  Lizzy sat down on the grass, hugging her knees. Her aunt sat beside her.

  After some hesitation, Lizzy replied. "He did not ask me to marry him, Aunt. He made an improper offer and I refused him."

  Her aunt stiffened. She would not have thought it of Mr Darcy. She knew his uncle was a reprobate who set the Ton on its ears with one scandal after another: the Earls of Matlock had always been such. Indeed, she had heard the viscount was set to far outdo his father. She'd had to hide a smile when Colonel Fitzwilliam had proffered the excuse of sad news for the viscount's behaviour. But the Darcys were different. There was an old joke in Lambton that the Darcys were closet Presbyterians. Then again, Mr Darcy's father died when he was young, so perhaps he had followed in his uncle's footsteps instead…