He smiled. “Your secret is safe with me.” Then he bowed and walked down the shaded path toward Rosings, and Elizabeth watched him until he was out of sight. She sighed and sank back upon the bench. “Fitzwilliam Darcy,” she murmured to herself, “you are a puzzle I may never solve.”
While Elizabeth lingered in the grove with her thoughts, the parsonage drawing room was anything but tranquil. Mr. Warwick was enamored of Kitty. Mr. and Mrs. Collins observed how his gaze kept straying to their sister, how he stumbled over his words when she looked up suddenly and caught himat it, and how he barely touched his meal, though the food was delicious. Mary and Kitty were both hopeful that Mr. Warwick might prove a suitor.
Elizabeth, meanwhile, ate her sandwiches alone beneath the stars by the light of the lantern. Her thoughts were puzzling over Mr. Darcy. The tall man with handsome features had been polite this evening. Yet her mind returned to his behavior in Hertfordshire. She could scarcely believe this was the same man who had so publicly denounced her mother. That conduct revealed a want of judgment and character. Worse still was his part in the separation of her sister from the man who had loved her in return; it was unkind, and in Jane’s case, cruel. How could he do such a thing?
She turned the matter over and over in her mind, viewing it first from one angle and then another, yet always arriving at the same conclusion: Mr. Darcy was a complex man, one she could not understand, and probably never would.
Later that evening, when she returned to the parsonage, Kitty met her at the door, cheeks pink and eyes alight.
“Lizzy! Mr. Warwick loves to laugh, and he can tell a good joke. He also paid a compliment to my efforts with the elderly of the parish. He said his mother has heard all about me from her friends in the neighborhood, and everything she has heard has been good.”
Elizabeth smiled, hanging up her cloak. “I am happy that all went well at dinner. But Kitty, you must not lose your head. Men can be extravagant with compliments, and then leave you as though they had never spoken them.”
Kitty waved this aside. “It is not only his compliments. He is handsome, and he listens. He does not look past me as so manygentlemen have done. He asked if I would walk out with him tomorrow.”
Mary added in her calm way, “With a maid in attendance, of course.”
Kitty giggled. “I can hardly wait.”
That night, Elizabeth lay awake reflecting on life. Mary was happily settled; Kitty had captured the attentions of a handsome estate owner; Jane was blissfully married; and Lydia was, she hoped, learning better comportment at her expensive school. But what of herself? What was wanting in her that she could not secure a man’s affection? Her first love had abandoned her, and now Mr. Darcy had spent time with her that very day, but did it signify anything to a man of his consequence? She fell asleep at last, haunted by Mr. Darcy’s unreadable eyes.
Chapter 30: The Folly
The next morning, Elizabeth sat on a wooden bench with a small basket on her lap, eating buttered toast and a hard-boiled egg. Mr. Darcy, seeing her from a distance, turned aside and came to join her.
“Miss Elizabeth, I find you intent upon your breakfast rather than your verse.”
She smiled. “Breakfast at the parsonage is not served until ten because Mr. Collins works on his sermon each morning, and only then is he at leisure to eat. I am always hungry much earlier, so I bring along a food basket to sustain me until I can enjoy a heartier meal. Would you care for a boiled egg and toast, sir?”
He seated himself beside her. “Yes, I should be most obliged.” He took the egg, and while he shelled it, she buttered a piece of toast for him. They ate in silence until he asked for another, this time with marmalade. As she spread it, he asked, “And my poem, Miss Bennet? Did you bring it?”
Amused, she said, “Yes, it is in my reticule.”
When they had finished, she handed him a wet cloth with which to cleanse his hands, before using it herself and packing away the basket. At last, she drew a folded sheet of paper from her reticule and offered it to him. He placed it carefully in his breast pocket.
“Where were you walking to?” he asked.
“I spend time every morning in the folly, working on my verses.”
“Then let us go.” He offered his arm, and she accepted.
They walked in silence until they reached the little stone folly on its bluff. Darcy looked at her with interest. “Will you read one of your poems for me?”
She hesitated, then chose one.
The Mermaid
Upon a rocky shore where foam and sunlight meet,
A maiden sang, a haunting, dreaming sigh;
Her shining hair gleamed in the summer heat,
Her eyes as deep and restless as the stormy sky.
A mortal man climbed up from sun-kissed sand,
Drawn by her song, and marveled at her grace:
