Extracting the perkiest pansy, I handed the single bloom to Mrs. Bennet. She pressed the poor thing to her bosom, crushing it beyond salvation. “Mr. Bennet! See what Mr. Darcy has brought for me! Remember when you used to bring me wildflowers?”
Mr. Bennet had closed his book to receive me, and at her call, he drew nearer to inspect the blooms remaining in my hand. I rather wish Mrs. Bennet had not drawn his attention to them. Nor mine. On closer inspection, they were a sorry, saggy lot.
I was ashamed to present something less than perfect to Elizabeth, but she had noticed the pansies, so I had to give them to her. I cleared my throat, hoping to salvage some vestige of my dignity and good intent. “They looked so cheerful at the edge of the field. I wanted you to have them.” I grimaced as I handed them to her.
Mr. Bennet said wryly, “Perhaps you ought to have left them there. They are the worse for wear.”
“No!” Elizabeth clutched the pansies closer to her, one hand wrapped protectively around what remained of the purple petals. “They are perfect,” she said softly, her eyes urging me to accept her exaggeration. I appreciated her kindness, but I was not blind.
Mrs. Bennet cast her husband a withering glare, firmly siding with her daughter. Between the two of them, they would have me believe I had given her as handsome of a bouquet as the onesitting useless in my room at Netherfield Park. I was grateful for their kindness.
Miss Bennet smiled, as she often did. Miss Mary extolled the beauty of God’s creation. Miss Kitty swayed with her hands clasped at her chin. Miss Lydia pouted and complained that no gentleman had ever givenherflowers.
Elizabeth bit her bottom lip, her smile growing as her cheeks blushed a most becoming shade of pink—the same hue as the orchids wasting away in my room. My frustration renewed just as the younger Bennets remarked upon Bingley’s arrangement, which had been carefully placed in a vase far away from the fire. Swallowing my pride, I focused on Elizabeth’s happiness at my friend’s attentions to her sister.
That Miss Bennet was pleased with flowers plucked from Bingley’s own garden bode well for their mutual contentment. He was eager to please, and she was easily pleased—a winning combination.
My gaze flickered to Elizabeth. She still held the pansies close to her heart. They could not be so dear to her as her gesture implied, but I esteemed her all the more for her sweet reaction when her sisters continued comparing my pansies with Bingley’s bouquet.
Mrs. Bennet, too, held her single pansy proudly.
Mr. Bennet sat forward in his chair and frowned at his wife, who avoided his gaze determinedly as she carefully placed her pansy in a teacup before fluffing a pillow in the chair she insisted I must occupy beside Elizabeth.
Miss Lydia snorted. “I shall expect any gentleman who pays me attention to give me many gifts! The grander and more expensive the better!”
“Then you should accustom yourself to disappointment!” countered her mother, choosing that moment to cast a pointedlook at her husband, whose frown deepened before he lifted the paper to cover his face.
Gently placing her pansies on her saucer, Elizabeth said, “My happiness does not depend on tokens, however welcome they are to me.”
“Mine does!” Miss Lydia exclaimed like the child she was.
“Then you cannot love Mr. Wickham!” exclaimed Miss Kitty. “What has he given you? Nothing!”
Miss Bennet moved to sit between her contentious sisters before they resorted to pulling out each other’s hair. “We can all agree it is exceedingly pleasant to receive a gift. However, I think the best gifts are those that communicate how much thought the giver gave to the character of the receiver, an insight into what that person considers important and most enjoys. Elizabeth’s favorite color is purple and her favorite flower the pansy. Mr. Darcy could not have brought her a better arrangement.”
Elizabeth’s eyes locked with mine, and the warmth in her gaze melted away my shame. “I have walked these fields my whole life and know how few flowers can be found at this time of year. What the animals do not eat, the rain and wind destroys. You must have ridden for a long time in the cold and damp to find these pansies.”
I bowed my head. She had caught me out.
Her mother and sisters praised my gesture, and Mr. Bennet’s head disappeared completely behind his newspaper.
Reaching out to touch my sleeve, the tips of her fingers grazing the broadcloth of my coat, Elizabeth said, “I shall cherish them.”
In that moment, I felt confident in my suit and more determined than ever to show her how dear she had become to me.
CHAPTER 15
In no hurry to return to Netherfield and needing more information, I first stopped at Lucas Lodge. I did not wish to linger, but Sir William and Mr. Collins detained me with their empty verbosity. Fortunately, Miss Lucas kindly interfered, or I should have been there even longer.
Upon my eventual escape, only sheer determination and a lack of self-regard led me to the residence of the Kings. After two cups of tea and another slice of cake, I was miserable from hospitality.
At least I was now the proud possessor of the information I had sought. Less dejected than I had been minutes ago, I finally returned to Netherfield. Like a horse with blinders on, I breezed past Bingley’s sisters, pretending I did not hear them when they commented on my long absence.
Richard’s booming guffaw reached my ears in the hall outside my bedchamber. I paused, my hand hovering over the latch. The flowers had better not be inside.
Another burst of laughter, and I pushed the door open. The flowers were not where I had left them. For that, I was grateful.
Richard and Bingley lounged on the chairs in front of the fire, drinking my brandy. They held their glasses high, no doubtcelebrating Bingley’s successful courtship of Miss Bennet. Why could they not celebrate elsewhere?
