Mr. Darcy strode to the centre of the floor with Mrs. Woodhouse, a widow from an estate on the edge of Derbyshire. Darcy and Georgiana came to stand next to them, and the musicians began a lively country tune. After a minute, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. Elizabeth and Mr. Barlow and several other couples joined in. As Mr. Barlow partnered Elizabeth through the steps and turns, she caught glimpses of the others smiling, candlelight shining in their eyes. Laughter floated in and around the music. Darcy was looking down at Georgiana with affection, smiling with his eyes, if not his mouth. The widow Woodhouseappeared absolutely delighted at whatever Mr. Darcy was saying to her. Elizabeth’s aunt and uncle were clearly having a grand time. They all twirled around the large dance floor—making a charming scene she wouldn’t soon forget. Though she was caught in the fun and spectacle, Elizabeth was proud she missed only a few steps, which her partner covered well. When the final chords were struck, Elizabeth clapped along with the others, breathless and smiling. Mr. Barlow escorted her to the punch bowl. They were met there by Darcy and Georgiana and then Mr. Darcy as well.
“I am off to my exile—I may watch from the upstairs landing if Miss Baxter is feeling generous. Before I go, I must tell you, Lizzy, you are a wonderful dancer,” Georgiana enthused. “You as well, Mr. Barlow. Though I have seen you dance before.”
It was clear her friend thought she meant to abandon her and was not at all put out. Elizabeth had to admit she was tempted. She did love to dance, and an atmosphere like Pemberley’s ballroom, even for this less formal affair, was a sight she knew she would not soon experience again.
“I fear that, like drawing and playing, I will always be outdone by your superior skills in dancing, my dear. But I thank you for the compliment. I have not had much practice. Though Longbourn hosts a Twelfth Night celebration, it is not quite as grand as this and does not involve dancing.”
“You must learn to accept a compliment, Miss Lizzy,” Mr. Darcy admonished. “You and Georgiana both acquitted yourselves quite well.”
“Yes, Lizzy, and what of the three assemblies you have attended since your come-out?” Georgiana pressed with aconspiratorial grin. “You told me you danced several dances on those occasions.”
“It is true,” Mr. Gardiner said as he and his wife joined the group. “I am told Lizzy is in high demand as a dance partner at the Meryton assemblies.”
“We must hear more about these gentlemen, Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy teased.
“Uncle, that is not true. I am a passable dancer and not one that is at all sought after,” Elizabeth insisted, ignoring Darcy for the time being and thinking desperately for some way to change the conversation. She did not want Darcy to hear about the country assemblies where she was thrust into company at an age he must deem too young and where she danced with gentlemen he might not approve of. Moreover, being completely uncertain how she felt about it made it hard for her to know how to turn it all into a jest as she normally would. She enjoyed the attention at the assemblies, but somehow felt she should not. She loved to dance, but feared that meant something in her character was wanting. Why should dancing bring her more joy than the more sedate pursuits ladies enjoyed, such as needlework or drawing or even the pianoforte? The first two bored her and the third she did enjoy, but if she had to choose a way to experience music, dancing was her preference.
“I hope you will forgive me for contradicting you in front of all your friends, Miss Elizabeth, when I seek your hand for the next dance?”
John Robertson had apparently arrived at the small cluster of companions along with the Gardiners. Elizabeth had failed to notice. His request pleased her, but for all the reasonsher mind had just canvassed, her very enthusiasm caused her to feel an uncomfortable sort of trepidation. John was handsome, and the thought of standing across from him for half an hour, leaping and stepping, hands touching, thrilled her. But he was not Darcy. It was wrong for her to feel that kind of eager anticipation. For her heart to race and mind to whirl at the thought of it.
“You are too kind, Master Robertson,” she said with a smile she hoped would alleviate any harm her words might inflict. “I had, however, planned to spend the remainder of the evening with Miss Darcy, who is to retire presently. Therefore, I must decline, but thank you for the compliment.”
Though Georgiana looked ready to contradict her, Elizabeth linked their arms and made to move them towards the doors.
“I understand,” he said with a broad smile. He reached for her hand, and she gave it. He pressed a light kiss on it. When he released it, she was confused. Why did it please her so? It was not a novel experience to have her gloved hand kissed. And though the rush of feelings was not the same as when Darcy was near, it was more than she had experienced with any other gentleman previously. And that was before he added, “You are clearly a good friend, and I praise you for it. I hope we might have another opportunity when you return for the summer.”
Chapter Seven
Summer 1808
“That is the Robertson farm.” Mr. Gardiner pointed out the carriage window at the acres of wheat and barley glistening yellow and brown in the noonday sun. A large stone house stood on a hill beside a small pond. Elizabeth had seen the house before, of course, but as it was on the far side of Pemberley, a good distance from her family’s home, it was not often she came near. And, by this point in the journey, she was usually so eager for a sight of Barlow Hall she had not even noticed it before.
“Lizzy met the Robertsons at Pemberley’s Twelfth Night gathering in January,” her uncle told Mary.
Elizabeth appreciated his effort at drawing her attention away from the sight that was coming next, but it was no use. There was no space in her heart or mind for anything else, and just a moment later, there it was.
The road to the right sloped down until it disappeared into the trees. If she lifted up in her seat at just the right moment as they passed the turn, Elizabeth could see it once again meandering through the small open field before being consumed by the trees. Though their carriage kept on, Elizabeth’s mind took her down this oft-travelled road, by the pond and over thesmall wooden bridge. After that, she emerged, in her thoughts, into the wide open, where she could see Pemberley, standing tall and proud on the small hill. As she pictured it, she saw Mr. Darcy descend the front steps to greet her, heard his laugh and smelled his pine and woods scent.
She did not realise she was crying until she couldn’t breathe. Her cheeks were wet, her throat stung and her head ached. How would she survive the summer? Without a word, Mary, who had been holding her hand and murmuring words of comfort for some time, moved to the seat opposite while Mr. Gardiner took her place, scooping Elizabeth into his arms. She held fast to him and sobbed for the final ten minutes before they reached Barlow Hall.
Why had she not stayed home? At Longbourn, it had felt unbearable in every way. To receive such news and have no one who truly knew and loved him as she did. To be observed in her grief without any real consolation—as much as both Jane and Mary tried—it was too much. That burden would be alleviated at Barlow Hall, but this, the first sight of a thousand, would likely make it infinitely more painful.
Even now, his last letter was in her reticule. It was full of his usual teasing and kindness, his curiosity about her reading and his thoughts on his own. His postscript suggested a name for her horse—Neptune. As it was the Roman counterpart to Darcy’s Poseidon, Lizzy’s romantic heart decided this was Mr. Darcy’s way of telling her he saw that she and Fitzwilliam were two of a kind, meant for one another.
Romance was in the air in Hertfordshire in the spring. She attended her first ball in March, hosted by the Gouldings at Haye Park, wearing Mrs. Gardiner’s beautiful green gown.As they considered her quite their particular friend, Elizabeth was made the guest of honour and as a result of that or her natural beauty and wit she was not without a partner all evening. In March Jane had a gentleman come as close to declaring himself as anyone had thus far. The sisters enjoyed talking of his besotted behaviour after every encounter, Jane with a quiet kind of interested pleasure and Lizzy with the enthusiasm of an explorer studying a new species. But for one truly awful poem slipped to Jane after a neighbourhood dinner, Elizabeth was certain something might have come of it. All of this seemed quite exciting and important until the eighth of April, when her aunt’s letter had arrived.
My dearest Lizzy,
Please do not read this letter while you are alone. Trust me and pause in your examination of its contents until Jane or Mary or your father can be made to sit with you.
Have you listened, darling? I sincerely hope so.
I wish I could delay forever the relaying of the news I have for you, but I cannot, so I will tell you that Mr. Darcy has passed away. Oh, Lizzy, I know you must at first be too shocked to even believe my words. How can this be, you will ask. I wish I was there to wrap you in my arms so we could mourn together.
You will wish to know what happened, of course, and though it is still so fresh, it grieves me to write out these tragic events you, who loved him so well, deserve to know all.
On March the fifteenth, we had dinnerwith the Darcys and their nephew Major Fitzwilliam, Mrs. Woodhouse of Asby House, as well as Mr. Ashley, the new vicar who was installedjust after you left in January. There was nothing unusual about the affair until just after we came back together after the separation. Mr. Darcy seemed unwell, shuffling in his seat as if he could not get comfortable. Master Darcy enquired after his father’s well-being, but the latter insisted all was well. In truth, by the time we left, which all the guests did quite soon after our host appeared unwell, he was quite pale.
