She gathered the book from the bedside table. “May I take this? To refresh my memory of certain meanings?”
“Of course,” he replied, hope flickering in his chest. “It was brought for your use.”
Elizabeth glanced once more at the bouquet. “I shall return it, along with my full interpretation of your message.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
PETALS AND HEARTS
“Purple hyacinth for forgiveness,white tulip for worthiness.” Elizabeth didn’t need the book to interpret Darcy’s arrangement, though the fact that he’d been so eager for her to consult it suggested he lacked the knowledge to choose the blooms himself.
The bright morning sun streamed through the window of her bedchamber, where she had finally allowed herself rest after Darcy’s improved condition the previous evening. Jane insisted that she take breakfast in her room while Bingley sat with the patient, claiming she would collapse if she didn’t properly attend to her needs.
Now, surrounded by the flowers Darcy had sent the day before, Elizabeth found herself unexpectedly thoughtful.
She set the leather-bound volume on the tea table between her and Jane. “Tell me the truth, sister. I cannot imagine Darcy would express these gentler sentiments. I suspect you and Charles had a hand in the selection.”
“You are being rather uncharitable.” Jane looked up from her embroidery. “Mr. Darcy originated the plan. Charles merely assisted with the collection, and I helped with the arrangement.”
Elizabeth knew her sister too well. She saw an opportunity for reconciliation and seized it. Still, she had to credit Darcy. He was grateful, and he wished to bring a measure of happiness to her situation.
She idly flipped to the pages marked by creased corners. “The great Fitzwilliam Darcy humbly accepts instruction. Perhaps mandatory for every young gentleman seeking a lady’s favor?”
“So, you admit Mr. Darcy favors you.” Jane smiled prettily, which heated Elizabeth’s cheeks.
“I admit no such thing,” Elizabeth retorted, closing the book with more force than necessary. “I merely observe that a man in his feverish state might resort to unusual measures to express gratitude to his nurse.”
“A simple note would have sufficed,” Jane countered softly. “Flowers with such specific meanings suggest something deeper. He studiously consulted the book before asking me to wrap each sprig into the bouquet.”
Elizabeth hesitated. Purple hyacinths for forgiveness, white tulips for worthiness, forget-me-nots and pink camellias with their quiet declarations of remembrance and longing—the gesture had touched her more than she cared to admit.
“What about the roses? Did he understand their meaning?”
“I removed the deep red ones,” Jane replied. “They were a touch too forward. Mr. Darcy was most concerned that his gesture not be misinterpreted as presumption.”
“Red roses,” Elizabeth repeated, opening the book and finding the entry.Passionate love. Deep romantic attachment.
A treacherous flutter of disappointment settled in her chest. “I see.”
“The pink roses speak of unconscious beauty,” Jane remarked. “A quality he recognizes in you. He chose to communicate with you through symbolism. That seems significant.”
Elizabeth had not considered this aspect of his gesture. Darcy had indeed chosen a method that invited her participation and respected her intelligence rather than imposing his sentiments upon her.
“It was… unexpectedly subtle,” she acknowledged. “Not a quality I have generally associated with Mr. Darcy.”
“Perhaps there are many qualities you have not had the opportunity to observe,” Jane suggested. “Have you ever wondered why Mr. Darcy would offer for you in the first place?”
Elizabeth turned to the window, vacantly gazing over the lush Netherfield gardens, the scene where Wickham’s challenges had played out.
“I’ve thought about it more than once,” she admitted. “I have no advantage for him. No dowry, no influential connections. There is no advancement for him, not in terms of land, which is entailed to Mr. Collins, or titles like his mother had. I, myself, am not particularly accomplished by the standards of his social circle. We own no home in London, and have no property near the seaside. No brothers for him to befriend. Our connection to trade and our mother’s mentioning of men’s incomes are not particularly refined.”
“Lizzy, stop.” Jane held up her hand. “Perhaps he simply wants you.”
Elizabeth turned from the window, not quite sure what to make of her sister’s firm declaration.
“Bingley tells me Darcy has avoided marriage with assiduous care,” Jane continued. “Sidestepping Caroline’s attentions, appearing thoroughly disinterested. Even that remark at Meryton was directed at Charles, pestering him to dance.”
Elizabeth felt heat creep up her neck at the memory.Not handsome enough to tempt me.The sting of it remained sharp even now.
