“Oh, that I could travel north! To see true mountains rather than this modest hill. And the Lakes, too! I have heard them described, but long to behold them myself.”
“Why do you not go? You once said that your husband provided for you. Surely there is enough for a journey now and then?” He seemed merely inquisitive; not as though he were probing to determine her fortune.
She considered his question with all seriousness. What indeed held her here? She was young still, a widow, mistress of her own means. She and Elinor might go anywhere, yet she stayed at Longbourn, amongst all that was familiar and safe. Papa and Jane knew the truth, and that comforted her.
“I cannot say.” She looked away, unable to meet his eye. “I do not quite know the answer myself. Perhaps Elinor and I shall take a holiday next summer.” The thought warmed her. Her little Miss Fiennes would adore an adventure; soft-spoken as she was, her fondness for rambles promised keen enjoyment of the Lakes—or even the sea.
Darcy regarded her for a moment, his expression unreadable.
“Have you ever seen the sea?” Elizabeth asked, saying her thoughts aloud. “My daughter would be enchanted—building castles in the sand, paddling in the waves.”
At once his countenance altered. Something dark and impenetrable swept across it, chilling her. The change was so swift that she caught her breath. Then it was gone, replaced by calm formality.
“We—Georgiana and I—went last summer to Ramsgate.” His words seemed constrained. “We found little to admire there.”
Elizabeth halted and stepped back, suddenly anxious to return to Longbourn. The sudden reserve in his manner had struck her like a blow. Though Mr Darcy stood before her, another image intruded—her husband’s calculating gaze, cold and forbidding. The recollection turned her stomach. A wave of alarm rose within her—she could not bear to be ill before him. “I must go home.”
“Mrs Fiennes? Pray forgive me—” He took an uncertain step forward, his expression confused yet remorseful.
“No, no, it is only…breakfast with Elinor—it is time.” She dropped a hasty curtsey and turned towards the path, refusing to look back. When she had descended far enough that the summit was out of sight, she broke into a run, the wind catching at her cloak as she fled down the hill.
Darcy
What had just happened?He could not comprehend it. One moment Elizabeth was speaking with her usual lively and open manner—the next, she appeared a startled creature, ready to flee. He untied his horse and used a low stump as a mounting block, replaying every word that had passed between them.
She had touched her necklace—mourning jewellery, no doubt—and turned aside each mention of her late husband or marriage. But all had seemed well enough until that final instant.What changed?
The sea,he realised. The thought struck him with sudden force. She spoke of the sea. Ramsgate rose vividly in his mind. He recalled the look on her face—startled, apprehensive.Frightened?By heaven—could she have feared him? The notion seemed absurd; she had shown no fear until…
Until my own countenance betrayed me. He clenched his jaw. His anger towards Wickham had likely broken through his restraint. Was it so fiercea look as to frighten her?Elizabeth possesses greater courage than that.Yet what else could explain her abrupt retreat?
Perhaps he imagined it. They had only just renewed their acquaintance; she might simply feel uncertain in his company. Even so, her hesitance concerned him. He had once prided himself on reading character, but in Elizabeth’s presence, he stood as blind as any fool in love.
Another moment of their conversation returned to him: he had meant only to ask whether her husband’s provision allowed her to travel, but her sudden withdrawal told him he had spoken without due care. He had also wished to know whether she might think of marrying once more, but the look that had crossed her face had checked him. He longed to court her—openly, honourably, and if Providence favoured him, to make her his wife. Now that he had found her, he could not relinquish that hope.
But she still mourns him—years gone, and still she clutches a spinel necklace. Could her affection for Fiennes bind her so entirely? If I hope to win her, I must first honour her loss. There may yet be room in her heart for another.
Darcy’s horse picked its way across the barren fields while he considered where to begin.Friendship—that must come first. He would show her the constancy of his esteem through quiet attentions and thoughtful civility, proving he posed no threat to her peace. In time, she might learn to trust him.
In London they had set aside convention and spoken freely; they could achieve that ease once more.When confidences return, I will tell her of Ramsgate.
The very name weighed on his spirits. A secret—a near scandal—the full truth shared with no other besides his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Georgiana had begged her guardians not to inform her aunt and uncle. They had agreed, on condition that she showed she understood her folly.
Poor girl. Her natural shyness had deepened into near timidity. She seemed overwhelmed with fear of doing something wrong—something that would displease him. At sixteen, and two years away from her presentation to society, she already pleaded to delay it another year.
Perhaps Elizabeth was right; Georgiana might gain confidence amongst the Bennet sisters. Would their company suffice to free her from Miss Bingley’s grasping attentions? He had shielded his sister too long; perhaps by guiding her, Elizabeth might teach him, too, how to let go.
Netherfield’s stables came into view, and Darcy turned his horse down the path, dismounted and handed the reins to a waiting groom. “See that he is well groomed,” he said. “I am to ride out later with Mr Bingley.”
The lad touched his hat and led the animal away. Darcy entered the house by the side door, scraping the mud from his boots before mounting the stairs. The house lay quiet; no one in the household had yet stirred. He welcomed the stillness; it gave him time for reflection.
Crossing the threshold of his chamber, he unfastened his coat and set it neatly aside. The scent of leather and horse clung to him, and he longed for the comfort of soap and water before breakfast.
A picture of Elizabeth and her fine eyes came to his mind. His lips twitched.To think I almost declined Bingley’s invitation.
Chapter Twenty-One
October 1811
