She had missed an opportunity yesterday, when Mr Darcy had come to Longbourn in company with Mr Bingley. She and Kitty had not been home, having been sent on an errand to Meryton by her mother with fabrics for Mrs Philips. Elizabeth gladly volunteered for such duties now, welcoming any useful distraction, even listening to her aunt and Kitty exchange the dullest sort of gossip on the minutiae of their neighbours’ lives.
Elizabeth had wondered whether she would see Mr Wickham in town; she no longer hoped for it. Doubts had risen within her about him, regardless of her feelings for Mr Darcy—those feelings a confusing mixture, to be sure, of interest and resentment braided together like a rug in baffling patterns. Sometimes one shade dominated, colouring her entire view in antipathy; infused within the design, however, were silky threads of awareness, even of appeal.
She had repeated their conversation again and again in her mind. Yes, she had not much cared for his tone, which had seemed to imply distaste for a match between Mr Bingley and her sister; and she had taken umbrage at his idea that his friend ought to leave the area. However, she had ignored entirely one key element of Mr Darcy’s conversation: he hadasked her opinion.
It had been an opportunity for her to show him, by word and manner, that not all the Bennets were uncivil; she might have simply and mildly answered his question by hinting delicately at Jane’s feelings rather than boldly naming them and, in essence, calling him a brute. The worst part was, Elizabeth did not know whether she was most upset on Jane’s behalf or her own. Somehow, without knowing quite how it happened, she had come to value his opinionof her.
Those regrets did not matter, of course. She was the next thing to betrothed, and he knew it. Besides, Mr Darcy would never have any interest in an impoverished bride without connexion or influence within his elevated sphere.
Why was she even wasting her time on these thoughts? Her own future was decided; encouraging the fancies of handsome, solemn men before whom one was inclined to make a fool of oneself was the worst type of distraction and would only lead to bitter disappointment.
After her display of temper, Elizabeth had been certain that the next she would hear of Mr Darcy would be from the gossips, informing them of the Netherfield party’s departure from the area. Instead, Jane had been practically floating, her eyes sparkling with delight and day-dreams when Elizabeth returned home from her errand. Mr Bingley had accepted a dinner invitation for Monday evening; it seemed clear that he, his family, and friend were remaining in the neighbourhood, and his courtship was proceeding unimpeded by Miss Bingley’s or Mr Darcy’s objections or disfavour.
As though her thoughts had conjured him, Mr Darcy appeared on the path.
Elizabeth, amidst confusion and regrets, experienced an unusual attack of shyness, not knowing what to say. Fortunately, as was usual with him, conversation proved unnecessary. He merely bowed, which she answered with a curtsey, and began to walk beside her with hardly an interruption to her pace.
She was acutely aware of him today, less able to relegate him to the background of her thoughts—and not only because she had spoken so imprudently at their last conversation. So be it. There were things she should say to him before she lost her courage.
“I would like to thank you,” she said quietly.
He peered at her with one brow raised.
“I have been—since receiving notice of my own impending nuptials—very angry at Jane.”
“Oh?” His tone held a note of surprise, and she could not blame him after her impassioned defence of her sister. In truth, she had been shocked when she understood her feelings.
“Why should Jane be allowed to experience great happiness, to have her dreams come true, while I am forced to surrender all of mine? I am a selfish creature, you see. IfIcannot be happy, why should a most beloved sister?”
“I do not think it selfish. It is a very natural response, I would say.”
She shrugged a little. “Natural, perhaps, but still selfish. When I—there is no other way to describe it—lost my temper with you, it cleared the barrier I had unknowingly erected between myself and my love for Jane. Idowish her to be happy, of course I do. If she were miserable too, it would double my burden, not halve it. You have made me see how unworthy my thoughts have been. By your intervention, I was properly humbled.”
He shook his head—in disagreement, or perhaps confusion. “You were right in what you said to me.” His voice was low and deep, warm and comforting. “I do not know your sister. I should not have assumed a few hours of observation meant I understood her heart.”
“Charlotte once warned Jane that she was doing too fine a job of keeping her feelings concealed. My family is not generally known for our soberness of manner, and the contrast with how she acts…I can understand why you would worry, given how free my mother has been about her wish for Mr Bingley to offer for Jane and what you know of my father’s willingness to force me into a match I do not want. I would not blame you for thinking we are all grasping and shallow.”
He stopped in the path, lightly touching her arm until she looked at him. “I do not think that, would never think it, of you or Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth acknowledged his assurances with a fleeting smile. She knew her youngest sisters often behaved wild, and her parents did little to check them. At least, in missing the greatest part of the ball, she had likely avoided witnessing her family exposing the worst of their defects to all and sundry.
“Ah, but in reward for my attempts to conduct myself with propriety, I have won the prize—my father’s friend has said he would only take Jane or me. Jane is to be left free to entertain hopes of Mr Bingley.” Elizabeth chuckled, although it was without humour. “I believe I have been mistaken in my life choices. I ought to have been making a fool of myself with the officers and overindulging at the punch bowl!”
She had expected him to smile, and yet he did not.
“Who is your suitor?”
“I have no suitor,” she said. “Only an old man who requires a convenient wife to bear him a convenient heir.” She turned away. “If you will forgive me, I truly donotwish to speak of him today. Will the sun, do you think, be willing to peek out from yonder clouds this afternoon?”
It was a clumsy conversational shift, but mercifully, he dropped the subject. They resumed walking, and she cast about for something to say, since he showed no inclination to pursue the topic of weather. Nothing much came to mind. The wind blew colder as she took the path rising upwards and encircling Oakham Mount. Mr Darcy did not question the change in direction, although the climb was somewhat steep. Had her hat not been securely pinned, it might have blown away in the stiffening breeze.
“I always loved the view from here,” she said at last, looking out from a stone outcropping at the peak of the escarpment. It was a sharp drop, but she had no fear of heights. To her left, she could see Longbourn’s smoking chimneys; to her right, Netherfield stood in all its stone glory as it had for the last hundred years, ruling over their little valley. “I had hoped I could love it still.”
“Can you not?”
Instead of answering immediately, she stepped back and turned towards a large boulder propped a little lower down on the hillside. It offered some protection from the wind, and she sat upon its lip. The vista was still on display, if not quite so dramatically. Mr Darcy rested one booted foot upon the same boulder, draping his arm casually over his knee.
“I shall tell you my little secret,” she confided. “I am working on a venture—a great one, and all the greater because I do notwishto do it. I have begun counting my blessings.”
