He glanced at her with, she thought, a slight interest. Or perhaps it was only politeness. His response, however, showed perception.
“You feel this undertaking a risk?” he asked.
“Yes. Do not the sermons promise such tallying is the antidote for unhappiness? Yet, it is easiest to see only the blessings I have been denied. I long to shake my fist at heaven and demand a different fate. I wish to cling to my feelings, my anger, which seems true and right to me. What if I surrender them, only to find I have been disregarded entirely, everything important to me, about me, overlooked and ignored? Thus, it is a ‘GreatProject’—to be pronounced with capital letters. I have challenged myself to find one thing each day for which I genuinely feel grateful—even if it is only by the tiniest morsel. Perhaps nothing can outweigh the bitter burdens of resentment, but I can slip something else onto the scales.”
“Am I to understand that your present gratitude is for the view from this hill?”
His question was conveyed in all seriousness. He had not said she was being ridiculous; Elizabeth could only imagine the mockery such a confession would produce from her father. Instead, Mr Darcy seemed to be attempting that rarest of all enterprises—trying tounderstand.
“Not at all.” She returned her attention to the view, wishing she could answer in the positive. “I cannot feel anything about it. It may as well be painted in shades of grey.”
“I see. Then are your thanks for Miss Bennet’s situation?”
“Oh, no. That was yesterday’s blessing. I still possess a determined wish for Jane’s happiness, even though I cannot feel particularly drenched in appreciation for it today. But I have the…the residue of it. In a thousand days, I shall have the collective gratitude of a thousand memories. One small brick at a time will surely build me a mighty structure. I have not discovered what today’s will be. I had hoped I would see it from this vantage point, but the search proves stubborn.”
“Ah.”
“At least I have made a beginning,” she said, hearing the doubt in his tone. It was also in her own.
Together they looked out over the valley floor, the roiling clouds failing to prevent a rather splendid ray of sunshine from breaking through the gloom, creating a vivid prospect. Mr Darcy pointed it out as a striking possibility for appreciation.
“I suppose the fact that one has food to eat, shelter from ill weather, and warm clothes upon one’s back are all excellent reasons to be thankful in the strictest sense,” she replied seriously. “But I have discovered there is nothing designed to ruin one’s best intentions more quickly than having others help with the count. Iknowwhat Ishouldfeel. It matters not at all. I cannot feel it, and lectures on theshouldsmake everything worse.”
“I withdraw the suggestion,” he said immediately. “The scene before us features nothing more brilliant than a dingy prospect accentuating the dullness of the landscape.”
“Your retraction is accepted,” Elizabeth said grandly, as though she were the queen, and found a half-hearted smile to go with it.
She took a deep breath, trying her best to fix upon optimism rather than sorrow. The air smelt of coming rain, of wet earth, of greenery. Between the scent and the surrounding nature, she felt, at last, the barest wisp of the peace she sought. Mr Darcy’s presence—or, to be fair, her temper—had not ruined it, unlike the last time they walked together.
“In truth, I did not actually believe I would find something to appreciate up here. It was only to view the horizon,” she said at last. “In the past, when things at Longbourn seemed particularly discouraging, I would ascend this path to force myself to look further ahead. My aunt Gardiner has long intended that she and my uncle will take a northern tour, and she has hinted they might bring me with them. Most recently, I have climbed Oakham Mount while trying to envision travelling, and seeing parts of England I have only read about. Things I cannot do yet, but which might be a cause for hope in the future.”
“Hope on the horizon,” he said.
“Exactly.”
“Have you found it?”
“I am not certain, but I foundsomething. I do not believe my present grief can last. I was not formed for unhappiness. I cannot live with fury and resentment eating away at me. I do not know what will break its hold upon me, but I am determined to look, even though it seems improbable to expect my new husband to grant me permission to leave on a northern tour with my relations from Cheapside.”
A scowl formed on his brow. Was it dismay or distaste at the mention of her relations in trade? She could not tell. Mr Darcy was expert at keeping his thoughts to himself.
“The Peak District is beautiful,” he said, moving to sit beside her on the boulder. “If I were an artist, I think all my subjects would be attempts at capturing its endless views. Alas, I lack both artistic talent and the vocabulary for adequate description.”
It was an obvious bid to talk about something else, which Elizabeth did with some relief. “Oh, I remember now that your estate is in Derbyshire. Will you tell me about it?”
This was a topic upon which he spoke easily, and they sat, chatting almost comfortably. She was still a bit too aware of him; he was not quite a friend, yet he knew too much about her to be considered merely an acquaintance. Did hewanther friendship? It was impossible to know.
“How does Miss Mary do?” he asked on the return journey, the shelter of the trees blocking the chill—and much of the daylight. Elizabeth had to pay attention to her footing, lest she trip over a root in the shadows.
“Mr Collins has announced his departure for tomorrow,” she replied. “His flock, he asserts, requires his return.”
“He is to be disappointed then?”
“I still do not know. When he made the announcement, I thought that he was, but after breakfast, Mary suggested that she show him the hermitage. They were out of doors for some time and I assume he repeated his proposal. Before I learnt her answer, I decided to escape on a walk of my own.”
“What is your preferred outcome?”
“I-I really cannot say. I cannot imagine anyone finding satisfaction in marriage to such a man. I care for my sister and wish her happy. I find it difficult to like or respect him—he is repugnant, self-important, and toadying. At the same time, I do not want my mother ever removed from her home.” She paused a moment before adding, “Perhaps I have misjudged him.”
