“No, thank you.”
“It is only five miles to Bakewell?—”
“I do not see how you could avoid inviting everyone, and I should prefer to remain here.”
“Perhaps you could ride with us and bring your drawing supplies?” Elizabeth asked. “These decorations might be worth putting to paper.”
Mrs Lanyon did not look up. “I prefer to draw the natural countryside.”
Elizabeth looked towards Miss Bingley. She caught his eye, and then did the same thing again, emphatically, and then tilted her head towards the widow.Mrs Lanyon does not wish to be in a small group with Miss Bingley if it could be helped.That was a feeling he could well understand, and he thought of a way to avoid it.
“I shall ask the others if they wish to join us,” he said to Elizabeth. “Georgiana might prefer to stay at home rather than spend the day with a large party. Perhaps Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst would remain behind with her?” In a lower voice he added, “Do you think they would remain with Georgiana if I hinted that was what I wanted?”
Elizabeth struggled to hold back a laugh. “I can almost guarantee it. But I do not think Miss Darcy... requires so much company.”
He smiled. “Then it is a good thing I told her to ride whenever she feels exhausted by my friends. If I remember correctly, Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley are not horsewomen?” Elizabeth nodded, returning hissmile. “Then, Mrs Lanyon,” he said in a louder voice, “since we shall have a small party, perhaps you might like to go after all?”
She kept her eyes on her needle, but said primly, “Thank you. I shall ride with you to Bakewell and find a place to draw rather than attend the festival.”
Darcy was relieved that he had discovered a polite solution to please everyone, save perhaps Miss Bingley. It then occurred to him that depending on who joined them—who rode in the carriage or who rode horseback—he might drive to Bakewell in the curricle with Elizabeth.
I shall have five miles there and back in Elizabeth’s sole company.
If she was as ill at ease as she was previously, the excursion would be a daunting one. However, if she talked with him, if he could tell her that he did not resent her for what she rightly said to him at Hunsford, the novelty of it was a delightful prospect.
When they wentto bed on Friday, it was plain that there was a violent storm of rain coming and, to Elizabeth’s dismay, it continued all through Friday and into Saturday. There had been a great deal more rain this season than was typical, and although it was August, the wind had roared round the house, and the rain had beat against the windows. Still, as it neared the time to ready for dinner, Elizabeth thought the clouds were parting.It would likely be clear for the excursion to Bakewell the next day to see the wells.
It was cheering to her thoughts to see more of Derbyshire, and just as gladdening was the idea of Darcy’s company. At breakfast, it was decided that if the clear weather returned, Jane and Bingley would ride to Bakewell in their chaise, Mrs Lanyon and Mr Balfour would ride with them but not attend the festival, and she and Darcy would ride in the curricle. The others had decided, or had been convinced, to stay behind.
Her heart fluttered at the thought of an hour alone with Darcy.He deserves to be thanked for what he did for me and my family after Hunsford.He exposed Wickham’s lies not only to her, but to her father tosafeguard all of the ladies in her neighbourhood, and he confessed his interference to Bingley and sent him back to Jane, to say nothing of his goodness towards her and Jane since they arrived. His behaviour in general still had its mild gravity and dignified address, but he was making himself pleasant to all. He had improved so much in civility that she was nearly certain that she could be guaranteed of Darcy’s friendship once she had spoken with him.
Any other hopes, naturally, are groundless.
Shaking her head, Elizabeth continued her circuit of the house. With the poor weather, the gentlemen had dedicated themselves to beating one another at billiards. The women were left to their work, their music, and their conversation with one another. Naturally, after a day and a half of this, Elizabeth had grown tired of them. She would always want to be with Jane, but her talk about marriage and home with Louisa, and Caroline’s petty jealousies, and even Mrs Lanyon’s quietude were taxing.
Deciding she had time to take another circuit before dinner, she entered a room to pass through it to the stairs and noticed Miss Darcy standing near the fireplace. Elizabeth would have only curtseyed and passed through, but she heard the unmistakable sound of sniffling.
“Miss Darcy,” she said softly, “are you well?”
She started, and Elizabeth saw that she was crying. She drew near and, without saying a word, led Miss Darcy to the sofa. The younger woman’s eyes were fixed on the ground for several long moments before she said, “Forgive me. I thought I would be entirely alone here.”
“I am sorry to have disturbed you. I only wish there were anything I could do to comfort you.”
Miss Darcy shook her head. “I was just thinking over my regrets.” She dried her eyes and looked towards the fireplace.
Elizabeth followed her gaze, and then felt a sickness in her heart when she noticed the miniatures suspended over the mantelpiece. One was clearly a young George Wickham.
“Do, do you have regrets regarding... that man?”
Miss Darcy lowered her handkerchief from her face. “Fitzwilliam told me that you befriended Mr Wickham, and... because you believed his lies, he had to tell you what I—I am so mortified.”
Elizabeth took her hand as Miss Darcy started to cry anew. “Then your brother must also have told you that I was blind and prejudiced, and eagerly believed every lie Mr Wickham told. I lacked all discernment. It is shameful, almost criminal, how I favoured that man.”
“I am ashamed about my own conduct towards him. You must think me foolish to cry over a worthless man.”
“You must regret your imprudence, of course, but you thought the attachment a sincere one. It is natural for you to mourn the loss, even if he is the wickedest young man in the world.”
“I am just as ashamed that I consented to an elopement, and with such a man. It was an indulgence to cry over him, over thinking that I had been loved.” Miss Darcy dried her eyes one final time and said, still looking cast down, “I am sorry you found me this way.”
