Elizabeth trembled. He was here. She would see him again that evening. Mr. Darcy had returned a month early to collect his sister, and they would soon be in the same room together. Her heart was hammering, and she felt faint. Elizabeth moved to a chair and sat down heavily.
Mrs. Hill observed her and came forward. “Lizzy, are you unwell. You look faint, my dear.”
“I am well. Jane has invited us to dine with her this evening. Mr. Darcy has returned, and he wishes to see his sister.”
Mrs. Hill placed her hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Ah, I see.”
Elizabeth rose. “Please advise Cook that we will not be home for dinner. I will inform Papa when I return from my walk.”
“Yes, at once.”
Elizabeth was not equal to speaking with anyone. She quitted the house and made her way to the hermitage. When she arrived, she seated herself upon the little bench and fixed her gaze upon the distance, her mind attempting to comprehend everything that was happening, what she was thinking and her feelings for Mr. Darcy.
The more she considered her situation, the more clearly she saw that she still loved him. Even now he was at Netherfield and she longed to see him. His beloved face filled her mind and moisture sprang to her eyes and trailed down her cheeks. She had been so certain that she had put Mr. Darcy behind her, that she had got over him.
She buried her face in her hands and began to sob as she considered the deep chasm that kept her and Mr. Darcy apart.His titled family, his upbringing, his wealth and station, and his pride had formed a man so far her superior that any union between them could not succeed. Yet her heart clung to him with a tenacity she could not overcome. She must not face him, for he would read her countenance and know at once that she still loved him.
She dried her eyes and blew her nose. And what of Mr. Allen and their courtship? He would arrive for his daily visit at two o’clock. She could not be with him, not today. If he saw her now, he would know the truth and be injured by it. But she loved Mr. Allen too. She remembered his laughing eyes and they pulled at her heart. Thoughts of his warmth, and his caring soothed her distress. During these past weeks he had been as the sun shining in the darker reaches of her mind. His love and devotion had eased the deep, longstanding pain her mother had inflicted upon her, and the more recent pain of disappointed hopes that Mr. Darcy had caused. What was she to do in this impossible situation?
She resolved to remain at home. She would plead illness and keep to her room. But first she must walk and ease the restless agitation that had built up within her.
She turned toward the barn, and Sparky bounded to her.
She walked up the path to Oakham Mount, still weeping. When she reached the summit, she went to her favorite oak and climbed into the branch that had borne her through the years, when difficult circumstances had driven her there. She buried her face in her hands and surrendered to her grief, born of the sorrow that the man she loved would never be hers, could never be hers, because they belonged to two worlds as far removed from one another as the birds of the air and the fish of the sea. Would that she had never made his acquaintance at all.
Mr. Darcy stood upon the summit of Oakham Mount, looking out over the magnificent view that stretched before him. Ares grazed in the meadow while he walked beneath the great oaks, considering how he might approach Elizabeth so that she would listen to him.
How was he to overcome the breach his own words had created? He had learned that she was not a woman to be commanded. Contrition would serve him better than authority. He had suffered in these past weeks, knowing she wished to have nothing more to do with him. What words could he offer that might repair the injury?
He paced the wood until he was brought up short by the sound of a woman sobbing, harsh and guttural. He turned and saw her, walking along the path not fifteen feet from where he stood. She held a handkerchief to her eyes and wept as she had done on the last night he had been in her company.
He remained where he stood and watched as she passed behind a great oak, then reappeared about ten feet from the ground and settled upon a thick branch.
He moved nearer, then paused at a short distance, uncertain how to proceed. She had said she never wanted to see him again. Did he dare speak to her now? Would she accept words of comfort from him?
Then he heard the rustle of leaves and turned. It was Allen. When the man saw Elizabeth, he hastened forward. “Miss Bennet, you are distressed. Mrs. Hill told me you were out walking.”
Sparky came bounding from the wood and barked his welcome, leaping about the gentleman whom he plainly considered a friend.
Elizabeth raised herself. Several of her pins had fallen, and loose curls had escaped and hung about her shoulders. Her eyes were rimmed with red, but her voice was steady.
“Sir, I had not heard you. Pray, take no notice. Nothing is the matter with me, except that I am out of sorts and came here for a measure of privacy.”
A sob broke from her, and she wiped her eyes with her sodden handkerchief.
Darcy could no longer remain silent. He spoke. Both Elizabeth and Allen turned to face him.
“Miss Bennet, it is clear to me that all is not well. You have been weeping this half hour. Pray, tell us what has befallen you. How may we assist you?”
The look in her eyes smote him. She did not answer his question.
“Gentlemen, if you would kindly turn away, I shall climb down from this branch.”
Allen moved closer. “I fear you may injure yourself. Let me assist you.”
Darcy remained where he stood. “She is perfectly able to descend without injury. Stand back, Allen, so that she may come down.”
Both men turned away while Elizabeth climbed from the tree. When she reached the ground, she drew on her gloves and shook out her skirts, then walked away from them. Allen followed her, while Darcy remained behind. She had dropped her handkerchief; he picked it up and tucked it into his jacket pocket before he, too, followed.
