Page 31 of Conundrums & Coincidences

Upon reaching the wet garden and discovering her ramble might not be a solitary one, Elizabeth’s entire being flooded with warmth and expectancy.

For a moment, Mr Darcy looked at her with what she liked to think was unfeigned pleasure. “Miss Bennet, I have been walking hereabouts for some time in the hope of chancing upon you. I remembered that you wanted to speak to me and that I had arranged for Miss Rigby and us to meet yesterday. Please forgive me for not being here at the appointed time.” He exuded a strong sense of regret over something that was not at all his fault.

“You have nothing for which to be sorry, sir, for I did not present myself here either. Please put aside your disappointment over that missed assignation and⁠—”

“Assignation?” He virtually choked on the word.

“Yes.” Elizabeth was all innocence. “An assignation is nothing more than a meeting by arrangement, is it not?”

“Well, no…or rather yes, but…”

Observing his shocked and confused countenance, she could no longer suppress a grin.

He returned her smile. “You know, you really are irresistible.” He offered to carry her umbrella, hooked its handle over one arm, proffered his other, and they strolled along winding gravel paths.

“You know, you really should smile more often, Mr Darcy.” Elizabeth trailed her free hand across glistening bushes, causing a cascade of tiny jewel-like droplets.

“And why is that?” He inched closer.

“You may not have a big, open grin like Mr Hadley or Mr Bingley, but you must be conscious, sir, that one’s countenance appears to greatest advantage when smiling.”

“Ha! You are perfectly right.” He then smiled so handsomely that the outer corners of his eyes creased. “I shall endeavour to spend more time in your society, for that is when I smile the most. In fact, on this dreary morn, you already have dispelled gloom and brightened my day.”

Disinclined to spoil their good cheer, Elizabeth was hesitant to repeat what she had overheard on Saturday in the great hall and what Miss Kensett had almost shared about Mr Fordham in her note. The lady was gone and could neither extort that gentleman nor be hurt by him. For her own part, Elizabeth had felt ill at ease about Mr Fordham from first acquaintance. There was something cunning about him, and she would remain cautious.

While the lady and gentleman wound their way round the flower beds, the morning’s fine mist had gradually increased to a middling shower. As he opened the umbrella, Mr Darcy took a quick glance about the garden. “Where, pray tell, is our vigilant chaperon this morning?”

“I had not planned on this assignation, sir.” Elizabeth grinned at him. “Ergo, I saw no need to advise Miss Rigby of it.”

“Nevertheless”—he lowered his voice and twitched his head to the right—“we are being watched.” He increased the distance between them.

From under the umbrella, Elizabeth peered across a bed of purple cone-flowers and espied the same gardener who had been trimming the shrubbery on Friday and the junipers on Saturday. That morning, he was raking gravel. Smiling sweetly, she waved and wished him a good day. Her greeting was gruffly returned.

Strolling arm in arm with Mr Darcy beneath their silk canopy, it did not seem life could possibly supply any greater felicity. The perfumed garden was at once both tranquil and alive, its floral displays ranging from delicate to showy.

Darting out from under the umbrella’s protection, Elizabeth stopped to admire a bed of heliotrope in shades of purple, blue, white, and pink. A sign indicated the flowers were traditionally symbolic of eternal love and devotion. Behind the heliotrope, arranged in an arc, were pots of roses in a variety of hues from white to wine. “Beautiful!”

She thought she heard Mr Darcy softly whisper, “Yes, so beautiful.”

When she turned to face him, his gaze was fixed on her face, not the flowers. Have I been elevated from tolerable to beautiful? Unaccustomed to compliments but warmed by the possibility of one from him, Elizabeth blushed and looked at the ground.

Instantly, the toes of his boots appeared a fraction of an inch from hers; and there he and she stood together beneath the umbrella, sheltered from rain and shielded from prying eyes.

“I am not one to speak in false or extravagant praise, Miss Bennet. You must know you are lovely. I thought so even at that ill-fated assembly in Meryton, and I should not have spoken so falsely that night.” He passed her the umbrella, then reached past her to pluck one of the roses. After removing the thorns from its stem, he handed the flower to her.

Elizabeth accepted the exquisite bloom and held it to her nose, inhaling its sweet fragrance. Grateful for the suspension of Mr Darcy’s compliments, she returned the umbrella to his care and said, “Speaking of Hertfordshire, I cannot say that I am in any hurry for the conclusion of our present visit. I shall miss Oakwood.” And you.

“Perhaps your leaving this place will be but temporary.”

“Do you think I shall win?”

“That is but one hypothetical ideal that could become reality.” He looked not at her but at a thorn embedded in his glove. “Another possibility is that one of the gentlemen here—Mr Hadley, for instance—might claim the prize and consequently be in want of a wife.”

Mr Darcy waggled his eyebrows at her, and she smiled at him. “Seriously, madam, I have been meaning to ask what you will do with Oakwood Manor should you win the tournament. As per the terms of Miss Armstrong’s will, this property cannot be put up for purchase. Ownership and inheritance must remain within the winner’s family for a specified number of generations.”

Elizabeth spoke then of how dearly she would love to win—needed to win—and why. He had entrusted her with the secret of his sister’s near downfall, and she had no qualms about confiding in him about the Bennet family’s situation. Certainly it was no secret.

Trust was significant. If the two of them were to further their acquaintance, what could be more important than mutual trust?