Page 31 of Affectations of Candour

As he approached, Darcy witnessed what appeared to be a sly smile being exchanged between Miss Wright and Miss Margaret. The two eldest Wright sisters seemed to be badgering Elizabeth about going for a ride with them the next day.

“I thank you, but the Bakers’ horses are mostly always needed on the farm, and Jenny and I could not keep up with you, I fear.”

“Who is this Jenny?” Miss Wright twirled her parasol as it rested upon a shoulder.

“She is the Bakers’ jenny.”

“Yes, yes, but who is she? Another poor relation?”

Perceiving the impishness in Elizabeth’s voice and the vexation in Miss Wright’s, Darcy intervened. “Jenny is the Bakers’ female donkey. A female donkey is called a jenny. Now, if you ladies will excuse us.” He turned from the Miss Wrights to Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet, may I please have a word with you?”

Her disinclination was evident, and she responded with languid indifference. “Of course, sir.” She walked with Darcy towards the shrubbery but, with what seemed to him suspicious disapproval, stopped short of entering the shaded, private walk with him.

“Miss Bennet, my sister has a favour to ask of you.”

Elizabeth looked about as though searching for Georgiana and not seeing her. “And she had to send an envoy to do so?”

“Ah, no. Well, yes. Georgiana has a rather large, black-and-white, furry problem on her hands. Other than filching picnic fare and trying to elude capture, the most efficient method for getting Hector to exert himself and get some exercise is to lead him to water.” Realising he was spinning the signet ring round his little finger, Darcy clasped his hands behind his back. “She wishes for him to swim in the stream during our excursion. Which means there will be a large, wet, smelly dog in my punt on our return trip. Since you seem to like Hector—and he you—my sister believes you are the only one in our group who might not take offence to sharing a boat with such a malodorous creature.”

“Oh.” A surprised expression crossed Elizabeth’s face, and her eyebrows were still raised when she responded. “This is my sister Kitty’s gown and of a colour she insists is ‘stifled sigh’. I would not wish to return it to her irreparably stained. Besides, would Miss Wright not be a more appropriate choice?”

An ungentlemanly bark of laughter escaped him. “I beg your pardon, but, great heavens, no, she would not.” Darcy pictured Miss Wright’s look of disgust were she obliged to sit in a punt with a reeking Newfoundland dog leaning against her, all muddy and wet from slopping about in shallow water. “I shall do my utmost to ensure that nothing dares to besmirch your sister’s gown.” It was a muslin, he knew that much, of the palest of lilacs. Although without fashion, it was becoming on Elizabeth, but, in his opinion, she could wear sackcloth and look ravishing.

They both turned as Miss Wright quickly approached, parasol folded and employed as a walking stick. “Whatever are you doing, Mr Darcy? I had not realised that you intended to walk in the shrubbery.” There was a disagreeable coldness in her tone. “Has there been a change of plans? Shall I tell your guests that they are to meet us here?”

“Not at all, madam. We were just about to go back.” He offered an arm to each lady, and they returned to the garden, where the others were, depending on their temperaments, patiently or impatiently waiting, ready to proceed to the dock.

They were, for the most part, a happy party as they all set off together down the shaded woodland footpath. Miss Wright had refused to let go of Darcy’s arm, so he and she and Georgiana followed directly behind Mr Baker and his factotum, who led the way. Mr Wright, Miss Margaret, and Miss Baker soon allowed the others to outstrip them, so they lagged behind, while Elizabeth, who had shown no reluctance in relinquishing Darcy’s arm, had gone to walk in the middle of the group with Miss Hughes and Miss Althea.

There were so many interesting scents along the way for a dog to smell and examine that Hector occasionally wandered off, though he never strayed a great distance from Georgiana. Then, as they neared the meadow, he made a series of gruff noises and trotted off into the trees.

Miss Wright clung tighter to Darcy’s arm. “Do you suppose there are dangers lurking hereabouts?” Edging ever closer to him, she turned her head this way and that, searching for signs of peril. “Perhaps there is a wolf lurking behind a tree or a wild boar in the underbrush.”

“Unlikely, madam. In this country, wolves have been extinct since at least the fourteenth century and wild boars, I believe, by the end of the fifteenth.” He moved his body as far away from her as his arm would allow. “’Tis most likely that Hector heard or smelt a roe deer, badger, polecat, or some such.”

At his other side, Georgiana softly spoke. “Brother, have you resolved the matter of Hector’s return journey?” The dog, no doubt having heard his name, ambled back to walk at her side as they neared Willow Bourn.

Thinking back to when he and Elizabeth had been at the shrubbery, Darcy wondered whether the seating arrangement had been decided upon. Strictly speaking, she had not agreed to be in his punt. Had she?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The shaded woodland footpath had gradually given way to sunlit open fields with iridescent lilac-blue butterflies on the wing and fluttering graylings amongst green grasses and yellow meadow rue. Marsh orchids grew alongside the drainage ditches where warblers sang their sweet song, and aromatic angelica peeked its head up from the rhynes. Elizabeth stood there for a moment, appreciating the herb’s fresh, sweet scent while a skylark, so high above that it was naught but a dot, sang in a clear, bubbling warble.

Walking then through bucolic perfection, she wished she was close enough that she might hear the Darcys’ discourse, for she had just caught her own name being mentioned. She also tried to detect symptoms of affection between Mr Darcy and his future bride, but there was nothing to suggest theirs would be a loving marriage, which saddened her. As much as Elizabeth might have wished it otherwise, their impending union was much on her mind, and she prayed that they would not marry without affection.

Perhaps their secret understanding is simply a trial period in which they are testing their true compatibility. A degree of spiteful glee could not be restrained. Ha! If such be the case, then by the look of things, there might soon be a secret separation. Elizabeth’s opinions on the subject oscillated like a weathervane turning with the changing winds, and such a vacillation between trust and doubt was positively exhausting.

There are far too many inconsistencies! I want to think only the very best of Mr Darcy, and I refuse to accept that he would have no care for a woman’s reputation, not after the way his own sister was treated so abominably by the despicable Mr Wickham—he of the lies and half-truths. No honourable gentleman would risk bringing shame and disgrace to a lady.

Elizabeth asked herself why such a private person—as Mr Darcy certainly seemed to be—would confide in her and be confident of her discretion. Both brother and sister had been ill-used by Mr Wickham, and to trust anyone with their painful and mortifying histories with that despicable man required a great deal of faith.

And while she was pondering that subject, she also wondered why Miss Wright would entrust a mere acquaintance as herself with a dangerous secret. How reckless of her to hand me such a weapon. Good heavens, were I so inclined, I could destroy her family’s good name and ruin her reputation with just two words: ‘secret understanding’. Of course, never would I be that malicious.

Rather than depending solely on what might actually be a scandalous falsehood invented by Miss Wright, Elizabeth took into consideration Mr Darcy’s conduct over the duration she had known him. He had been aloof and arrogant in Hertfordshire to be sure, but never had there been even a hint of a breach of morality on his part. And now, knowing how he feels about Mr Wickham’s iniquity, I firmly believe that such a gentleman would not behave dishonourably.

Besides all that, he had admitted and repented his mistake regarding Jane and Mr Bingley. He had apologised for causing distress and for not warning Elizabeth about Mr Wickham. All of which, in my opinion, is a mark of honour and integrity.

Although conjectures, rapid and wild, continued to invade her thoughts, Elizabeth was satisfied with none of them. Anxiety and hope oppressed her in equal measure while she discarded every excuse she could invent for Mr Darcy and Miss Wright’s clandestine arrangement.