Astonished in Derbyshire, Part One Chapter Three

Chapter 3

Elizabeth’s afternoon encounter with Mr. Darcy left her exceedingly uneasy. She could not make sense of it. Why had he come? What was it that he was going to say—what folly commit? She could not feel anything but justified in her words about Jane and Mr. Bingley, but yet, she had been terribly uncivil at the end.

No sooner had she begun to compose herself, than Mr. Bingley himself called. His arrival coincided with her aunt and uncle’s return to the parlor, and the four of them sat around, making friendly conversation that entirely ignored the earlier awkward scene. As the time drew near for him to leave though, Bingley cleared his throat and leaned towards Elizabeth. “I wonder if I might speak to you confidentially for a moment, Miss Elizabeth.” He nodded to the window.

She got up and went with him, and they stood looking down into the street as he spoke earnestly in a low tone. “Miss Elizabeth, I hope you know that I was not aware of Miss Bennet’s presence in town over the winter.”

She smiled slightly. “I had gathered as much, yes.”

“I, um—I would have called on her, had I known.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “You could also have come back to Netherfield, if you wished.”

He flushed. “Yes, well… I wasn’t certain, you know, if I would be welcomed… really welcomed, by her, I mean.”

“Could you doubt it?”

“Yes.” He rubbed a hand in his curls. “Of course.”

Elizabeth looked at him in perplexity. “I don’t know what you, perhaps, have been told, but…”

“Yes?” he asked eagerly.

“I cannot speak for my sister, sir. It is not for me to divulge what may be in her heart. But if you wish to know the nature of her feelings for you, is it not better to ask her, than to simply… leave?”

“Well, Miss Bennet is so kind, I do not know what…”

“My sister is kindness itself, but I assure you that the last thing she would ever do would be to give some gentleman an idea of her feeling more for him than she did. She is far more likely to show less than she really feels than more.”

“Really?” A light came into his eyes. “Is this the truth?”

“Of course it’s the truth. My sister is an honest woman, sir, and deserving of honest dealing.”

For a few moments they stood eying each other. “I can see what you think of me, Miss Elizabeth.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. You think I am either capricious or cowardly—or both.”

She hesitated. “I don’t know what you are, Mr. Bingley, but I would like to think well of you.”

“Thank you. I hope you have occasion to think better of me in the future.”

They returned to the others then, and in a few minutes Mr. Bingley took his leave. They had not spoken of what role Mr. Darcy may have played in the whole affair, but Elizabeth hoped that Bingley’s presence meant that he had decided not to  defer too much to his friend or sisters any more.

~%~

Thinking about Jane brought to mind the fact that Elizabeth had received no letters from her just recently. Jane was usually a very faithful correspondent, and this silence was beginning to worry her.  What was going on at home?

She sat down to try to compose a letter to Jane herself, but found she could not put into words everything that had happened in the last three days. How could she explain Mr. Darcy’s unexplainable behavior—or detail the uncertain conversation she had with Mr. Bingley? She did not understand them herself.

What did it mean? What was she to think?—about Darcy, about Wickham, about Mr. Bingley’s reasons for leaving Hertfordshire? Darcy certainly appeared to be a better man than she had thought him, but he was still just as proud. His attentions to her—what was the purpose behind them? And what had he come there to say that afternoon? Always her mind returned to Darcy. If Wickham was a scoundrel then she was sorry for it, but his poor character only made Darcy’s more unclear.

After a night’s fitful sleep she rose and dressed early, slipping out of the inn at first light. The town was quietly awake around her, shopkeepers opening their doors, street sellers setting out their wares. Wrapped in a light cloak, she stole down the street unmolested, working her way north, out of town—in the direction of Pemberley.

She thought of Pemberley, as she eyed the gracious trees ahead, of its beauty and serenity, of the grace and good taste that adorned its every part. She thought of old Mrs. Reynolds, boasting fondly about a boy who had grown into a man she was proud to call master. She thought of the strange light in Darcy’s eyes when he had looked at her at times, and the angry hurt in his voice when he had left her yesterday. An unconscious shiver ran up her spine.

She had been walking for some minutes along the side of the road, lost in the iridescence of the dawning sky, when a horseman appeared, moving in her direction. She knew who it would be, even before he drew near; it seemed somehow inevitable.

Darcy drew rein about fifteen feet from where she stood, and they regarded each other in silence. “Miss Bennet,” he said at last, and swung down.

“Mr. Darcy.” It was the first time she had spoken that morning, and her voice sounded husky to her ears.

His next remark seemed curiously inconsequential. “My friend Bingley is very angry at me.”

“Is he?”

“Yes.” A pause. “Perhaps he has cause.”

She didn’t know quite what to say to that.

Darcy fidgeted a bit, and fingered the reins. “I wish you to understand that I did not intend any disrespect to you… or to Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner.”

She sighed. “Perhaps I was unjust. You are not, after all, responsible for Mr. Bingley’s desertion of my sister, and I can understand that you might find it awkward.”

He looked uncomfortable but said, “May I walk with you?”

She didn’t know why he asked it, or even why he was here this morning, when he seemed so intent on quitting her presence the day before. Yet she consented, and he led his mount around to walk with her in the direction she had been going. After a minute or two he began to speak again, but only to point out a falcon gliding overhead, along with interesting information about its nesting habits in nearby peaks. This was followed by observations on some roadside plants and the probable age of the trees they strolled beneath. Elizabeth listened in respectful silence, surprised alike by his knowledge and verbosity. She could not ever seem to puzzle out this man.

The occasional farm cart rolled past them, and Darcy invariably would take her arm gently as they stepped back, drawing his horse a little forward as if to shield her. Some of the farmers recognized their master in the tall gentleman, and bowed very deeply from their posts on the cart or oxen. Elizabeth rather thought they must be amazed to see him walking beside the road with a strange lady, but she could perceive no discomfort on Mr. Darcy’s countenance. Unexpectedly, something her sister Mary had once said returned to her. It had something to do with the difference between vanity and pride—that vanity had to do with what others thought of you, while pride was what you thought of yourself. It was true; Mr. Darcy might be proud, but he was not vain.

“Does your knowledge of nature extend to all of England, or only your home county?” she asked him.

He smiled. “I am fond of Derbyshire, I admit. My knowledge is the sort that was of interest to a young boy who had the freedom of a large estate. I am sure you could tell me much about the flowers and wildlife of Hertfordshire.”

“Perhaps,” she acknowledged. “Although girls are not generally allowed the same freedoms as boys, I was fortunate to have a father who did not like to see us too much restricted, and who always encouraged my curiosity.”

“My own father believed it best that I learn to love Pemberley from my youth, and that began with a love for its forests and streams, and grew to a love for its farms and mills and villages as well. I do believe my early explorations laid the foundation for all the satisfaction I feel as a landowner and master now.”

Elizabeth glanced sideways at him. “Your housekeeper was quite eloquent in her praise for you in those capacities.”

She might have been mistaken, but a little color seemed to creep into his cheeks. “She is rather prejudiced on my behalf, I believe.”

“Yes, she has known you since you were four years old—or so she told us.”

“It’s true; I was very young when she first came to Pemberley.”

The image of him as a small boy, clambering around those solemn halls, climbing those majestic trees, or—heaven forbid!—rolling down the slope of the mighty front lawn—was just irresistibly endearing. When she had first heard Mrs. Reynolds, Elizabeth had been quite unable to connect the sweet natured child she spoke of with the dour man she herself had known, but now, somehow, the link was made, she saw the two pictures superimposed, and once again her ideas about Mr. Darcy rotated.

“What is it?” asked Darcy, who had evidently been studying the expressions on her face.

She shook her head. “I told you once that I was having difficulty sketching your character, Mr. Darcy. I am doing no better now, all these months later, and I am afraid that if I have to continue making corrections the portrait will soon be hopelessly smudged.”

There was a short silence. “Perhaps you might be willing to begin a new portrait, Miss Bennet,” he said at last, softly.

She was uncertain about what he meant; did he mean that her sketching was poor, or the appearance he had shown her? Was he reprimanding or apologizing?—or perhaps neither? She may have been endowing his words with a meaning he never intended. She glanced at him again, but his face was enigmatic.

They had come now to the beginning of Lambton proper, and she half expected him to part ways with her, but he continued by her, past a few neat houses, past the butcher’s shop and chandler’s, past a general store, and a bakery and the tiny milliner’s.  When they finally turned in at the entrance to the Red Lion she paused a moment to look at him enquiringly. He cleared his throat and said, “Perhaps I might come up and greet your aunt and uncle—if you don’t think it too early.”

“I am sure they shall be happy to speak to you.”

“It will soon be breakfast at Pemberley, so I must return quickly, but I should like to—”

He did not finish, but she nodded quickly, and they continued through the taproom, leaving Darcy’s horse with a boy from the inn who promised to give it water. About half way through the lobby they were accosted by the beaming proprietor, who greeted Darcy effusively and announced that Miss Bennet had received two letters just that morning.

On being handed them, Elizabeth saw that they were from Jane, and could not contain an exclamation of pleasure. “I have been anxious for these,” she explained.

He smiled courteously and followed her up the stairs. Her aunt and uncle were awake and in the parlor. Tea and coffee had been brought up but breakfast was still coming, and they were both surprised to find that she was not, as they thought, still asleep in her bed. They greeted Mr. Darcy very civilly, and he put himself to the trouble of actually talking to them, although rather stiffly.

Although Elizabeth had previously been quite wild to read any communication from Jane, her letters naturally paled in interest compared to the man standing now present in the room. He certainly was tall, she found herself thinking, though perhaps it was just the riding cloak that made his shoulders seem so very broad. He looked a bit out of place in the low, old-fashioned room, and not entirely comfortable as he made conversation with her lowly relations, but he was making an attempt of sorts. She could not recall that she had ever seen Mr. Darcy make an attempt to be civil to anyone in Hertfordshire, and the ongoing mystery of his behavior raised new and interesting possibilities in her mind.

Could it be possible, as her uncle hinted, that Mr. Darcy admired her? That his persistent presence since their arrival had been his way of paying her attention? And did she wish for his attentions? This question occupied her so completely that she was hardly aware of what was being said until Mr. Darcy said, “But I am keeping Miss Bennet from her letters.”

Her name in his deep voice brought her to herself, and she started and blushed at her thoughts. She went to place those letters on the table—and then he gave her this look—a kind of wry, humorous, speaking, meaningful look from under his brows, and involuntarily her hand jerked.

“Lizzy!” exclaimed Mrs. Gardiner, as hot liquid scorched her fingers. She had knocked her aunt’s cup of coffee over, and spilled brown liquid all over Jane’s precious letters.

The next moments were equal parts bustle, mortification and dismay. Mr. Darcy kindly said little as they mopped up the mess; how he looked she didn’t know, as she couldn’t look at him. They were able to carefully break the seals without much tearing the paper, and spread the sheets open to dry. Elizabeth did not try to read them, except to see that about half of each page was stained, though the occasional legible word peeked through.

A maid arrived to replace the tablecloth, and Elizabeth found herself standing rather awkwardly near Darcy, who for some reason had not yet taken his leave. He smiled at her, a bit tentatively. “I am sorry your sister’s letters suffered damage,” he said. “I know how valuable my own sister’s correspondence is to me, when we are apart.”

“Yes, and you write long letters with four syllable words back to her,” she said without really thinking. “I remember.”

The smile disappeared, and she felt immediately sorry for the tone of her reply. “It was very kind of you to accompany me back,” she ventured. “And to… come upstairs.” She did not want to say meet my relatives in trade.

He looked at her a moment. “I did not do it to be kind.” There seemed to be some message he was trying to convey. For perhaps the first time, she looked at him in a genuine attempt to understand. What did he want from her? Who was he?

“Lizzy…”

“Forgive me, you must wishing for my absence.” Quickly, he made his bow. “We are engaged for this afternoon, then?”

“We will look forward to it,” smiled Mrs. Gardiner.

“This afternoon?” Elizabeth repeated when he had left. “I thought we were to have been gone by this afternoon!”

“Did you not pay attention to anything that was said?” asked her aunt. “Mr. Darcy invited us to take a tour of his park. I told him how much I had always wished it, and he offered carriages immediately.”

“But we have our own carriage,” said Elizabeth stupidly.

“Yes, but that’s not the proper way to see a park like that! It must be done in smaller, lighter carriages, that can get over the ground more easily.”

“He said there were two such carriages in his stables,” volunteered her husband. “A curricle which he generally drives, and a phaeton designed for his sister’s use. He said we might take the phaeton, as your aunt dislikes curricles.”

“I’m always positive they shall tip over!”

“Can we all fit in one phaeton?”

“Well, no, Lizzy.” He cleared his throat. “By we I meant your aunt and I. You shall have to ride in the curricle.”

“By myself?” She was being very stupid this morning.

“No, Lizzy.” Her aunt now. “With Mr. Darcy.”

“Mr. Darcy? Why should—and you agreed? Without asking me?”

The others exchanged looks. “Lizzy,” said Mrs. Gardiner carefully, “you returned from a very early morning walk with him in tow.”

“Clearly, you met him somewhere—”

“But not on purpose!”

“—and felt quite familiar enough with him to not only walk back, but bring him up to speak with us.”

“He asked to come up, I did not invite him.”

Another exchanged look. “Regardless, you can hardly fault us for thinking you quite willing to keep company with him.”

“And you offered no objection to the plan.”

Elizabeth opened her mouth and closed it again, frustrated. Would she have objected to the plan, had she heard it? Did she object? She was at least honest enough to admit that she did not know. The thought of sitting in the close confines of a curricle seat with Mr. Darcy made her heart race strangely.  Anxious for change the subject, she went to fuss over Jane’s letters, and read the first, unstained portion of page. “Jane says that the children are well,” she announced. “Edward upset Hill by bringing a stray cat into the kitchen, but she has since forgiven him and reserves all the best treats for him.” There was also some mention of a party, but the sentences after that were stained and blurred and still wet; she could just make out the word Lydia further down the sheet, then surprise, Kitty, rejoice, my father, and how thankful I am, all scattered about. Jane, who disliked the look of crossed pages, wrote instead in a neat but very small hand, and the words were easily lost.  “I can’t make out the rest at all.” She glanced at the second letter.

“Perhaps they will be easier to read when they have dried,” suggested her aunt.

“Yes…” She leaned over it. By this time, my dearest sister, you have received…

Breakfast at last arrived in all its toothsome glory and distracted her, then, outside in the street (she stood by a window), a curricle rattled by, reminding her of the engagement to come, and her thoughts returned inexorably to Darcy.

“Lizzy?”

“Um?”

“Is everything well?”

She realized with a start that the repast was all prepared, and the others waiting for her to begin. Blushing a little, she set the paper in hand carefully down again, there on the little table in the sun.

“At Longbourn, you mean? Yes, it seems so. I saw enough to assure us of that, at least.”

Astonished in Derbyshire, Part One, Chapter Two

  Chapter 2

On the third morning of their stay in Lambton, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner decided to walk to down to the old church, the same one where Mrs. Gardiner was baptized as a baby, and where some of her family were buried. It was, she assured Elizabeth, a very pretty building, and the three of them prepared to depart together. When they reached the lobby of the inn, though, Elizabeth quite literally ran into Mr. Darcy. He appeared to be heading towards the stairs they had just exited, and the two nearly collided.

“Mr. Darcy!” Elizabeth hardly even felt surprise this time.

“Miss Bennet, I, uh… were you going out?”

“Yes, we were just about to walk down to the church.”

“The old one at the end of Windemere Lane, you mean?”

“Well yes, I suppose so. I don’t really know—it is my aunt who is familiar with Lambton.” Elizabeth nodded toward her relatives, but once again he favored them with a mere glance. Irritation at his incivility rose—if nothing else, she had remembered that aspect of his character correctly.

“Perhaps I might accompany you.” He nodded toward the door.

She looked at him uncertainly. “Did you not have some business here, that you were going to do?”

“Ah—nothing of significance, I assure you.”

“And your party at Pemberley? Are they so sanguine at having their host disappear for a portion of each day?”

“They have sufficient occupation.” He offered his arm. “Shall we go?”

She did not take it. “Mr. Darcy, I am here with my aunt and uncle—Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner.” As she spoke she moved backward until she stood next to them. “Perhaps I might introduce them to you?”

He colored a little, whether in anger or belated recognition of his rudeness, she didn’t know. “Of course.”

She made the introduction, and he managed to speak civilly, if briefly, to them, before turning back to Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet?”

It seemed she had no choice but to take his arm and endure his company yet again. Elizabeth felt strange, walking out with him like this, as if they were actually friends, and with her new knowledge of him—or lack of knowledge, rather. She had thought she understood him very well, but instead he was an unreadable cipher, and she hardly knew what to think. As the master of Pemberley, he commanded great respect. His past behavior was deplorable, his current behavior inexplicable, and his dealings with Mr. Wickham increasingly murky and uncertain. How was she to understand such differing evidence? What was she to make of him?

They made their way down the street. Elizabeth caught the occasional amazed glance directed their way, with doffed hats and hasty bows. Mr. Darcy merely nodded in response. He was silent today, without the determined questions of yesterday, and she wondered why he had bothered to come.

“My aunt grew up in Lambton,” she said at last, suddenly unable to bear the silence.

“Did she?”

“Yes. She was christened at this church.”

“Hmm.”

“It was she who suggested we visit Pemberley.”                       

“Did you not wish to visit it yourself?”

“I did not wish to intrude.”

“You were not intruding.”

“Still… you know, Mr. Darcy, we knew each other very slightly so many months ago. I would not presume to call myself more than the merest acquaintance, and perhaps barely that.”

He looked thoughtful at that. “When do you depart?”

“Tomorrow is the plan.”

“Is that because you imagined you would not wish to stay longer, or because you are expected elsewhere?”

“Lambton is our longest planned stay in any town, sir. My uncle must return to his business soon, and there is much more of Derbyshire to see.”

“Of course,” he murmured, and was promptly silent for the rest of the walk. When they reached the church he surprised her by volunteering information about the windows’ age and design, but otherwise said little as the group explored the sanctuary and grounds outside.

As they were on their way back he unexpectedly took up their former subject. “Do you plan to remain in London for a time, or will you travel directly to Longbourn?”

“I will stay about a week with the Gardiners.” She wondered to what his question tended.

“And your uncle—he lives in Cheapside, is that right?” He winced a bit as he said the name.

“Near Cheapside, Mr. Darcy,” she answered drily. “Gracechurch Street. I daresay that it is unfashionable, but not quite a back alley, either.”

“No, no, your aunt and uncle appear very genteel.”

“They are very genteel.”

Whether he heard the edge on her voice or not, he lapsed back into the same irritating introspection. Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder at the Gardiners walking behind; her aunt raised her eyebrows with a questioning look, and she gave her a bewildered look back.

When they had come back into the center of town, the lead couple found themselves unexpectedly hailed from the street, where an open carriage sat, containing—of all people!—Mr. and Miss Bingley. “Here you are, Darcy, we were all wondering—” Mr. Bingley stopped abruptly upon recognizing his companion, and sat with his mouth hanging open a full inch.

“Mr. Darcy, do show me about this charming town!” Miss Bingley, her face an alarming shade of red, scrambled out of the carriage and took his free arm possessively. “Well, if it isn’t little Miss Eliza,” she added with a nervous laugh. “What a surprise to see you here!”

It was now obvious to Elizabeth that Darcy had not only failed to mention the Bingleys’ presence at Pemberley to her, but also her presence in Lambton to them. This apparent double concealment—which she could not but believe deliberate—enraged her. Swiftly she drew her hand out of Darcy’s arm. “It is a surprise to see you too, Miss Bingley,” she said.

“I say, Miss Elizabeth!” Regaining his self-possession, Mr. Bingley now practically vaulted out of the carriage into the street before her. “What a pleasure this is! To think of finding you in Lambton, of all places—and walking with Darcy! Did you just meet?”

“On the contrary, Mr. Bingley. Mr. Darcy has known of my presence here for the last three days, ever since I encountered him while touring the grounds at Pemberley. But do not tell me that he did not inform you of it!” She opened her eyes very wide. Darcy shifted beside her.

Bingley looked taken aback, but covered it quickly with inquiries after her health and her family. She answered him briefly and said. “Mr. Bingley, please allow me to present to you my aunt and uncle Gardiner.”

“Of course, I shall be delighted.” They came forward, and the introductions were made.

“But Miss Bingley, you already know Mrs. Gardiner, of course! You met her when you called on Jane at their home, I believe. January, wasn’t it? No, I am wrong, that was when she called on you. You returned the call in February.”

Miss Bingley looked furious, Mr. Bingley beautifully astonished, and Mr. Darcy—when she did finally defiantly meet his eyes—distinctly uncomfortable. Then Elizabeth saw her aunt’s face, and felt briefly ashamed. She had put her on the spot most ungraciously.

“How do you do, Mrs. Gardiner?” asked Miss Bingley through her teeth.

Mrs. Gardiner murmured something in reply, and an excruciatingly awkward silence followed. Mr. Gardiner was the one to finally break it, asking the gentlemen about what kind of sport they were enjoying. After a brief conversation they parted ways, Elizabeth being sure to firmly attach herself to her relatives. Mr. Darcy stayed with his friends.

~%~

“I am sorry, Aunt Gardiner. I should not have said it—only I could not help it. Miss Bingley’s treatment of Jane was infamous, and Mr. Darcy was clearly conspiring to keep Mr. Bingley from knowing I was in the country. It just made me so angry.”

Aunt Gardiner sighed. “I did not love you very much at that moment, Lizzy, but I do understand. It seems at least that Mr. Bingley knew nothing of Jane’s visits with his sister—if his countenance was anything to go by.”

“He did look terribly surprised, didn’t he? I wonder if he ever knew she was in town—or if it will make any difference that he knows now. Either he never loved her enough to marry her, or he is far too easily led by others, and neither condition can be cured simply by knowing she called.”

Later  in the afternoon when Mrs. Gardiner had retired to her room for a nap, Mr. Gardiner put down his book, and looked at his niece in a serious fashion. “Lizzy,” he said, “Will you be offended if I ask you about the nature of your prior relationship with Mr. Darcy?”

She blinked in surprise. “There was no prior relationship, uncle. He stayed with Mr. Bingley at Netherfield for a few weeks, and we were sometimes in company together, that is all. We have always disliked each other amazingly.”

“He is not behaving as if he dislikes you.”

She colored. “He has been behaving very strangely since we met again. I do not know how to explain it.”

“Is today the first day you have seen him, since your unexpected meeting at Pemberley?”

“No,” she admitted. “I encountered him when walking around the town yesterday too.”

“I see. And it does not seem a remarkable coincidence to you, that he should appear in the same place as you, two mornings in a row? He was going upstairs in the inn until he saw you. Did it occur to you that he might have come to town expressly to call on you?”

“Oh, do not talk so!” she begged him, distressed. “Why, it is absurd. He was the most disagreeable man I ever met, when he was in Hertfordshire. We argued several times, and I haven’t seen him since—not for more than eight months!”

“Even so, he has repeatedly sought your company ever since he knew you were here.”

“It is unaccountable, I freely admit that, but I truly cannot think that it means anything. How could it? Please let us speak no more of it!”

He agreed, and they each took up a book. After a few minutes Mr. Gardiner began to nod off and finally declared his intention of joining his wife in her slumber. Elizabeth, who was still feeling discomposed, was glad to cast aside her book and the pretension of reading it.

It had all been so astonishing, so mystifying, so disconcerting! What was she to think? How was she to feel? And yet they would be gone soon. Surely, whatever Mr. Darcy’s reasons for coming to town—perhaps he was merely evading Miss Bingley’s attentions, she thought hopefully—they would not matter two days hence.

Just as Elizabeth was settling with herself that she had exaggerated the significance of what had occurred, a servant opened the door and Mr. Darcy himself strode in.

“Mr. Darcy!” She rose to her feet and smoothed her skirt, wondering what on earth was to transpire next.

“Miss Bennet.” He looked around the room. “You are alone? Your aunt and uncle—”

“They have retired to their chambers for a time.”

“Good. That is to say, I wish to speak to you privately.” He ran a hand over the back of his head.

“I cannot imagine what about, Mr. Darcy.”

“I—” He hesitated, and took a few restless steps around the room. “I was extremely surprised when I saw you at Pemberley.”

“I am sure you were.”

“The sight of you, standing there, where I had often—” He checked. “But first—we should speak of Bingley.”

“Yes, Mr. Bingley. How strange that you should have never happened to mention that there were people I knew among your party!”

“It was for his sake, you understand.”

“Oh, his sake?”

“Yes. It seemed possible that seeing you might cause him some unhappiness, and I did not wish for that.”

“I see.” Her mouth drew into a tight light. “And what of my sister’s unhappiness, Mr. Darcy?”

“Your sister?” He looked startled.

“It is obvious to me, although you will not admit it, that you want nothing more than to keep our entire apparently poisonous family away from him, just from fear that he might somehow remember the sweet and lovely woman he abandoned last November!”

“You speak as if there were an understanding between them, which you know there was not!”

“But there would have been, had he remained any longer!”

He opened his mouth and shut it again, looking frustrated. “This is not what I came here to speak to you about.”

“You brought it up.”

“A mistake, clearly.”

“I think your mistake, Mr. Darcy, was in coming here this afternoon. Perhaps it would be best if you left.”

“I have not yet said what I came here to say.”

“Whatever it is, I cannot imagine that I would wish to hear it.”

He stared at her, his color very high. “Perhaps you would not say that if you knew what it was.”

She stared back defiantly. “Or perhaps I would.”

He picked up the hat and gloves he had discarded on a side table and gave her a quick, stiff, very slight bow before turning away. Just as his hand turned the handle of the door, though, he paused, and looking back said, “I should thank you, actually. You have saved me from a very foolish action, madam.”

The bite in his tone penetrated even her anger, and she wondered at his words. But then he was gone, shutting the door with pointed force behind him.

Astonished in Derbyshire

 

Of Mr. Darcy it was now a matter of anxiety to think well; and, as far as their acquaintance reached, there was no fault to find... they soon became sensible that the authority of a servant who had known him since he was four years old, and whose own manners indicated respectability, was not to be hastily rejected. Neither had anything occurred in the intelligence of their Lambton friends that could materially lessen its weight. They had nothing to accuse him of but pride; pride he probably had, and if not, it would certainly be imputed by the inhabitants of a small market-town where the family did not visit. It was acknowledged, however, that he was a liberal man, and did much good among the poor.

With respect to Wickham, the travellers soon found that he was not held there in much estimation; for though the chief of his concerns with the son of his patron were imperfectly understood, it was yet a well-known fact that, on his quitting Derbyshire, he had left many debts behind him, which Mr. Darcy afterwards discharged.              -P&P, ch. 44

 

                                                                                                                                         (image from http://alpenstrasse.tumblr.com/post/47787158165)
   

PART ONE: DERBYSHIRE

Chapter 1

When Mr. Bingley left Hertfordshire with his two proud sisters and even prouder friend, Elizabeth Bennet regretted only Mr. Bingley, and only on behalf of her sister. She was incensed at the way Jane had been abandoned by a man so lately paying her pointed attentions, and bitterly blamed his companions for influencing him, but did not think much on those companions themselves. She didn’t actually think of Mr. Darcy at all, except in connection with Mr. Bingley, and sometimes in connection with her friend Mr. Wickham, who liked to tell tales of growing up on the Darcy estate.

They almost met when she went to visit her friend Charlotte Collins in Kent; she learned soon after her arrival that the Lady Catherine de Bough was expecting a visit from her nephews Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam. Two days before their scheduled arrival, however, Mr. Collins returned from Rosings in great distress to report that Mr. Darcy’s sister had fallen unexpectedly ill and he did not feel able to leave her. Elizabeth was surprised that Darcy should have so much brotherly feeling, and felt a combination of relief at not meeting the unpleasant man again, and disappointment that there would be no addition to the company or entertainment Hunsford and Rosings had so far provided.

She had to admit that Lady Catherine seemed genuinely anxious over the wellbeing of her niece, and Elizabeth was mildly pleased when word arrived that Miss Darcy was out of danger and recovering nicely. The gentlemen’s visit was rescheduled for a fortnight following her own departure from the area, so she returned home without having seen either of them.

She did not think of Mr. Darcy over the following months, until she came into Derbyshire with her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, and her Aunt Gardiner expressed a wish to visit his estate, Pemberley. It seemed odd to visit the home of someone she had actually met, but Elizabeth found herself curious to view the place which Miss Bingley had so praised, and decide for herself if it was worthy of such accolades. She fully expected to find it much like Rosings, ornate and pretentious, and once the maid at the inn had told them that the family was away for the summer, she set out in the best of spirits, fully prepared to mock so much prideful munificence.

~%~

It was a very bemused Elizabeth who returned to the inn that afternoon. The day had not gone at all like she expected. First, she had been astonished at the real beauty and elegance of Pemberley. Indeed, as they walked its halls and viewed its grounds, she had to admit that it truly was, as Miss Bingley had said, the most delightful place in the world, and even that the man who owned it might have some cause for pride. She was quick to remind herself that Mr. Darcy had not built it, he merely inherited it, but even she had to concede that the current state of the house and grounds, and the tastefulness of the furnishings, reflected well on its owner.

Still more astonishing had been the account which Mrs. Reynolds, the housekeeper, had given them as she led them about the public rooms. She had been filled with extravagant praise of her master, had named him the best master, best landlord, kindest, fairest, sweetest tempered—! Her tribute went on until Elizabeth’s head was reeling. Undoubtedly she was an extremely partial old family retainer, but still! She, Elizabeth, would never have believed him capable of inspiring such loyalty in those under him.

They had seen a miniature of Mr. Wickham at one point, and she had eagerly asked about him, hoping and expecting to hear some praise at least equal to that lavished on Mr. Darcy, but received only a, “He turned out very wild, I am afraid.” It was as if Pemberley was some sort of upside-down place, where things she believed inviolable were turned topsy-turvy—where Mr. Darcy was honorable and affable, and Mr. Wickham only wild.

He was a handsome man, she thought, as she looked at his portrait in the gallery. Handsome and certainly far richer and grander than she had fully appreciated before. It appeared he had at least some good qualities—he took care of his estate, and treated his servants well. His arrogance would not appear so out of place here as it did in the Meryton Assembly room—but still, she could not like him, or approve of his treatment of Mr. Wickham.

But the most startling part of the day happened when they were lingering on the lawn, admiring the view of the house from there, and Mr. Darcy himself walked around the corner. Any discomfort Elizabeth might have felt was completely lost in amazement at his reaction to the sight of her. Instead of looking displeased and offering a distant acknowledgement—or instead of not recognizing her at all, which would not have surprised her—he positively started. His mouth opened and then closed, and a deep blush suffused his cheeks. “Miss Bennet!” he said.

She gave him a small curtsy. “Mr. Darcy. Forgive us, we were told that you were from home.”

“I was.” But he didn’t seem to be paying attention to what he said; instead, his eyes were fixed earnestly on her face. He came closer.

“We just enjoyed a tour of your house,” she said helpfully, wondering at his attitude.

“Did you like it?” He came closer again, still intent on her face.

“Of course.” She smiled. “It is everything Miss Bingley said.”

The other woman’s name seemed to recall him to a sense of himself. He blinked and stepped backward. “I trust you are well, Miss Bennet? How is your family?”

The return to normal civilities relieved her. “I am very well, thank you, and so are my family. I am here with my aunt and uncle.”

“Ah.” He glanced toward the couple standing in the background.

“We are touring Derbyshire.”

“Of course.”

They stood awkwardly for a few moments. “If I may inquire, how is your sister, Mr. Darcy? I understand she was ill in the spring.”

“You had that from Lady Catherine, I imagine.”

“Yes.”

“She is entirely recovered, thank you. It was a surprise to me to learn, when I arrived at Rosings, that you had so recently been there.”

“Really?” Elizabeth had now run out of remarks and had nothing to say.

“I had wondered whether it was possible that we might meet each other there at some time, knowing your friendship with Mrs. Collins, but I could not have reasonably supposed that it would happen so soon—as indeed it did not, but if Miss Darcy had not been unwell, we would certainly have been in each other’s company.”

For the life of her, Elizabeth could not imagine why he was making so much of it. He seemed different, in an odd way—or rather, it was he who was odd. Certainly her perceptions of him had been softened by the preceding hour, but she was sure that he had never looked or spoken in just that way before. “I am glad she is better.” She waited, and when he made no further reply, but just continued to look at her, she made a motion as if to leave. “I am keeping you, I believe…”

“Not at all,” he said, then seemed to realize that he was still standing in his riding coat, windblown and dirty. “Forgive me, I should go inside.”

She curtsied and turned, but before she had gone more than two steps he called her back. “Miss Bennet!”

She turned slowly. “Yes, Mr. Darcy?”

“If I may inquire, where are you staying?”

“At the Red Lion, in Lambton.”

He nodded. “I know it. Perhaps…” he paused. “Perhaps we will run into each other again.”

She smiled thinly. “Perhaps so. Good day.”

“Good day.”

She walked the distance back to where her aunt and uncle stood, feeling his eyes the entire time.

~%~

“So that was Mr. Darcy, Lizzy!” said her aunt. “He is very handsome, isn’t he?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“What were you talking of so long?”

“Nothing of consequence.”

“He did not seem to want to let you leave, from what I could see.”

“Yes,” said Elizabeth slowly. “It was almost like that—but of course, it must have been something else. Only he was behaving so very strangely!”

“These great men often do take queer starts,” observed her uncle. “Perhaps it is only that he liked the look of you, Lizzy.”

She laughed at that. “No, uncle, I am certain that was not the reason! I have it on the best possible authority that Mr. Darcy has never admired me.”

“Why, whose authority do you mean?”

“His own, of course!” She smiled cheekily at their surprise and led the way further on. But inwardly, she felt very oddly herself. Pemberley was not what she expected, Mr. Darcy was not what she expected… what had happened?

~%~

The next day her aunt and uncle went to pay calls on some old friends, and Elizabeth was left to herself. The Red Lion was situated in the middle of town so she decided to walk about a little bit and look at the shops. In a country town like this she thought little of going out alone.

Out of the corner of her eye, as she crossed the street, she caught a glimpse of a tall figure who reminded her instantly of Darcy—but when she turned her head, he was not there. Nevertheless, not ten minutes later as she was lingering before a tiny milliner shop, the man himself appeared behind her shoulder. She saw his reflection in the glass, and wondered that her stomach jumped so. “Mr. Darcy!”

He tipped his hat. “Good morning, Miss Bennet. I said we might meet again, did I not?”

She gaped just a little. “But—I understood your party was to arrive this morning. Was I in error?”

“No.” He looked a bit uncomfortable. “They are expected, but I had some business that brought me into town. Miss Darcy will act as hostess.” He gestured toward the window. “Do you like hats?”

Did she like hats? “No more than reason,” she replied flippantly.

He smiled. “My sister frequently attempts to convince me of the same thing. In fact,” he went on rather quickly, “I intend to purchase one for her this morning, as… a gift. Would you be so kind as to come inside with me, and give me your opinion?”

This request left Elizabeth more astonished than ever; firstly, that a man like Mr. Darcy would choose his younger sister’s hats; secondly, that he would purchase them here instead of in London; and thirdly, that he should care at all for her opinion. She was too astonished to demur, and they went into the store together.

It was, in truth, little more than an enclosed booth, with hats and bonnets hanging all over the walls and even suspended from the ceiling. She was quite certain that Mr. Darcy had never been in there before, as he eyed the small space with unrestrained wonder. The lady who emerged from the rear of the store clearly recognized him; she turned quite pink, and her bosom swelled  to see the great man standing in her establishment. Elizabeth was hard pressed not to burst out laughing.

“Mr. Darcy,” the proprietess breathed. “Sir, I am honored by your patronage.”

He looked down at her as if he had heard such sentiments a thousand times. “I want a hat.”

“Yes, sir! Might it be for Miss Darcy, or—” she glanced at Elizabeth.

“It is for Miss Darcy. Miss Bennet, however, will chose it.”

“Mr. Darcy!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “I cannot take such an office on myself. All I promised was my opinion; it is you who will have to make the choice.”

He studied her thoughtfully for a moment. “Tell me what you like.”

Suddenly unaccountably blushing, Elizabeth began to look about, scanning her eyes over the rows and rows of millinery creations. It appeared that the lady had a taste for flamboyance and color; there was really little among the feathers and artificial flowers to interest. Still, she made a show of looking diligently, and eventually she came across a hat that was plainer than the others, made of blonde straw, with a wide, apple green ribbon that tied under the chin. She thought it charming, primarily because of its lack of adornment. “This would be appropriate for a young girl,” she told him.

Mr. Darcy regarded it with one corner of his mouth just slightly upturned. “Would you wear such a hat?”

“In the summer time? Certainly.”

He looked at the lady behind the counter. “Box it up.”

He was heading out the door when Elizabeth stopped him. “Mr. Darcy?”

“Yes?”

“Did you travel in your carriage today?”

He looked surprised. “No, I rode. Why?”

“It’s just that…” she couldn’t suppress a smile. “You might find it rather awkward carrying that hatbox on your horse.”

He looked down at the round box in his hands and colored a little. “You are right, of course.” He placed the box on the counter. “Have that delivered to Pemberley.”

The lady assured him it would be done, and Darcy and Elizabeth exited the shop together. Once on the sidewalk Elizabeth prepared to part, but he suddenly asked, “Have you been enjoying your tour of Derbyshire?”

“Very much,” she replied. “It is a beautiful country.”

“But not as beautiful as your native Hertfordshire, to your eyes. I do not suppose you would find any place as appealing as your home.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” she answered slowly, once again surprised and unnerved. “I have a great fondness for the country around Longbourn, it is true, but it does not make me unable to appreciate such wonders as the Peak District offers.”

“Did you visit Dove Dale?”

She was obliged to answer again, and in that way the usually silent Mr. Darcy somehow drew Elizabeth into conversation, so that she soon found herself strolling down the street with him, discussing Chatsworth, Matlock all the sights of the county. When they had circled around and came to the front of the Red Lion, she  finally managed to extract herself. He looked oddly nonplussed to see the inn, but bowed politely, bid her a crisp good day, and strode away even before she went inside.

~%~

Elizabeth found herself mysteriously reluctant to speak of Mr. Darcy to her aunt and uncle, so instead she asked them questions about their visits. After describing the events of the morning, Mrs. Gardiner said, “There is something else I thought I ought to mention to you, Lizzy, although I am afraid you will not like it.”

“Why, what do you mean?”

“When I was speaking with Mrs. Grayson I happened to mention that I had met Mr. George Wickham, who was also from this area, and asked her if she knew him.”

“Did she?”

“No, but she had heard of him. I am sorry to say this, but it seems his reputation here is very bad.”

Elizabeth felt her heart thud heavily. “In what way?”

“According to her, he was here on an extended stay some two or three years ago, and when he left, he left behind numerous debts with all the shopkeepers, amounting up to several hundred pounds or more.”

“Surely not!”

“I’m afraid it is true. Amelia is a very honest, kind woman and would not repeat mere unkind gossip. It was not only one man—the whole town was speaking of their losses to him.”  She looked at her niece for a moment. “When it became clear that he would not be returning, some of the shopkeepers wrote a letter to Mr. Darcy. They knew of Wickham’s association with him and asked his help in locating him. Mr. Darcy replied very promptly, she said, and told them that he did not know Mr. Wickham’s location, as all intercourse between them had long been at an end, but if they would send him a list of debts he owed, he, Mr. Darcy, would pay them.”

“Mr. Darcy paid Mr. Wickham’s debts?” repeated Elizabeth.

“In full.”  She paused for a moment for that to sink in. “Well, naturally after that I had to ask her more about Mr. Darcy and his reputation, because the report you gave of his character is not at all like what his housekeeper described, and seems rather at odds with such generosity. She said that the Darcys are felt to be proud, but only because they do not visit in Lambton. Mr. Darcy himself is known to be just and honest in all his dealings, and to do a great deal of good among the poor.”

"What about the living? Did you ask her about that?"

"Well, yes, but she could not tell me anything of the matter—except that the current rector at Kympton is a fine, God-fearing man, who tends diligently to the people. It was her opinion that Mr. Wickham would have made a very poor rector indeed, and Mr. Darcy must have known that."

Elizabeth sat there for a long time after that, absently twisting her hands in her lap. Her mind immediately leapt to give any explanation which would exonerate her own judgment. She supposed that Mr. Darcy had only paid the debts because he felt guilty over denying Mr. Wickham the living—that Mr. Wickham perhaps had only spent such sums in anticipation of receiving it, and being denied it, felt he had no recourse but to flee—and yet her suppositions no longer had any conviction behind them. Mr. Darcy's word she might doubt, even the word of his friends, but the words of a respectable elderly citizen of Lambton?

For the first time in a long time her mind went clearly back to that original interview with Wickham, the one that had left her so certain of his truthfulness. Even he had admitted that Darcy claimed he lacked the character to be a clergyman—extravagance and imprudence, didn't he say? At the very least, that was true. And Wickham had admitted to Darcy's good character, too, though he attributed it all to pride. He had called him generous, and hospitable, a kind brother and good to the poor. The words rose to her consciousness, as if from a great depth. Just, sincere, honorable... at the time she had thought such characterization proof of Wickham's fair mindedness and charity, but now she could only wonder why she had believed a pride which produced such results to be so abhorrent.