Astonished in Derbyshire, Part Two, Chapter One

PART TWO: HERTFORDSHIRE

Chapter 1

Elizabeth watched the carriage bearing Lydia and her wastrel husband roll away with a sigh of relief. She could scarcely believe that she had ever found his smooth verbosity charming; every time he smiled she had wanted to scream. And Lydia's behaviour had convinced her that she truly was lost to all sense or decorum.  But at least they were married. It was a dreary comfort, knowing they were only bound to make each other miserable, but infinitely better than the alternative.

Turning, her eyes landed on her elder sister, standing with hands clasped, and she smiled, her heart immediately lightening. Bingley had proposed. He had proposed even before the news came from London that the runaways had been found; proposed, perhaps, in an attempt to prove that he was not fickle or overly persuadable, but it mattered not. Despite all his past misdeeds, he had been, in the end, unwilling to watch the woman he loved descend into shame and poverty, and so he had offered her everything he had to assist her—his name and his fortune. The engagement had had the added benefit of preventing Mrs. Bennet from crowing quite so much over having a daughter married at sixteen.

Of Mr. Bingley's friend she had heard very little. Bingley had delivered brief greetings from him when he first arrived; since then there had only been the occasional mention of him in passing conversation. Lydia had gotten an odd look on her face when Bingley spoke his name over dinner once, and she began to say something, but her husband had spoken right over her, giving her a look Elizabeth couldn't interpret. It didn't make sense that he would prevent Lydia from criticizing or making fun of Darcy—not unless he was planning to impose often on the Bingleys, and worried that Mr. Bingley would take exception.

She linked her arm with Jane's, and they returned to the house. Certainly, the future looked far brighter than it had in that first miserable week after she arrived back in Hertfordshire. All seemed lost then, but somehow, it had been given back again. First Mr. Bingley had showed and, regardless of all odds against him, proposed. Then, just when there seemed any chance of Lydia's recovery left, the news had come from Uncle Gardiner—they were found, not married, but soon to be so. Their wedding was arranged and carried out with a minimum of trouble for those to whom it most mattered, and Mr. Bennet had only to pay off Wickham's debts in Meryton.  Lizzy knew her father believed her uncle had bribed Wickham, and it was a debt that weighed heavily on her heart. But her own marriage prospects had seemingly been restored—that is, if you did not mind a scoundrel for a brother in law. Or a fool for your sister, she added mentally. Or your mother.

"Dear Jane," she said, "how glad I am that you are engaged to Mr. Bingley. Now you have given Mama the wealthy son in law of her dreams, and I may rest easy from the Mr. Collinses of the world."

Jane smiled. "Not all men are like Mr. Collins, Lizzy. You will find one you like soon enough."

"Or I shall simply live with you and earn my keep by fetching your shawl and playing with your children. I think I might like being the lively spinster aunt."

"You would be very welcome, but of course you would not need to earn your right to stay. You have the right because you're my sister, and I love you."

"Oh, but now that I think of it, there may be a difficulty. If Miss Bingley is also to live with you, then it really is best that I stay at Longbourn. The two of us would not do well under one roof."

"I am not certain, but I think Caroline intends to remain with the Hursts. I received a very kind letter from her, you know."

"Jane! Do not tell me your faith in her sincerity is unchanged!"

"No, of course I know she means only to please her brother, but I am glad we can be at peace. It would distress Charles if we were at outs, and that would distress me."

"Why, Jane, that sounded very nearly unfriendly. I'm proud of you."

"Lizzy!"

Elizabeth just laughed.

~%~

Another month went by, and Jane's wedding was nearly upon them. There still had been nothing seen of Mr. Darcy, although Elizabeth understood that he was expected to be present some days before the wedding. Bingley spent so little time at Netherfield that it did not seem to matter to him that he was alone in the house.  

Miss Bingley and the Hursts appeared about a fortnight prior to the ceremony. They came to dinner at Longbourn with many supercilious looks, and received the women in a return call with rather pinched faces. They were very fond of Jane, though.  

Then one day Elizabeth was walking down a lane near Longbourn, and a familiar straight figure came cantering towards her. In an instant, her mind flashed back to that morning in Derbyshire when they had met the same way, and as she moved onto the grass, she held her breath to see what he would do.

She knew the exact moment he saw her. He must have been deep in thought because it didn't happen until he was almost upon her; he checked so abruptly the horse nearly reared. By the time he had soothed the animal he looked flushed—whether from embarrassment or some other emotion, she didn't know. Then he looked undecided whether to dismount or to ride on.

Deciding not wait on his whims, Elizabeth dropped a small curtsy. "Good day, Mr. Darcy." She turned and began to walk away.

His voice came after her. "Miss Elizabeth!"

He was still on his horse, his dark gaze fixed on her, gripping his reins tensely. She returned the look, and after a moment his hands relaxed, his body shifted, and he climbed slowly down.

She smiled just a little. "We meet again."

"Yes. How are you?"

"Much as I have always been."

"I am glad for that." He cleared his throat. "And your family? Are they well?"

"Yes indeed. We are all very pleased for my sister, of course. Jane," she added, when he looked uncertain.

"Yes, yes of course. Bingley is very happy—and I for him."

"And how is Miss Darcy?"

"She is very well, thank you. She enjoyed making your acquaintance in August."

"I enjoyed it too," she said with sincerity. "And yourself, sir? How are you, Mr. Darcy?"

"I am..." he glanced away. "I am happy for my friend Bingley."

"Yes, I believe you said that already." A happy smile, nearly a laugh, bubbled to the surface. It was so good, for some reason, to be in his presence again. He was abrupt and enigmatic, but she felt he was... a friend. Yes, Mr. Darcy was her friend, and she was no longer reluctant to say so. "Have you no feelings on your own behalf, Mr. Darcy?" She let the laugh come out, and hoped it would provoke a smile or even an answering laugh from him.

Instead, all expression seemed to disappear from his face, and he ran a hand over his mouth. After another moment of awkward silence went by, Elizabeth said, “I really must be getting home.”

“Yes, of course.” He tipped his hat, but rather than getting back on his horse, stood and watched her as she walked self-consciously away.

                                                                                                ~%~                                                                              

There was a dinner party at Netherfield that night, to be followed by dancing. Mr. Bingley had invited half the neighbourhood, much to his sisters’ disgust, and Netherfield’s long table was crowded and noisy and cheerful. As the sister of his future bride—and a daughter of the leading local family—Elizabeth was placed near the top of the table with Sir William on one side and Mr. Hurst on the other, one of whom was terribly voluble, while the other was almost entirely silent. Mr. Hurst certainly appeared to be enjoying Nicholl’s fine cooking, but other than that he had not much to say for himself, while Sir William had opinions to share on everything from the decorations of the rooms to the crops to the probable attachments of various young people both present and otherwise. Since she had known Sir William for most of her life and was genuinely fond of him, Elizabeth bore his conversation very well, but she could not help often glancing at the composed and handsome man who was seated across the table. He seemed to be paying his plate almost as much attention as Mr. Hurst was, but sometimes their eyes met.

“I had a chance to speak to Mr. Darcy before dinner,” said Sir William, in what he undoubtedly believed was sotto voce. “I told him how much we enjoyed visiting at Rosings in the spring, and how affable her ladyship his aunt was when we had the honour of dining with her—three times, I told him. We dined three times at Rosings while I was there.”

“And what did Mr. Darcy say?” she asked back, glancing at him in amusement. Although it was faint, Darcy’s face had taken on the conscious look of a person who knows he is being discussed.

“He said Lady Catherine always enjoys company.”

“A very solid observation.”

“Indeed it was, Miss Elizabeth! A very sound and fitting observation indeed.”

“Did you say anything else?”

“I indicated how sorry I was to hear from Maria about his sister’s illness, and that I was certain that you young ladies were keenly disappointed not to have the pleasure of his company while you were there.”

“I am sure he had some reply to that.” She peeked slyly his way again.

“He said he did not know if you were disappointed or not, but I assured him that any young lady of sense would be sorry to miss such a fine young man, and I well remember how finely the two of you danced together at Mr. Bingley’s ball in November.”

Mr. Darcy was starting to look acutely uncomfortable now, so Elizabeth had mercy on him and changed the topic. She reflected that it was so different, seeing him here rather than in Derbyshire. If they had never met there she would have undoubtedly continued to think him unbendingly proud, but she knew now that there was more to him than that. He was a man of real substance, a man of not only wealth but authority and importance, who lived a large life—who was accustomed to beauty and refinement—who could enjoy the small beauties of nature even while influencing the lives of hundreds under his care. It was no wonder that he did not look at home in their small neighbourhood, or that he felt himself to be above much of it. Such feelings of superiority were not, perhaps, commendable, but they were more understandable than she could have grasped before she saw his home and him in it.

Later in the evening, when the men re-joined the ladies, Mr. Bingley persuaded Mrs. Hurst to play so that they could have some dancing. Their numbers had thinned since the departure of the regiment, but the young people quickly paired off.

Elizabeth was claimed for the dance by a local gentleman. She went through the steps with sprightly ease, catching only glimpses of a tall and noble figure across the room. Some other young man asked her when that dance was over. She had some thought of sitting out the third, but just as she finished thanking her partner, that same tall and noble figure appeared at her side. “Will you do me the honour, Miss Bennet?”

She wondered at his behaviour—what the invitation might mean—and to cover her sudden nervousness she smiled and said, as he led her out. “I am flattered, Mr. Darcy, to have been asked to dance for the second time.”

“You are mistaken,” he replied. “This is the fourth time I have asked you to dance. You refused the other two.”

“I suppose you are correct, but I did not believe you actually desired to dance with me those times.”

He looked at her. “Was it concern for my feelings that led you to refuse, then—or it was it rather that you did not desire it?”

She coloured uncomfortably. “Perhaps I shall just say that I believed us to be alike in our opinions.”

They did not say much as they took their places in the set. It was, as chance had it, a reel, and they could not help but smile a little to find themselves here at Netherfield and dancing a reel together at last. Despite his professed dislike of it, Mr. Darcy danced very well, and did not even look out of place performing the lively steps. He managed it, somehow, with rather more dignity than any other man present . The energetic nature of the dance made conversation difficult, and it was not a large enough set to require any couples to stand around and wait their turns.

His hand was very hot through their gloves as he led her back off the dance floor, nor did he immediately leave her side. He stood next to her, not looking at her, but somehow very near. Glancing around, Elizabeth did not see anyone close by. “I wish to thank you, sir—”

“Thank me? What for?”

“Well...” she glanced self-consciously down. “In regards to my sister.”

“Your sister?” His voice sounded a little sharp. “I do not understand you.”

“Well, in regards to two of my sisters, I suppose. Jane, and, uh,” she sighed, “Lydia.”

“I’d prefer not to speak of that,” he said. Glancing up at him, she saw his colour was high, and could only sigh again. Of course he did not wish to be reminded of her sister’s imprudence! She only meant to thank him for his discretion, and for whatever role he might have had in Mr. Bingley’s return. But the subject clearly made him unhappy, confirming that, however kind he may have been in Derbyshire, he would certainly not want to be connected to her family in any closer way.

The silence was strained after that and she soon made her escape. It was foolish to feel so. She had known very well when they left Derbyshire that any chance she might ever have had with him was lost, and nothing that had happened since indicated otherwise—except perhaps the dance, but what was a dance, after all? Other than Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, who was at the piano now, she was probably the only lady in the room that he’d had more than a passing conversation with. That was the reason he asked her. The only reason he’d asked her.

She made her way back to the end of the room where tea and conversation were to be had, but the conversation was oppressive, and finding a desire to be alone, she slipped discretely through the doorway into the hall.

It was quite empty, and she heaved a sigh of relief. Idly, she wondered up and down, examining the paintings on the wall and a pseudo-Grecian statuette on a stand. When footsteps sounded quietly behind her she glanced around, only to see Mr. Darcy himself again, coming towards her with an oddly purposeful look on his face. Before she could say anything he came to a stop before her.

“Miss Bennet, I—” He glanced around and, catching her by surprise, took her elbow and steered her, before she even knew what was to happen, across the hall and into a window recess. It had a curtain, tied up to one side, but he pulled the tie loose and let it fall across the opening. They were alone, and hidden from sight.

Astonished in Derbyshire, Part One, Chapter Four

Chapter  4

By the time that Mr. Darcy arrived with his groom and two carriages, Elizabeth still had not read any more of Jane’s letters. She had gone out with her aunt and uncle immediately after breakfast, for her aunt had recalled yet another old family friend she wished to visit, since they had decided to remain another day. They also went into the general store for a new pair of driving gloves for Mr. Gardiner, since he had not brought anything suitable for the purpose, and the ladies became occupied with choosing small gifts for the family at Longbourn.  By the time they returned to the inn, heavily laden with packages, there was only enough time to hastily change into a more suitable gown, and to pin her curls up more firmly and exchange her bonnet for a hat, before the gentleman was announced.

Darcy seemed a bit self-conscious as he explained how the afternoon would go. He and Miss Bennet would occupy the curricle, while Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner drove the phaeton. There was a perch for the groom on the back of the phaeton, which meant that, should the Gardiners by chance fall behind, he would insure they did not become lost. Of course that meant that Elizabeth and Darcy would have no chaperone, the curricle having no extra seat behind, but he assured her uncle that they would all remain close together.

Elizabeth had an odd feeling as they set out, a premonition of trouble almost, but nothing happened to disturb their sunlit drive. It was a golden day, and the trees threw dappled patterns across the grass as they passed. The winding trail around the edge of Pemberley’s park led them through forests glades, by rocky outcroppings with glorious views, shining ponds… there seemed a new beauty around every corner. Mr. Darcy was a pleasant and knowledgeable guide, who neither sat in uneasy silence nor distracted her with needless chatter. He answered her many questions patiently and did not seem to be in the slightest hurry; any time she gave hint of wishing to explore on foot, he would immediately draw reign and jump down to assist her. The Gardiners were always right behind them, and they would pull up too, sometimes climbing out to walk around with her, and sometimes sitting in quiet conversation and enjoyment of scene.

They paused eventually on a ridge which afforded them an excellent view of the house, from a different angle than she had seen it before. “It is a very well situated,” said Elizabeth, feeling all the inadequacy of the remark.

“Yes, I am indebted to my forebears for that.”

“I am… I am glad you have not succumbed to the modern mania for improvement.”

“Cut down trees for a Grecian temple, you mean? I think it would look sadly out of place.”

“And so it would be. What I find especially silly is this idea of building a ruin.”

“You do not like ruins?” He turned his head to look at her.

“Real ruins, with real history attached to them, yes, although they still always seem a bit sad to me. A new ruin is ridiculous—a conceited waste of building materials and labor.”

“I agree.” His eyes dwelt on her with a soft look she found pleasing and disconcerting at the same time. “Would you...” he cleared his throat. “Would you do me the honor of taking some refreshments at the house, before returning? I would very much like to introduce my sister to you.”

Now this was a compliment, and Elizabeth felt its weight. She wondered what she had possibly done to have earned such favor from a man like him, and what could have engendered such an apparent change from the arrogant face he displayed in Hertfordshire.

Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, on having the invitation communicated to them, agreed with surprise and pleasure, and once they had completed the circumference of the park (which took some time), they got down once again before the great doors. Inside, they were led to a smaller, private parlor which had not been on the tour. Fruit and cake and other pleasant things appeared almost instantly, and Mr. Darcy urged them to help themselves before disappearing to find his sister.

The three left in the room looked at each other. “This is very particular attention, Lizzy,” said Mrs. Gardiner.

Lizzy just shook her head a little, unable to discuss it. She did not know what to think, much less what to say. In a few minutes Mr. Darcy returned with his sister, who turned out to be a sweet, shy girl (more proof that Mr. Wickham had lied, thought Lizzy). They spoke haltingly for a few minutes, then Mr. Bingley turned up, seemingly restored to his usual jovial spirits. With him in the room conversation went on in a spirited fashion for some twenty minutes before the Gardiners indicated a desire to return to the inn—more out of politeness than feeling. They all knew that Mr. Darcy had other guests. Mr. Bingley’s sisters did not appear, but no one lamented them.

Elizabeth and Darcy travelled the miles back to Lambton in near silence.  It had grown rather hot and Elizabeth could feel a bead of sweat making its way down the back of her neck, but she refused to think of that. It was just entirely too beautiful, too perfect, and the perfection, to her continuing and substantial surprise, included the man sitting beside her. Casting a glance at him, she could not but admire him. He was handsome, handsomer even that Wickham, his face in profile, hat straight, posture relaxed, one foot on the dash, and the reins held easily in capable, brown-gloved hands.  She wished she knew what he was thinking.

When he helped her down in front of the inn she expected to be bid goodbye, but instead he came upstairs with them, still not saying much, his brow furrowed just a little, as if in thought.

When they came into their private parlor, Elizabeth gave a cry of dismay. Jane’s letters, left to dry by the window, lay scattered on the floor.

“Oh dear, we forgot to shut the window, didn’t we?” said Mrs. Gardiner, as Elizabeth gathered the sheets.

“I think the promise of a ride around  your estate must have distracted the ladies,” said Mr. Gardiner humorously to Darcy. “I never think of such things myself, of course.”

“I’m afraid it’s my fault—I’m the one who kept us rushing around all morning. I simply could not resist using our extra hours here.” Mrs. Gardiner sighed.

Darcy opened his mouth to make some reply, but just then Elizabeth gasped loudly. Turning, they saw her looking pale, her eyes frantically scanning the page she held. It was the second of Jane’s letters, and unlike the first, the coffee had stained primarily the upper middle of the page, leaving a few lines at the top and a larger section at the bottom. The section her eyes had lit upon, and which she now read aloud in an agitated voice was, “…gave them to understand that they were going to Gretna Green, something was dropped by Denny expressing his belief that W. never intended to go there, or to marry Lydia at all, which was repeated to Colonel F., who, instantly taking the alarm, set off from B. intending to trace their route. W! Can it be?” She looked up with horrified eyes. Seeing only shocked faces she did not wait for a reply, but turned the paper over and continued, “He did trace them easily to Clapham, but no further; for on entering that place, they removed into a hackney coach, and dismissed the chaise that brought them from Epsom. All that is known after this is—oh, I cannot read any more!”  She moved down the paper “…feared W. was not a man to be trusted. My poor mother is really ill, and keeps her room. Could she exert herself, it would be better; but this is not to be expected. And as to my father, I never in my life saw him so affected. Poor Kitty has anger for having concealed their attachment; but as it was a matter of confidence, one cannot wonder. I am truly glad, dearest Lizzy… where is the other page?” Frantically she looked around the room. “There was another page! Where is it?”

The others recovered from their stupor enough to help her search, but the missing sheet was not to be found. “I am afraid it must have blown out the window,” said her uncle.

“Oh, wretched, wretched fool!” Elizabeth castigated herself. “Why did I not read them this morning?” She snatched up the first letter, searching it for clues and, upon turning it over, realized that there was more writing on the fold on the back. “Off Saturday night about twelve… express… Lydia left a letter… oh, there’s nothing here either!”

“May I see?” Taking the second letter from her, her uncle put on his spectacles and studied the stained area closely.

Elizabeth rung her hands, suddenly and miserably conscious of Darcy, his face so grave and stern. “Lizzy,” asked her aunt hesitantly, “is it certain who it is… the man, I mean? Might Lydia know some other W besides Wickham?”

She shook her head. “I cannot tell you. I know of none, but… oh, wretched, wretched little fool!” she repeated, but this time speaking of her sister. The tears she had been disregarding ran over, and she dashed them away.

“Mr. Darcy, you have known Mr. Wickham for many years. Can you tell us anything of him—give us any insight to his character?”

Darcy shook his head, looking grim. “I wish that I could offer you some reassurance, Mrs. Gardiner, but I cannot.”

“By which you mean that it is entirely conceivable that he might run off with a girl like my sister, and not at all certain that he would marry her.”

He said nothing.

“London!” exclaimed Mr. Gardiner by the window. “Mary, come and look at this. Does it look like it says London to you?” The ladies crowded around him.  The small, blurred word he pointed out did, indeed, look like it might spell London, and coming closely after the words all that is known after this is, they had hope that it might be a clue. “If they have not gone to Scotland,” he argued, “then London would be the next logical destination. I would bet my brother has gone there to search.”

Their speculations were interrupted by Darcy’s voice. “Forgive me,” he said, “I have imposed on you far too long. I have… I would wish…” his eyes moved to Elizabeth’s and held them for a long moment. “I know there is nothing I can say to ease your distress, but you may be assured of my discretion.”

“We cannot thank you enough for your kindness, sir,” said Mr. Gardiner.

“Not at all.” He bowed, looked again at Elizabeth, and was gone.

~%~

Their departure from the inn was swiftly accomplished. Not until they were sitting in the carriage did Elizabeth have luxury again to consider the gentleman who had dominated her days here. Derbyshire had been filled with surprises, most of them involving him. As she watched the countryside outside the window she could not help but remember the idyllic hours of that very afternoon—how long ago it seemed!—and alternated between futile questions about what might have been, and bleak thoughts of what almost certainly would be.

There was no pleasure in the rushed trip home, no matter how splendid the scenery. It was not until they reached Longbourn that they were able to finally receive the whole story. It was, indeed, Wickham who had stolen Lydia and her virtue—and all their futures—away. The news seemed hopeless, so that even Jane was near despair. The Gardiners returned to London with their children and soon met up with Mr. Bennet, but none of their searches were successful.

Then, as if by a miracle, Mr. Bingley returned to Hertfordshire and began calling again. He seemed to know their troubles before he arrived; she supposed Mr. Darcy must have told him, but could only be grateful. She also had to give Mr. Bingley credit for coming now, without waiting to see how their fortunes would turn out, and lending them his countenance. It did not stop the stares and whispers, but at least no one had shunned them yet. She was equal parts happy for Jane and disgusted with her mother, who fawned vulgarly over him and spent half an hour pouring laments about Lydia into his ears. He handled it with remarkable grace.

In her free time, those dull, heavy hours when there was nothing to do but fret, she would occupy herself with imagining how things might have gone with Darcy if Lydia had never run away. He seemed always more desirable as she thought of him, as unattainable as the stars, and as unknowable. She tried to recall how arrogant he had been last autumn—but instead, found she could only remember his profile in the sunshine as they rode. In her mind, she arranged fancies wherein he had been secretly in love with her ever since the autumn—but she knew that they were just fancies. The fact was, any interest he’d had in her could only have been passing, and was certainly over now. The fact was that no man was ever likely to look at her again the way that he had looked at her that day.

Elizabeth had always been sanguine about the future and her chances at a happy marriage, but now she admitted that her prospects had never been very good. She and her sisters were bred as gentlewomen, forbidden from looking to prosperous men in shops and farms, and yet too poor in fortune or connections for men of their own class. The only men who could afford to marry without consideration for fortune did not want an obscure country gentleman’s daughter, and that was before the ruined sister. Now that Lydia had disgraced them, they had not even respectability to offer. Jane, perhaps, with her beauty and excellences of character and manner, would marry her Bingley, should his love and will prove stronger than before, but would it be enough to redeem them all? She did not think so.

No, thought Elizabeth, staring at the clenched hands in her lap, she surely could never marry a man of sense and character now… and so, she would never marry.

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.