by Jann Rowland
“Catherine can do nothing, though she will believe she can,” said Aunt Susan. “If she persists, I shall take great pleasure in reminding her of that fact.”
“Yes, I suppose we all will,” replied Uncle Hugh. “But we must strive to avoid too much attention from the gossips of society. Catherine’s well-known stance will increase speculation, and that is something I cannot countenance as head of this family.”
Georgiana hid a smile of this evidence of her uncle’s position, and the smiles of the rest of the family informed her they had all had similar thoughts. After that, the conversation turned to other matters, leaving Georgiana to her thoughts, which she appreciated. Before William had come, she had been considering stratagems to push William forward. Now, it seemed, such interference was not required.
The behavior of one Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy was as different as night was to day, the contrast between a blustery day and a calm one, a placid, leisurely flowing stream compared to a swift rapid-filled torrent. No matter how many such comparisons filled Elizabeth’s mind, the difference in the gentleman from when they were at Pemberley was profound, and Elizabeth wondered what had changed. Whereas before he had vacillated, at times pressing forward while at others, hanging back, now he seemed filled with determination.
In all honesty, it thrilled Elizabeth to see his new sense of purpose, for she had wondered what she should do. Had he continued as he had before and worked his way to a proposal, Elizabeth could not know what she might have done; how could she know what her future would be like with a man who did not seem to know his own heart? Her previous assurance to Jane, that she would accept, was revealed to be bravado in the face of his hesitance. Now, as long as his changes persisted, Elizabeth could not imagine refusing, should he offer for her. The key, in her mind, was to observe and watch for the return of the previous gentleman, for if his current behavior remained the same, that man was one Elizabeth could love.
As the days progressed, Elizabeth found herself in company with Mr. Darcy often. The gentleman would accompany her on her walks, sit with her in the sitting-room or the music room, escort her to dinner, his attention always on her, her opinions the most important in the world. The members of his family noted his actions and often responded with a knowing smile or an amused grin. Even the earl, whom Elizabeth thought less eager for the match than his family, seemed to regard Mr. Darcy’s actions with a sense of satisfaction.
Add to this, Elizabeth discovered another member of the family was soon to join them. “My eldest son, James,” said Lady Susan one day, “is in Ireland inspecting a family estate we have neglected for some time. But we expect Anthony, whom I believe you have met, to return by the end of the week.”
“It must be a relief to have him return home, Lady Susan,” said Elizabeth, “for it is my understanding he has fought against the French.”
“It is,” acknowledged Lady Susan. “I wish he would leave the army altogether, for there is some mention that a distant and elderly relation might bequeath an estate to him. But Anthony is stubborn, intent upon going his own way.”
“Then perhaps we should all join forces to convince him.”
The rest of the company laughed, and several made comments about Colonel Fitzwilliam’s obstinacy. Elizabeth was eager to again renew her acquaintance with him, for he had seemed to her to be an excellent gentleman, easy in company, and playful in his manners.
On a day nearing the end of the week, Mr. Darcy received some letters of business, and as a result, sequestered himself in Lord Matlock’s study to attend to them. Elizabeth, having thought to walk out by herself for a little solitude to consider her situation, instead accepted an invitation to ride with the younger members of her hosts’ family.
“Come, Elizabeth,” said Charity, urging her to accept their invitation, “Rachel and I shall show you sights you will not even see at famed Pemberley.”
Though tempted to roll her eyes at the subject, often raised to tease, even more so since Mr. Darcy’s arrival, Elizabeth contented herself with accepting the invitation. Solitude could wait, she decided, for she enjoyed her time with the Fitzwilliam ladies. Thus, when the four had gathered and mounted their horses, they set off, Charity and Rachel leading, with Elizabeth and Georgiana following.
The first part of their ride passed at a sedate pace, the horses plodding along at a walk, while the four ladies shared a bantering conversation. As the weather had been fine all that month, along with most of Elizabeth’s time at Pemberley, basking in the day's glory was a pleasure with which Elizabeth was well acquainted. The thought of so much excellent weather crossed Elizabeth’s mind and she raised the subject with her friends.
“Do you have some way of keeping the rain at bay? I dare say we have not had more than a handful of days of rain since we came north.”
“Witchcraft!” exclaimed Charity. “Are you a witch, Elizabeth? This year has been abnormal in how warm and dry it has been.”
“I have heard Papa remark on it,” added Rachel. “There is enough water in the streams, allowing the tenants to irrigate, but the weather has Papa concerned for the harvest.”
“William said the same thing of Pemberley,” said Georgiana. “I believe that was what kept him in the house this morning.”
“My sister also mentioned it when she wrote lately,” replied Elizabeth, recognizing this was not a laughing matter. “Does it not usually rain much more than this?”
“England is a rainy sort of place,” replied Rachel. “I dare say we receive as much rain as London, or perhaps a little more. This year is unusual.”
As they rode on, more of the conversation focused on the weather, and Elizabeth reflected that as long as the lack of moisture did not persist and become a drought, she appreciated the ability to see the shire without an excess of precipitation marring her view. In this, she seemed to be joined by the other young ladies. Georgiana appeared only a little concerned, while Rachel, being the most serious of them all, gave it the most thought. Charity, true to her playful nature, was not about to allow such subjects to dominate their discourse.
“It will all be well—you shall see.” Charity’s horsed danced to the side as she pulled on the reins, and she said: “Now, let us leave these subjects behind. Who wishes to race?”
In response, Rachel urged her mount forward, followed by a shouting Charity. As they sped away, Elizabeth noted that Georgiana had not followed them, and turned to regard her friend with a questioning look.
“I am not much of a racer, Elizabeth,” said Georgiana.
Elizabeth laughed and said: “Are you not? If I should follow them, the chances are excellent that I would fall from my mount. You must be more comfortable in your seat than I.”
“Falling is not a concern,” replied Georgiana. “But I prefer to ride at a walk, or a canter, for racing breakneck over the fields seems to be an excellent way to invite injury.”
“That is sensible of you, I am sure. Then we shall walk together? I suspect our hosts will realize we have not followed and return. Do you know where they are taking us?”
“I am uncertain,” replied Georgiana. “I may have been there before, but I do not recall it if I have.”
At length, Elizabeth’s words were proven correct, for, after a time, they sighted the sisters cantering back toward them. In the meantime, Elizabeth and Georgiana had made steady progress, keeping their pace moderate, as they had intended. The trail they rode appeared to be well-traveled, for it was a wide track amid a grove which lay to the southern side of the estate. When the Fitzwilliam sisters came within range of their voices, Charity was not shy in abusing them for their reticence.
“I am not experienced in riding,” was Elizabeth’s calm reply in the face of Charity’s mock displeasure. “If you please, I believe I shall not tempt fate by urging my mount to run swifter than a pace with which I am comfortable.”
“If you persist in riding this slowly,” said Charity, “we shall not return to the house before dinner.”
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br /> “Oh, Charity!” scolded Rachel. “How you do carry on!”
Though Charity grinned at her sister, she turned back to Elizabeth. “To the south, if you go through that line of trees, you will come to the edge of Father’s lands. Beyond that lies Staffordshire, for the edge of Snowlock is on the border between the shires.”
“That is interesting,” said Elizabeth, gazing in the indicated direction with interest. “Tell me, does the land transform once one departs Derbyshire? I have been told by everyone I have met who hales from this area—my aunt included!—that Derbyshire is the best of all counties.”
The three ladies laughed at her suggestion. “Would you expect anything less?” exclaimed Charity. “Once you cross that border, the sun does not shine as brightly, colors become drab and lifeless, and the rain, which does not bother us here in the best place of all England, falls constantly.”
“Shall we put your words to the test, Charity? Or does the rain only become visible once one steps foot across the border?”
“Of course, it does,” said Charity, affecting a haughty tone. “We would not wish the image of our county to suffer by any hint of anything unwelcome, would we?”
“What a silly conversation this is!” exclaimed Georgiana. “If I did not know better, I might have thought you two of the silliest girls in all England!”
“According to my father,” said Elizabeth, “those roles were occupied by two of my elder sisters.”
Though nostalgia filled Elizabeth when she recalled her father’s oft-repeated refrain, the curious looks directed at Elizabeth demanded that she explain.
“My second eldest sister, Lydia, and third, Kitty, were thick as thieves when they were younger. Neither had much thought for serious matters in their heads, and Papa often lamented their behavior.” Elizabeth paused, realizing that her account had not put either her father or her sisters in a respectable light. “Papa, you see, often felt overwhelmed in a house with six females and no other man with whom to converse. It would have been better had he taken more of an interest in them, but sadly, he did not.
“Now, Lydia is married to an officer and lives overseas; we have not seen her in some years. As for Kitty, she is recently engaged, and has settled to a great extent.”
“That is the sister of whom you spoke who lives in London?”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth. “While I have never been close to Lydia, my relationship with Kitty has grown stronger since I went to London for the season.”
Their remaining time on the trail, they spoke of family and relations. Through their discussions, Elizabeth learned that the Fitzwilliam family had many connections, but their close friendships were fewer, and while they did not state it outright, Elizabeth thought it was for two reasons: for one, the earl’s views were more liberal than most, and for the second, Elizabeth thought any family of prominence in society was likely to hold others at arms’ length. If Mr. Darcy was constantly in demand for his position in society, how much more must the family of a peer experience those wishing to curry favor?
In this pleasant manner, they rode until the two sisters indicated they had arrived at their destination. It was a small, but lovely dell, a stream bubbling through it, wide enough that Elizabeth’s feet would get wet if she tried to cross it, but shallow enough that she did not think it would come much past her ankles. The ground was carpeted with flowers and brush, the turf springy and soft, akin to walking on freshly shorn wool. Here and there scampered squirrels, busy accumulating their winter store, while overhead the sounds of birdsong filled their air with their sweet song.
“What a lovely little place this is,” said Elizabeth. “It reminds me very much of a similar location near my father’s estate. It was not near enough that I could walk there, but my father took me if I begged him enough.”
“I knew you would love it,” said Charity, more than a little smugness coming out in her tone.
“Yes, I do,” said Elizabeth. “Now, you must allow me to dismount, so that I may explore.”
The other ladies agreed, and they all descended from their mounts and surveyed the area. Elizabeth walked away from them a little, following the stream a short distance, where she found the source of a low rumble, the water flowing over a small rise filled with stones in the center; the spray of the flowing water was just detectable on her face, cooling her a little from the warmth of the day. With a sigh, Elizabeth allowed herself to turn back down the stream, mindful of not going too far from her friends.
After a short time of this, Charity produced a blanket and Rachel a few light foods from their saddlebags, and the four ladies sat in the shade, partaking of a little crusty bread, a bit of sharp cheese, and a few crispy and juicy apples. After a time of this, Elizabeth grew a little lethargic and allowed herself to rest back against the trunk of a tree, the sounds of her friends’ voices lulling her into a soporific state.
How long she drifted, Elizabeth could not be certain. It was the lack of sound which drew her back to full alertness, for at some point her companions had stopped speaking, prompting Elizabeth to open her eyes. When she did, the first sight she had was the well-loved countenance of Mr. Darcy looking down on her.
“Darcy!” boomed a voice, interrupting Darcy’s thoughts.
“Fitzwilliam,” said Darcy, rising to catch his cousin up in an embrace, slapping his broad back in greeting. “I see you made good time; Aunt Susan was not expecting you until this afternoon.”
“Mother always underestimates the speed at which I travel. I often become restless at the stop the night before I arrive, which does not allow me to sleep well. Thus, I set out early this morning, intending to arrive early.”
Fitzwilliam turned his attention to Darcy’s effects, stacked to one side. “I hope I have not interrupted anything important.”
“Most of these I have already completed,” said Darcy. In fact, he had long set aside his letters, his thoughts consumed with Miss Bennet for at least the past thirty minutes complete. To inform Fitzwilliam of that would be an invitation to tease, so Darcy said nothing on the subject.
“In truth,” said Fitzwilliam, “I had anticipated seeing Miss Bennet as soon as I arrived, but Mother informs me they are not in the house.”
“Charity and Rachel convinced Georgiana and Miss Bennet to ride out today,” said Darcy.
“That must be a hardship for you, old man,” said Fitzwilliam, his eyes gleaming. “Mother also had some interesting observations about your behavior, and Father was no less expressive. I am shocked you have managed to allow Miss Bennet out of your sight, given what I have heard.”
For a moment, the old instinct in Darcy reared up, urging him to disclaim any interest in Miss Bennet, much as he had been doing regarding any young lady since he had entered society. The determination which had brought him to Snowlock, however, rose to stifle his instinct, which, when combined with hefty respect for Fitzwilliam’s ability to needle and tease until Darcy wished to plant a facer on him, prompted a different reaction than he might have expected.
“Miss Bennet is everything a man could ever wish for in a wife.” Darcy peered at his cousin, part in mocking, but part wondering at the few times he had seen Miss Elizabeth in his cousin’s company, and how Fitzwilliam had seemed to find her agreeable. “I hope, Cousin, that you do not mean to throw yourself into a competition for Miss Bennet’s affections.
Though surprised by Darcy’s direct words, Fitzwilliam soon recovered, roaring with laughter. “It seems she has well and truly caught you, Cousin! Bravo!”
Still laughing and shaking his head, Fitzwilliam added: “You need have no concern for me, Darcy. Though I suspect your words are true in your case, in mine she lacks one critical component which makes it impossible for me to pursue her. She does not have a fortune, and I would have no way to keep her in any kind of style, should I marry her.”
“What of Thorndell?” asked Darcy despite himself.
“There is no certainty I shall inherit it,” replied Fitzwilliam
. “If I knew, it might be possible, but you know I would never step on your toes. For Miss Bennet to have affected you to this degree, I can only surmise you feel for her beyond anything I, after only a few meetings, can pretend. And good for you, man, for you deserve a woman such as she!”
“Thank you, Fitzwilliam,” said Darcy. “Your support and the encouragement of your family means much to me.”
“That is what I cannot understand,” said Fitzwilliam. “I had expected Father to push for a political marriage.”
Darcy could only shrug. “I do not know. Your father is supportive, so I choose not to consider the reasons.”
“That is wise,” said Fitzwilliam. He paused and fixed Darcy with a sly look. “If you feel so much for her, why are you here, immersed in thoughts of her when you could be in her presence? Shall we not ride out after them?”
“Having just arrived, you wish to spend more time in the saddle?”
Fitzwilliam grinned. “Merely a trifle! Yes, I would as soon join the ladies, for it has been some time since I saw my sisters.”
“There is the problem of my ignorance of their destination.”
“Rachel would have left word with the butler,” said Fitzwilliam. “My knowledge of the estate is as great as theirs—we will find them.”
With such assurances, Darcy was not of a mind to demur. Thus, they queried the butler, and when they had their destination, Fitzwilliam led them to the stables where he had one of his father’s stallions saddled—his horse having traveled that morning—and they set out.
The banter on their ride was much like Darcy had ever experienced with his cousin, though with a measured dose of teasing, which did not surprise him. It is not the purpose of this work to recount it all with exactness, and the events which occurred after were of much greater significance. Soon, with Fitzwilliam’s guidance, they reached a small dell and dismounted, seeing the four ladies in the distance, as they sat on a blanket amid a grove of trees near a busy stream. And there, leaning against a tree, her eyes closed, sat Miss Bennet.