“Oh! You mean this.” Mr. Gladwell set down his plate, then carefully pulled the timepiece out of its fob pocket. He glanced lovingly at the golden object in his hand, running his thumb over its surface. He caressed the piece almost tenderly, before surprising Elizabeth by taking it off the chain and handing the watch to her.
Elizabeth glanced up at Darcy once, as if to see what his reaction was. She took the watch politely, but then truly exclaimed as she studied the intricate design. Darcy could see that watch itself was square, not round, and when closed it appeared as an ornate, golden box. The golden top was carved into an intricate woodland design, with a stag standing proudly under a great, branching tree. Even the tiniest leaves had been brought to life by a master craftsman.
“How unusual!” Elizabeth said. “Look, Mary—the entire top piece is carved into an intricate woodland design.”
“Lovely,” said Mary, leaning over Elizabeth’s shoulder. “I can count the antlers on the carved stag—oh, and even some of the individual leaves in the trees!”
“It is exquisite,” Elizabeth said, handing it back to Mr. Gladwell.
“And does it tell time?” Darcy said stonily.
Elizabeth gave him a quick, ferocious glare, but Darcy felt pleased that she had, at least, acknowledged him. Pleased and ashamed of his ridiculous craving for her attention. He had to laugh silently at himself—who knew he would crave Elizabeth’s anger, if that was all she would bestow upon him?
“Alas, it no longer works,” Mr. Gladwell said, his voice taking a melancholy turn before he took a large bite of chicken and then gazed forlornly at the horizon.
Darcy couldn’t believe that the two ladies watched him with sympathy. The man was still chewing! One didn’t keep eating chicken if one’s heart was broken. Darcy folded his arms and held back a growl, earning another reproving look from Elizabeth.
“I imagine the watch is precious to you, not because of its value in gold or its effectiveness as a timepiece, but because there is a story behind?” Mary said gently.
Mr. Gladwell nodded once before looking up at Elizabeth, his pale brown eyes practically—full of tears?!
Darcy stifled a groan.
“You are observant beyond your young years, Mrs. Jannis. It once belonged to a young lady whom I treasured above all else. I keep it with me always, to remind me of her.”
Elizabeth inhaled sharply. “This sounds like a distressing tale, Mr. Gladwell. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Darcy?”
Darcy tried to wipe the glare off his face, but judging from Elizabeth’s annoyed expression, he failed. “I could not say. I have not heard Mr. Gladwell’s story.”
Mr. Gladwell sniffled and appeared to wipe his eyes. “I would not burden anyone with my tale of woe.”
“Wise decision,” Darcy said.
Elizabeth’s glared at him, her eyes almost as wide as the plate which held the now-melted Syllabub.
Thankfully, Mary seemed to ignore both Elizabeth and Darcy. “We would not push you to open your heart to strangers, Mr. Gladwell. But if you are willing to share, you could not find a more accommodating group. Lizzy offers the best counsel of anyone I know.”
Mr. Gladwell nodded and turned to Elizabeth. “Would it upset you to hear my tale, Mrs. Allerton? I would not wish to cause you, most especially, any sadness.”
For the first time, Elizabeth’s determined smile faltered.
Good, Darcy thought. Perhaps she finds his earnest declarations as tedious as I do.
“I cannot imagine why I should earn such special consideration,” she said.
Mr. Gladwell bent his head toward her and whispered—as if Darcy and Elizabeth’s own sister were not even present! “I would never wish to bring up painful memories, but I have heard that you have lost a husband, and your beloved father.”
Now Darcy was even angrier. It was bad form to bring up Elizabeth’s father and husband. Yes, Darcy himself was wildly curious to know how she had fared since becoming a widow. But he would never address such weighty matters so directly, and he was not the complete stranger Mr. Gladwell was! Elizabeth remained composed but Darcy could see the pain in her eyes. He knew she had adored Mr. Bennet. He himself had only met the man on a few occasions, but he had immediately understood how deep the connection ran between father and daughter.
“No—please don’t feel the need to respond. I never should have said a word—” Mr. Gladwell turned away suddenly, his shoulders hunched.
Elizabeth frowned. “Do not worry, Mr. Gladwell. It is not you who has upset me.”
Darcy froze. So she was upset with him? He had to speak with her soon. Alone.
“I did not mean to speak so freely, Mrs. Allerton. Please forgive me. But I have found that, sometimes, it is only those who have loved and lost who can truly understand my pain.” Mr. Gladwell paused dramatically, then wiped his nose while staring up toward the heavens. “I have also lost one I loved. I loved her—I loved her so deeply. But we could never be together. She grew ill and—” Mr. Gladwell stopped suddenly, his voice overcome with emotion. He then looked down at the object in his hands. “This was hers. I carry it with me to remember her by. She was perhaps the only person who truly loved me for what I am—for who I am—in my entire life.”
Mr. Darcy coughed rather loudly, breaking Elizabeth’s concentration.
“Mr. Gladwell.” Elizabeth gave the man a kind smile. “Thank you for sharing your story. I can see how much the watch means to you, and why.”
The young man smiled, his steady air returning and his blond curls springing as he nodded his head vigorously. “Thank you. Thank you, Mrs. Allerton. I knew you were kind—and wise. You are a special person indeed and I am honored to sit next to you.”
Mr. Darcy spoke restlessly. “And yet the watch does not tell time?”
“No, it does not.” Mr. Gladwell sighed. “I lost the watch key long ago and so it is frozen in time.” He glanced at Elizabeth then and said quietly, “Much like my heart.”
Mr. Darcy coughed again, and it was not his fault of the low, rough sound rather resembled incredulous laughter.
“How lucky, then, that watch keys are all so similar,” Mr. Darcy said. “I’m certain you could buy another key from almost any watchmaker in London, and your watch would work again.”
Elizabeth groaned. “How true, Mr. Darcy. Though I rather think that is beside the point, for Mr. Gladwell.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Gladwell. “But perhaps Mr. Darcy is correct.” The man brushed his golden curls from his eyes and stared deeply into Elizabeth’s. “Perhaps it is time to repair the watch and my heart. Perhaps both should learn to beat again.”
Darcy watched both women, to see how they would react to Mr. Gladwell’s ridiculous declaration. Mary’s eyes softened and she placed a hand over her heart. Elizabeth’s face was harder to read, from what little he could see under the bonnet.
Sod it all, he muttered to himself.
“What did you say, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth said, finally turning and giving him her full attention.
“I said, Mrs. Allerton, would you accompany me on a walk to the footbridge? I believe Mrs. Graham wanted to know if it was sturdy enough for her to cross it. She specifically mentioned you were…excellent at assessing the structural integrity of…footbridges.”
Elizabeth raised one eyebrow. “Yes. I am well known for assessing integrity.”
“So you will join me? For Mrs. Graham’s sake?”
“How,” she said icily, “could I possibly refuse?”
13
Elizabeth
The most disconcerting thing about Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth thought, is how very tall he is.
It didn’t seem like a man’s height should make a difference. A person’s spirit and mind and soul, after all, were much more important than the size of one’s nose or the color of one’s hair. And yet, as Mr. Darcy walked slowly beside her, Elizabeth could not help but notice his towering height.
And, the awful thing was, she liked it.
She could not deny she felt comforted by his presence, even as that very comfort infuriated her. Why should she feel safe next to him, when he was the very opposite of safety?
Admit it: you are attracted to him. But that matters not—because you don’t like him.
Also…he’s engaged in an affair with Caroline.
Elizabeth knew she could never consider even a friendship with a man who liked Caroline Doughton.
Elizabeth stumbled suddenly and then the fine material of Mr. Darcy’s white summer shirt was in front of her, and she found herself placing her hand on the warm, smooth fabric. His arm was strong and sturdy and he made no comment as she immediately regained her balance and withdrew her hand as if he were made of fire.
The other awful things about him, she thought crossly, besides his proud nature and affection for Caroline, are his ridiculously attractive sky-blue eyes.
“Should we stop and discuss the footbridge with Mrs. Graham?” Elizabeth said.
Mr. Darcy colored slightly, and she knew then that he had made up the entire notion of checking the stability of the bridge, just to speak with her—but why? What did he want from her? Why should she care? And why was it difficult to breathe, now, as they walked across the green ocean of grass and his piercing eyes sought hers out?
Mr. Darcy was saved the trouble of answering—or lying again—when Mrs. Graham actually waved them over to her. She was sitting under the tent in an oversized chair, fanning herself and staring occasionally at Mrs. Potter. Mrs. Potter’s brown hair was falling out of her hat and her face was shiny with perspiration. A small, brown dog lay nestled on her lap.
“It’s quite warm today,” Mrs. Potter said, fanning herself. “This is a lovely vista, but I am not sure I can quite agree on how very hot the sun is…” She fanned herself so vigorously that her ruby earrings shook and the small dog woke up, snarling and yipping. Mrs. Potter then began to shout for Mr. Potter, demanding that the tent’s curtains be drawn further so as not to wake her pet.
Mrs. Graham rolled her eyes and leaned toward Elizabeth and Darcy as they arrived at her side. “The woman complains of the sun in August. Has she never stepped outdoors before?”
To Lizzy’s surprise, Mr. Darcy allowed a small but conspiratorial smile to play across his face. He bowed low before Mrs. Graham and said, “I am reminded of a quote. She ‘hast quarrell'd with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun.’”
Mrs. Potter smiled. “Ah, Romeo and Juliet! One of my favorite plays featuring absolutely idiotic children. So many problems in love—and the world—would be solved if we humans simply spoke honestly and from our hearts. Communication is the key to friendship and love. That, and not drinking a poisoned draught when you are but thirteen years old.”
“I could not agree more,” Mr. Darcy said, a smile spreading across his face.
Elizabeth watched as one of her family’s oldest friends—and Mr. Darcy!—began to discuss Shakespeare’s plays. “Ah, but we are neglecting you, dearest Lizzy,” Mrs. Potter said. “You love Shakespeare, do you not?”
Elizabeth had no inclination to be dragged into this particular discussion. She shrugged in a gesture that was disturbingly reminiscent of Lydia when she was bored.
“Come now, Eliza. I remember you and your father reading aloud on many an evening! You had quite the dramatic flair, my dear,” said Mrs. Graham.
Elizabeth felt Mr. Darcy turn and stare at her. “My father did have a wonderful collection of Shakespeare’s plays,” she admitted.
“Let me guess—you prefer the comedies?” Mr. Darcy said.
“When I was younger. Now I find the tragedies more apt,” she sniffed.
“And I prefer a love story!” Mrs. Graham grinned. “I must say, as you two walked toward me, I was reminded of my Henry and myself, when we were younger. My husband was much taller than me, you see, Mr. Darcy. But ever so gentle. You two are such a lovely couple, it reminds me of my own sweet love.”
Elizabeth froze and, to her dismay, she could feel her cheeks heat. How could Mrs. Graham be so forward, or so mistaken?
She felt Mr. Darcy watching her as she stammered, “I—I mean to say that Mr. Darcy and I are just—he is—”
“We were introduced years ago, when Mrs. Allerton’s sister first met Mr. Bingley,” Mr. Darcy said smoothly. “And I have just now had the good fortune of renewing my acquaintance with Mrs. Allerton.”
“Oh, my mistake!”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes as Mrs. Graham raised her teacup—and hid her small grin behind the china.
Mrs. Graham then smiled merrily at the younger people standing before her. “Yes, my mistake, dear children. Though it was such an easy one to make, don’t you agree, Mr. Darcy?”
It was Mr. Darcy’s turn to stutter.
“Mrs. Graham, did you wish to accompany us to the footbridge?” Elizabeth said.
“The bridge?” Mrs. Graham peered at the river banks. “My darling, the only place I wish to venture is back to my rooms for a nap, after this pastoral interlude.”
Elizabeth turned to Mr. Darcy, having been caught in a lie—or at least storytelling of some nature. He seemed quite contrite and his cheeks were ruddy, though it was hard not to be flushed in the heat.
“But you two should go! Please tell me if you see anything interesting there. Because we are quite at a loss for interesting things here.”
As Mrs. Graham finished speaking, Mrs. Potter rose, complaining that her ankle hurt and that she was off-balance. Jane appeared frantic, Bingley offered Mrs. Potter his arm, and Mr. Potter—Mr. Potter had fallen happily asleep in his chair, a plate of chicken balanced on his knees.
“Shall we continue to the bridge, Mrs. Allerton?” Darcy said.
The small dog began to yap and bite at Mrs. Potter’s skirts and Elizabeth readily agreed to leave the tent. The river was but a five-minute walk across the remainder of the flat, verdant field. Mr. Darcy moved quickly and smoothly for such a tall man, and Elizabeth could not help but glance at how his white shirt and vest pulled tight across his wide chest. He appeared surprisingly athletic. He seemed somehow bigger and taller and more—more everything—since the last they had seen one another.
“You once berated me for dancing without making conversation,” he said.
Elizabeth glanced up at him. They were near the river now, the wild grass gently bending in the barely-there breeze.
“When we danced,” he explained. “At Bingley’s ball at Netherfield.”
He remembers that? Elizabeth thought in wonder.
“I am surprised you listened to anything I had to say, Mr. Darcy. Especially, as Mrs. Graham had just mentioned, seeing as I was little more than a child.”
“I listened to everything you said, Mrs. Allerton. And I never saw you as—” Mr. Darcy coughed suddenly, his color deepening. “—a child.”
They stopped at the edge of the footbridge, which Elizabeth remembered racing over and over as a child when she and her sisters would venture this far. In truth, it did appear somewhat rickety now.
“But we were both children, were we not?” she found herself saying. “I was just twenty.” Shall I admit I think about him, as well? Shall I confess that I regret—perhaps not refusing his proposal—but at least the manner in which I did so?
Or…do I regret not becoming his wife?
“And was I eight-and-twenty, “ Mr. Darcy said. “Not a child, though I am sure I behaved as one.”
Elizabeth bit her lip and stared at the lapping waves on the riverbank. She was not sure what to say. Should she take Mrs. Graham’s advice and speak her mind? Or if she should dive into the cool, gentle waters and swim away? The latter sounded preferable at the moment.
“Here is the footbridge,” she said, aware that she was avoiding whatever was between them—like a foolish child.
Mr. Darcy, however, nodded and they approached the structure. “Allow me to go first—when was this thing built?” he
said, testing the first slat with his boot.
“It has always been here,” Elizabeth replied. “Ever since I was a child, and I imagine my father used it when he was young, as well.”
“I was sorry to learn of your father’s passing,” Mr. Darcy said stiffly. “Words do not do justice to grief. But I am sorry. Even from my short acquaintance, I know you and he shared a special, rare bond.”
Elizabeth glanced up at Mr. Darcy’s face. His eyes were open and earnest and she felt a painful rush in her heart. She knew he had lost his parents at a young age. “Thank you,” she whispered, as traitorous tears filled her eyes.
It was as if Mr. Darcy could tell her heart was too full, for he turned away to give her space. Elizabeth hoped that he thought it was merely the mention of Mr. Bennet that had caused her to become emotional. It was that, of course, but something else…
It was Mr. Darcy. And something strange and fluttering in her breast, something like…
Hope.
“You know that I did not tell the truth, and that Mrs. Graham did not ask us to come and examine the bridge,” Mr. Darcy said, taking a few more steps. “Here, that slat is loose—take my arm if you need steadying.”
Elizabeth nimbly leapt over the loose beam and smiled archly at him.
He surprised her by grinning, and real and true smile which was terribly appealing and made him look eight-and-twenty again.
They walked a few more paces out across the water, Mr. Darcy checking every step and making sure Elizabeth was steady and safe. She could have told him she did not need his help but she did not want to be inconceivably rude.
And, she could not help but admit that it was nice to have someone looking out for her so earnestly.
Mr. Darcy stopped and turned to face her, his hand gripping the bridge’s railing. It reminded her of his proposal, and his hand on the fireplace—
No, God, stop thinking of that.
“Mrs. Allerton, your eyes are flashing with thoughts yet I cannot guess the direction of them,” he said, surprising her with his candor. “I prefer it when you speak plainly with me, as you did when we first met. Do you know, you might have been the first person outside my family who was not afraid or in awe of me? Well, not me—the Darcy name. Even if you harass me, or berate me, I shall at least know you are speaking your mind.”
Darcy and Diamonds Page 9