Such Peculiar Providence

by Meg Osborne

  “I think you read a little too much into our interactions, Georgiana,” Lizzy said. “I do not doubt your intentions: you wish for your brother to be happy and that is admirable indeed, but I do not think that I am the lady to do that.”

  “Then - you do not care for him?” Georgiana’s features fell, and before she could stop herself, Lizzy had uttered the words her friend had evidently been longing to hear.

  “I care for him a great deal,” she admitted. “More than I thought possible, in fact!” Lizzy stopped walking, reaching a hand to her cheeks, which had reddened with embarrassment or excitement, she could not tell which. She who had always prided herself on knowing her own mind could not believe how swiftly and secretly this affection appeared to have begun, lodging itself quietly but firmly in her heart before she even knew of its existence. “He is the most intelligent gentleman I have ever had the privilege of speaking to, and spending time with him has - has helped me to cope with the loss of my father.” She blinked, realising that these intimacies had indeed mirrored those she had shared with Mr Bennet in his study. Mr Darcy talked to her as her father had, as an equal, as if her sex did not disqualify her from forming an opinion worthy of hearing. She thought back over their interactions, the walks they had taken and conversations they had shared. Was it possible she loved Mr Darcy? The thought was so troubling that she pushed it away almost as soon as it had raised itself.

  “We are friends,” she said, firmly resolving that she would be drawn no more on the matter. There was a crack of thunder overhead and a fat raindrop landed with a splat on Lizzy’s shoulder. It was followed by another, and another in quick succession, and the girls were forced to abandon their walk, running instead for shelter under a tree.

  “Are you alright?” Lizzy gasped, as she and Georgiana hugged the tree trunk, finding some respite from the rainfall beneath its heavy boughs.

  “Yes!” Georgiana laughed. “I did not imagine it would rain today! What a pity.” She ran a hand up to her hair, plastered down to her head in damp strings, in spite of her bonnet.

  “I think it was the fates taking objection to your line of questioning.” Lizzy fixed her friend with a sly look.

  There was a shout in the distance and Lizzy looked up, though she felt as if she already knew who she would see. As if he had been conjured by their conversation alone, Mr Darcy appeared, striding towards the house as if neither rain nor cold wind bothered him. A man accompanied him, with a dog and a rifle: evidently, Mr Darcy had been practising his shooting.

  “Look! Ours was not the only enjoyment curtailed by the weather!” Georgiana laughed, hailing her brother before Elizabeth could think of a reason to tell her not to. With resignation, Lizzy turned, holding her own hand up in a wave as Darcy stopped, squinting towards the tree. Was it her imagination or did his broad square shoulders sink just a little as he recognised the figure standing next to his sister? He shouted something indistinguishable to his companion, handing him his gun and pointing towards the house. Leaving the dogs to follow after him, Darcy turned his direction, striding briskly towards the tree.

  “Ladies,” he bid them welcome as he dipped his head, stooping a little beneath the branches that were a high enough canopy for two young ladies: rather less so for a tall gentleman. “We are enjoying some fine weather this morning.” He dropped his gaze to their feet. “Perhaps a little inclement for a walk.”

  Lizzy dropped her own gaze and felt heat stain her cheeks. Her pelisse was a foot deep in mud and rainwater, and the same must be true of her dress and petticoats. She wiggled her toes inside her boots, grimacing at the squelch of wet stockings.

  “Come, both of you. This weather is unlikely to let up and we must take shelter before you catch your death.” He looked at Georgiana as he said this, but Lizzy felt that at least part of his concern was intended for her as well.

  He shrugged out of his coat, passing it wordlessly to Elizabeth, who hesitated, before slipping half of it around her shoulders, and the other half around Georgiana, who found this action amusing and could barely keep the wicked grin from her features as she wrapped her arm tightly around Lizzy’s waist.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  Lizzy nodded, turning to thank Darcy for his wordless generosity, but he had already begun to stride towards the house once more, his features drawn into a scowl and his shoulders apparently impervious to the rain and wind.

  Lizzy fell into step with Georgiana, and the two girls laughingly hurried after him, grateful for the additional barrier his coat afforded them against the icy downpour.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Here!” Georgiana came skipping back into her room, hugging a cotton dress to her chest. “This should fit you.”

  Lizzy reached for the dress, a soft blue rendered softer still by years and washing. She frowned. “Is it yours?”

  “My mother’s.” Georgiana nodded towards her. “But it will fit you, I think. Put it on, anyway, so we can go downstairs.” She shivered, despite their proximity to the fire. “I do not wish to hide up here until your dress is dry. It might take hours!”

  Lizzy laughed, and accepted the dress with thanks, allowing Georgiana’s maid to help her into the unfamiliar garment which smelled faintly of dust and something else. Roses?

  “We ought to send word to the cottage,” Georgiana mused. “Although I do not like to send anyone out in this weather!” She looked pensively towards the window, which was still being pelted with the rain. “What a season we are having!”

  Lizzy said nothing, pausing to admire her reflection in the glass. The dress fit her perfectly.

  “There!” Georgiana said, turning towards her. “I knew it would fit. You are tall like Mama was, and Darcy is.” She pouted. “I inherited her colouring but not her height, more is the pity. I fear I shall be stout in my old age.”

  “I think a widening midriff is a pleasure of middle age.” Lizzy’s stomach grumbled and she regretted not having had something more to eat for her breakfast. “One I shall certainly look forward to!”

  “Do not you wish your husband to think you attractive?”

  “If my husband cannot find me attractive with a little more weight then I do not think I wish to have him for a husband at all.” Lizzy glared, grinning, at her young friend. “In any case, I shall wish my husband to appreciate me for more than my appearance. I have a mind, and I am eager to use it.”

  “Sensible Lizzy!” Georgiana smiled nervously at her, using the nickname for the first time. “How pleased my brother will be to hear that I have such a friend!” She rolled her eyes to the heavens. “It is one reason he was eager for me to conclude my schooling and return home.” She coughed, straightening and affecting a frown to rival her brother’s. “I do not wish you to associate with so many woolly-headed fools, Georgiana! A young lady ought to think, and I wish for you to be able to debate more than the merits of muslin and lace!”

  Lizzy laughed, amused by this comical yet accurate depiction of Mr Darcy.

  “Come, if you are ready. Let’s go and hunt out some tea. I believe we have some fruit-cake in need of consuming.”

  Lizzy followed her friend downstairs, listening to Georgiana’s happy prattle about the portraits they passed. She paused in front of two, portraits that faced one another, depicting a fair-haired woman and a greying gentleman, who looked remarkably familiar to Mr Darcy, were he not so prone to scowling.

  “Is this...?” she asked.

  “Father.” Georgiana beamed. “And Mother.” She pulled a face. “The true beauty of our family.”

  “She looks like you!” Lizzy remarked, surprised that Georgina did not see her likeness in the image before them.

  “I thank you for saying so, but it is not polite to fib to one’s friends.” Georgiana pointed at her father’s portrait. “Apart from colouring, I am more like my father. Darcy is him in true likeness, and manner.” She sighed. “So serious, all the time!”

  “Whereas you, my young friend, possess not a se
rious bone in your body and are forever getting into scrapes!”

  She shook her head, indicating she was teasing and did not believe a single word of this assessment. Georgiana roared with laughter.

  “Yes, you see it!” She threw her arms around Elizabeth. “You forget, Lizzy, you have known me but a little time. You cannot begin to know the mischiefs I have got up to in my past.”

  Elizabeth arched an eyebrow.

  “Do tell!”

  “Later!” Georgiana dropped her voice to a whisper. “Once I have plied you with refreshments and can be sure you will not be unduly scandalised.”

  Laughing, the girls continued their journey towards the parlour. Empty apart from the two of them, Lizzy could not help but feel a flicker of disappointment that Mr Darcy was not there. She wanted to thank him for the loan of his coat, she wanted...she wasn’t sure what she wanted. Georgiana’s words echoed in her mind, taunting her. He cares for you. It couldn’t be true, could it? Merely his sister drawing conclusions she wished were true, rather than those that actually were.

  Georgiana ordered a tray of refreshments and began moving a small sofa a little closer to the fire which crackled invitingly in the hearth. Lizzy claimed one corner of it, stretching her feet towards the warmth of the fire.

  “I hope you are not eager to be rid of me anytime soon,” she remarked, stifling a yawn. “I am so comfortable at present I do not believe I could move, even if I was forced to.”

  “As if we would even suggest it!” Georgiana’s expression was one of mock horror. “No, you are to stay right here and we can have our conversation, even if our walk was cut short. Tell me what you have been reading lately.”

  Lizzy did her best to recall the full list and was pleased to see Georgiana’s smile widen with the mention of books she herself had enjoyed. Her friend named a few others, and the two young ladies found they had many similarities of taste. Lizzy promised to bring her own favourite books: the two she had been able to keep from her father’s study that she did not imagine would be missed by a man of Mr Collins’ sensibilities. They were her most treasured possessions, reminding her whenever she cracked their spines, of hours spent in her father’s study, bent over a book while he undertook his own studies, nothing but the sound of pages turning and soft breaths synchronising to disturb their peace.

  The door opened, and a servant entered, brandishing a tea tray groaning with refreshments, and Lizzy laughed.

  “Did you intend on feeding an army?”

  “An army of two, indeed I did!” Georgiana grinned and took great delight in arranging things for her guest’s comfort and enjoyment. The two young ladies were having such fun that Lizzy almost forgot Mr Darcy’s notable absence. Almost, but not entirely. She could not quite prevent her eyes from straying towards the door, or keep her ears from listening out for the tiniest sound that might indicate where he was, or what he was doing, or, and her heart beat anxiously in consideration of this, whether he was deliberately absenting himself so as to avoid her.

  WHEN FITZWILLIAM DARCY was agitated, he paced. He could not tell when the habit had developed, nor whom he learned it from, but it seemed to him the best and only vent to his feelings. He had never been one to react with untoward emotion - not to shout, as his father had done when fazed, nor to cry, as had been his mother’s personal vent. Even laughter came to him rarely, most often expressed in little more than a wry, amused smile. In any case, physical activity was his preferred mode, often walking to exhaustion, or channelling his anger into pages of inflammatory prose he cast swiftly into the fire, lest they fall into their subject’s hands once his moment of anger had subsided. For subside it always did, although that did not always mean it was gone. With Wickham, for instance, he had long wearied of any expression of anger or of surprise. But his anger was never fully spent, simmering silently into the grudge he bore so long he scarcely noticed its present, until his old friend, responsible for some mischief or another, caused it to rise once more to the surface.

  With Elizabeth Bennet, his feelings were different. He was not angry at her - he only wished he might be angry! Even when he painted her with the blackest of motives, wishing to stir within himself some notion of rage at how she sought to manipulate him, he could not quite make the attribution stick. For how could one how showed such honest, genuine interest in their conversations - for it was genuine on her part, he did not fault himself entirely in his ability to discern a person’s true nature - be the same person who plotted to compromise him? He snorted. If seduction was her goal, if compromise, well, then there had been ample opportunity - a fact for which he had berated himself at his leisure since their dinner, vowing no longer to walk by the cottage nor to frequent the places he knew to be her favourite in the estate.

  How ironic, then, that their paths should cross that very day! Providence was a cruel mistress, but at least had taken enough pity on him that he did not find her alone, but with Georgiana, and so everything was kept proper. He had chosen his morning’s activity carefully. A solitary hour spent shooting, in preparation for Charles Bingley’s arrival, for his friend dearly loved what he termed “country pursuits” and eagerly made the most of all such delights Pemberley offered. It had been all that he had hoped: A respite from the exceedingly feminine atmosphere at home and requiring him to focus sufficiently that his mind was altogether occupied. He might have stayed at his task longer, had the rain not come and his companion been brave enough to suggest taking some respite, for the birds would stay in their nests during such a deluge.

  He reached his chair and stopped, leaning against it and wrapping his icy hands around its knotted, carved back. He had shed his sodden layers and changed, grateful that he had had the foresight to keep a change of garments to hand in his study. They were old, but still perfectly serviceable. His clothes steamed quietly by the fire.

  He had retreated immediately to his study, wanting nought but to put space between him and Elizabeth Bennet, but now that he had, he longed to know if she was well. She would not take ill, he hoped, on account of the soaking. His fears ought to be the same for his sister, and they were, yet for the first time ever he was forced to acknowledge the strength of Georgiana’s countenance and how this might help her ward off any encroaching sickness. Elizabeth, brought low by grief and anxiety, might be the more susceptible of the two.

  He sighed, a frustrated, angry hiss that was less effective even than pacing his small study had been at venting his frustrations. It would not do. The house was quiet - such that, even when straining to hear, no sound reached him to indicate the well-being of the ladies nor their location.

  Without another moment’s hesitation, he strode towards the door, pulling it open and stalking down the corridor, his ears pricked for a clue. He had gone barely a dozen steps when one reached him - the muffled, musical voices of ladies, and he altered his course, reaching the threshold of the parlour ere the voices stopped.

  “William!” Georgiana hailed him, happily, from her seat by the first. She stood and beckoned him to come and join them. “We are having a picnic!” She indicated their spread: A well-stocked tea tray and an assortment of fruit, bread and cheese, with fruitcake and walnuts in addition. His mouth watered and he realised in his eagerness to be out of doors that morning he had forsaken his breakfast.

  “Yes, do come and sit by the fire. I fear you were drenched even worse than either Georgiana or I!”

  It was Elizabeth who made this suggestion and when Darcy glanced at her he felt as if the world tilted on its axis. Any bitterness he had felt towards her, any anger at himself for being so easily and utterly deceived fled. If it was deceit or manipulation then he welcomed it if only those bright eyes remained fixed on him, the pink lips lifted in the hint of a smile.

  “I suppose I might stay a moment,” he muttered, surprised to find himself able to speak at all, though his voice was little more than a whisper.

  At his assent, Georgiana clapped her hands together and demanded that fresh
tea be brought and another cup and plate as Darcy was welcomed into their party.

  “I hope you will not pay too dearly on account of being caught in the rain, Miss Elizabeth,” he said when additional tea was slow in coming and Georgiana momentarily absented herself to hasten its arrival.

  “It is your health most likely to suffer!” Elizabeth laughed, but the sound was music, all gentleness and not a trace of teasing. “Georgiana and I were able to shelter almost immediately under a tree and it was your kindness in lending your coat -” she paused, dropped her gaze and he noticed a pretty pink hue darken her pale cheeks. “You are very kind, Mr Darcy.” She took a breath, hurrying her words out as if she feared not speaking them immediately and quickly would lead to them not being spoken at all.

  “I cannot thank you enough for the opportunity you have given to my family and to me. We had nothing, nowhere to go and no hope of help. That in so short a time we might find the perfect home and be so fully embraced not only as tenants but as friends - it is very kind of you.”

  Now it was Darcy’s turn to feel the heat rise in his cheeks and he ran an irritated hand over his features as if that would be enough to keep the heat and the emotion at bay.

  “You are welcome, Miss Elizabeth, but you think far too highly of me. I lease the house only: it is nought but good business sense to have it occupied, and when I heard of your family’s plight -” he paused, cleared his throat and began again in earnest.

  “I fancy you are too intelligent to fall for such rigorous explanation of my actions.” He laughed, ruefully. “Even Georgiana saw through them, though she will not hear as much from my lips.” He paused, lifting his gaze to hers and finding, once he had met her eyes he was unable to look away. His mind railed at what he was about to do but the words were on his lips and then spoken aloud before he was able to swallow them.