by Meg Osborne
This afternoon, he stuck to his path. There was no cause to call at Longbourn, nor did he wish to endure the laughing eyes of Elizabeth Bennet when she deduced he had come that way anyway, with but the flimsiest of fabricated excuses because he was lonely.
Lonely! He, Fitzwilliam Darcy, island of a man, had indeed been lonely. These past few days had seemed to him the longest and bleakest of his life, save, perhaps, for those in the immediate aftermath of what he would always refer to in his memory as the Wickham business. George had been a blight on his life before that, to be sure, but he had also been a friend of some kind, and Darcy mourned his transformation to enemy quite desperately. He had been unable to speak to Georgiana, for she would not listen to reason, and he dared not confide in any other friend. Even Bingley was none the wiser as to the true nature of Darcy’s late dislike of Wickham. His footsteps grew into a route-march, powered by the irritation that always rose in him at the thought of his former friend, and he drew to a sudden halt, breathing heavily and watching his exhalations fog in the cold air.
A movement to his left caught his attention and his heart caught, fearing, in a moment of superstition, that his thoughts of Wickham had somehow conjured the man himself to face him. But, no. This figure was short and slight where Wickham was tall, and whilst she walked with pace and determination she was, as her gait and her shadow betrayed, female. The notion ought to have set Darcy’s heart a pace as normal, but instead, it beat all the faster, for he recognised not one nemesis but another: the figure who approached him from along the road was one other than Elizabeth Bennet. He had hailed her before he could prevent himself.
“Good morning!”
She froze, squinting, for he had recognised her first. For a fleeting moment he feared she would not return his greeting, or perhaps would even turn around and hurry away, but no, after what felt like an endless hesitation, she began her walk once more and closed the distance between them in but a few moments.
“Good morning, Mr Darcy.” Her cheeks were pink, once more, her smile merry. He thought he might prefer this particular Elizabeth to all the others he had seen in their short acquaintance. He could fancy this smile was not merely the appreciation he knew she felt for walking and being out of doors: she had confessed her enjoyment of such exercise to him before. But perhaps, he hoped, it was for him. That she was as pleased for their paths to cross as he was. He shook his head, seeking to clear this fleeting foolishness. Where was Bingley? He was the one of the pair of them to indulge in such romantic nonsense. He snorted, in spite of himself.
“Are you quite well, Mr Darcy?” Elizabeth asked, stifling a laugh as she tried to discern what his expression of derision meant. He hurried to replace his scowl with a smile and ended up pulling a face that was somewhere between the two, an approximation of nothing, and he dropped it again, allowing his features to settle naturally where they may.
“Would you allow me to escort you somewhere, Miss Elizabeth?” he ventured, at last, looking first one way and then another down the deserted road. “I suppose I need not fear for your safety in the crowd of holiday-makers.”
Elizabeth’s smile grew, and she looked at him askance.
“Why, Mr Darcy, if we were not better acquainted, I would be tempted to think that was an attempt at humour. Alas, I know you too well and am assured of your never speaking in any way but sensibly and seriously, so I will accept your offer with the chivalry it was made. I am turning toward home. Perhaps you would care to accompany me, and stop in to take tea with my sisters?”
Darcy froze, fearing he could not acquiesce to the request he wished to: that is, to walk a little way with Elizabeth as her escort, and refuse that which he dreaded: to call on the Miss Bennets at home without even the safety of knowing Mr Bennet would somewhat lessen the feminine blow. His hesitation was evidently Elizabeth’s prime intention, for she laughed, clapping her hands, and shook her head.
“Forgive me. I could not resist teasing you, though I know it is indeed quite bad-mannered and especially cruel when I know you cannot abide teasing. In truth, I have recently come from Longbourn, so will be quite honoured to walk a step or two with you before I return.”
ELIZABETH STRUGGLED to keep a smile from tugging at her lips. It would serve her ill if Mr Darcy noticed it, for he would be sure to take the smile for proof that she was teasing him, even after she promised she wouldn’t. She closed her eyes and forced her features into a neutral position, and when she opened them again, realised she was under scrutiny.
“It is cold, Mr Darcy, do not you think?” she asked, blurting out the first safe point of conversation that came to mind.
Mr Darcy knit his brows and did not answer straight away. Lizzy had just begun to wonder if the words she had uttered had not been those she intended, and how to undo the damage when a faint reply came.
“It is winter, Miss Elizabeth.”
Now Elizabeth abandoned trying to keep from smiling. She even permitted a laugh. Mr Darcy was a humorist! And yet, why did this revelation surprise her? She knew him to be intelligent and had she not witnessed enough wry comments designed to subdue Caroline Bingley when she was in full Caroline mode to think it likely the man could be amusing if only he would be. She wondered what had changed in him that Christmas that allowed him to reveal this heretofore hidden side of himself.
“Have you been walking long, Mr Darcy?” she asked, eager to continue in conversation and deliberately selecting what might be considered safe topics so that her companion would not be stunned into silence, as had been so often the case when they attempted to converse.
“Not long.” He shook his head. “I merely wished to reach the road and ensure that it would be passable for the Bingley carriage when it returns from London.”
The enjoyment Lizzy had felt at their last couple of moments together gave way to irritation, as she recalled that it was this very gentleman who had sought to send Mr Bingley away, to begin with. And yet he now welcomed him back. Did this right outweigh his earlier wrong?
“I wonder that you are so eager for your friend to return, Mr Darcy, when you were at first so keen to depart.”
Mr Darcy ceased walking, and when she looked at him she thought the habitual frown he wore had grown darker than usual. Did he dislike her line of questioning, or dislike the truth that she had uncovered? She held her breath, waiting impatiently for him to respond.
“You blame me for my friend’s decision to leave, Miss Bennet.”
He had reverted away from calling her by her Christian name, she noticed, and it seemed as if the earlier warmth that existed between them had vanished, leaving her still more aware of the icy environment in which they walked.
“Are you not to blame?” she asked, wanting, at last, to have the truth from his own lips. She had been only too happy to lay the blame for Bingley’s disappearance at Mr Darcy’s door, to blame that same haughty figure who had so stung her personal pride for the injury that had now been caused to her sister. But since Mr Darcy’s return to Hertfordshire, Lizzy found herself softening towards him. This was the Mr Darcy she had glimpsed at Netherfield, and she had to confess to wanting to see more of this version of the man. It was no coincidence, after all, that she should find her walk taking her towards the road and thence towards Netherfield Park on that particular day. She flushed, grateful that her true intentions were known to her and her alone. She could just imagine the teasing she would receive from her sisters had they guessed that her staunch dislike of Mr Darcy might be subsiding, just a little. The notion that it might yet give way altogether, and for an entirely different feeling, was not something she was quite ready to acknowledge herself, but she knew Lydia would be merciless if she suspected.
There had been a long moment where neither one spoke, and Lizzy’s heart sank, taking Mr Darcy’s silence for an admission of guilt.
“I was not disappointed to hear Charles meant to leave for London, Miss Bennet, but I certainly am not responsible for putting the idea into his
head.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I fancy, although we do not know each other well, you have deduced enough of my character to know that London is rarely a favoured place of mine, and to spend Christmas in the centre of fashionable society would not be my choice.”
“You would prefer to spend it alone, in the abandoned country home of your friend?”
This was enough to provoke a self-deprecating smile, and Lizzy found herself poised to return it. She had never before noticed quite how well Mr Darcy looked. Oh, he was objectively handsome, and that, combined with his rumoured wealth, was sufficient explanation for the reception he had had amongst the young ladies of Hertfordshire. But his perpetual scowl darkened his features so that one could scarcely tell what they might be without so bad-tempered an expression. Now, she saw him smile, and she had to confess, within her own heart if nowhere else, that she rather liked the effect.
“I thought I would prefer such solitude, Miss Elizabeth.”
There! He had returned to using her Christian name, although still with that polite Miss at the beginning. She ought to approve of it, in the way she did not approve of Lydia permitting half the regiment to speak freely to her without any use of titles or decorum. Now, though, it seemed like an unnecessary barrier between two friends.
Friends? Were she and Mr Darcy friends, then? Yes, she thought they were. Her heart even suggested she might wish for more. She swallowed, quashing the realisation the instant it appeared and turned back to her companion, eager to say something light-hearted and ease the serious mood that had stolen over their walk.
“I could only dream of such a quiet Christmas!” She smiled, merrily, recalling what Christmasses past had been like at Longbourn. Before she knew it, she was telling Mr Darcy a few of her favourite memories, like the time that her aunt and uncle had arrived in the middle of some domestic squabble and had spent half the holiday being extra agreeable to the Bennets whilst treating one another to absolute silence. They had lasted only as far as Christmas dinner, for Mrs Gardiner had served her husband with a certain condiment she knew he loved before she remembered that they were not supposed to be speaking. There had been tears and rejoicing and within a moment husband and wife had been reunited and it was a very merry Christmas indeed, for all the children had scrambled over one another and even Lydia and Mary had ceased to squabble.
Mr Darcy looked uncomfortable. At least, Lizzy presumed that was the expression on his closed features. Another glance revealed it to be not discomfort but wistfulness, and she felt a flare of sympathy. She might tease Mr Darcy for his inability or unwillingness to be in the midst of a crowd, but did that mean he must forever be alone?
“I am sure such a memory sounds like a nightmare to one such as yourself. Tell me, do, what is a treasured Christmas from your own past?” Elizabeth asked. She managed to clamp her lips closed before her last thought escaped them. I assume you must have had one, once! Colouring, she focused her attention on her footsteps, feigning concentration as they crossed an icy patch of road, and listened for Mr Darcy’s response.
“I must go back a few years, I think, so you must use your imagination and think that I was a child when this happened.” His voice faltered, and Lizzy glanced up at him, fearing he was to make some display of emotion. Instead, she saw his lips quirk and deduced he was struggling to speak without laughing. She laughed, too, and bade him continue, for she liked this amusing Mr Darcy and longed to hear what had happened to cause such merriment in the recollection of it.
“My mother and father were both still alive, although my mother had begun along the path of ill-health that would, one day, take her from us.” He swallowed. “My sister, Georgiana, has always been fond of Christmas and music and this year was no exception. She had made up her mind that she would serenade us with a song and had been practising in secret. At least, she thought it was in secret. Miss Bennet, I am sure you are aware, living in the same house as a piano, that there are very few rooms one can escape to where the sound does not carry.” He sighed. “She had been playing this certain tune hour after hour, day after day until we all were quite fit to be tied. And so, the day of the performance arrived, and she began to play.” He laughed. “She made it through a bar or two before stage-fright hit and she could play no more. She was like a rabbit caught in a trap, and on the verge of tears for disappointing us. My mother could not allow such a thing to happen so she slid onto the piano stool next to her and began to pick out the tune. My father, by no means a musician, hummed along in time and I stood and sang so that by the end of it there was no performance but a group effort and our servants applauded us from the hallway. Georgie didn’t cry, but thought of herself the family maestro, uniting all of us through song.”
Lizzy was transfixed as he made this recitation, imagining the carefree younger Darcy in the image of the grown man beside her.
“I should like to have been a part of it,” she murmured, smiling.
“You would have been the very centre, I am sure, for my sister would have insisted upon it.”
There was a strange silence that stole over the road, and over them at that moment and Lizzy’s heart began to beat with all haste. Their eyes met, and neither one seemed willing or able to look away.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he began, but before he could say any more the sound of horses broke through the silence, and he took her by the arm, moving her out of the path of the oncoming carriage just in time.
Chapter Six
“Are you hurt?” Darcy’s heart was in his mouth. Elizabeth had remained upright, but only just, for he had felt her whole weight pull on his arm as he moved her out of harm’s way. He looked around for some assistance, and saw a stile at a nearby fence post, guiding her towards it.
“Pray, sit down a moment.” He turned back towards the road, but the carriage had continued down it and was almost out of sight. Darcy scowled. What had possessed the driver to continue at such speed down a highway where he knew there might be pedestrians?
“I am quite alright,” Elizabeth stammered, standing once more to her feet. “But I must thank you for your quick reactions. I dread to think what would have happened otherwise!” She laughed, but he thought her voice sounded a little faint, still.
“I think it unwise for us to linger too much longer out of doors, Miss Bennet. Surely your family will be missing you. I shall escort you back to Longbourn as soon as you feel able to manage the walk.”
“I am well able,” Elizabeth said, a little of the old energy coming back into her voice.
Darcy caught his smile before it grew too wide, fearing she would read some condescension in the reaction where in fact it was relief that she seemed unchanged by the near collision, admiring the strength of character he had noticed in Elizabeth Bennet almost from their first meeting. He cursed himself for shying away from that, when he had noticed it, rather than appreciating the trait for what it was. For strength was not to be despised in a young woman when it produced character without rendering the possessor cold. Elizabeth may be clever, but she was not cunning or manipulative, the way many young women seemed to be. Yes, even the least endearing of the Bennet sisters could hardly be called cunning, Darcy realised, regretting, not for the first time, that he had mistaken Jane Bennet’s true nature almost as thoroughly as he had her sister’s.
“Come, then, let us walk. It will serve neither of us well if, lingering in the cold, we fall ill.” His eyes glinted with amusement. “Whatever will our dinner be like, if we are both sneezing from either end of the table.”
“It will be sure to arouse suspicion and provoke a great deal of teasing from Lydia!” Elizabeth remarked with a rueful smile. “I cannot be alone in longing for the thaw if only insofar as it will allow her and Kitty free rein to make their visits to Meryton and call upon the regiment once more. Cooped up inside, they are both driven mad by their confinement.”
As if fearing she spoke too strongly, she smiled, to indicate to him that she was teasing, and he nodded, silently inv
iting her to continue.
“It is Mary I feel most sorry for,” she said, before glancing over her shoulder as if she feared being overheard. “Although I am as surprised to hear the words on my lips as you are, no doubt, to hear them. Mary and I are not close,” she said, quickly, by way of explanation. “At least not close in the way that Jane and I are close.” Her eyes fluttered closed. “I dare say Mary thinks me too bold, too strident in my views and too free in discussing them.”
Her eyes opened, and she fixed them, laughingly, on her companion “I dare say she would not be alone in holding that opinion.”
Darcy’s mouth fell open, but he said nothing, the reflexive reaction offering response enough to satisfy and amuse Elizabeth.
“And perhaps she is right, perhaps you are both right!” she remarked, with a shake of her head. “I am sure I have cost myself more than one friendship because of my forthright opinions, and certainly lost more suitors than I care to count.”
“A trail of broken hearts?”
Elizabeth’s eyes flashed, and her cheeks flooded with pink she tried, unsuccessfully, to hide by hunching her shoulders up to her ears.
“Hardly! As you yourself remarked, Mr Darcy, Jane is the true beauty of our family. If anyone has a licence to break hearts it is her.” She sighed. “Alas, her own heart is so tender it is liable to fall victim to breaking just as easily - if not more so.” She shook her head. “But I had promised I would mention Jane no more, for now that Mr Bingley returns perhaps there is a chance all may be mended before the year draws to a close.” She fixed her gaze on Mr Darcy carefully, and he felt as if she peered into the very depths of his soul. “Tell me, Mr Darcy, do you think it possible that hearts, once turned towards each other, might survive a little bruising on their journey towards a future together?”