by Jane Grix
One day, he entered the walled garden where they first met and found that she was there before him. There was movement as if she were standing. She said quickly, “Oh, pardon me. This is your special garden.”
“It is, but that doesn’t mean that you need to leave. You may stay if you wish.”
It seemed that she sat down. She said, “Thank you. This is one of my favourite places.”
“Mine, too.”
“It is so quiet here and without the wind, it feels a little warmer.”
“It is best in the summer when the roses are in bloom.”
“But the autumn has its charms.”
“Tell me what you see,” he said.
She described the red and gold oak leaves and the dark tree branches.
“Is that a woodpecker I hear?” he asked.
She was quiet for a moment then said, “Yes. It is over by the wall. It is large for a woodpecker and has a white mask and a dark back. And –” she gasped, startled. “And a red belly as it flew away.” He could hear the excitement and pleasure in her voice. “I think our talking may have frightened it.”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “If it is my old friend, he will return.”
She said, “Are you an expert on birds, then?”
“No, but I have always enjoyed watching them. Especially the kingfishers. I stumbled on a kingfisher nest when I was a child and ever since then, they have fascinated me. At one time, Pemberley had two pairs of kingfishers along the river. That is notable for they are very territorial birds and do not like to share.”
“I don’t know if I have ever seen a kingfisher,” she said. “I know little of birds beyond blackbirds and robins, but I do like them.”
“Kingfishers are beautiful birds with a bright turquoise head and wings and an orange belly.”
“I shall look for them on my walks.”
“Do that. And tell me if you find them.”
“I will,” she promised.
It was rare for Darcy to find someone who expressed any interest in birds at all. His gentlemen acquaintances had been more interested in hunting game birds than watching kingfishers. And young women seemed more interested in buying peacock feathers for their hats than admiring the creatures in nature. He said, “Once I saw a male kingfisher court his mate, offering her a fish, which she refused.”
“Is that part of the courtship – feeding her?” She sounded amused.
“I believe so. He also digs a nest, burrowing in the bank of a river or stream.”
She said, “It seems a practical way to woo a wife – providing a home and food.”
“Indeed. Much better than our way of dancing and playing cards.”
She laughed out loud. She had a marvellous, light laugh that reminded him of Elizabeth Bennet. She said, “Can you imagine it – if at Almacks, gentlemen offered young women something to eat rather than asking them to dance?”
Her laugh was like a dagger to his heart. For a moment, he could not answer.
She said with concern, “Pardon me, Mr. Darcy, are you unwell?”
He supposed that some of his feelings must have shown on his face. He said quickly, “It is nothing. A sudden memory.”
“And a sad one, I presume.”
Darcy said, “Your laugh reminded of someone else. Someone who is dead.”
“I am sorry.”
“No, it is not your fault. How could it be?” He made himself smile. He said, “But if you do not mind, I will take my leave. I wish to return to the house.” He reached for his cane, but it was not where he thought it was and for a moment he was confused.
She then handed it to him, tapping his arm with it. “Here it is.”
He took the cane and rose to his feet. “Thank you, Mrs. Holt.”
There was motion as if she also stood. “No,” he said. “Stay. Enjoy the fresh air.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good day, Mrs. Holt. I will see you after dinner.”
“Yes, sir.”
As he walked slowly back to the house, Darcy remembered the woman who had broken his heart. How often he wished he could go back and relive those moments with greater wisdom and insight.
He had not liked Elizabeth Bennet when he first met her in Hertfordshire. They had met at an Assembly. He did not like dancing and he did not want his friend Bingley to recommend women with whom to dance. He thought Elizabeth was tolerably pretty but nothing out of the ordinary. Later, he noticed that she was too outspoken, too pert, and he congratulated himself on avoiding the acquaintance. Back in those days, he had been a prime catch on the marriage market. Grasping young women and their mothers often plotted to get his attention.
But then, as he saw Elizabeth Bennet over succeeding days and listened to her, he realized that she was intelligent and eventually, he began to think of her as a most handsome young lady.
He knew he was falling in love with her, but her family was so atrocious he left for London, determined to forget her. But that had proved impossible, and when he met her again the following year in Kent, he could not restrain himself.
He had proposed impulsively, insulting her family in the process, and she had justifiably refused him.
That should have been the end of his infatuation.
He had written her a letter in his defence, apologizing, and then had never seen her again.
It was about this time that his eyesight began deteriorating so he had become a recluse, cutting himself off from friends and family.
Two years later, he went to London – briefly – for Georgiana’s season. His aunt Lady Matlock graciously orchestrated her coming out, but Georgiana had wanted him there as well. By chance one evening, he met Bingley at the theatre and spoke with him in a hallway between two of the acts.
“Good heavens, Darcy. Is that you?” Bingley had said.
Darcy turned toward his voice and smiled. “Bingley!”
Bingley said, “Will you not take my hand in friendship?”
Darcy apologized. “I cannot see your hand clearly. But I will shake your hand if you can take mine.”
He held out his hand and Bingley shook it warmly. “It is so good to see you. I am sorry to hear of your difficulty. Is it permanent?”
Darcy nodded. “Permanent and getting worse. Eventually I will be completely blind.”
Bingley did not know how to respond so Darcy said lightly, “But enough of me. Tell me of your life.”
Bingley said, “I took your advice and married Jane Bennet.”
Darcy said, “That is right. I received your wedding invitation, but at the time I was in no condition to travel. Forgive me.”
Bingley said, “There is nothing to forgive among friends.”
“I should have been there,” Darcy said.
“It is water under a bridge now,” Bingley said and took a deep breath. “Jane died giving birth to our son and I have remarried. And I didn’t invite you. So, I suppose we are even in our incivilities.”
“Condolences and congratulations are in order then.”
Bingley said flatly, “I could not grieve forever and my son needed a mother.”
“I wish you all the best,” Darcy said awkwardly.
“Thank you.” Bingley sounded as if he wished to go back to his seat.
Darcy could not let him go without asking the one question that haunted his dreams. He said quickly, “Tell me. What has become of Miss Elizabeth Bennet?” He steeled himself, expecting to hear that she had married as well.
Bingley said, “I don’t know. I have not kept up with the family.” He sounded embarrassed.
That seemed odd to Darcy. Were the Bennets not his neighbours? He asked, “Does the family still live in Hertfordshire?”
“No. Mr. Bennet died and his cousin Mr. Collins inherited Longbourn. Mrs. Bennet and her daughters now live in London.”
Mr. Bennet dead? Darcy remembered the cousin, a solid, earnest young man with ingratiating manners who had been his aunt’s clergyman. He said, “Do y
ou have the Bennets’ address? Perhaps I will call on them while I am in Town.”
Bingley gave him the address and then excused himself. “Mrs. Bingley will be wondering where I am.”
Darcy would have enjoyed talking with him longer, but Bingley seemed uncomfortable with their conversation – whether that was from Darcy’s own appearance with dark glasses and cane – or from the mention of his dead wife, Darcy did not know.
Darcy was sad to think that their friendship, which had once been quite close, had faded. It was his fault, he knew, but it was still sad.
Before he left London, he called on the Bennets. Mrs. Bennet was worse than he remembered – loud and vulgar, and her daughters equally so. He asked about Elizabeth, and Mrs. Bennet said, “She’s dead, poor child, just like my dear Jane. I don’t know why God has chosen to punish me. First Mr. Bennet gone, then my two oldest daughters. But at least I still have my youngest three as consolation.”
Darcy offered his condolences and left the home as quickly as possible to hide the tears that threatened to fill his eyes.
As he left the sitting room, Mrs. Bennet invited him to attend one of her card parties. “You don’t need an invitation, Mr. Darcy. And do not worry about your vision. We have dice as well as cards!”
Darcy did not respond. As his carriage drove away, tears coursed down his cheeks and he sobbed in private.
Elizabeth Bennet was dead and there was nothing he could do to bring her back.
He could not help but wonder what might have happened if he had behaved differently. What if he had stayed at Netherfield after Bingley’s ball? What if he had stayed at Rosings Park after Elizabeth’s refusal?
Both times he had run away, losing opportunities to love her and to win her.
And if she had married him, would she still have died?
Considering that he did not know the cause of death he could not determine that, but he liked to think that if she had been in his care, she might have lived longer.
But that was all nonsense.
Elizabeth was dead and even if she were alive, she would not want to marry a blind man.
GEORGIANA CAME TO PEMBERLEY with her husband and two children in late November. Darcy invited Mrs. Holt to join them in the evening several times to read for them. Darcy was pleased with her performance and at a following breakfast, he asked Georgiana what she thought of Mrs. Holt.
“She seems nice and well-mannered. She has a soothing voice. I understand why you hired her.”
“What does she look like?” Darcy asked casually, as if it were no great matter.
“She is of average height, with brown hair, hidden by a lace cap, of course.
“Is she pretty?” As soon as the question was out of his mouth, he regretted it. It did not matter if Mrs. Holt was pretty or not. He would never see her face. And yet, he still wondered.
“Why do you ask?” Georgiana said with suspicion. “Are you falling in love with her?”
“Of course not,” Darcy said quickly. “It is just that it is difficult to meet new people and converse with them without knowing what they look like.”
“She is an attractive woman. Only a few years older than myself, I imagine.”
Darcy frowned. “She is almost forty.”
Georgiana said wryly, “Then she is a very young looking forty.”
Darcy changed the subject. “If the weather is good, would your children like to play in the snow?”
“That is a marvellous idea. Will you play with them?”
“I think not. I will stay indoors.” He did not mind letting her two boys climb on him during the summer, for they were active, boisterous children, somewhat like puppies, but the winter was more hazardous for him. He said, “But I can make certain there is a roaring fire and something hot to drink when they return.”
Georgiana caught his hand with hers. “Thank you,” she said softly. “You are a most excellent uncle.”
He smiled. “Your children mean everything to me.”
She said, “I wish –” then stopped.
“What is it?” Darcy prompted.
“Nothing,” she said cheerfully, and he knew she was prevaricating.
He said. “Tell me. If it is in my ability to grant your wish, I will.”
After a long moment, she said, “I wish you would marry and have your own children.”
“What woman would have me?” He motioned to his eyes.
She said, “You think more of it than you should. Many women would be glad to marry you.”
“Glad to marry my fortune,” he corrected.
“When did you become such a cynic?”
He said, “And when did you become a match-maker?”
“I will not pester you,” Georgiana said. “But I don’t want you to be alone.”
“I am not alone. I have a house full of servants, and Mrs. Holt to read to me.”
“It is not the same,” Georgiana teased. “And you know it.”
Darcy said soberly, “I do know it. And I appreciate your concern. But it is better if I do not have children. I do not want any of my children to inherit my difficulty.”
“The doctors have said it is hereditary?”
“They don’t know,” Darcy said. “And I would rather not take the risk.”
“Then perhaps you should marry a woman too old to have children,” Georgiana suggested.
Like Mrs. Holt? Darcy thought but did not say it.
CHAPTER SIX
Elizabeth sat at the pianoforte, playing one of Herr Beethoven’s concertos when someone said, “Pardon me.”
She turned to see Mr. Darcy’s sister Mrs. Tipton. Years before, Mr. Wickham had described her as proud, but Elizabeth had found her to be amiable, although perhaps quieter than her husband.
Mrs. Tipton said, “Do not let me interrupt you. What you were playing was so lovely.”
Elizabeth stood. “I have heard you play as well, ma’am, and I will gladly step down for you to take my place.”
“Oh no,” Mrs. Tipton said. “I do not want that.” She smiled. “Unless you would like to play a duet?”
“I would like that very much, as long as you choose something simple.”
Mrs. Tipton said, “Let me see what is available. I took most of my music with me when I married Mr. Tipton.” She walked over to the chest of music and looked through it. “How does this look?” she asked and showed Elizabeth a duet for Robin Adair, a popular Irish tune.
“But who will sing it?” Elizabeth asked.
“Better you than I,” Mrs. Tipton said.
“We shall sing together,” Elizabeth urged, and Mrs. Tipton agreed.
As they played the harmonious melody, they sang:
What’s this dull town to me?
Robin’s not near
What was’t I wish’d to see?
What wish’d to hear?
Where’s all the joy and mirth
Made this town a heaven on earth?
Oh! They’re all fled with thee,
Robin Adair.
What made the assembly shine?
Robin Adair
What made the ball so fine?
Robin was there.
What when the play was o’er,
What made my heart so sore?
Oh! It was parting with
Robin Adair.
But now thou’rt cold to me,
Robin Adair
But now thou’rt cold to me
Robin Adair
Yet him I lov’d so well,
Still in my heart shall dwell
Oh! I can ne’er forget
Robin Adair
When they finished singing, someone clapped and Elizabeth saw that it was Mr. Darcy standing in the doorway. For a moment, he looked just as he had years before at Netherfield, and she thought – What made the ball so fine? Fitzwilliam Darcy was there.
But that was a dangerous thought, so Elizabeth set it aside and busied herself with straightening the sheets of music.
&n
bsp; Mrs. Tipton clapped her hands and said, “I’m glad you like it. Mrs. Holt is a joy to play with, Fitzwilliam. We must invite her to join us more often in the evenings.”
“As you wish,” Darcy said and then addressed her. “If you do not mind, Mrs. Holt.”
“It is your choice, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said.
“Oh, and dinner, too,” Mrs. Tipton added.
Elizabeth felt as if the situation was growing out of control. Mrs. Tipton continued. “And cards. If Mrs. Holt is there, we can play Vingt et un or silver loo. You do play, don’t you?”
Elizabeth remembered once turning down the opportunity to play silver loo with Mr. Darcy when they were all at Netherfield Park. She had been teased for preferring books over cards. She said, “Yes, I play.” Mr. Holt had been very fond of card games and when his health was poor, it had been one of his few amusements.
Darcy said, “If you are willing, Mrs. Holt, it appears that my sister shall demand all your time.”
“I do not mind,” Elizabeth said. She would enjoy getting to know Mr. and Mrs. Tipton better. “And you will not have all my time for I am going to London in a week.”
“You won’t be here for Christmas?” Mrs. Tipton said.
“No, but I will return before Twelfth Night.”
“Then we shall have a party.”
“A small party,” Mr. Darcy said and smiled at them both. “I shall inform Mrs. Lewis of the change in plans.”
When he had left, Mrs. Tipton turned to Elizabeth and said, “I know we shall become the best of friends.”
Elizabeth thought that would be nice. After Jane’s death, she had no true confidants, and she was lonely. Mrs. Gardiner was an excellent woman, but she was not a young woman. Mrs. Tipton was much closer to her in age and might become a friend. She said, “I would like that.”
Mrs. Tipton said, “But I can’t have you calling me Mrs. Tipton, which always makes me think of my mother-in-law. My name is Georgiana. Please call me that.”
“And I am Elizabeth.”
Georgiana said, “Oh dear.”
“Is there a problem?”
“No, but I will only call you Elizabeth when we are alone.”
That would be the proper mode of address, but Elizabeth could sense that there was something amiss. “Do you not like my name? My family used to call me Lizzy, if you would prefer that, but I think Lizzy is more suited to a child than a grown woman.”