by Jann Rowland
“Lydia, I suppose, will do tolerably well, though she will feel ill-used. Mrs. Garret is capable of controlling her outbursts, and by the time Lydia comes out, she will be the focus of attention, which is all she will ever want.”
“Discipline is, of course, paramount,” replied Mr. Darcy. “I would not consider my father a disciplinarian, but he did not tolerate foolishness either.”
“Were you often the target for his reprimands?” teased Elizabeth. “A determined boy such as yourself must have been difficult to control. Did you and Colonel Fitzwilliam get up to much mischief as children?”
Mr. Darcy was quick to laugh at Elizabeth’s characterization. “Having met us both, do you believe that I was the instigator of our exploits?”
“Your cousin does strike me as a . . .”
“Troublemaker?” asked Mr. Darcy when Elizabeth paused to search for a word.
“An active man who was as active as a boy,” rejoined Elizabeth.
“Aye, he was at that,” said Mr. Darcy. “Though I will not attempt to assert I did not create my fair share of mischief, I was more often pulled into his schemes. Being two years older than me, it was natural I should follow him more than the reverse.
“As I was saying earlier, my sister has not followed my wilder ways, and as such, I have not been required to discipline her.”
“Do you mean punish her?” asked Miss Bingley, intruding on the conversation again.
“Discipline can be had without punishment, Miss Bingley, though sometimes punishment must be meted out when rules are broken.”
“And what is your opinion concerning what form that punishment must take?”
Mr. Darcy regarded Miss Bingley for a moment, attempting to understand her, and for the lady’s part, she seemed to realize her question might be considered accusatory. Or perhaps merely challenging—Elizabeth was uncertain.
“I only ask because my father believed punishment must be a reminder of the offense,” said Miss Bingley, as diffident in manner as Elizabeth had ever seen. “Charles often received such discipline, and while Louisa and I did not so much, sometimes our father used harsh methods with us too.”
“It is difficult to say,” said Mr. Darcy, “as I am not a father—I have only acted as one to a much younger sister, one who has needed little correction. When I have children of my own, I may understand differently, but at present, I think boys and girls require different measures to ensure good behavior. It is said that to ‘spare the rod, you spoil the child,’ and I believe that is true. However, there are many ways to rear children to be good and upright in their decisions, rather than to resort to such devices as a belt, particularly for girls. I would have to say I think it is much more effective to be an active teacher, instilling good values, and supporting that instruction with appropriate penalties when necessary. Consistency, above all, is paramount.”
“I agree, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, delighted their opinions should align so closely in such a matter. Miss Bingley made some noise of agreement, but for the rest of the time the Bennets were present at Netherfield, the lady was quiet, deep in thought. Since she had not given her opinion, it was difficult to say, but Elizabeth thought she was considering her father’s harsher standard of child rearing and the differences between herself and Mr. Darcy for perhaps the first time.
The evening progressed as most such were wont to do. After tea in the sitting-room, those ladies who played performed for the rest of the company. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, and thereafter Elizabeth and Mary followed suit, then Mary played while Elizabeth and Jane sang, to the appreciation of all the company. Even Mr. Bennet, who was not a connoisseur of the musical arts, was effusive in his praise for all the ladies.
When it came time to depart, Mr. Darcy took care to ensure he escorted Elizabeth from the room, and while they were walking, he addressed her:
“Do you still often walk in the mornings, or has the threat of Wickham made you more cautious?”
“Oh, I am more cautious, certainly,” replied Elizabeth. The sudden memory of the morning of Mr. Darcy’s departure and her meeting with Mr. Campbell entered Elizabeth’s mind, but she pushed it aside. “I still walk, though I do not range far from Longbourn of late.”
“Do you plan to walk tomorrow? Might we meet on the path I first met you where Wickham was accosting your sisters?”
“That would be acceptable, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth warmly. “It is near to Longbourn and public enough we would not be questioned should we be discovered.”
“It would not cause me a moment’s concern should someone see us, though I would avoid misunderstanding.” He leaned in close and said in a low tone: “I would also speak with you in a setting more private than this.”
“Then I shall strive to walk there by eight in the morning.”
“Excellent,” said Mr. Darcy. “I shall anticipate it.”
As the carriage was departing from Netherfield, Elizabeth looked back at the gentleman, standing with his friend and the Hursts, watching the carriage as it rumbled away. Her heart full, Elizabeth realized she could not wait to be in his presence again in the morning.
Chapter XXVI
The excitement coursing through Elizabeth was such that it surprised her to obtain any sleep at all after returning to Longbourn. The first part of the night was long, to be certain, for she lay in bed alternately thinking about what the morrow might bring while contemplating the various perfections of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. Thereafter, when she had succumbed to sleep, her nighttime ruminations were replaced by dreams filled with scenes of what might be, mixed with glimpses of the man’s face. In the morning, when she woke, Elizabeth felt as if she had slept a week, rather than only a few hours.
While a woman in similar circumstances might feel it necessary to take great care with her appearance, the appreciative glances she often saw directed at her by the gentleman informed her he would find her beautiful if she dressed in a burlap sack. A simple knot sufficed for her hair, as did a dress, well worn, but much loved because of the comfort it provided. Then, mindful of the late season chill, Elizabeth descended below stairs to seek her pelisse, her fur-lined gloves, and a thick bonnet, and she was ready to depart. Before she could exit the house, Elizabeth discovered her escape was not to be unnoticed.
“I see you are to go out walking this morning,” came the voice of Mr. Bennet as she was preparing to go. The figure of her father emerged from the hall leading to his study, a wide smile of affection gracing his countenance. “Dare I accuse you of ignoring the restrictions put in place for your safety, or will someone be nearby for your protection? I dare not suppose you will be meeting someone on such an early morning walk.”
Honesty had always been a pillar of the relationship between father and daughter, and while Elizabeth had not thought to inform her father of the morning assignation, she could not tell him a falsehood.
“Mr. Darcy is to meet me near Longbourn.”
“Is he?” asked Mr. Bennet, his eyebrow raised. “I might never have guessed, had I not seen you both speaking so earnestly last night.”
Elizabeth gazed at him with curiosity. “You knew I was to meet him?”
“I suspected,” replied Mr. Bennet. “It was not something anyone with any discernment might not see if they only looked.” Mr. Bennet paused, considering. “He is to meet you close to Longbourn?”
“Yes, Papa. Near the place where Mr. Wickham accosted my sisters and me and we first met Mr. Darcy.”
“That is a curious place for a proposal?”
Elizabeth’s cheeks burned at his observation and Mr. Bennet laughed. “I do not know that he is planning to propose!”
“If he is not,” said her father with evident affection, “he is not the decisive man I know him to be, and blind as well. But I know he is neither of these.”
“Should I accept him if he does?” asked Elizabeth, feeling suddenly shy and unsure. “It has not been long since I made his ac
quaintance.”
“That is a question I cannot answer for you, Lizzy.” Mr. Bennet approached and put his hands on her shoulders. “The only person who can answer that question is you. Though it is true you have not known him long, it is also true that some need not know their spouses long before they are sure of their feelings. Whether you or Mr. Darcy are two of those people, I cannot say.
“What I would advise is that you listen to your heart and judge his proposal—should he choose to make it today—based on what you feel when he does. Is he a good man, one who will devote his life to making you happy, or is he a charlatan, intent upon misleading a beautiful young woman to accept him for some other reason?”
“Mr. Darcy is no charlatan, Papa,” said Elizabeth. “He is the most genuine man I have ever known. And the best.”
“Then the only question is your feelings for him. I trust you are capable of discerning the contents of your own heart.”
“I believe I am,” whispered Elizabeth.
“In that case, you have your answer, and I shall lose a daughter to the north.” Mr. Bennet paused and regarded her with evident mirth. “Then again, if what I have heard of his library is the truth, I shall gain much in the bargain too!”
“Oh, Papa!” scolded Elizabeth. Mr. Bennet remained unrepentant, grinning at her, unabashed glee flowing from his eyes. Then he turned serious once again.
“Since this Mr. Wickham is still unaccounted for, I have half a mind to accompany you, if only until you meet with your beau.”
“I am certain I shall be fine. Mr. Wickham has not been seen since his departure from the neighborhood.”
Mr. Bennet nodded slowly. “That is true, though I do not trust he will stay away. Since you are not to walk far, I believe all should be well, and I must look at the ledgers this morning.”
“Then I shall leave you to it, Papa. There will be no trouble.”
“Very well, get along with you. I shall be waiting for your young man’s visit when you return.”
Elizabeth said nothing in response, instead choosing to stand on her toes and kiss her father’s cheek. Then she slipped through the door, knowing he would watch her as she departed. The future awaited, however, and Elizabeth was eager to meet it, to discover what it held for her.
The path down Longbourn’s drive took Elizabeth only a moment to traverse, and soon she had gained the road beyond which would lead through the few homes clustered around the church in Longbourn village. Before she gained the town, however, she struck off on the smaller path, winding through the woods, bisected neatly by a small bubbling brook, to the north and her meeting with Mr. Darcy. While she walked, the tower of their small church rose above the foliage, but while she could see it for some moments, even it fell beneath the rising trees.
Alone, Elizabeth pondered the upcoming meeting with Mr. Darcy, eager to learn if he intended to propose, or if there was something else in his request. Would he offer nothing more than a courtship? A part of Elizabeth was disappointed at the thought. But the prospect of a courtship also held some charm—Elizabeth was not vain but receiving a handsome man’s ardent attentions before the entire neighborhood was appealing.
Or it would be until Mrs. Bennet decided she should be paraded in front of the people of the neighborhood from sunup until sundown. Elizabeth knew her mother still possessed an excitable nature despite all her improvements, and a courtship would release it. If only Mr. Bingley had already proposed to Jane! Then her focus would be on the elder daughter, who had always been a favorite.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”
The sound of a man’s voice broke into Elizabeth’s reverie, and she came to an abrupt halt, noting the sudden appearance of the man she least wished to see. Mr. Wickham—for he it was—standing, insouciance in his bearing, leaning against a tree by the side of the path. He wore rough leathers, weather-beaten and bleached by the sun, and a hat pulled down to cover his face. Elizabeth did not need to see him to know it was he, for it was written in his posture, in the curly brown hair which formed a ring below his hat, and most of all, in the insolent mockery evident in his voice.
Then he pushed the brim up, revealing his face. The glower he fixed upon her did not disturb Elizabeth so much as the wild and sickly light which shone in his eyes. His smirk Elizabeth had seen before and had stood up to on more than one occasion. The disquiet of his presence, however, sent a frisson of fear running up her spine, for she well knew this man detested her and was dangerous besides.
“It is fortunate I have met you, my dear Lizzy,” said he, still not moving. “It has been many weeks since we have last been in each other’s company and I have longed to renew our acquaintance.”
“An eternity would not be enough to remove the stain of your presence,” said Elizabeth, determined not to give into fear. “With a man such as you, the indies would not be enough distance to remove your stench from the neighborhood.”
Mr. Wickham threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, you always were a saucy one! It is a significant part of your charm. Given the circumstances, however, it may be best if you refrained from angering me. I am not inclined toward geniality as it is.”
While Mr. Wickham chuckled and shook his head, Elizabeth took stock of her situation. Outright flight she ruled out except at the last resort—Mr. Wickham was much larger, possessed longer legs, and while Elizabeth was not unable to run, she doubted it would be long before he caught her. The situation, here on a secluded path, however, was not tenable. Then again, Mr. Darcy had promised to meet her, and Elizabeth did not doubt he would keep that promise. He would be along any time now, the fact that Elizabeth had left a few minutes before their agreed upon time notwithstanding.
“You see, my dear Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Wickham, unaware of her thoughts, “it has been much on my mind of late that you have caused me much misfortune, and I am not a man who forgets those who have wronged me.”
“Wronged you?” asked Elizabeth, infusing every ounce of scorn she could into her voice. “How could I have wronged you?”
“By interfering with my designs,” replied Mr. Wickham. He remained unmoving, every word, every gesture, his very being suggesting confidence. “Had you allowed matters to rest, none of this would have happened.” Mr. Wickham shot her an expressive leering grin. “In time, you might even have come to enjoy the . . . benefits of having me as a brother.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wickham,” said Elizabeth, standing bravely before her tormentor. “You have confirmed my long-held opinion of your worthlessness. My disgust for you is beyond anything I have ever felt for any man.”
“Then I have succeeded in my purpose,” said he, unmoved by her contempt. “Be that as it may, I am also not a man who allows others their offenses without reprisal.”
“So you have come to attack an undefended woman? Typical of your brand of cowardice.”
In a motion so sudden it caught Elizabeth by surprise, the man pushed himself away from the tree and stalked toward her, his expression determined. “Vengeance, Miss Elizabeth, is something you should never provoke. The time to pay for your misdeeds is at hand.”
All thoughts of defiance fled and Elizabeth turned to run from this deranged man. She ran, as fast as she ever had, imagining his hand clamping about her wrist at any moment. She ran uncaring, unseeing, wild to escape, her heart thudding in her chest. On she ran, desperate to escape.
Then she impacted with something hard and came to a sudden stop. The fetid odor of his breath caused her to gasp and retch. His grip tightened about her wrists. Elizabeth fought and kicked, claws extended desperate to escape. A keening wail sounded in her ears, frightening her even further.
“Miss Elizabeth!”
The sound of her name on his lips broke through Elizabeth’s terror, and the scream faded away. In a moment of clarity, Elizabeth realized it had issued from her own throat. Then she looked up into the demon’s face. Only it was not a demon. It was not Mr. Wickham
at all. It was Mr. Darcy.
A sense of relief so powerful it overwhelmed her surged through Elizabeth, leaving her boneless. She sagged, and Mr. Darcy’s arms tightened around her, otherwise she was certain she would have fallen to the ground. Heart thumping, sending a ringing through her ears, Elizabeth rested her head on his broad chest, feeling lethargic and spent. It was beyond pleasant to be held in such a manner, she decided, and while his light stroking of her back was not in any way proper, Elizabeth did not wish him to stop.
“What is it, Miss Elizabeth?” A chuckle sounded in her ear. “It seemed to me the hounds of hell were hard on your heels.”
The reminder of her ordeal flooded into Elizabeth’s remembrance, and she gasped, pushing away from him. Mindless of his surprise, Elizabeth blurted: “Mr. Wickham!”
The gentleman’s countenance turned from shock to fury in an instant, and he turned, peering down the path while drawing her closer to his side. “You saw Wickham?”
“There!” said Elizabeth, pointing at the path behind her. “I saw him and argued with him, then he began to chase me. Did you not see him?”
A frown settled over Mr. Darcy’s countenance, and he shook his head. “I had just dismounted as I thought I was close to where we agreed to meet when you dashed around the corner there and ran headlong into me.” Mr. Darcy smiled, though it was a feeble effort. “You are able to attain great speed, Miss Elizabeth, for you almost bowled me over.”
“I thought him about to capture me,” whispered Elizabeth.
“It seems you thought he did capture you,” replied Mr. Darcy. “I believe I shall have bruises from our encounter, though I was fortunate to escape your claws.”
“Now,” said Mr. Darcy, his manner more businesslike, “please remain here while I attempt to see if he is still about.”
Though Elizabeth little wished to remove herself from the protective circle of his arms, she nodded, allowing him to step away. Mr. Darcy strode down the path toward the little bend he had indicated earlier, continuing beyond a short distance, though remaining within her sight. After a moment of peering down the path, he turned and made his way back to her.