by Jann Rowland
The sweet shop owner hailed her and took each girl’s request for their favorite candy, and soon they each had a sticky treat, though Elizabeth reminded them to wash their hands clean when they had finished. The girls followed Elizabeth for a few more moments, chattering in their charming ways until they ran off to eat their treats and play their games. Elizabeth watched them go, her heart full of fondness for them, hoping that she, too, would one day have a little girl of her own to spoil. Then she caught sight of her aunt and led Midnight to where she was standing outside the church, bussing her cheek in greeting.
“You spoil those girls so, Lizzy,” said Mrs. Gardiner, though without rancor.
“If I do, it is nothing less than they deserve,” replied Elizabeth. “They are such dear girls. I am surprised, however, that I did not see Abigail amongst their number.”
“Abigail has caught a little cold,” replied Mrs. Gardiner. “It is nothing serious, but I felt it would be best if she stayed indoors for a few days until it receded.”
“Then perhaps this will raise her spirits,” said Elizabeth, holding up a peppermint stick, Abigail’s favorite flavor.
Mrs. Gardiner laughed and embraced Elizabeth. “You are too good. The girls adore you, and not only for the way you indulge them.”
“And I adore them. Now, shall we look in on Abigail? Perhaps a visit from her favorite cousin will cheer her.”
Mrs. Gardiner laughed and linked her arm with Elizabeth. “I am sure she would love to see you, Lizzy.”
Abigail was the eldest of the Gardiners’ four children; it pleased Elizabeth to find her in better spirits than she might have supposed. The girl sniffled and sneezed because of the effects of her cold, but she was a good girl, and exclaimed when Elizabeth presented her and her siblings with the treat she had purchased for them. Elizabeth sat with them for some thirty minutes, reading with them and hearing the tales of their recent childish exploits. Some time later she departed with the assurance that Abigail would soon be outside frolicking with the other children.
“How is Uncle?” asked Elizabeth as she was readying herself to depart.
“Edward is well,” replied Mrs. Gardiner. “Today he left early to visit Mrs. Dunbar and call on the Miss Wrights.”
“Is old Mrs. Dunbar ill again?”
A smile flitted about her aunt’s face. “You know her—everything is an ague which will see her on her deathbed. The woman is healthier than many half her age.”
“Aye, that she is,” said Elizabeth with a laugh.
After a few more words, Elizabeth kissed her aunt’s cheek and departed. It was a blessing to have her aunt and uncle installed in Lambton’s parsonage, for they were her favorite relations. Uncle Gardiner had considered a career in London running his own business and his family had been supportive, but when he attended university, he found the call of the seminary was too strong. The incumbent in the Lambton rectory had passed on unexpectedly about five years earlier, leaving the position vacant, and allowing her father, who held the power of its gift, to give it to his wife’s brother.
Pushing thoughts of her family to the side, Elizabeth visited the bookstore, which had been her primary reason for coming to Lambton that day, greeting the proprietor with a cheery salutation. With a welcoming smile, the man produced a half dozen books that had been delivered to his shop for them. Most were her father’s, but Elizabeth had been waiting for a certain new volume of poetry by Mr. Blake and was eager to immerse herself in its pages.
There was a meadow just west of the road to Lambton hidden in the trees which Elizabeth had discovered by accident two years earlier. Its location was such that it sat on the far edges of both Longbourn and Pemberley estates, and as the ground was rather rocky, great boulders thrust up from the ground in various places, it was of little value, which was why, she suspected, neither family had ever claimed it. The sun was bright that morning, and while it gave off only a hint of the warmth it would provide in the summer months, the air was calm and invigorating, and Elizabeth thought it the perfect time to sit on her favorite rock and read.
It was while she was in this attitude that she was interrupted.
The feeling of being out of sorts had plagued Darcy for some days—if he was honest with himself, since his friend had defied all claims of friendship and focused his attention on the eldest Bennet. While Darcy knew no harm of the girl—it was said she was sweet, kind, and calm—he could not put the thought of those scheming Bennets from his mind.
An additional source of annoyance for the gentleman was the imminent return of his younger brother.
“Alexander is to return?” Darcy had asked, frowning at the news his father had just dropped. “Is that prudent?”
“Enough time has passed,” had been his father’s reply, thumbing his way through a sheaf of papers on the top of his desk. “As far as I can tell, there are no lingering hard feelings on the matter. It was an accident.”
“I understand that, Father. But matters between us have not improved at all. It would be best, I should think, if Alexander was to stay away for another sixmonth.”
At last, his father looked up from his desk. “One might think it is for the best, but I have a specific reason to call for your brother’s return. Thorndell, as you know, has been under your management since you came of age.”
“Yes, I know it,” replied Darcy. “Alexander has never taken an interest in what is, after all, his inheritance.”
“It is time he began to take an interest,” was Robert Darcy’s short reply. “While I am still in good health, that will not always be true—I wish you to take on more of Pemberley’s responsibility, and Thorndell will be a distraction. Once you gain enough experience, it will not be a problem, but until you gain that experience, I would prefer you turn your focus here rather than thirty miles away.”
Darcy could not help but frown at his father. “Are you ill?”
“No,” replied Mr. Darcy, shaking his head. “However, I am attaining the age where I would like to enjoy something of retirement before I become infirm. Pemberley, as you know, is a very large and complex estate. Your brother is now five and twenty, and it is high time he put away the revelries of youth and fixed his attention on his duties. I hope you will guide him when he returns, show him Thorndell’s estate books, and ease him into his future as a landowner.”
“Very well, Father,” said Darcy. “I shall do my best.”
Family was an important part of Darcy’s life. The close relationship he had always had with his father, his mother—before her passing—and his sister brought great joy. His younger brother had, however, always provoked mixed feelings. Alexander was not a morally deficient character, but he tended toward gambling and occasional heavy drink, not to mention his exploits with the ladies. More than once during the two years where their studies at overlapped at Cambridge Darcy had been forced to help his brother out of a sticky situation. Then there was the trouble with the Bennets and their relations . . . .
Not wishing to think on the matter, and knowing he would worry over it like a dog with a bone, Darcy had his horse saddled and rode out that morning, no destination in mind but to run the beast until their exertions took his mind from the worries that beset him. Riding had always proved soothing to Darcy, and for a time it helped him forget his troubles. Then he found her.
It was a place he only visited occasionally, for the meadow was not somewhere he could ride his horse and not risk damaging a hoof or breaking a leg. When Darcy studied the haphazardly strewn rocks, he thought he could see the remains of human excavation, the straight line of rocks suggesting the foundation of some building of days long past. Darcy did not know why he directed his mount there that day, but when he arrived, he found it was already occupied.
Given the situation between the two families, it would have been better had Darcy ridden on, ignoring her presence. The moment he drew close and caught sight of her, however, she lifted her head. Had she not seen him, he may have continued on and avo
ided her. But the look of challenge on her face provoked him, and he found he could not turn away.
“Mr. Darcy,” said she, a faint mocking undertone in her voice, “I see you have found my favorite place to read. If you have brought a book with you, there is more than enough room on this or any other rock.”
“Your favorite place?” asked Darcy in spite of himself. “By my reckoning, this is more properly a part of Pemberley than Longbourn.”
An impertinent eyebrow rose at his statement. “By my account, no one has claimed this spot, for it does not seem to have much value except as a retreat for those bent on solitude. Are you warning me off?”
“Nothing of the sort,” replied Darcy, deciding it was unwise to argue the point with her. “What are you doing here?”
Miss Elizabeth lifted her book, displaying it as if it should be obvious; which it was, of course—Darcy had spoken out of a sense of obligation, rather than interest. Then he looked at the book in her hand.
“Songs of Innocence and of Experience?” asked Darcy, feeling a hint of surprise. “Is that suitable material for a young lady?”
“Are you my father?” jibed she. “For your information, Mr. Darcy, Lord Arundel does not direct my reading. Rather, he trusts my intelligence and education to lead me to proper choices—I need no guidance from you or anyone else.”
Insolence, it appeared, was a characteristic of the Bennet family. As the heir to a large estate, Darcy was accustomed to young ladies seeking to curry favor with him, intending to provoke his approval and, eventually, a proposal. Even the daughter of a baron should find his position in life, extensive wealth, and connections to the higher nobility tempting. This woman disturbed Darcy’s equilibrium, for she did not act as he expected.
“Far be it for me to approve or disapprove of your reading material, Miss Elizabeth,” said he. “I only repeat what is commonly understood about the education of a young lady.”
“Oh, so you are one of those who believes a woman should concern herself with embroidery and music, netting purses and painting tables, and other such activities?”
“Many would claim those are the mark of an accomplished woman.”
Miss Elizabeth released a most unladylike snort. “If you will pardon me, I am not one of them. While I have some proficiency in some of those disciplines, I prefer to know something of the world in which I live, and I love the outdoors. Is it not incumbent upon every young woman to broaden their minds with extensive reading?”
“That is a claim I cannot dispute, Miss Elizabeth, for I have often thought so myself.”
Once again that maddening eyebrow rose to tease him. “Then it seems we do agree on this, at least. However, if you will pardon me, I believe I must return to Longbourn.”
The woman rose from her seat and went to her mount, a dark mare Darcy thought was of a splendid breed, and stowing her book in the saddlebag, prepared to depart. Though Darcy had no intention of speaking of the matter, on an impulse, he raised the subject of his friend.
“What of your sister drawing Bingley in?”
Miss Elizabeth froze, and when she turned to regard him, she wore a look of such fierceness as he never would have expected to see from a gentle young woman. “The way you speak,” said she, her voice low and hard, “one might think it is Mr. Bingley who is the higher in society, rather than my family who, after all, is headed by a peer. Is that what you suggest, sir?”
When Darcy did not respond, Miss Elizabeth sniffed with disdain. “Regardless, you are incorrect. If there has been any drawing in, Mr. Bingley has accomplished it, not my sister. Though Jane is happy with his attention and is in a fair way of being in love with him, it was Mr. Bingley who pursued her—not the reverse. If you believe I am lying, I suggest you speak to your friend.”
The woman paused as if to turn away, then she delivered a final barb. “I hope Jane will find happiness with Mr. Bingley, for I believe him to be a good man. It is also my hope you will have the same with Miss Bingley since it is obvious she means to be your wife. The only unfortunate part of the matter is that Jane will have such a sister, and even worse, such a brother. But I am confident Mr. Bingley will accept no criticism, as I am sure you and your wife will be eager to dispense.”
With those final words, Miss Elizabeth turned away, mounted her horse, and rode away, all without looking back. There was something in Darcy which was strangely moved, though he was uncertain what it was. The reproof she had hurled his way Darcy thought he deserved to a certain extent—no, he was not happy with Bingley’s intention to offer for Miss Bennet, but he knew the woman was unassailable where propriety was concerned.
For a moment, Darcy considered going after Miss Elizabeth to inform her . . . Of what? Darcy did not know himself, for though he might have spoken in a manner he should not, the very notion of apologizing to a Bennet was galling. After thinking about it for a moment, he decided against it and turned his horse toward his distant home. Just because he did not go after her, it did not mean he did not think of her. Thoughts of Miss Elizabeth plagued Darcy for the rest of the day.
When Elizabeth returned to Longbourn, she had not thought to betray any mention of her brief encounter with Mr. Darcy. Though Elizabeth thought her father was, on the whole, level-headed about the affair, there were still times when he was known to make choice comments about the Darcy family. In addition, her uncle, David Gardiner, was visiting when Elizabeth arrived home, and given the trouble between him and the younger Darcy brother, perhaps it may have been best to stay silent.
“And how is his demeanor when among company?” her uncle was asking Jane as Elizabeth entered the room. Mr. Gardiner smiled at Elizabeth but did not pull his attention from Jane.
“There is nothing the matter with Mr. Bingley in any situation,” replied Jane. “He has been a perfect gentleman.”
“And his connection to the Darcy family?”
“Is this inquisition required, Gardiner?” asked Mr. Bennet. “I have satisfied myself as to Mr. Bingley’s intentions and his character.”
“What of his friendship with the Darcy heir?”
“I shall not dictate who Mr. Bingley can and cannot have as a friend,” declared Jane.
“Nor did I think you would,” replied her uncle. “It is not my intention to cast shade on the Darcy family, for I do not think they would be so crass as to impose themselves on Mr. Bingley’s family. However, Mr. Bingley’s reliance on Mr. Darcy’s advice is an established fact. Shall you marry a man who will forever look to another for instruction?”
“You are hard on young Mr. Bingley,” said Lord Arundel.
Jane, at the same time, showed a little spirit and anger, a glare slipping through her calm demeanor. “I have every confidence in Mr. Bingley’s ability to live his own life without reference to Mr. Darcy or anyone else. Much of the advice Mr. Bingley received from the Darcy family concerned the management of his estate, for he was not prepared to become master when his father passed.”
When Mr. Gardiner paused, Elizabeth felt it necessary to speak up. “I dare say Mr. Darcy is not as bad as we might all like to believe.”
Three sets of eyes found Elizabeth, her father and sister with curiosity, while Mr. Gardiner’s expression was intent. “What do you mean?”
“I met him on my ride this morning,” said Elizabeth, speaking as if it was nothing out of the ordinary.
“Just so we are clear, Mr. Darcy the heir?”
“Yes,” replied Elizabeth. “Though I will not suggest our conversation was in any way an exchange of pleasantries, he was gentlemanly, and I never felt the man was intent upon imposing himself upon me.”
The two men, in particular, regarded her, eyes searching, while Jane sat, her serene countenance restored. After a moment of this, Mr. Gardiner turned to her father, his expression questioning. The sour look Lord Arundel returned spoke to his displeasure.
“I suppose the elder son is less of a problem than the younger. It has always been my observation that he i
s a quiet, reflective sort of man.” Lord Arundel then turned a searching gaze on her again. “Was the meeting coincidental?”
“Entirely,” said Elizabeth. “I had gone into Lambton to receive the books we ordered and had stopped on the return to read. Mr. Darcy appeared to have been out riding; our meeting was not intentional.”
Lord Arundel brightened at the mention of books but continued to ask about Mr. Darcy. “You did not feel threatened by him.”
“No,” was Elizabeth’s reply. “Mr. Darcy had much to say on the subject of Jane and Mr. Bingley, but there was never any hint of a threat.”
When Elizabeth noted Jane looking at her, a hint of concern in her manner, she added: “It seems to me Mr. Darcy’s influence with Mr. Bingley is less than it was. Though the gentleman is not happy his closest friend is pursuing a Bennet daughter, I dare say there is nothing he can do about it.”
“Then I suppose we may forget about the matter,” said her father. “Should the young man become a problem, you will inform me, Lizzy. Darcy may have connections to the nobility, but I am a baron, and will not allow him to behave inappropriately.”
“As I said,” replied Elizabeth, “I cannot see Mr. Darcy becoming a problem.”
“Very well,” replied Lord Arundel. “Then if you will excuse me, I shall return to my study. Thank you for visiting, Gardiner.”
The gentleman nodded and Lord Arundel departed, leaving Mr. Gardiner alone with his two nieces. For a moment no one spoke, and their uncle regarded them, deep in contemplation. It was an established fact that Lord Arundel was not the most proactive man, and at times he appeared more interested in laughing at the world than living in it. If serious matters arose, he was not hesitant to act but most of the time, he was content to let matters pass him by.
In a real sense, Mr. Gardiner had become the girls’ protector, especially in the past few years since his eldest nieces had come out. It was Mr. Gardiner who attended every assembly with them, watched over them like a hawk watches over newly hatched chicks, assisted with overeager suitors. It had also been Mr. Gardiner who had shepherded them through their first and subsequent seasons, as Lord Arundel’s distaste for town was legendary. The Bennet girls were fond of their uncle and the man was close to them and to his sister. It was an excellent arrangement for them all.