With Love's Light Wings

by Jann Rowland

  “There is one other matter of which I should inform you,” said Mr. Bingley. “As you know, I argued with Darcy when I informed him of my intention to court you. I am now happy to say that our friendship has been restored.”

  “Has it?” asked Lord Arundel.

  While his question was light, there was a hint of hardness about his mouth and eyes which no one but those who knew him well would see. Mr. Bingley, it appeared, was not one of those who could read his lordship’s moods with any accuracy.

  “Yes, it has,” replied Mr. Bingley, happiness evident in his response. “At first, when he informed me of his intention to accept Miss Bennet, I was uncertain, but in subsequent meetings, he has convinced me. I would not have yielded regardless, but I feel fortunate to know I have not lost such a good friend as Darcy because of his fool stiff-necked pride.”

  “I recommend you be doubly certain, Mr. Bingley,” said Lady Margaret with a superior sniff. “Those Darcys are shifty, untrustworthy sort of people.”

  “Believe me, my lady,” said Bingley, “I would not be telling you this if I was uncertain.”

  Lord Arundel regarded Mr. Bingley for some moments before he shrugged. “It is, of course, your prerogative to choose your own friends, and I shall not attempt to direct you. The only concern I have is that Mr. Darcy is cordial at the very least to my daughter, and that cordiality is mirrored in the rest of his family.”

  “The Darcy family are excellent people, Lord Arundel,” said Mr. Bingley, and while she might have thought a man would take a conciliatory tone with a peer, Mr. Bingley’s manner was firm. “I have no expectation of any misbehavior by my friend or his family, but should anything occur, Jane will always have my allegiance and support.”

  “A sensible stance, Mr. Bingley,” said Elizabeth. “I, too, would expect nothing untoward from the Darcy family.”

  Lord Arundel’s eyes swung to Elizabeth. “It is interesting to hear you say so, Daughter. Do you have any particular knowledge of that family?”

  “Only what is commonly acknowledged,” replied Elizabeth. “When we met Miss Darcy in the bookshop I determined at once there was little evil to be found in her, for I found she is naught but a shy girl. Then when Mr. Darcy came in, there was nothing about him I found objectionable. I find this dispute to be silly, at the very least. It should be buried in the past where it belongs.”

  “Never have truer words been spoken,” interrupted Mr. Collins. “That is my recommendation also, Cousin.”

  Though he heard his cousin and nodded in response, Lord Arundel continued to regard Elizabeth, and she wondered for a moment if she had said more than she ought. After a few moments, her father shrugged.

  “What you speak is the truth. I have little reason to argue with the Darcys, but the distrust of generations is difficult to overcome. Perhaps yours shall be the generation that allows the matter to rest. For the present master of Pemberley and I, we are too set in our ways to change.”

  Having made his point, Lord Arundel turned back to his book. Desultory conversations continued about the room, Mr. Bingley and Thomas with Jane nearby, and Mary with Mr. Collins, but Elizabeth found herself lost in thought. Her father had hit on the truth of the matter, that it was up to Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, along with Mr. Bingley with his connection to the Darcy family, and Jane, who would be his wife, to bridge the distance. Suddenly it did not seem like such a daunting task.

  Chapter XVII

  The deluge which had doused Elizabeth and Thomas proved to be the opening chapter in several days of rain. It was not a constant torrent, but an intermittent mixture of drizzle, heavier rainfall, with periods of gray clouds and the occasional break where the sun showed a tired and wan face to the world. As such, Elizabeth could find no time to go out to meet Mr. Darcy, for not only would she be miserable on her poor horse, but her mother would abuse her for putting her health at risk in such a manner.

  Thus, when the day came that the sun was once again out in all its glory, Elizabeth could not resist the temptation to saddle Midnight and ride out. This, however, did not escape her mother’s attention.

  “I believe I should rather you wait an extra day, Lizzy,” said she when she came across Elizabeth dressed in a riding habit walking toward the entrance. “It is still cold outdoors.”

  “Perhaps it is,” replied Elizabeth, kissing her mother’s cheek. “But I have been trapped inside for some days and long for the wind upon my face. I shall take care not to stray too far or stay out too long.”

  Though her mother regarded her for several minutes and Elizabeth thought she was considering whether to forbid her, she relented. “You will do what you please, I suppose, for you have always been the most headstrong of my girls.”

  Elizabeth laughed and said: “Yes, I will own I am headstrong. The title of the most headstrong, however, more properly belongs to your youngest, in my opinion.”

  “You are both peas in a pod in that respect,” said Lady Margaret. Then she made a shooing motion with her hand, saying: “Off with you, then. Should you not return in two hours, I shall dispatch a search party to discover you.”

  With a laugh, Elizabeth was quick to follow her mother’s command. The stable, warm with the bodies of the Bennet collection of equines, carried the scent of horse Elizabeth had always loved, and she slipped inside, eager to be on her way. Midnight waited for her, the grooms having already prepared her for their ride, and after a few words of thanks, and a greeting for Midnight—completed with a wizened old apple—she swung herself into the saddle and was off.

  The fields of the estate were particularly lovely that morning, shining with the dampness of the past few days. Soon, Elizabeth knew, the farmers of the estate would dot the land, busily planting seeds harvested the previous year to provide their summer crops. Then the land would come alive with the bounty of the season. To all these things, though Elizabeth often watched and marveled, she was indifferent that morning, for she was eager to see the one person she had missed these past few days. In a few short minutes, Elizabeth discovered his turn of mind had been the same as hers.

  “Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy from where he sat on their rock, a dry patch already warming in the morning sun. “I hoped you would come this way this morning.”

  “As I hoped to see you,” said Elizabeth, allowing him to help her out of the saddle.

  From Elizabeth’s saddlebag, she produced an old blanket which she spread upon the rock, then took her seat by the gentleman’s side, close enough to feel the heat from his body. They sat in this attitude for some time, speaking of diverse matters, both enjoying the sound of the other’s voice. It had often been thus, for they had learned that conversation between them was effortless as if they had known each other all their lives. Then the conversation took a turn which Elizabeth thought it must, to the significant event which loomed on the horizon.

  “We have also received an invitation to the ball,” said Elizabeth when Mr. Darcy made a similar comment.

  Mr. Darcy fixed her with a wry grin. “Do you think our families shall behave well enough to allow us to enjoy the evening?”

  Shaking her head, Elizabeth said: “It is not as if we have not attended the same events before. The last assembly, for example.”

  “That is true.” Mr. Darcy paused and then turned to face her, his manner serious. “Though we have spoken of this before, I believe the coming ball is an opportunity to see each other in a different light from the one we have often cherished.”

  “Cherished is an interesting word,” replied Elizabeth.

  Mr. Darcy chuckled and said: “Perhaps it is. But can you deny it? The dispute between our families has become an old and valued friend over the years. It is easier to hold to the enmity of the past, for it takes much more effort to resolve it.”

  “I agree,” replied Elizabeth. “It has often been my observation that members of my family will often make comments with no true knowledge and with no proof. Mr. Collins has attempted to induce us to see
this, but until recent events persuaded me to examine our behavior, I believe I was as caught up in it as any of my family.”

  “Surely you did not make such comments.”

  Elizabeth fixed the gentleman with a wry smile. “Do you not recall our exchange the night of the assembly? Yes, I allowed myself to make comments of that sort on occasion, but I saw no purpose in them. But I will not claim to be blameless in this matter. To be honest, I do not think any of us can claim innocence.”

  “Then our families are not prepared to bridge the gap between us.”

  “At present, I think some distance may still be for the best,” replied Elizabeth. “Can you imagine your father and mine speaking without acrimony between them? There is little to gain from pressing the issue before they are prepared to accept it.”

  For a moment, Elizabeth fell silent, and Mr. Darcy, sensing she had something further to say, watched her, waiting for her to speak. “A thought has come to my mind, something my father said a few days ago.” When Mr. Darcy cocked his head to the side, Elizabeth continued, saying: “He suggested it would be our generation who would heal the breach between our families, claiming that he and your father were too set in their ways to attempt a settlement. Though I might wish it otherwise, I believe he is correct.”

  “We have spoken of this before, have we not?” asked Mr. Darcy.

  “Yes, though obliquely,” asserted Elizabeth. “I realized it was true in a way I had not before. In this instance, my father is correct—for the breach between our two families to heal, we must show them the way.”

  The way Mr. Darcy gazed at her, Elizabeth wondered if he would propose on the spot. Perhaps it might have been better if he had, for the next words he spoke did not sit well with her.

  “Then you must be correct.” Mr. Darcy laughed and added: “For I cannot ever see your uncle, for one, letting his resentment toward my brother dissipate unless there was no other choice.”

  “Uncle Gardiner has told me himself he holds no grudges,” protested Elizabeth. “I know you do not know my uncle, Mr. Darcy, but he is a good man, only he is one who takes a prodigious amount of care of us all.”

  “I am certain he does.” Elizabeth wondered if the patronizing tone she heard in his voice was more than her own imagination. “It is also clear he has little love for my brother.”

  This was true, though the way Mr. Darcy said it, Elizabeth felt the sting of his words. They were unfair to her uncle, she thought, for he was one of the finest men she knew.

  “How I wish we could associate without disguise!” exclaimed Mr. Darcy, drawing Elizabeth away from her thoughts and her annoyance. When she looked back at him, it was to witness the intensity of his gaze, his eyes upon her, almost devouring her where she sat. “If we could be free in our admiration, I might have the pleasure of dancing with you at Lord Chesterfield’s ball!”

  “Perhaps enough progress shall be made during the ball that it will be possible to ask me later in the evening.”

  “Will you save the supper set for me?”

  Elizabeth blushed and looked down. “I shall as long as I can, Mr. Darcy. But you must recall that a woman, if asked for a dance, cannot refuse, lest she has no option but to sit out for the rest of the evening. Should someone else ask for those dances, I must accept, or lose all enjoyment.”

  “One might think you would be eager to dance only with me,” said Mr. Darcy, the turn of his countenance informing Elizabeth that he was teasing. “It would be a small sacrifice to refuse to dance with any other, I should think.”

  “Do you intend to refrain from dancing?” asked Elizabeth, her manner pointed.

  “It should be a punishment to dance with anyone other than you, so I had best refuse.”

  Eyes narrowed, Elizabeth glared at him. “I have it on good authority you dislike dancing.”

  “I assure you, Miss Elizabeth, that I enjoy dancing if it is with you.”

  “You have never danced with me.”

  “No,” replied Mr. Darcy, his countenance suffused with amusement. “But if the reality is anything like I imagine, it must be pure bliss.”

  Elizabeth felt the heat spreading over her cheeks and ducked her head. “It is only a dance,” was all she could say.

  “No, Miss Elizabeth,” replied Mr. Darcy. “It is the beginning of a lifetime.”

  Though almost overcome by emotion, Elizabeth pushed it away and fixed him with a pointed look. “That sounded like the prelude to a proposal, Mr. Darcy.”

  “It is not yet,” replied Mr. Darcy. “But that day is approaching.

  “Now, there is something else I wish to discuss.” Elizabeth glanced askance at him, and Mr. Darcy obliged her unspoken question, explaining: “It seemed to me that I offended you with my words about your uncle. Is that so?”

  Marveling at the way he already appeared capable of reading her moods, Elizabeth nodded.

  “Then it behooves us both to take care in which we say,” said Mr. Darcy. “I offer my unreserved apologies, Miss Elizabeth, for I did not intend to cast shade on your uncle, for I am certain he is a good man. That I came closer than I would ever wish to offending you concerns me. I never want misunderstandings to arise between us.”

  “It is understandable, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, though agreeing with him in every particular. “It may as easily have been I who made a thoughtless comment about your brother. He does have a certain reputation in the neighborhood.”

  Mr. Darcy chuckled and nodded. “He does at that. There is something . . . Well, Alexander has changed since he returned. I do not suggest he has thrown off his careless ways in their entirety, but he is more serious than I have ever known him to be.”

  “And that illustrates the unfairness of such a comment,” said Elizabeth. “I do not know your brother—I should not presume to judge him.”

  “That is what I am saying, Miss Elizabeth. The misunderstandings between our families also have the potential to spawn misunderstandings between us. We must take care in what we say, and if there is any ambiguity, we must clarify, for I would not wish to be at odds with you due to a silly comment made without adequate consideration.”

  “I agree,” replied Elizabeth.

  For a time, they fell silent, each thinking on the situation in which they found themselves. Elizabeth thought of what he had said of her uncle and how easy it might have been for her to respond in kind, to accuse where there was no reason to do so, to take offense where none was intended. If she had, the result of their meeting that day would have been so much different. Elizabeth did not wish to part with him in acrimony.

  “Shall I see you again before the ball?” asked Mr. Darcy, pulling Elizabeth from her thoughts only a few moments later.

  Elizabeth considered the question and shook her head. “It is for the best we do not meet again. The Bingleys are to come to Longbourn for dinner tomorrow evening, and my mother will require assistance in the preparations. Moreover, I would not wish to tempt fate by meeting too often, for it may provoke someone to curiosity or suspicion.”

  That Mr. Darcy was disappointed Elizabeth expected—she was not happy herself. But they both understood her point. If her father or her uncle discovered their frequent meetings, there would be trouble, and the ability to see each other again would disappear. It would be best to hold themselves back, for Elizabeth did not wish to contemplate days on end without his company.

  “It is unfortunate,” said Mr. Darcy, “but I believe you have the right of it. Though we will not be at liberty to speak, I suspect, I shall anticipate seeing you at the ball.”

  It was then Elizabeth knew that evening would be excruciating. To be at a ball with Mr. Darcy in what should be a happy time, a time for love, bold statements of affection and acknowledgment before the neighborhood, and yet be unable to show her feelings would be difficult. Elizabeth did not know how she would endure it.

  But endure it she must. They rose and said their good-byes, Mr. Darcy holding her hands and raising them to his l
ips in a motion both loving and longing. Then he helped her into the saddle again and bade her farewell, watching rooted to the spot as she rode away. Elizabeth turned to look at him again many times as she departed, pressing her hands to her lips and blowing kisses his way. Mr. Darcy’s eyes never left her until she could no longer see him among the trees.

  Feeling as bereft as he ever had, Darcy mounted his own horse once he lost sight of Miss Elizabeth and turned back toward Pemberley. In a moment of decision, he opted to eschew the path which would lead him back to the road, and instead made his way through the barrier of trees to the valley in which Pemberley stood, and from thence through the fields back to the estate. And as he rode, Darcy wondered if Miss Elizabeth was lamenting their inability to proclaim their courtship to the world, to let the light of their love show forth as so many other young couples had before them.

  Upon returning to Pemberley, Darcy found himself at sixes and sevens, uncertain what he should do or how he should occupy himself. Every moment spent out of Miss Elizabeth’s company now seemed like a lifetime, every instant a punishment. Darcy began to long for the ball, though he had never wished for such an amusement before—even if he could not dance with Miss Elizabeth, at least he could see her, be within the range of her incandescence. What exquisite torture this business of love was!

  “Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam when his cousin found him in the library later that day. “What is the matter with you, old man? It seems to me you have been moping about since your return this morning.”

  “There is nothing the matter with me,” said Darcy, wondering again if Fitzwilliam knew something of his recent activities.

  “Then perhaps you would join me in a game of billiards?” offered his cousin. “It would take both our minds off the upcoming ball.”