Elizabeth smiled but said nothing.
Darcy suppressed a chuckle—both at her response and his own obfuscation. The words had risen in his memory and he had repeated them, but how on earth was she to know he wished to dance with her? “Would you honour me by joining me in a reel?”
The smile slid from her face, and her eyes flew to his. “Join you?”
Darcy nodded in answer.
She studied him speculatively. “I am certain you wish me to say, ‘yes,’ that you might have the pleasure of despising my taste; but I always delight in overthrowing those kinds of schemes and cheating a person of their premeditated contempt. I have, therefore, made up my mind to tell you that I do not want to dance a reel at all—and now despise me if you dare.”
Darcy chuckled. “Miss Elizabeth, if I were to despise your taste, I would have to despise my own as it was my suggestion. However, I would not dare to despise you.”
Miss Bingley abruptly ended the piece, standing and proclaiming that Elizabeth should have her turn as well.
Darcy smiled down at Elizabeth. “May I turn for you?”
A blush covered Elizabeth’s cheeks, but she gave him a short nod.
Darcy stood next to her, daringly close as he turned the pages. It was well he knew the piece and had turned pages for Georgiana as he kept getting lost in watching Elizabeth. Though not technically proficient, she put her whole self into playing, ensnaring his soul even more deeply.
When she completed the piece, Miss Bingley proclaimed that she was tired of music, and the pianoforte was shut up. Elizabeth removed herself from the drawing room to check on her sister, and after waiting some minutes, Darcy excused himself too.
Chapter 8
The following morning Darcy awoke once more with bated breath, full of trepidation lest he find a world without Elizabeth. But, he had remained at Netherfield and not returned to Before. At breakfast, Miss Bingley smiled prettily and suggested Mr. Darcy might enjoy accompanying her in a turn about the garden. Darcy’s gaze flicked to where Elizabeth had sat the previous day. She had eschewed breakfast in favour of looking after her sister. Before, she had walked the gardens with Mrs. Hurst and then abandoned him to the Bingley sisters when their two parties had met up. The event had lodged itself in his mind due to both Miss Bingley’s suggestions for his “future happiness” and to Elizabeth’s witty rejoinder after being invited to join them. Few women could compare the Bingley sisters to cows and get away with it. Of course, only after her rejection had he recognised that she had included him in said picturesque.
If, instead of accompanying Miss Bingley, he suggested a turn about the garden to Elizabeth, perhaps she would accompany him . . . .
“No, thank you, Miss Bingley,” he said.
Miss Bingley’s smile froze. “Of course.”
With that, Darcy excused himself. He hastened to Miss Bennet’s room and knocked. When Elizabeth answered the door, he suggested that she might enjoy fresh air and asked whether she would permit him to escort her.
Elizabeth consented and went to fetch her wraps and bonnet. Darcy fidgeted as he waited, his eyes locked on the closed door. She had said yes! If she still hated him, wouldn’t she have refused? Or had he made it impossible to politely decline? He recalled their many walks at Rosings. With the benefit of hindsight, he had realised that she was warning him off her favourite paths, not encouraging him to join her there. But he had been so besotted and so arrogant that any inkling of her dislike had refused to penetrate.
The moment she returned, they were off. He could not remain still with so much confusion boiling through his veins like an excess of coffee. Gravel crunched under his feet as he led Elizabeth down the drive and into the garden. The crisp autumn air teased at his hair, whispering of coming snows. Sunlight dappled the pathways.
“Will not Apollo be jealous, or have you already ridden him?” Elizabeth began.
Darcy slowed and smiled down at her. Once again, she had rejected such banalities as the weather. “Apollo will manage. I am certain young Tommy has been taking excellent care of him.” In truth, he couldn’t bear to leave Netherfield while Elizabeth was alive and in residence—he had left Apollo to his own devices since the moment Elizabeth had arrived. “How is your sister this morning?”
“Improved. She intends to join us this evening after dinner should she continue to feel well enough.”
“I am pleased to hear so.”
Elizabeth shot him a puzzled look.
“Though not close in age, my sister and I are very attached. I am always pleased when she recovers quickly—I am certain you are equally pleased with your sister’s recovery.”
“I am.”
Darcy noted once again that he did not have to alter his stride much for Elizabeth to keep up. She walked rather than mincing through the garden. It was yet another way she was his match. Miss Bingley had never understood how much of a country gentleman he was.
“Speaking of young Tommy, I have suggested to Bingley that he consult you about Netherfield’s tenants,” Darcy began.
Elizabeth frowned. “For what purpose?”
“After your conversation with Tommy, I deduced that you were familiar with the tenants’ needs. Though Bingley’s steward will give him an accounting, you know the families. Netherfield has long been without a master, and its tenants’ needs must be attended to.”
Her brow cleared. “I will do what I can to assist.”
“Thank you. I am certain Bingley will appreciate your help.”
“And is that why you are here? To provide him with advice?”
Darcy grimaced. The words appeared innocent, but Elizabeth’s tone had an edge to it that he didn’t understand. Had Elizabeth believed him to be interfering in Bingley’s life even from the beginning? “I have been the master of my own estate for some time now, and Bingley wished me to share my experience and to help him assess the property. Though he will make a fine landowner, he is new to the task.”
“And what do you think of Netherfield?”
Darcy considered, his steps slowing as he studied the surrounding garden. Though someone had trimmed it, it was clearly in need of attention. The hedges stretched out in every direction, whip-like switches of Hawthorn reaching to block the path every so often. Plants spilled out of beds, and seed pods littered the ground. He gestured to one such bed. “It is like this garden—full of hidden potential. A good master who invested time and money could turn it into a profitable and beautiful property, but neglect has covered over it with weeds.”
“Very poetic.”
Darcy flushed, awkwardly returning his hand to rest at his side. “Unintentional, to be sure.” A wicked thought hit him. He glanced sideways at her. “I have no desire to drive you away with bad poetry.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks shifted to the colour of late summer roses.
“—out here somewhere with that tart,” Miss Bingley’s strident tones rang from over the hedge.
Darcy’s eyes narrowed. How dare she! However, he had no desire to be waylaid by the Bingley sisters. In the past—or future?—he had discovered a nook few people entered and now he pulled Elizabeth towards it.
“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth began.
Darcy merely shook his head and held a finger to his lips. He would not allow that harridan to spoil his time with Elizabeth!
“How dare she put her hooks in my Mr. Darcy!” Miss Bingley said, her footsteps drawing closer.
Darcy growled. How dare that woman claim him!
“Why are you concerned? He will never marry her. Not with a family like hers,” Mrs. Hurst said.
Miss Bingley giggled. “Especially not with that mother. Did you see the way she prattled on? She practically threw Jane at Charles.”
“She could not have been more obvious,” Mrs. Hurst agreed.
“Unless she dragged him up to Jane’s bedchamber and locked him in.”
Peals of laughter echoed through the garden.
Elizabeth’s breath hitched,
and Darcy looked down at her in concern. Her hands were fisted at her sides and her breathing was becoming ragged. He grasped her arm and shook his head. She glared at him but acquiesced to his silent instructions. Reluctantly, he returned his arm to his side.
“She would not dare!” Mrs. Hurst said.
“No, but it is something to remember,” Miss Bingley murmured.
“Are you concerned about Charles?”
“Jane is a sweet girl, but I will not have her marrying Charles,” Miss Bingley said, her voice promising retribution should anyone get in her way. “There are plenty of young women of the first circles who would accept him.”
“Not to mention you would not want Miss Eliza Bennet so close to hand,” Mrs. Hurt replied slyly.
“No, that would not do at all. Not with the way Mr. Darcy looks at her.”
Elizabeth’s gaze flew to Darcy, and it was his turn to blush.
Mrs. Hurst sighed. “I think it’s sweet. I remember when Gerald used to look at me like—”
“Mr. Hurst never looked at you like you were the sun in his sky,” Miss Bingley said waspishly. “And it is only because she is so forward. Men never marry their mistresses.”
Darcy took a step forward, but Elizabeth caught his arm and held him in place. Darcy’s jaw clenched, but he obeyed the instruction. They had remained hidden for too long now. There was no way to extricate themselves without creating even more of a mess, save wait for the Bingley sisters to leave.
Elizabeth left her hand on his arm. Darcy was sure it was an oversight, but it sent a thrill of joy through him—she was alive, flesh and blood, touching him. The anger drained out—what were the Bingley sisters compared to the wonder of Elizabeth alive?
They both tensed as the sisters drew near their hiding place.
Mrs. Hurst harrumphed but did not gainsay Miss Bingley.
“I will have Mr. Darcy. Why else would he have agreed to stay with us if he were not interested in me on some level?” Miss Bingley continued.
Other than his close friendship with Bingley? Were it not for his deep affection for the young man, Darcy would never have remained under the same roof as Miss Bingley . . . . Then again, his past self would have and did agree to stay for weeks in the same house (and likely would have repeated that mistake), not realising how horrid the woman could be—he had known she was vapid, but much of her arrogance and ruthlessness had been invisible to him against the backdrop of his own pride.
Mrs. Hurst made a noncommittal sound as the sisters passed by Darcy and Elizabeth. Neither woman turned, nor indicated they were aware of the couple. Darcy held his breath as the sound of their footsteps receded.
“How fine I shall be once I am Mrs. Darcy,” Miss Bingley said dreamily.
“Indeed. You will have more carriages than Charles.”
“I shall. And Mrs. Darcy will be required to wear only the latest fashions—not the rags they wear in the country. If Jane weren’t such a dear girl, I would have laughed in her face when she arrived sopping wet in such a horrid dress. It had to have been at least two years old.”
“And Miss Eliza’s hem!” Mrs. Hurst hurried to agree.
“I have never seen so much mud,” Miss Bingley said with a shudder in her voice.
Elizabeth shifted, the colour flaming in her cheeks again.
“She ought to see the spring floods at Pemberley,” Darcy whispered. “My valet begins his lament over what shall happen to my boots an entire year in advance.”
Elizabeth smothered a giggle.
“Now where could they have gotten to?” Miss Bingley snapped, her footsteps speeding away.
Darcy and Elizabeth froze once more, but before long, even the women’s footsteps dwindled.
With the loss of the two women’s commentary came consciousness of the couple’s position.
Elizabeth bit her lip. “Mr. Darcy, I—”
“Please allow me to apologise for their lack of courtesy. Were I not concerned for your reputation, I would call Miss Bingley out—woman or not.”
Elizabeth gurgled a laugh. “If you were truly concerned for my reputation, you would not have dragged me back here.”
Darcy reared back, then saw the humour in her words. “I suppose there is that. Regardless, I am sorry for their deplorable behaviour and any pain it caused you.” He gave her a small bow.
“I admit I was—overset by their cruelty, but Miss Bingley said nothing that I have not suspected her of thinking.”
“Nor I. I really must speak to Bingley. She cannot be allowed to continue in her ways.”
Elizabeth eyed him.
Taking a leaf from her book, Darcy raised an eyebrow in inquiry—or at least he attempted to do so.
“I believed Miss Bingley a favourite of yours,” Elizabeth confessed.
“As does she,” Darcy said wryly. “Bingley is a good man, and I would endure much to retain his friendship.” He hesitated, then reminded himself of his resolve to be more open: he had to woo Elizabeth, make his interest clear—though not overpowering. “In addition, I was sincere when I listed the characteristics an accomplished woman ought to have, and Miss Bingley does not fit such a list in any sense of the word.”
“Do you believe it your job to police her behaviour?”
Darcy took a step back. “Not at all.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “It is merely that I myself have experienced the myriad benefits of having someone call me out on my own deplorable behaviour.” He hesitated, torn between the relief of confessing his vision to her and fear of her reaction. Internally, he shook his head. No, now was not the time. “I would wish such a boon upon Miss Bingley.”
Elizabeth smiled hesitantly. “Again, you surprise me, Mr. Darcy.”
“I hope it is a pleasant surprise.”
“Indeed.” She plucked a blood-red leaf off a nearby bush, fingering it nervously. “I know that my family is . . .”
“Lively. Your mother is driven by fear of the entail. It may not make her manners genteel, but it is understandable.”
Elizabeth frowned. “How do you know of the entail?”
Darcy froze then countered, “How do you know of my reputed 10,000 pounds?”
“Touche.”
“You fence?” Darcy asked, his mouth dropping open. The things this woman was capable of!
Elizabeth chuckled. “Not at all. My father often uses the terms in debate with me, and I suppose they have made their way into my vocabulary.”
“I see.” He shook his head, returning to the topic at hand. “I am certain you love your family as dearly as I love my sister and only want what is best for them.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I do—despite the mortification their behaviour may engender.”
If Georgiana had eloped with Wickham, what would he have done? It was a question he had agonised over for months. He would have hated it, been devastated—but never would he have renounced his sister.
If only he could enlist Elizabeth to the cause of saving her own family. However, he had not earned the right to interfere—yet.
Darcy forced a smile. “I am certain should my sister cause mortification, I would love her still.”
“Yes, though I am certain she has never caused you a day of trouble.”
Darcy’s thoughts swirled around the day when he had arrived in Ramsgate. “Never intentionally.” He dragged himself back to Elizabeth, who was now watching him with concern. “She has—were you aware that my father died several years ago?”
Elizabeth shook her head.
“Yes. My mother passed away shortly after Georgiana was born, and my father died five years ago. Though I share guardianship of Georgiana with my cousin, I worry that I have not done as well with Georgiana as I have wished. After my father’s death, I was—preoccupied with running an estate I had little experience managing. Though she has always had a governess and a companion, I feel I ought to have taken a more direct hand in her education.”
Elizabeth’s hand twitched up, and she redirected
it to the bush, removing another leaf. “That sounds difficult.”
“It was. I have recently realised Georgie is no longer a child, but rather a young woman. She never wished to attend a school, and I had no desire to be parted from her for so much of the year. However, I have lately wished that she had more female companionship. She could use some of your younger sisters’ liveliness.”
Elizabeth dropped the leaf. “Are you—I do not hear Miss Bingley anymore. Perhaps we ought to return to the house. I would like to make sure my sister is well.”
“Of course.” Woodenly, Darcy offered her his arm and led them down the path. What had he done wrong? He had been trying to work the conversation around to Elizabeth’s family or perhaps Wickham, but something he had said had bothered Elizabeth. Darcy frowned. The workings of her mind remained a mystery despite his commitment to live in such a way that she would not be ashamed of him. What would she suggest? Not mind reading. His Elizabeth was fully capable of pointing out his error.
Darcy cleared his throat. “Miss Elizabeth, have I offended you?”
Elizabeth blushed. “Not at all.”
“You seem discomfited,” he persisted.
“Mr. Darcy, I do not know what to say when a gentleman is either mocking my family or hinting towards feelings which are not returned,” she snapped.
Darcy halted, pulling her to a stop beside him as his thoughts raced. He had not intended such a trajectory to their conversation, but a man might propose a marriage alliance based on the needs of his sister. And Elizabeth did have reason to believe that he might mock her sister’s liveliness given his previous friendship with Miss Bingley—though it had been so long ago, practically another lifetime, she had likely noticed their friendliness in the month she had known him. Perhaps her distress was more reasonable than it had initially seemed
“Miss Elizabeth, please believe me—I did not intend to do either. Forgive my wayward tongue. I have truly been worried about Georgiana’s shyness, but you are correct—it was not proper of me to unburden myself to you. I hope you can forgive me?”
A Vision of the Path Before Him Page 8