A Vision of the Path Before Him

by Elizabeth Frerichs

  Fitzwilliam chuckled, then sobered as it became apparent that Darcy was in earnest. “One would think you have learned naught about how to woo a woman!”

  Darcy sighed. “My father and I did not speak of it. During school, I was too shy and too preoccupied with classes to participate in the dalliances many young men of our station engage in.”

  “Well,” Fitzwilliam rubbed his hands together, “I am here now, and I will offer you the benefit of my extensive experience.”

  Darcy shook his head in exasperation. “You have extensive experience in minor flirtations. Name one woman you have wooed with the intent of proposing to her.”

  “I cannot, as you well know, however, I am skilled in charming women and will do my best to assist you.” Fitzwilliam straightened, assuming the mantle of mock superiority. “And, as your professor of love, I believe you ought to make your interest clearer.”

  Darcy sighed. “I do not think I could bear another rejection,” he confessed quietly. “I have already lost her twice Before—once when she rejected me and once when she died. My heart cannot survive a third time.”

  “But if you do not engage her interest, someone else may,” Fitzwilliam pointed out. “You cannot rely on a vision that may or may not be true to guide you. Even if it is true, there is no reason to adhere to those events now.”

  “Perhaps not. However, I still believe that allowing Miss Elizabeth time for her feelings to change is the right course of action.”

  Fitzwilliam waved his objection aside. “Women change their minds all the time! And it does not take them long to do so.” He held up a hand as Darcy objected. “I will observe her behaviour, with you and then I can advise you on the best course of action.” He paused, brow furrowing. “What of her sisters?”

  “What of her sisters?” Darcy asked, bewildered by the sudden topic change.

  “Do not tell me that you have not spoken of your interest in Miss Elizabeth with them.”

  “Why would I speak to them?”

  “Darcy!” Fitzwilliam cried in exasperation. “They know what tokens of affection Miss Elizabeth is most likely to enjoy. They are your best allies—at least, whichever sisters are closest to her will be.”

  Darcy’s chin tucked under as he imagined attempting such a conversation—he would rather face his Aunt Catherine at her most fearsome than speak to Elizabeth’s sisters of his feelings, even Miss Bennet who would be unfailingly kind.

  “You look like I’ve just given you a death sentence,” Fitzwilliam said lightly. “Are her sisters worse than Father on Quarter day?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. Should not Miss Elizabeth be the first person I speak to about my affections for her?” he suggested.

  Fitzwilliam sighed gustily. “If you would ever broach the topic with her. However, since you are determined to woo her at a snail’s pace, her sisters will prevent your efforts from stalling entirely while you gather details as to whether she prefers lavender to roses.” He threw up his hands. “I say just give the girl flowers! Trust me, women do not expect you to know the breadth of their preferences until you are well-acquainted.”

  Darcy fidgeted. “I do not think I can initiate such a conversation with Miss Elizabeth’s sisters. I would not know where to begin.”

  “At the beginning? You desire to woo Miss Elizabeth, and would they please tell you what her preferences are?”

  Heat flooded the back of Darcy’s neck. He could not be that blunt with anyone. Even telling Bingley and Fitzwilliam of his love for Elizabeth had been uncomfortable. However, he reminded himself, he was working on being more open with others. If Bingley married Miss Bennet and he married Elizabeth, he would gain her as a sister whom he would see regularly. Perhaps attempting to speak to her more would not be a terrible idea. After they had established a rapport, it would not be so difficult to discuss Elizabeth with her.

  “Darcy, you cannot woo a woman if your affections are a secret even from her,” Fitzwilliam said earnestly.

  Darcy’s eyes slid closed as he recalled how shocked Elizabeth had been when he proposed at Rosings. No, he would not make that mistake again. Perhaps he had erred on the side of too much caution. Fitzwilliam was well-versed in the rules of flirtation, despite his disinterest in settling down.

  Gratitude for Fitzwilliam’s care spread warmth through his veins. He could not imagine being so open about the results of losing his father at such a young age with anyone else, save Bingley. He opened his eyes to see his cousin staring at him, worry shining through his gaze. “Thank you, Fitzwilliam.”

  Fitzwilliam started. “What?”

  “Thank you,” Darcy repeated. “I am grateful beyond measure for your friendship and support. Thank you for helping me with Miss Elizabeth as you have done with so many other things over the course of our lives.”

  Fitzwilliam nodded. “Of course.”

  “I have taken you for granted in the past, and I am heartily ashamed of that.”

  Fitzwilliam waved aside his apology. “You have supported me many times as well.”

  Darcy suppressed a protest, recognising his cousin’s discomfort with the topic. He had supported his cousin financially. However, he had failed to support Fitzwilliam in the many ways his cousin had helped him. He would do better though.

  With a groan, Fitzwilliam roused himself and left, proclaiming that he intended to take a carriage into Meryton in hopes of completing his business as quickly as possible. Darcy let him go without further conversation, his mind full of how best to woo Elizabeth.

  Chapter 22

  Darcy fidgeted as Penn tied his cravat. The past four days of rain had left his nerves stretched tighter than the Beau’s most fashionable coat. He recalled the days of rain as a mild annoyance Before: though Miss Bingley had afflicted them with her incessant natter about the ball preparations, he had been left, by and large, blessedly alone.

  This time, however, he worried over what mischief Wickham was plotting and he missed Elizabeth. Four days without seeing her had brought the ache of her death into sharp focus, and he decided that he could not bear to return to London or Pemberley without her. He would work to resolve the situation with Wickham and ask Bingley if he and Georgiana could spend Christmas at Netherfield.

  Even Apollo seemed miserable. Of course, that might have been the lack of exercise he received as it was too wet to ride. But Darcy liked to think that his horse was pining for Elizabeth too.

  In addition, Miss Bingley seemed even more determined to prove her mettle as a potential society wife and asked his opinion on far more ball details than she had Before. Fitzwilliam found the whole thing hilarious and teased Darcy incessantly (when he was not with the militia). As a soldier, he simply endured the rain, explaining to Miss Bingley that he was used to rain and lucky not to have to sleep in it now. Darcy suspected the explanation, though accurate, was given solely to provoke the look of dawning horror on her face.

  Darcy had been reduced to escaping to the study with Bingley where they poured over maps and books, designing a master list of improvements and deciding which crops to plant in which fields, or to his room where he paced and attempted to read.

  “Sir?” Penn asked.

  Darcy shook himself. “Yes?”

  “Is your cravat satisfactory?” he asked in the tone of one repeating something for the fifth time.

  Darcy nodded without examining it. If Penn thought his cravat satisfactory, he was certain it was appropriate.

  “Are you all right, sir?”

  Darcy fidgeted with his shirt cuffs. “It has been a long few days.”

  “Indeed,” Penn agreed. “The staff will be pleased when this ball is over.”

  “I am not surprised,” Darcy said. As predicted, Miss Bingley had been forced to hire local people and, as a result, she had changed her mind multiple times a day on various details, constantly ordering servants to do one thing and then to do something entirely different, all the while berating them for their stupidity. Darcy had tiptoed pas
t several such scenes on his forays out of his room.

  “And you?” Penn asked. “Will you be glad when the ball is over?”

  “I—I do not know.” This was perhaps the only ball he had ever looked forward to, save his first ball. Elizabeth would be here, and he never wished to leave her presence. However, if the weather was fine on the morrow, perhaps he would see her at Oakham Mount again.

  On the other hand, the anticipated stresses of the ball promised to be a gauntlet he might long to escape far before it ended. Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth had enjoyed each other’s company Before, so he was not precisely concerned about their introduction. However, Fitzwilliam’s approval would help convince Darcy’s relatives to accept Elizabeth, and he was unsure whether he would receive it. He had not told Fitzwilliam of his feelings for Elizabeth Before, so he did not know if Fitzwilliam would appreciate Elizabeth more or less than previously.

  He was further apprehensive as to how the officers would react to his presence tonight. Would Colonel Forster attempt to intercede on Wickham’s behalf? History appeared determined to repeat itself in many ways, and Elizabeth had taken him to task for his rejection of Wickham on this night Before. Though Elizabeth would not object to his behaviour regarding Wickham now, others might.

  Also, he was uncertain how Elizabeth would respond to any overtures he made towards her tonight and how he would broach her preferences with Miss Bennet and Miss Lucas. He had gone over and over Fitzwilliam’s advice, studying it as though it were one of the most difficult mathematics problems his professors had ever set. Yet he still did not have the faintest idea how to begin. Nor had he decided whether it was honourable to speak to Elizabeth’s sister and friend before he spoke to her. He hoped that seeing the women in question might decide him one way or the other.

  In addition, the morrow brought with it an entirely new set of challenges: Bingley was once more called to London on urgent business, and Darcy had promised to ensure the Bingley sisters did not close Netherfield in his absence. It was not a task he relished.

  Penn helped him into his coat. “You have mentioned that Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Elizabeth got along well in your vision; I am certain there is nothing to worry about on that score.”

  “Penn, do you believe Miss Elizabeth will make a suitable wife for me?” Darcy asked in a rare moment of self-doubt. “Lady Catherine will never accept her, but she would not accept any wife of mine save her daughter. If Fitzwilliam does not approve, I do not see how I shall convince the Matlocks to support Miss Elizabeth.”

  “I do. She has already made you a better person, begging your pardon, and she seems like just the person to help Miss Georgiana and to share the load of Pemberley.” Penn hesitated. “I believe, sir, you ought rather to ask whether you will make a suitable husband for her.”

  Darcy’s eyes widened in horror as he realised he had once more fallen into the trap of seeing Elizabeth’s position as inferior to his own. Penn was right: Elizabeth was richer than he in the things that truly mattered, which was why he had spent these past six months becoming a man worthy of her.

  “You are right. Thank you, Penn.”

  “You are very welcome, sir.” Penn dusted imperceptible specks from Darcy’s coat and then pronounced him ready.

  Darcy glanced at the time, debating once more whether he wished to go downstairs now, when he would be in advance of the other guests and forced to listen to more of Miss Bingley’s complaints, or whether it would be best to wait until others had arrived. The thought of missing time with Elizabeth decided him: he would go now. After thanking Penn once more and taking a deep breath, Darcy sallied forth.

  Darcy’s breath caught as Elizabeth entered the ballroom. Candlelight glimmered off her brunette curls and the luminescent pearls she wore in her hair. He had seen her thus Before, but he had forgotten or never appreciated how lovely she was.

  Fitzwilliam elbowed him. “From your impression of a dying fish, I conjecture that one of those fair maidens is your Miss Elizabeth. Will you introduce me?”

  Darcy closed his mouth with a snap, then gasped again as Elizabeth turned a wide smile on him. Bingley had apparently abandoned his host duties in favour of escorting Miss Bennet (and Elizabeth) into the ballroom. Seeing Darcy, he steered the group towards him. Darcy’s feet moved of their own accord, pulling him along so he could bask in the light of Elizabeth’s beauty. Fitzwilliam followed.

  He had catalogued Elizabeth’s many smiles over the course of the year he had known her. Some showed her displeasure. Some displayed amusement of varying degrees. This smile was akin to the shy smile that she had given him after he asked for the supper set, yet different: Wider. Less shy. Something more, and it made his heart leap. Could she return his feelings?

  “Miss Elizabeth,” he said, nearly tripping as he bowed over her hand.

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam, may I introduce Miss Bennet and her sister, Miss Elizabeth?” Bingley said.

  “Miss Bennet,” Fitzwilliam acknowledged, kissing her hand. He turned to Elizabeth. “And the illustrious Miss Elizabeth. I have heard much about you,” he said, casting a significant glance towards Darcy and kissing her hand extravagantly.

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam,” both ladies replied.

  “I have heard much about you as well, Colonel,” Elizabeth said.

  “All good, I hope!” he replied with a chuckle.

  “If you will excuse us,” Bingley said as he guided Miss Bennet towards where Sir William was bearing down on them.

  Darcy was grateful for his friend’s perspicacity. He had no desire to listen to Sir William’s pleasantries and small talk about the ball. He had ears only for Elizabeth.

  “Did you have a pleasant journey, Colonel?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Yes. I was fortunate enough to be visiting my favourite cousin in London when Darcy’s message reached me,” Fitzwilliam said with a teasing look towards Darcy.

  Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Favourite cousin?”

  “As I have lately told Darcy, his sister Georgiana is my ward. I am obliged to have her as my favourite cousin.”

  “I see.” Elizabeth cast laughing eyes on Darcy. “And Mr. Darcy is your?”

  “Second-favourite cousin.”

  “Ah.”

  “Yes,” Darcy said, trying to force his frozen tongue to work. “I have since informed the Colonel that I prefer his brother over him as well.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “I see you are well-matched.”

  “Some may say so,” Darcy said. “And how are you, Miss Elizabeth? Has the rain dampened your spirits as much as it has the inhabitants of Netherfield?”

  “I will admit to some—agitation after being locked up in the house for the entirety of the past four days. Your spirits have suffered similarly?”

  “They have,” he said. “Apollo, in particular, has missed your presence, and I have had to endure four days of sulking. It is enough to dampen anyone’s spirits.”

  Elizabeth smiled at him. “And I have missed Apollo.”

  “You did not tell me Apollo was such great friends with Miss Elizabeth,” Fitzwilliam said dryly. He smiled at Elizabeth roguishly. “He has excellent taste.”

  Elizabeth chuckled. “Why thank you, Colonel. I am glad Mr. Darcy’s horse’s approval has won your own.”

  Darcy smiled. “Yes, Fitzwilliam. Had I known that you valued my horse’s approval so much, I would have long ago provided you with a list of the people he prefers.”

  Fitzwilliam waved the comment aside. “Bah! I do not need a list of every person Apollo likes, however, as an officer, I know the value of a good horse’s good opinion.”

  Strains of music filled the air and, before any of them could say anything else, Mr. Collins bustled up to the group, immediately bowing low to Darcy.

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam, may I present my cousin, Mr. Collins?” Elizabeth said. “Mr. Collins, Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

  Both men bowed.

  “I apologise for interrupting what I am sure is amiabl
e discourse, however, my fair cousin has promised to dance the first set with me and—” Mr. Collins halted, turning his attention suddenly upon Colonel Fitzwilliam as though the name had only just reached his brain. “Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam?” he asked.

  Darcy met Elizabeth’s mischievous gaze and suppressed a look of glee. In the anticipation of seeing Elizabeth again and introducing her to Fitzwilliam, he had forgotten Mr. Collins’s probable response to Fitzwilliam’s presence.

  “Yes,” Fitzwilliam said, his tone full of confusion.

  “Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s nephew?” Mr. Collins pressed.

  Fitzwilliam sent Darcy a questioning glance, but Darcy remained impassive.

  “Yes,” Fitzwilliam said.

  “Forgive me for not coming to introduce myself the moment we arrived,” Mr. Collins gushed. “I did not know that we would be graced with the presence of another of my beneficent patroness’s relatives. Truly, Hertfordshire is blessed this day.”

  Darcy suppressed a chuckle at Fitzwilliam’s bewilderment. “Mr. Collins is Lady Catherine’s rector,” he reminded him.

  Fitzwilliam’s expression cleared. “Ah. Well—”

  “Yes, I have been fortunate indeed in my position. Lady Catherine, your aunt, is all that is good, wise, and kind, as I am certain you are aware of. Her attentions towards me have been gracious in the extreme.”

  The musicians sounded the call to the dance floor again, and Mr. Collins shifted in place, glancing agitatedly between the couples lining up, Elizabeth, and the two gentlemen. It reminded Darcy of a small boy fidgeting during Sabbath services.

  “It appears the dance is starting,” Fitzwilliam said blandly.

  “Yes, yes it does,” Mr. Collins said. “And, as Lady Catherine always says, tardiness is a heavy flaw, one that shows disrespect towards oneself and towards others.”

  “Unless she is the tardy one,” Fitzwilliam murmured to Darcy. “Then those who are bothered by her tardiness lack patience.”