CHAPTER 5
Almost home. He was almost home. The refrain repeated in Darcy’s mind as he rode the last few miles to Pemberley. His horse, recognizing that his stable was near, was eager to canter, and Darcy had no objection. He had not been back to Pemberley since Christmas, over half a year ago, and he had missed it every single day.
Just as he longed for Elizabeth Bennet every day, but that was a hopeless cause. At least Pemberley was his, even if he could never share it with Elizabeth. He wondered what she would have thought of it. Would she love its elegant architecture and expansive grounds, or would she find herself hemmed in by the wild hills of Derbyshire? Some women disliked them. Perhaps Elizabeth, with her love of long walks, would enjoy exploring the moors and rugged edges. In his imagination, she stood beside him overlooking a view of Pemberley, the brisk wind playing in her curls.
Why was he even thinking such a thing? He would never see Elizabeth again, unless by some chance she returned to Hunsford for Easter in the future. But she would not do so; he knew that. She would avoid visiting Kent in the springtime just because of the knowledge that he might be there. He should not even admit the possibility to himself that they might meet again. It would not happen, and keeping even the merest flicker of hope alive only caused that much more pain and despair.
He pulled up his horse at the top of the hill as Pemberley came into view. The sight of it nestled beside the lake provided a much needed balm for his heart. Perhaps here he would finally find some peace. When he had been here last, he had not even dreamed he might propose marriage to Elizabeth Bennet, or that he might be refused. He had still thought then that any woman would be fortunate to have him, and that was how it should be. He had never been denied anything he truly wanted. What cruel fate had arranged it so that he would be denied the woman he loved?
He loosened the reins and gave his horse the freedom to gallop the last mile. The dust of the road rose around him. The wind whistling past Darcy’s ears cooled the sweat on his brow after the long ride in the August sun, which shone brighter than its usual wont in Derbyshire, as if to gild the landscape for his pleasure.
He slowed his mount only when they neared the stable. He heard a stable boy give a shout, and the stable master himself came out to meet him as he swung down from the saddle.
“Welcome home, Mr. Darcy. We did not expect you until tomorrow, but everything is in readiness, as always.”
“I have no doubt of it,” Darcy said dryly, slapping the dust from his thighs. Mrs. Reynolds would never allow anything less than perfect readiness. “I have ridden far today, and he will need to cool off.”
“Yes, sir.” The stable master handed the reins to one of the boys who had run out to observe the master’s return.
Darcy removed his hat and tucked it under his arm, then ran his fingers through his hair, letting the air dry the remaining beads of perspiration. It was definitely time for a bath and fresh clothes. He strode along the road as it turned toward Pemberley House, providing a vista over the great lawn and the river.
And of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, standing not twenty yards from him.
Could he be imagining it? Could the long, hot ride and his brooding thoughts of Elizabeth have created the image in his head? No, he could never mistake the true Elizabeth for anyone else. His breath caught in his chest as his eyes met hers, her cheeks overspread with the deepest blush. A thousand questions raced through his head. Why could she possibly be at Pemberley? What had brought her there? Had she known he was coming?
And the most difficult question of all - had she wanted to see him, or was her blush one of chagrin at his presence?
If he kept standing there like a statue, she would think him a complete idiot. Marshalling his courage, he advanced toward her. “Miss Bennet, this is an unexpected pleasure.” Even he could hear the tension in his voice.
She had turned away, but, on his approach, murmured words of greeting so softly he could barely make them out. She did not lift her eyes to his face. Was it embarrassment or dislike that made her so uncharacteristically shy? He was swept with a longing to take her into his arms. But instead he said, “Have you been in Derbyshire long?”
“Only three days, sir.”
He struggled for something to say. “How you been away from Longbourn long?”
“We left a fortnight ago.”
“I hope your family is in good health.”
“Very good health, I thank you.”
“And how long will you be staying?”
“A few days more.” Her lips twitched.
“Your family, are they well?”
“Quite well.” Now she was laughing behind her eyes at him.
He was making a fool of himself. What would she think of him, disheveled from the road and unable to make the most basic polite conversation? She would dislike him as much as ever, of course. Surely he could think of something intelligible to say, but it seemed that every thought had fled his mind at the sight of her.
Mortified, he took his leave of her, then strode toward the house as quickly as his legs would carry him.
***
What a failure that had been! When he had dreamed of having a second chance with Elizabeth, it had been to show her by every civility in his power that he was a changed man, that her reproofs had not gone unnoticed.
Instead, he had made himself look ridiculous in front of Elizabeth, acting like a besotted idiot who could not manage even the most inconsequential of conversations. The more he wished for her good opinion, it seemed, the more elusive it became.
He would not stand for it. He was Fitzwilliam Darcy, the Master of Pemberley, not a foolish boy mooning after a dairy maid. If he wanted to change her opinion of him, he would do so. He called sharply for a manservant, wishing he had not left his valet with his baggage.
A quarter hour later, he was dressed in clean clothes with boots that shone. He had not taken the time to be shaved; he did not know when Elizabeth planned to leave, and he was determined not to miss her. A footman was able to provide the requisite information, that the gardener was taking the party of visitors on the accustomed circuit of the park. Donning his hat and gloves, Darcy set forth, ready to conquer dragons, or at least to make polite conversation with the one woman he could not forget.
The usual path took visitors along a ridge and down to the river in such a manner that the best vistas were revealed to them. Darcy set out from the far end of it toward the beginning, an oddly disorienting experience. It was as if he were walking backwards, seeing the familiar trees and rocks from a new perspective, but he had no interest in the scenery, apart from that which included Elizabeth.
After the better part of a mile, he caught sight of Elizabeth and her party past a curve in the stream. His heart began to pound. He would have to make this appear to be a casual meeting, as if by accident. No, that was ridiculous. Why would Elizabeth believe that, immediately on his return to Pemberley after a long trip, he would suddenly have the impulse to take a walk in the woods? She would know it was deliberate, but there was nothing to be done for it.
And then, before he could ready himself, she was before him, as lovely and enchanting as ever. She fit as perfectly on the familiar path as he had always known she would. It was fortunate that he had already planned his first words, otherwise he would once again be reduced to a stammering fool. Instead, he managed a pretense of calm. “Miss Bennet, I hope your walk has been a pleasant one.”
She lifted her chin slightly, but smiled. “How could it be otherwise? The park here is so delightful, the views charming.” She stopped abruptly then, as if in confusion, and a blush once again bloomed on her cheeks.
Surely she could not think he would resent praise of Pemberley from her! “I am glad to hear it. The park has been the work of several generations.” He noticed the lady and gentleman slightly behind her. He did not recognize them from his visit to Hertfordshire, and the cut of their clothing spoke of London rather than the countryside. “Will you d
o me the honour of introducing me to your friends?”
Her fine eyes widened slightly, then the corners of her mouth twitched. “Mr. Darcy, may I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner? Mr. Gardiner is my uncle who resides in Cheapside. This, as I am sure you must have guessed, is Mr. Darcy.”
“I am honored,” he murmured automatically with a polite bow, but in truth he was stunned. These were her aunt and uncle from Cheapside? He had assumed all of her relations were as uncouth as her mother, but this couple was fashionably and appropriately attired, and their manners, as they accepted the introduction, were impeccable. “I hope you are enjoying your visit to Pemberley.”
“Indeed we are,” said Mr. Gardiner heartily. “My wife has praised the beauty of Pemberley to me many times, and now that I have seen the original, I can say with certainty that she has not exaggerated.”
Darcy turned to Mrs. Gardiner. “This is not your first visit to Derbyshire, then?”
Mrs. Gardiner smiled. “No, indeed. I was raised not far from here, in Lambton.”
“In Lambton?” Darcy cursed himself for allowing his surprise to show. She seemed too fashionable to be from a small market town. “Then you must know the area well.”
“Yes, and it is a great joy to revisit the sites of my past pleasures.”
Mr. Gardiner said, “Your man has been telling me what a fine trout stream you have here.”
Darcy seized on the topic. “Are you a fisherman? Then you must fish here as often as you wish while you are in the neighbourhood. I will supply you with any tackle you may need, of course. Will you allow me to show you the parts of the stream where there is the most sport?” Darcy was grateful to have found such a safe topic of discussion.
“You are very generous, Mr. Darcy,” said Mr. Gardiner as they began to walk, the two ladies in front, the two gentlemen behind.
Darcy could only half attend to his conversation with Mr. Gardiner, not because his discourse lacked interest, but because of the lovely distraction in front of him. He had not forgotten for a moment her light and graceful walk or the way her hands fluttered when she conversed. As they rounded a turning in the path, the sun shone ahead of her, outlining the delicious lines of her legs through the translucent fabric of her skirt.
Darcy swallowed hard and tried to focus his mind on trout lest he find himself in an embarrassing condition, but it was impossible to tear his eyes away from the entrancing sight.
***
Almost an hour later, Elizabeth watched Mr. Darcy walk toward the house slowly, as if deep in thought, as the carriage began to pull away, unsure whether she was glad or sorry to be leaving his disconcerting presence.
She barely noticed when her aunt and uncle exchanged a significant glance.
Mr. Gardiner cleared his throat. “I must admit that I found Mr. Darcy infinitely superior to anything I had expected. He is perfectly well behaved, polite and unassuming.”
“There is something a little stately in him to be sure, but it is confined to his air, and is not unbecoming. I can now say with the housekeeper, that though some people may call him proud, I have seen nothing of it,”
replied Mrs. Gardiner pointedly.
Her husband nodded his agreement. “I was never surprised than by his behavior to us. It was more than civil; it was really attentive, and there was no necessity for such attention. His acquaintance with Lizzy was very trifling.” His tone suggested this was more of a question than a statement, and he cocked an eye at her.
Elizabeth fidgeted uncomfortably with the ribbons of her bonnet. She had never mentioned meeting Mr.
Darcy in Kent to them, which must make his behavior even more inexplicable. Still, how could she tell them about furthering her acquaintance with him without mention of how they had parted?
When she said nothing, Mrs. Gardiner made another sally. “To be sure, he is not so handsome as Wickham, though his features are perfectly good. But how came you to tell us he was so disagreeable?”
“He… I do not know. I have never seen him so pleasant as this morning.” And she had never expected to feel hot and cold all over, as if the ground was unsteady, merely from being in his presence.
“From what we have seen, I really should not have thought that he could have behaved in so cruel a way as he has done by poor Wickham. He has not an ill-natured look. On the contrary, there is something pleasing about his mouth when he speaks. And there is something of dignity in his countenance, that would not give one an unfavourable idea of his heart.” Mrs. Gardiner emphasized her last word.
Elizabeth’s cheeks grew warm. Why did her aunt have to be so perceptive? “The last time I saw Mr.
Wickham, he said he had perhaps been overly harsh in his description of Mr. Darcy. Apparently Mr. Darcy did not ignore his father’s will, but instead gave Mr. Wickham a large sum in lieu of the living.”
Mrs. Gardiner frowned. “Why would Mr. Wickham have told such a tale? He seemed so amiable, but perhaps the housekeeper’s description of him was more accurate than I had thought. But how did he come to make such a confession to you?”
“I do not know what to believe anymore!” Elizabeth exclaimed in frustration. “I have no answers to your questions.” Except that there was no possibility she could ever see him without remembering his words of ardent love at Hunsford. Knowing that his enigmatic smile bespoke passion rather than criticism had changed everything between them forever.
Her uncle frowned, and Elizabeth knew that while nothing more might be said at this juncture, the subject was not closed.
Her thoughts seemed to race in circles. Mr. Darcy had indeed been civil beyond any expectation. She had been astonished at his desire to introduce her to his sister, but after that, the remainder of their walk had passed in silence. Elizabeth usually prided herself on her ability to maintain a conversation with almost anyone, but in this case she had been tongue-tied by the awareness that the man by her side had not so long ago confessed to being violently in love with her. That evening in Hunsford had changed everything, making it impossible for her to be indifferent toward him, impossible for her to overlook his physical presence? Now she found herself unable to maintain the same feelings of anger toward him, and was disturbed by the extent to which she had found herself longing for him to… she did not even know what she longed for, and that disturbed her even more.
***
Elizabeth and the Gardiners had only just dressed for dinner on the following day when the sound of a carriage drew them to a window, and they saw a gentleman and lady in a curricle, driving up the street. Mrs.
Gardiner said, “Is that not the Darcy livery? Yes, yes, I can see now that it is, and Mr. Darcy himself is driving!
I wonder what would bring him to Lambton?”
Elizabeth, with no small degree of embarrassment, said, “When I was walking with Mr. Darcy yesterday, he asked my permission to introduce his sister to me. I had not expected he would bring her today. She must have only just arrived.”
“He wishes you to meet his sister? Why, that is quite an honour!” Mrs. Gardiner exchanged a look with her husband. “He must think very highly of you.”
Mr. Gardiner seemed to be studying his niece’s expression. “Indeed he must.”
Elizabeth blushed. The perturbation of her feelings was every moment increasing. She was quite amazed at her own discomposure. She could give no reason why it was important to her for his sister to think well of her, but it was, and amongst other causes of disquiet, she dreaded lest the partiality of the brother should have said too much in her favour. More than commonly anxious to please, she naturally suspected that every power of pleasing would fail her.
She retreated from the window, fearful of being seen; and as she walked up and down the room, endeavouring to compose herself, saw such looks of enquiry in her uncle and aunt as made every thing worse.
This could only confirm their suspicions.
Miss Darcy and her brother appeared, and the formidable introduction took place. With astonis
hment did Elizabeth see that her new acquaintance was at least as much embarrassed as herself. Since being at Lambton, she had heard that Miss Darcy was exceedingly proud; but the observation of a very few minutes convinced her that she was only exceedingly shy. She found it difficult to obtain even a word from her beyond a monosyllable.
No matter how much Elizabeth tried to put Mr. Darcy’s words from Hunsford out of her mind, they kept coming back to her. When he would turn his dark eyes on her with the half-smile she had once thought to be derisive and now knew to be admiration of her person, she felt hot all over and as if everyone present must be able to hear the echo of his voice saying, “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
Elizabeth’s perturbation grew when Miss Darcy hesitantly invited her party to call at Pemberley the very next day. A girl so shy could not possibly wish for the company of near-strangers, so the invitation must be the work of her brother, and she was determined to match his civility.
Later, in an attempt to unravel the mystery of Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth asked one of the maids at the inn about him. “Oh, miss, he is a handsome gentleman, is he not?” the girl exclaimed. “Terrible proud, they say, but who wouldn’t be?”
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