“Sometimes gentlemen of such pride are not the best landlords.” Elizabeth watched the maid’s reaction closely.
“Oh, no, miss, they say he’s a generous landlord to his tenants. They’ll hear no ill of him, and sure the cottages on the estate are well-tended and no one goes hungry. Many a soul wishes they could be at Pemberley, either as tenant or servant.”
“Would you work at Pemberley if you could?”
“Oh, aye, miss! The pay is terrible good.” The girl lowered her voice. “He don’t mistreat his maidservants, if you know what I mean, nor does he allow anyone else to. Funny gentleman he is that way, but at least the girls don’t fear him. He expects good service, though, mind you. Sends the lazy ones packing, but that don’t happen much. Nobody wants to lose their position at Pemberley.”
So the housekeeper had been correct in that much. Apparently Mr. Darcy could be generous, at least to those who knew their place. She had never heard complaints from the servants at Netherfield about him, beyond that he was fastidious.
It did not answer the question of what Mr. Darcy wanted from her. Did he think that with due reflection she would have realized the advantages of marrying him outweighed her dislike? Or that he could change her mind by appearing to soften his manners until he had her consent? Perhaps it was some mysterious purpose of his own. His character had never been clear to her. If she had only read his letter, she might have some clue as to what he desired from her. Unfortunately, the only thing more mysterious than that was the question of what she desired from him.
***
The prospect of seeing Mr. Darcy again the next day filled Elizabeth with an odd combination of anticipation and dread. The ladies’ visit to Pemberley began auspiciously enough while the gentlemen were off fishing. On their return, Mr. Darcy chose to seat himself in the chair next to Elizabeth, earning her a glare from Miss Bingley. Fortunately, the Gardiners were both excellent conversationalists and well-mannered enough to ignore the occasional barb from Miss Bingley, although by the time tea was served, Elizabeth had counted at least three occasions when that lady had managed to work Cheapside into the conversation. Mr. Darcy at first seemed oblivious to it, but after one particularly egregious remark about the quality of people in trade, he leaned toward her and said in a voice just above a whisper, “I apologize for Miss Bingley’s lack of civility. I am sure her brother will speak to her later about it. I hope you know that both you and your family are very welcome here.”
His nearness and the warmth of his breath sent a shiver through Elizabeth, but she was unable to resist the urge to tease. “You do not, then, worry that my aunt and uncle will pollute the shades of Pemberley?”
The corners of his lips twitched upwards. “Hardly. My only fear is that Mr. Gardiner may deplete the entirety of Derbyshire of its population of fish. He is a most accomplished fisherman.”
“A pity he is wasted in Cheapside, then,” she said archly.
“No doubt that accounts for fishermen’s complaints of decreasing catches in the Thames.” He gave her a warm smile that set her heart beating a little harder. Even she could recognize that look indicated something beyond platonic friendship.
Apparently she was not the only one to notice it, as Miss Bingley raised her voice to say, “Miss Bennet, I hear that the militia has left Meryton. I am sure that is a particular loss to your family.”
“We are managing to survive tolerably in their absence,” Elizabeth said civilly, aware that Mr. Darcy had stiffened at Miss Bingley’s words. He would not have forgotten their disagreement over Mr. Wickham.
“And what of your particular favourite, Miss Bennet? His name escapes me.” Miss Bingley smiled like a predator awaiting its prey.
Elizabeth was tempted to avoid the question, but the increasingly stormy look on Mr. Darcy’s face brought out her contrary side. She would not allow him to intimidate her, and after all, there was nothing wrong with enjoying the company of a man her host disliked. She would not blush for her behaviour! “Are you referring, perhaps, to Mr. Wickham? He seemed in good health when I last saw him. He is at present enjoying the pleasures of Brighton, where the regiment is now stationed.”
Miss Bingley shot a triumphant glance at Mr. Darcy, but he did not seem to notice. If Elizabeth had not seen the whiteness of his knuckles as he clenched the arms of his elaborately brocaded chair, she would not have known anything was amiss. He did not look at her, either. She followed his glance to his sister.
Miss Darcy’s face had paled and her expression was pained. Elizabeth wondered if she might be ill, but it did not seem her place to say anything.
Miss Bingley said, “Brighton is indeed a lively place where one might find all sorts of entertainment.” Her tone suggested that those pleasures were somehow disreputable.
“Since the Prince Regent is particularly fond of Brighton, I assume it must have its attractions,” Elizabeth said equably.
Miss Bingley’s lip curled up. “I suppose the sea is pleasant enough there, but for myself, I prefer seaside resorts with a certain particular charm, ones where you might find a higher quality of visitors, such as Lyme Regis or Ramsgate. Miss Darcy, did you not summer in Ramsgate last year? Did you enjoy it?” Miss Bingley’s voice became honeyed as soon as she addressed Mr. Darcy’s sister.
“I… it is a pleasant sort of town,” said Miss Darcy in a voice just above a whisper. She looked positively white now.
“I have heard the promenade there is particularly lovely,” Miss Bingley said warmly. “Did you walk there often?”
Miss Darcy swallowed audibly. “Yes, when the weather was fair.” She cast a pleading look at her brother, then rose to her feet shakily. “I pray you excuse me. I am not well.” Before the gentlemen could stand, she bolted from the room.
Miss Bingley made to follow her. “Poor Georgiana! I will go to her and see to her comfort.”
Mr. Darcy responded in a clipped voice. “I am sure she would prefer that we all remain here.” He rang the bell, and when a footman appeared, he said, “Miss Darcy is unwell. Please ask Mrs. Reynolds to attend to her.”
Elizabeth wondered at his expectation that the housekeeper would see to his sister’s comfort rather than her maid, but perhaps it was one of those vagaries of powerful men who expected everyone to jump to their bidding.
The mention of Mr. Wickham had clearly achieved what Miss Bingley had hoped. Mr. Darcy was now paying no attention whatsoever to Elizabeth, and instead addressed himself to the Gardiners. “I discovered today that Mr. Gardiner is an excellent angler. Do you often have the opportunity to practice the sport, sir?”
“Whenever I am able, which is not as often as I would wish,” Mr. Gardiner said. “This morning was a pleasant treat.”
Mrs. Gardiner gave a light laugh. “My husband would gladly fish every day, had he the chance. It is fortunately that we live in town where there are few opportunities, or I might never see him at all!”
“I could never tear myself away from you for long, my dear,” Mr. Gardiner said gallantly, taking her hand and bestowing a gentlemanly kiss on it.
Elizabeth saw Miss Bingley’s sneer and the glance she exchanged with Mrs. Hurst. What did they know of true affection? At least Mr. Darcy did not seem to sneer. She sneaked a glance at him, only to find his eyes fixed on her, his visage stony. He looked so angry that she almost flinched.
Seeing her attention to him, he said sotto voce, “Please do not ever mention that man’s name in front of my sister.” While his request had a superficial politeness, the deep anger behind it was evident.
Elizabeth swallowed hard, taken by surprise. After his civility of the last two days, she had almost forgotten how ill-tempered he could be. She would not allow him intimidate her, even if she was his guest.
Meeting his eyes steadily, she said, “I will not avoid speaking any name merely to satisfy you. Perhaps it is best that I not be in company with your sister again.” She did not need to add or with you.
His eyes flashed. “Th
en I shall not trouble you again, but merely ask that you not take out your anger with me upon my sister, who is innocent of my sins.” He did not wait for a reply, but stood and crossed to the window where he looked out, ignoring the conversation at hand.
Mrs. Gardiner looked questioningly at Elizabeth, who shrugged her shoulders. Once again Mr. Darcy had managed to mystify her. So much for her vaunted understanding of others! But she regretted having caused him pain; once again, as at Hunsford, she had allowed her anger to overtake her common courtesy. The incivility had started with him, it was true, but she had a choice in how to respond to it. She wished she had made a joke of it, as she had so many of the other odd things Mr. Darcy had said during the course of their acquaintance -
an acquaintance that was almost certainly at an end now. To her surprise, she felt a pang of distress. She wondered why he thought his sister would be disturbed by mention of Mr. Wickham. Had her sudden illness in fact been distress over Elizabeth’s words?
The conversation had moved to Mrs. Gardiner’s childhood in Lambton. In an effort to diffuse the tension between her and the master of the house, Elizabeth asked her aunt if there had been much change to the area since that time.
“It is much as I remember it. The changes have been mostly in my eyes; the houses seem smaller, the streets quieter.”
“Except for this one, I am sure,” Mr. Gardiner said jovially. “This house could never seem small.”
“No, indeed, Pemberley is quite as grand as I remember it,” his wife agreed. “though the grounds were somewhat different then. I recall formal gardens surrounding much of the house, with promenades between them. I must confess that I find the current arrangement more pleasing and natural. One would hardly know there had ever been anything apart from parkland here.”
Mr. Bingley smiled. “When I first came here, it was more a mixture of natural plantings and formal designs.”
Miss Bingley said, “Mr. Darcy did much of the design work himself.”
Elizabeth saw her chance. “It is lovely. I have rarely seen a house so well situated to its surroundings. I find it hard to imagine anything more perfect.”
Darcy turned slowly, as if he were in discomfort, until he faced her. “All things change, Miss Bennet. We can only hope that they change for the better. But Miss Bingley gives me too much credit; it was my mother’s idea to develop a more naturalistic setting. She found formal gardens old-fashioned and stifling. The current park has been the work of many years, but elements of the original remain. The rose garden you saw when you first visited, the rock garden, and the maze have been here for generations.”
Miss Bingley said, “The maze is one of the largest in this part of England, is it not?”
Mr. Darcy’s lips tightened in response to this blatant attempt at flattery. “I cannot say. I know only that it is large enough that I lost my way there more than once as a child. I am not over fond of mazes, but it is part of the heritage of Pemberley.”
Miss Bingley hastened to assure him that she also did not enjoy mazes, but Darcy was not looking at her.
Elizabeth was all too aware that his eyes were fixed on her, his expression incomprehensible but fierce. “Miss Bennet, did you take the opportunity to walk through the maze on your tour of the park?”
She wondered why he was deliberately addressing her, given his obvious discomfort. “I am sorry to say I did not. I have a partiality for woodland walks, and there were enough lovely ones here to keep us well entertained. But I saw it from the outside and it seemed very… well-tended.” She was not often at a loss for words, but what was there to say about a maze she had not been through? Why did he care?
Miss Bingley hastened to interpose herself. “Ah, yes, Miss Bennet. I had forgotten you are a great walker, even when the ground is muddy and other ladies might remain inside.”
Elizabeth counseled herself not to lose patience. “Indeed, and when my sister lay ill at Netherfield, it would have taken far more than mud to keep me from her side.”
Mrs. Gardiner seemed to sense the tension in the room, and without understanding the cause, applied her well-bred skills to the occasion by launching into a lively description of the gardens they had seen at Blenheim and Chawton, and of Capability Brown and his astonishing transformations of parkland. Mr. Gardiner added some observations of his own, and the conversation proceeded without further difficulty until Mrs. Gardiner, to Elizabeth’s great relief, announced that it was time for them to return to Lambton.
Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley volunteered to see them to their carriage, but the former insisted on a detour to the library to show Mr. Gardiner a rare tome on the subject of fish of Northern England. It took him several minutes to locate the particular volume he sought. Elizabeth hung back by the door, watching Mr. Darcy’s elegant hands turning the pages, her spirits still low from their disagreement. But after a minute, Mr. Darcy left Mr. Bingley with the Gardiners to examine the remainder of the book. Elizabeth caught her breath when she realized he was taking purposeful strides in her direction. But that was nothing to the surprise she felt when he took her by the arm in a forceful movement and drew her into the anteroom.
She was sufficiently shocked by this uncharacteristic behaviour that she knew not what to say. Once she had seen his grim expression, she was glad to maintain her silence.
Darcy spoke in low tone, his face near her ear. “I must know. Did Mrs. Collins give you my letter?”
Elizabeth swallowed hard. “She did.”
“You did not believe what I had written.” He sounded half-savage.
“I did not read what you had written. I burnt it.”
“You burnt it?” His voice dripped ice.
“It is not proper for an unmarried lady to read a letter from a single gentleman.” Good heavens, she sounded as prim as Mary.
“So you went back to Meryton completely ignorant of Wickham’s misdeeds? He cannot be trusted! If he harmed you in any way, I will kill him, I swear it.”
Elizabeth could not help being amused by his similarity to Mr. Wickham at that moment. “He did nothing to me. He was a perfect gentleman.”
Darcy drew in a deep breath, clearly fighting for control. “You do not know what he is capable of.”
Her temper flared. “What I do not know is why you persist in slandering him. Was not refusing him the living he was promised enough?”
“Is that what he told you? I do not suppose he thought to mention that three years earlier, he had told me he had no intention of taking orders, or that I gave him three thousand pounds in lieu of the preferment -
money that he squandered before returning to me and demanding the living he had been promised.”
Elizabeth could not believe her ears. It was consistent with the story Mr. Wickham had told her at their last meeting, but three thousand pounds? That was a fortune. Otherwise, the two stories matched, but what proof did she have from either of them? “I do not know what to say.”
He drew even closer and said in a fierce near whisper, “I suppose he also did not tell you about how he imposed himself upon my sister last summer and convinced her to believe herself in love with him and to agree to an elopement, when his only object was her dowry of thirty thousand pounds? His plans were foiled by the merest chance.”
Now she was truly shocked. “I am grieved to hear it. But is it not possible that he cared for her?”
Darcy’s mouth twisted. “He cared enough to orchestrate his meeting with her and to arrange to be rid of her chaperone. She was then but fifteen years of age, and he almost twice that. When I confronted him, he made no pretense of affection for her. He wanted her fortune, and the chance to revenge himself on me was an added incentive. If he had succeeded, his revenge would have been complete indeed. And this is the man you chose to believe over me. You would have learned that months ago if you had read my letter.”
Elizabeth turned her face away, unable to look into those fierce dark eyes any longer. She wanted to believe it was untrue, but Mr. Da
rcy would never make up such a story about his own sister, and Miss Darcy’s reaction that very afternoon was confirmation of his words. How could she have misjudged the situation so badly and blindly believed Mr. Wickham’s story? She, who prided herself on her discernment, had shown absolutely none. To think that she had thought herself half in love with Mr. Wickham! Nausea twisted her stomach as she realized how easily he might have taken advantage of her. And today, out of her ignorance, she had foolishly injured an innocent girl’s sensibilities.
Stricken, she covered her eyes with her hand. “I am so very sorry. Please give Miss Darcy my deepest apologies for my thoughtless words.” She was horrified to discover her voice was trembling as she tried desperately to hold back tears.
The tight grip on her elbow eased and was replaced by gentle touch on her shoulder. He said softly, “Please, you must not blame yourself. He is a master at manipulation.”
Mr. Darcy's Letter Page 6