They spent a pleasant half hour taking in the scenery. It was a spectacular view. If she had been on her own, Elizabeth might have thrown her arms out and run full pelt down the other side of the hill into the downs below. As she was in company and dressed very finely, she resisted, although not without some effort. They were gradually joined by the others, Mr Darcy, Harriet Yorke and Mrs Mountford being the last to make it to the top. Frederick Yorke murmured in her ear, urging her to take a walk with him in a small wooded area to their right. Elizabeth could well guess at his intentions and the reason why he so desired privacy and ignored him, retreating instead to the safety of her aunt’s side.
“You know, Elizabeth, it makes me yearn for home.” Mrs Mountford smiled at the vista before them.
Nodding, Elizabeth could only agree. “I confess I feel quite a longing for Oakdene at the moment.”
“Perhaps one or two more weeks and we will say our goodbyes to Bath, if you are agreeable?”
“Yes. I am agreeable,” she said, thinking of the pretty house they shared and all her favourite walks around it; a place where quietude and serenity ruled.
Mr Darcy whose arm her aunt was still supported by spoke in his usual, earnest way. “I should hope now we are acquainted, we might see each other again soon, as neighbours.”
Mrs Mountford chuckled. “Neighbours, you say Mr Darcy, it must be thirty or even five and thirty miles between Oakdene and Pemberley. Why, they are in different counties.”
“Oh Mr Darcy would consider that no more than a hairsbreadth away,” cried Elizabeth. “He would call even fifty miles an easy distance.” Their eyes met. His were surprisingly full of warmth and recollection and Elizabeth could not help but be affected by the light in them. She found herself unashamedly returning his look, acknowledging the memory of a long ago conversation, glad they were both able to be amused by it now.
A sudden gust of wind whipped over the hillside. Elizabeth had not bothered to tie the ribbons on her hat. It flew up and off, watched by them all and landed in the lower branches of a nearby tree.
“Never fear, Miss Bennet,” cried Mr Yorke at once. He threw his own hat to the ground, tugged off his coat, and with great show, proceeded to climb the tree which had claimed her headwear. He sprang up the first few branches and reached across, grasping and trying to get near it, but his actions were in vain. He lost his footing and slipped down, prompting a gasp from the ladies. Not to be outdone, he began the process of climbing up again.
Mr Darcy meanwhile walked calmly over to the tree, raised himself up to his full height and used his stick to pluck the misbehaving garment from the branch. He walked back to Elizabeth and with great gentleness put it back on her head. To her great shock, he then began to tie the ribbons beneath her chin.
“Now, we must fasten this more securely, Miss Bennet, for as Mr Yorke said, it is a splendid hat, very fetching.” He stood so close, his tall frame blocking out the sunlight. His head was bent down, focussed on the task. She examined him more closely than she had ever thought to do previously. He had very strong masculine features; features she realised she liked very much – a determined chin, prominent cheekbones, an aquiline nose, rich, dark eyes. His fingers brushed against her neck as he worked and the touch called every one of her senses to alertness. When he was seemingly satisfied with his efforts he stood back. And then, Frederick Yorke was at her side, having donned his coat and hat again. The three of them stood awkwardly together before Mr Darcy turned away sharply and walked over to where his sister was. Elizabeth looked up at her current suitor and saw something she had not noticed before - next to Mr Darcy he seemed a bit of a fop, a dandy. His waistcoat was gaudy; his necktie was arranged in a ridiculous, overcomplicated knot. His hair was too long, too fair. He was an overgrown boy. She had thought him handsome. Now she saw nothing but a face whose features were exactly where they should be, but he held no attraction for her. His eyes seemed too blue, his chin too smooth. He was too thin. In short, he looked nothing like Mr Darcy. Nor did he have Mr Darcy’s steady character, or quiet, shy manners, or his incredible kindness. Which she found was a great problem. A terrible problem!
The knowledge that she was in love washed over her with such force, like a great wave and it made her tremble. She was surprised she managed not to cry out at the realisation, such was the shock of it. She was in love however, with the wrong man - with Mr Darcy.
Seventeen
Mr Yorke was still whispering in Elizabeth’s ear. She heard only one word in three, such was her distraction, but what she gathered was that he still seemed set on them taking a walk together. She could think of nothing she would rather do less. He reached for her elbow and tugged it a little and she had to wrench it from his grasp. She wanted to say something, to warn him off and apologise for her having encouraged him, but how could she when there were so many people about and her spirits were in such a state?
Fortunately, lunch was announced and they were all expected to trek back down the hill to partake.
A fine array of foods greeted them. Elizabeth thought it as splendid and elegant a picnic as she had ever seen and she suspected it had all been put together by Mr Darcy’s staff and at his instruction and expense. Her plate of food, however, remained untouched. She could only concentrate on the gentleman who had sat as far away from her as possible. Despite the distance, she sensed Mr Darcy’s every movement. She envied everyone he spoke to. It was agony - wanting him to come closer, but too embarrassed to know what she would say to him if he should. Why did anyone wish to be in love? It hurt, physically hurt. Her body ached from such feelings.
The general conversation of the party was of the merits of town versus the country. Elizabeth let it flow over her, disinterested, until she could no longer ignore it due to a moment of deep mortification. Harriet and Sophy Yorke had spoken of having been eager to spend the last winter in London and of their disappointment when both their father and brother had refused to take them.
“I am sorry, my dear sisters,” said Mr Yorke, “to have curtailed the scheme, but father is not well enough, nor inclined to hire a companion for his daughters and I can hardly, as a single gentleman, take my two single sisters to town, can I? How would such a thing be proper?” Then he added in a softer tone. “If I were married it might be different. When I have a wife, it will be different.” He fixed his eyes upon Elizabeth for such a long time that surely nobody could be in doubt of who he had in mind for the position of spouse. Elizabeth wished him a million miles away, cursed the day she had met him. Her gaze could not help wander to Mr Darcy but he was looking down at his plate, so there was no telling what he thought of such a public declaration. Would he care? Likely not. He thought her ‘altered’ after all and just because she had decided she was in love with him, did not mean he was likely to suddenly start loving her again. Four years seemed an awfully long time ago. He had been married since, he was recently widowed. While she had never witnessed any great inclination on either side when she had seen Anne de Bourgh and Mr Darcy together at Rosings, it did not mean love had not grown within the intimacies of marriage, perhaps he still grieved terribly.
Miss Bingley’s voice was loud and pierced the silence that followed. “Miss Bennet, pray tell me, I think we established that your elder sister married a tradesman. But what of your other sisters, are any of them married?”
“Only my sister Mary is not. Kitty is married to a clergymen and is settled near home, and my youngest is married to a militia officer.”
“Oh, not the officer the whole town was in love with when we were in Hertfordshire? What was his name?” asked Miss Bingley.
“I can’t think who you mean.” Elizabeth knew exactly who Miss Bingley meant and dreaded the speaking of his name in front of Georgiana and her brother.
“Do not be so coy, Miss Bennet. Oh, I remember, Wickham was his name. Mr Wickham! I remember certain ladies here finding his company particularly pleasing.” She gave Elizabeth an arch and teasing smile, clearly m
eaning to wound her. “But perhaps I should not mention his name in front of another gentleman,” she finished, alluding to Mr Yorke with a laugh.
Elizabeth was angry but not for herself, she worried at the pain such a conversation might be giving Georgiana. She wanted to reply that Wickham’s name should not be mentioned in any company and that he should certainly not be given the epithet of gentleman. “My youngest sister is married to a Captain Denny. They are in Newcastle with the regiment.”
“Oh, so a clergyman and a captain of the militia, well it is perfectly fine I suppose. The best one can expect for girls without dowries.” Miss Bingley sneered.
“You have no dowry?” Mr Yorke asked with some surprise. He had been laying on his side near her, propped up on one elbow, his legs stretched out in front of him, but now he sat up straight.
Elizabeth looked at him steadily, her voice slow and careful. “No, no dowry.”
“Oh.” His brow furrowed for a moment before he smiled a little too brightly and picked at a blade of grass.
“You do not know how lucky you are, my dear Eliza,” sighed Miss Bingley.
“Well, I think that is the first time I have heard poverty described as a fortunate state, Miss Bingley.”
“My own dowry has often been a burden. I have had to endure the attentions of many an unscrupulous fortune hunter.”
“And what of the scrupulous ones, how do you endure them?” Elizabeth asked, growing increasingly angry.
Before she could lose her temper completely, Georgiana rescued her by getting to her feet and declaring her intention of taking a walk. She directly asked Elizabeth to join her. It was to both ladies relief that everyone else was still busy eating or too settled to summon the energy to rise. At Georgiana’s urging they walked not up the hill, but down a small path that was overhung with trees. As soon as they were out of sight of the others Elizabeth felt herself pulled close. “Elizabeth, I saw your concern at the mention of Wickham’s name. You must not think it bothers me, you must not be worried for me. I am long over it all.”
“I confess I was concerned, I know a little of your dealings with him.”
“My brother told me he had confided in you. He explained his reasons for doing so.”
“Georgiana. His trust has not been misplaced.”
“I know. He would not have shared it with you unless he thought you entirely trustworthy. I am glad you believed in my brother and gave Mr Wickham up. He was terribly afraid you had fallen under his spell. I do believe it gave him several sleepless nights after he returned from Rosings, the time he saw you there.”
“Oh, I never… Mr Wickham, I admit, well, I thought him perfectly charming once, but there was never any serious attachment, on either side.”
Georgiana sighed. “I am glad of it. I am glad he did not hurt you too.”
“I hope, Georgiana, yours was not a wound of lasting damage. Are you well now?”
“I was not for a long time, not because of the loss of him. I saw what he was later and realised my feelings were borne out of feeling flattered by him, but I did not trust myself out in society for a long while. I hid away. I felt such a fool, so young and gullible. I am better now and I confess, until Miss Bingley mentioned his name, I had not thought of him for some time, perhaps years. I wonder what became of him.”
“Oh, I know exactly what became of him. He married a Miss King, who it was much rumoured had inherited the sum of ten thousand pounds. Unfortunately, Mr Wickham did not account for the fact that the ladies of Meryton have a profound and spectacular talent for exaggeration.”
“Meryton is near to your family home?”
“Yes. Miss King had come to stay there with her uncle and she quickly became his object. Only the ten thousand pounds was not all hers, she inherited just a portion of it and by the time his gambling and other debts were paid off, there was but two or three thousand left, I believe. He was not able, as he had hoped, to leave the militia, and is now still in Newcastle with his regiment. My sister, Mrs Denny, her husband is in the same company of soldiers. I have news of Wickham from time to time. He apparently thinks himself very cheated and ill-used.”
“Oh dear, the poor soul.”
“You are very good to have such sympathy for him.”
“I have no sympathy for him. I was thinking of poor Mrs Wickham.”
Amused, Elizabeth shook her head at Georgiana. “You, my dear, should never be shy in any society, for you are astute and have a great deal of sense.”
“You flatter me, but I do still feel so ill at ease sometimes. I do not understand parlour talk, and some of the ladies have the oddest of manners. I cannot tell whether I am being praised, criticised or made fun of, or indeed, all three at once! I wish I had your confidence, Elizabeth. If I had someone like you at my side I should endure it all so much better.”
“Was your sister-in-law not any help to you in that regard?”
Georgiana sighed. “You did meet Anne, did you not?”
“I did.” Elizabeth said carefully, “but long ago, before she was Mrs Darcy.”
“I had high hopes when Fitzwilliam brought her to Pemberley, of us becoming close friends. We never had been before because our meetings had always been at Rosings, where she said nothing unless directed to by her mother. I am afraid at Pemberley she was even more timid. She spent so much time upstairs. She never walked out, she did not play, she had no interest in books. She was at Pemberley for only a few months before she insisted on returning to Kent and we were all required to remove to Rosings.”
“He must have loved her very much, to leave his home to go to hers?” Elizabeth asked with a heavy heart.
Georgiana shrugged, “I suppose and of course, she wanted to be at home with Lady Catherine, after the tragedy of… oh look.” Her voice was breathless and she pointed to a field of bluebells that had opened up before them. Elizabeth had been so focussed on their conversation she had not noticed, but when she did she smiled brightly, perhaps for the first time that day. The sight of thousands of them, the glorious dark blue that seemed too rich for a flower, spread out for perhaps half an acre before them, was too beautiful for words.
“Come.” She pulled at Georgiana’s arm and they ran towards the field laughing.
Darcy found them sitting under a tree, talking companionably in low tones, sheltering from the rain, looking out over a sea of bluebells. The ends of their petticoats were dirty, hats were discarded, curls had been blown about and tangled. If it wasn’t for the tailored cut and expensive muslin of their dresses, they might have passed for a couple of farmers daughters. The sight made him smile and he thought how such a spectacle would have displeased him a few years ago, to have seen his sister looking so dishevelled, but now her happy and contended face gladdened him. Elizabeth too, looked carefree, less troubled than he had seen her of late. He’d approached them from behind, giving him the advantage, and when he spoke, they both gasped in surprise.
“Greetings. I don’t suppose you have seen two ladies pass this way have you? One fair, one dark. These are ladies of quite high society you understand. They would of course be very finely dressed and looked very pristine and elegant the last time I saw them.”
Elizabeth squinted up at him and spoke in a heavy west country accent. “I dunno who you be referin’ to sir, we happen not be seeing no ladies round here.”
He smiled. By God, she was so sweet and lovely. He adored her. He wanted to throw aside his umbrella, sink to his knees and beg for a chance to show her he had changed; that the reproofs she had delivered in Hunsford had been attended to and he would always try to be worthy of her, to please her. How vain he had been that day, believing her to be wishing for and expecting his addresses, thinking how she would feel the luck of them, when he had made no attempt to win her affection. She must have thought him devoid of every proper feeling when he had been standing in that parlour, in all his repugnant superiority.
He held out his hand to Georgiana and helped her to her feet.
“Do you know that you two miscreants have been gone for nearly two hours? The other ladies have been sitting in the carriage since the rain began, waiting your return.”
Georgiana was horrified. “Oh no! I am so sorry, Fitzwilliam. We were having such a nice time and then the heavens opened and we got a little wet. I did not realise how long it had been and then having no protection from the rain we thought we had better wait it out and dry off.”
“Whatever were you doing?” He asked.
“Oh, just running about the bluebells.” Georgiana shrugged.
He saw Elizabeth smile at his expression, which must have been incredulous. “Your aunt gave me this to give you.” He handed her Mrs Mountford’s cloak, which had been draped over his arm and then dropped the umbrella to strip off his own greatcoat for Georgiana.
Elizabeth had gotten to her feet and was sorting out the cloak, preparing to wrap herself in it. He tried not to look. He reminded himself he was a gentleman and she would have no concept of her appearance but she had obviously gotten wetter than Georgiana. Her gown was thinner and a lighter colour. It clung to her, outlining her figure. He had caught a glimpse when she had stood and desperately tried to school himself not to look back, to avert his eyes until she was properly attired. He had already taken liberties that day by tying her hat on and lifting her off the gig. His fingers still burned from the way her waist had felt between his hands. Frederick Yorke ought to have knocked him to the ground.
But in the end, he was only human, devoid of the superhuman strength it would have taken to resist another peek. While she was distracted, his eyes took their greedy fill and he knew it was an image he would never be able to erase from his memory. To him, she would always be perfection. His ideal of what a woman should be.
When she had secured the cloak, she looked up suddenly and caught him staring. He was mortified and blushed, then cleared his throat and led the way back to the carriage.
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