Chapter Ten
Elizabeth set out for her morning walk in a sentimental mood. Quiet reflection and a night’s rest had calmed her spirits, and although she could not think of the prior afternoon’s events without dismay, her natural sanguinity reasserted itself in the bright air. She was thinking, rather, of how much she would miss her familiar haunts. Darcy had assured her that Pemberley’s park had paths and fields and trees enough to satisfy the most tireless lover of nature, and she was looking forward to exploring them, but she knew there would never be anywhere quite like Hertfordshire and Longbourn.
She followed the well-worn path to the edge of Longbourn’s small park. Coming quietly upon the fine old beech tree that marked the property line, she paused. Mr. Darcy was waiting for her.
He was leaning his back against the broad trunk, arms and feet crossed, introspectively studying one boot. The brim of his hat shaded his face. She cleared her throat. He straightened immediately. “Elizabeth.”
She saw at once that the lover had returned. His eyes were warm and his voice eager. He took his hat off and stood before her.
“Good morning,” she said softly.
“I hoped you would walk this way. I have often had occasion to miss the walks we shared while at Rosings.”
Remembering what her opinion had been of those walks at the time, she merely smiled. “Unless I mean to go to Meryton, I always come by this path.”
He stepped closer and took her hand, raising it to his lips. “You look charming this morning,” he said, touching the brim of her bonnet with a finger. She looked archly.
He kissed her, softly and swiftly, as if uncertain of his reception, and drew her hand through his arm. The kiss flustered her for a moment; it was only the second he had ever given her. But it was over too quickly to make much of.
“Which way now?” he asked.
“I meant to go towards the right.”
He steered them in that direction and, glancing at a nearby row of shrubs with a sudden surprising whimsy, quoted, “ ‘These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines of sportive wood run wild—’ ”
“ ‘—these pastoral farms, green to the very door, and wreathes of smoke sent up, in silence, from among the trees,’ ” continued she obligingly.
“Precisely.” He drew a deep breath and pressed her arm closer to his side. “I missed you, Elizabeth.”
“Was it so long a separation?”
“Perhaps not. But I missed you just the same.”
She smiled “I’m glad.” They walked together in companionable silence until the path leading to Netherfield was reached. Darcy knew he should go if he was to visit Longbourn properly later. He paused at the junction, studied her face, trailed a gloved finger down the side of her neck (which made her shiver), and peeled back the edge of her glove to kiss her wrist. “I will call after breakfast,” he promised. “I am to wait on your father first but will find you after.”
She could only nod.
That morning Mrs. Bennet took the carriage and sallied forth in triumph to visit all her neighbors and proclaim the miraculous news. Elizabeth was to have accompanied her, to be displayed like a cow that had won first prize at the fair, she assumed, until she pointed out that Mr. Darcy would hardly be pleased to find her gone when he called. She was released then, with admonitions to wear her prettiest dress, serve him on the best china, and on no account run on in that impertinent way she had. Mary likewise excused herself, but the other three girls were borne off to take their part in the victory tour. Elizabeth would have liked to have kept Jane with her, as she was sure she would be forced to hear many remarks which could only pain her, but in this case she could do nothing.
With what astonishment and envy Hertfordshire society learned the news of Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s engagement! Mr. Darcy’s credit was still very poor with the populace, but some were certainly willing to forgive him much for the good deed of marrying one of their own. Those who liked Elizabeth said they were pleased she had made such a grand match, and Mr. Darcy had, at least, shown good sense in choosing her over the London ladies. Those who had always been jealous of the Bennet girls’ status as reigning belles said spitefully that even the largest pill could be swallowed if gilded, and they’d always known Lizzy Bennet gave herself airs. Added to this, of course, was the additional excitement of that same Miss Bennet’s former preference for the company of a certain lieutenant of the militia, who was known to have received very poor treatment at her current favorite’s hands. What lurid stories this spawned in the minds of the unworthy I shall not deign to tell you.
All this was disseminated and discussed over the following weeks. Although she kept much at home, Elizabeth could not escape it completely; everywhere that she met acquaintances, congratulations were offered with wondering looks, smirking insinuations, or fawning simpers. Worst of all to her sensibilities were those who winked and told her what a sly creature she had been. She bore it as best she could, thankful for once for Darcy’s manner, as it saved him from many such impertinences. Her greatest fear was that some tactless person would actually tell him how loud she had been in her dislike of him. She knew, really, that she ought to tell him the truth herself—that he deserved to know—but her courage failed her whenever she thought of it.
That was still to come, however. On this morning, she was thankfully left with only Mary and her father for company. She decided to seek the latter out.
“Ah, there you are, Lizzy!” Mr. Bennet looked up from his desk. “I’m glad you came in. I have been reading over the settlement papers Mr. Darcy had drawn up for you. Would you like to see them?”
Elizabeth colored. “No,” she said firmly. “That will not be necessary.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? He has been very generous. Don’t you wish to see what price your young man places on you?”
“Certainly not,” she replied, distressed. On no account did she wish to see in numbers what she would gain by her marriage.
Mr. Bennet put down his pen and looked at her carefully. “Are you still absolutely certain that this is what you wish, my love? Once I sign this contract, it will be much harder to break the engagement. If you have any doubts, you must speak them now.” Silently she shook her head. “I can delay it, if you wish. I will say I wish my brother Phillips to look it over first; Mr. Darcy will be offended and scowl at me for doubting him, but there will be little he can do about it. That would give you a few more days to consider.”
She could not help but be touched by his kindness. “I do not truly doubt, Papa,” she said. “Only it is so strange to think of still and to hear it spoken of in terms of sums of money—I do not like it.”
“Money, unfortunately, is what much of the world makes much of in marriage—but by all means, ignore the fact that your Mr. Darcy is so very rich. It may make you feel more virtuous, and it will certainly not make him any less rich by the process.” He said this sardonically, and Elizabeth turned her face away. His teasing stung, but what could she say?
To Mr. Darcy, when he came, Mr. Bennet said, “Well, everything appears to be in order. I could not possibly complain, sir. You have certainly allotted Lizzy far more money than she is ever likely to spend, in my opinion.”
“It is only what is fitting for a woman in the station she will be entering.”
Mr. Bennet chuckled slightly. “I asked her if she wished to look over the terms herself, but she almost recoiled from the suggestion. I think your wealth makes her uncomfortable, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy said nothing but looked thoughtfully toward the door. Mr. Bennet signed both copies, and he promised to send his off to his solicitor in London immediately, who would arrange for all the financial transactions. “Has . . . the matter of a date been raised?” he asked tentatively.
“Lizzy told me that you wish to be engaged no longer than a month, if that’s to what you refer.”
“Yes. I am anxious to return to my estate, as there are some matters I cannot long delay
attending to.”
“I see.” Mr. Bennet regarded him satirically. “Doubtless that explains it.”
Darcy flushed slightly. “If you find the idea unacceptable, Mr. Bennet . . .”
He sighed. “I cannot find the idea of losing my favorite daughter entirely acceptable in any form, Mr. Darcy, and I would wish not to do it so soon; but picking the wedding date has always been the bride’s prerogative, so if her mother does not object, I shall not either. Do you wish for the banns to be read?”
“I would prefer to purchase a common license.”
It was as Mr. Bennet expected. Darcy was definitely the type of fellow who would not wish to have his name read aloud in church like all the commoners did. “Well, then, it just remains for Lizzy to choose her day.”
The day Lizzy chose, after discussion, was Tuesday, June ninth. Having the wedding on a Tuesday would allow them to make their final preparations on Monday while still having most of the week for a leisurely journey to Pemberley. Mrs. Bennet, when she returned, began instantly talking of a trip back to London to buy clothes, but Elizabeth demurred and was supported with unexpected firmness by her father. Mr. Bennet felt he would have little enough time left with his favorite before she removed halfway across England from him, and he absolutely would not sacrifice her for an additional week.
Though displeased, Mrs. Bennet accepted the inevitable as soon as could be reasonably hoped for and sat down to immediately write a letter to Mrs. Gardiner with a list of warehouses, requesting her to go shopping for fabrics and have them sent posthaste to Hertfordshire, along with the latest patterns and fashion plates. “For I daresay our Meryton seamstresses do just as fine work as any town seamstress could. Mrs. Walton has been making our dresses for years, and no one’s ever been able to say anything but that our girls are the best dressed in the county.”
Mr. Darcy listened to all this with the appearance of perfect indifference, his face having fallen back into its habitually grave and haughty expression. If he had any doubts about the ability of Mrs. Walton to make gowns worthy of a London season, he saw no reason to say so; he could buy Elizabeth an entire wardrobe after they were married. He would enjoy doing so.
Elizabeth, however, was just impatient with him for his continued attitude. He did not even pretend to be interested. Before the others had arrived back, they had had some very pleasant conversation. Mr. Bennet had even emerged long enough to join them for a while. She felt that things were moving back towards how they had been in London . . . then Mrs. Bennet and her coterie had swept in, and he turned cold and curt once again. She knew he despised them, but to see it so clearly in his behavior mortified her. But then, what had she expected? He was simply being . . . Mr. Darcy.
Darcy did agree to eat dinner with them—he could hardly refuse, considering. After perhaps forty minutes of listening to discussions of how many gowns Elizabeth would need, he finally accepted Mr. Bennet’s invitation to read in his library. It was a very silent hour the two men spent together, neither of them speaking at all. At that point Darcy grew impatient and left in search of his bride. He found her elbow-deep in ribbon and artificial flowers, of which there appeared to be a never-ending supply at Longbourn. She smiled when she saw him, but it faded a bit in the face of his aloof demeanor.
“May I speak to you, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked crisply. Coloring a bit, she excused herself and went out to the garden with him. It was still wet outside after the previous day’s rain, but the gravel crunched agreeably beneath their feet, and the damp breeze was rather welcome.
“I was wondering if you have read Lord Byron’s recent volume of verse and what your opinion of it is,” he began conversationally.
Elizabeth looked at him incredulously. Had he really brought her out here for no other reason than this? Did he think it unexceptionable to be so rude inside and so affable out? “I have not read it,” she said.
“You surprise me. I had thought all young ladies enjoyed his work.”
“I am certain you are mistaken.”
He cast her a curious glance but merely said, “Georgiana is quite fond of him.”
“His poetry, I assume you mean, not the man?”
He smiled slightly. “Of course. Have you no opinion on it yourself?”
“None that signifies, I am sure.”
That brought a fleeting frown. “It is certainly significant to me.”
“Well, if you must know, I find it pretentious and overly sentimental.”
“Ah. In that case, your opinion coincides rather perfectly with mine.” He looked almost smug.
Despite herself, Elizabeth was amused. “I wonder at your asking it then, sir. Whatever would you have done if I had said that I adored all his works and kept them by my bedside?”
“Bought you his next volume as soon as it came out, I suppose.”
“But you would have thought less of my judgment.”
“Your judgment of poetry, perhaps. But I confess I thought myself safe—it did not seem likely that any lady who could credit poetry with the power of killing affection would swoon over Childe Harold.”
“If you think me likely to swoon over any man, Mr. Darcy, then I’m afraid I must have given you a very poor idea of my character.”
“On the contrary, I can think of few scenarios less likely.” He steered her toward a bench that, due to the arbor above it, was rather drier than the others. “Nor have I ever noticed in you the annoying habit of quoting him with sentimental sighs, as so many fashionable women do.”
“I fear you have found me out. I am not in the least fashionable.”
“No, you read for your benefit, not society’s.” His pleasant manner calmed her, and she began to relax until he suddenly straightened. “I had almost forgotten.” He reached into his pocket and extracted a small jeweler’s case.
“What is this?”
He shrugged. “An engagement gift, if you will.”
“But you already gave me an engagement gift.”
“Yes, but now we are officially engaged.” She looked at him skeptically. “I saw them and thought of you.” Still she hesitated. “Really, you must cease this habit of questioning every trifle I bring you. I know you have been used to living on an income that does not allow for much unnecessary spending, but I have no such constraints. Nor do I expect my wife to count pennies as if I were the common variety country squire. Your new situation in life is better than your old one, Elizabeth; you should accept that.”
She pressed her lips together, hurt and offended, and looked away. After several long, flat moments, he set the case down on the bench beside her and stood. “Whether you want it or not, it’s yours. Perhaps I should return to Netherfield until dinner. Good afternoon.” He strode away without waiting for her to reply.
Elizabeth sat there in a struggle between anger and guilt. His behavior to her family made his words more hurtful than they would otherwise have been; clearly, his opinion of their inferiority had not changed at all. However, she knew her response to his gift had not been what it should have been.
At length, curiosity began to win her over. She picked up the case and looked at it speculatively. She still had not gotten over the pearls he had given her last time; what would it be now? He had said “them.” Earrings, perhaps? She did not usually wear earrings and was a little surprised that he had not noticed. She gingerly opened the case, peered inside, and gasped.
They were hair combs. Dainty, golden brown combs made of—what was it? She lifted one up and examined it. Amber, she decided, carved amber, honey colored and almost translucent in the sunlight, sparkling with chips of diamond and some yellow stone. Topaz? They were exquisite, and she could see immediately how well they would look in her hair.
Putting the one she held back in its case, she sighed and looked in the direction Darcy had gone. Why did she not just accept the gift when he offered it? Why did he have to be so charming in some ways and so insufferable in others? She was sure she had hurt far more than just h
is pride. Would it always be so hard?
Going back to the house, she went up to her chamber. Sitting at the dressing table, she took out the case with Darcy’s other gift in it and set them, open, side by side before her. In the dim light the pearls glowed and the combs glittered. They were tokens of affection and possession alike; and, he was right, they were symbols of her change in status too. These trinkets . . . she caressed them gently. They represented everything a future with Darcy promised: beauty, opulence, consequence, love. They were alluring and strange, fascinating and burdensome all at the same time.
Elizabeth stayed in her room until it was time to dress for dinner. By the time the bell chimed, she knew what it was she must do. She had entirely forgotten all her fine resolutions of the previous evening, she had let her pique control her, and as a result they were at outs again. She further realized, upon reflection, that she had perhaps rather neglected him. He was only at Longbourn for her, after all. Either way, it was she who had offended first; she must make amends and hope that Darcy’s self-professed resentment did not apply to her. She summoned Jane and consulted with her about what hairstyle would show them to the best advantage, found a dinner gown in a warm shade of yellow, and, carefully arrayed, descended.
Ever since she had learned of Mr. Darcy’s proposal, Mrs. Bennet had taken to examining Elizabeth’s appearance several times a day, always offering critical advice. On this afternoon Elizabeth was waylaid by the staircase.
“Lizzy, now, let me look at you!” Mrs. Bennet frowned at her. “Why did you choose yellow? Does Mr. Darcy like yellow? What is his favorite color, or have you even bothered to ask? Really, Lizzy, you must be more attentive to his—” She caught sight of the hair combs and leaned closer. “I’ve never seen those combs before! Where did you get them?”
“They were a gift from Mr. Darcy, Mama.” Elizabeth touched her hair self-consciously.
“So beautiful,” breathed Mrs. Bennet. “Why, they’re almost as fine as the pearls he gave you! So clever of you to wear a yellow dress to go with them! Kitty! Lydia! Come see Mr. Darcy’s latest present to your sister! Such a generous man! Such faultless taste!” The girls flocked curiously around her.
Unequal Affections: A Pride and Prejudice Retelling Page 15